He was awakened by a loud bang from close by. It took him a moment to orient himself before he realized the gun he saw in front of him was in his own hand. And it was pointed right at the bloody chest of the man in front of him.

The man's face held an expression of surprise and betrayal. It was the face of Congressman Mitchell, his friend.

As Tim collapsed Will rushed to him, catching him before he fully hit the floor.

"Why?" came the question from Tim's lips.

Will could not answer. He did not know how he even ended up pointing the gun at his friend much less shooting him.

Tim passed waiting for the answer.

Will heard sirens in the distance. He automatically assumed they were heading his way.

He gently lowered Tim to the floor.

Looking around he realized he was at Tim's apartment. He put the pistol in his coat pocket and forced his way to the back door, making sure to wipe his fingerprints from the doorknobs as he went.

As he went down the stairs he calculated what he needed to do to keep out of jail long enough to figure out what had happened.

He figured his car would be in the parking lot but if he tried to get to it the police would likely detain him. He could not afford to talk with police at this point. He was certain he pulled the trigger but why. He would not believe he could intentionally kill his friend and temporary insanity was not very likely.

He had to find someplace to hide and think. But first he needed cash. It would take the police a couple of hours to figure out who shot Congressman Mitchell, even with assistance. He had to withdraw some money before they could put a trace on all of his accounts.

He walked to a nearby bank to withdraw cash.

He took a taxi to his home where he grabbed he emergency bag that had clothes and things to change his appearance. He threw everything in the trunk of his car and took off out of town.

He drove to a small airport where he changed in the restroom; rented a car using a second identity he kept for emergencies.

That afternoon he had found his way to a motel.

How did he end up shooting his friend? He had to remember. He remembered getting ready for work but did not remember going to work.

There had been a phone call. He thought he answered but did not remember anything else until shooting Tim.

Who Called?

He wished he had thought to check caller ID. But there was one thing he felt safe in surmising that he had been programmed. The phone call must have been the trigger. So the question was when, where, and by whom.

He began to review where and when he could have been subjected to programming. He knew that the best way to program someone was with drugs. Where had someone had the opportunity to administer something to him without notice?

"The dentist!" he exclaimed. He had extensive dental work lately taking several sessions. The dentist was new, replacing his usual dentist after he died in an auto accident.

He picked up his cell phone to call Agent Dick Savich at the FBI.

"Savich here."

"Mr. Savich, this is Petterson. I believe you are looking for me."

He knew Savich would be signaling someone to trace the call so he kept an eye on his watch.

"Where are you Mr. Petterson? It is critical we talk with you."

"I do not think it is in my best interest right now to surrender myself."

"Things can only get worse the longer you wait."

"Things cannot get any more complicated than they are. I do not think your office would take the time to find who was behind Congressman Mitchell's death and how they achieved it. I must go now. But think about this. Why would I want to kill Mitchell?"

He hung up before Savich had a chance to respond.

He arrived at the dental office after midnight. The security system was not difficult to bypass.

He found his file. Examining his x-rays he noticed that the x-rays that he had three months before the changing of his dentist was missing. The x-rays from two years ago were still there. He compared that photo to the most recent. The most recent x-rays were not his.

Next he wanted to check the drugs they used to knock him out. He found that there was a vial separate from the rest that had a mark on the label. There was also a gas canister isolated and labeled slightly differently. Just looking at these there would be no way to casually notice any difference between the vials or gas canisters.

Now he wanted to find a tape of the programming. He knew they would record it for evaluating later. Since he found the drugs on site the tapes would likely be on site also.

The tapes were under a false bottom of the desk. He reviewed the tape to be sure.

He called Savich again.

"Savich here."

"Hello again."

"Mr. Petterson. You need to turn yourself in NOW. There is no way I can guarantee your safety."

"Agent Savich. That is not important. I'll surrender myself in the next few hours for you. I have evidence for you that will show a whole new light on your case. I need you to stand ready for my next call. I suggest you keep a tape of the call. You will be able to trace the call and pick up the person behind the murder along with myself."

He hung up.

His next call was to his new dentist.

"Dr. Moore. Who is this?"

"Doctor. I am the man that can prove your involvement with murdering the Congressman."

"I do not know what you are talking about Mr. Petterson."

"Yes you do. But it is your choice, you can meet me or I can talk with the FBI."

"I can see you this morning. Where are you?"

"In your office. You keep good notes."

He knew that he had at least 20 minutes for Dr. Moore to arrive. While he waited he transferred the important files on the computer to the FBI and another safe location for storage. An additional e-mail he sent to a friend with instructions to collect the files from storage if something happened to him. His friend would know what to do from there.

He was ready when he heard the door open. Quickly he dialed Savich and put it on speakerphone. He had already turned down the volume so it would not be heard.

Dr. Moore came into the office wearing a jacket. His hand was in the pocket and it was clear that he had a pistol.

"Mr. Petterson what do you think you have?"

"Dr. Moore. It is interesting that the x-rays in my file to support your work are not mine."

"You're mistaken."

"No. I can read x-rays well enough to know it does not match prior x-rays. Besides, the person in the x-ray never had a broken jaw."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"I also found the drugs you used to put me under. I am sure the FBI would wonder why you would use drugs commonly used by intelligence services for interrogations and brainwashing."

Moore was sweating visibly.

"I also found your tapes of our sessions."

Moore pulled the pistol out of his pocket.

"I just want to know why you used me to kill Mitchell?"

"We thought we could get rid of two thorns at the same time."

"Whom are you working for?"

"Mr. Petterson, I am sure you realize that since I have a gun on you I do not intend to let you live."

"How are you going to explain shooting an unarmed man?"

"I do not have to. You are a wanted felon; you broke into my office. You had a gun. I shot in self-defense."

"I don't have a gun."

"Small technicality."

Petterson reached for the phone.

"Don't try anything."

"Why? You're going to shoot me anyway." He said as he turned up the volume on the phone. "You still there Agent Savach?"

Moore's face turned ash.

"Yes Mr. Petterson. We have units on their way to your location. Dr. Moore I suggest you put down your gun before you get hurt."

"Is this a trick?"

"No Dr. Moore. This is not a trick. I am Special Agent Savach with the FBI. Surrender, put down the gun and kick it away from yourself."

Instead of putting down the gun he took a shot at Petterson. He missed as his target ducked behind the desk.

Moore rushed around the side of the desk to take another shot but was knocked against the wall by his executive chair that was propelled by Petterson.

He grabbed Moore's gun hand and caught him in the chest with his elbow. Not having dislodged the pistol he yanked his arm over his knee. This time the gun dropped.

He spun him around throwing him over the desk while he grabbed for the pistol. When Moore got back up Petterson was covering him.

"I think you had better sit on the floor with your hands on your head. But if you want to try to get away I do not mind shooting you in your backside as you run."

This was when he heard the cars come to a screeching halt.

He did not divert attention from Moore until he heard the agents coming through the door. He raised his arms and let the gun dangle from his finger.

They were both arrested. Petterson was questioned for days. It was another couple of months before he was finally released from jail. He was able to work out a deal to testify against Moore at the trial. The Attorney General was not exactly willing to just let him off from a murder charge. After all he did shoot Congressman Mitchell. But his attorney convinced the AG that it was arguably a case of temporary insanity.

Will watched Mrs. Mitchell from a clump of trees not too far from her husband’s grave. He did not know what to say to the widow of the man he shot. But he knew he had to confront her to at least ask her forgiveness.

He walked over slowly as he tried to figure out what to say. He approached from the side so she would be able to notice him and not be startled.

She looked up at him. The tears were streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry Mary."

She looked back down on the grave and Will had a loss for words.

"He said you were his best friend. He trusted you with his life."

The words stung worse than if she had shot him.

"I would have never of knowingly harmed Tim. I loved him, he was my best friend as well."

They were both silent until the silence compelled comment.

"Molosichov hypnotized me into thinking I was killing someone else, that I was under Presidential orders in order to stop a terrorist."

He stood silent trying to think of something else to say. But there was nothing he could think to say to ease her, their, pain. He started to turn to walk away.

"I know you could never have intentionally hurt Tim."

They both turned to meet each other's eyes. Understanding and pain were in her eyes.

She walked over and they embraced as they both wept by the grave of a good man.