Chapter one
Disclaimer
Okay then, after the shortest hiatus in the history of hiatusssssessssesssss, (hiatus? Hiati? Who the hell cares?) we're BACK! That's what happens when the muse gets its own laptop and gets all over-excited…
Aaaaaaaaaaanyhoo, the usual disclaimers apply for this story as they did for all the others. I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs, I don't have any control over the characters, I don't GET BLOODY PAID for this and hey, tis all just a bit of fun, right?
I DO, however, STILL own the rights to Diane Armstrong, Micky Cox, Danny Smith and the whole kit and caboodle story and I'll beat anyone who says otherwise to death with the soggy end of a severed limb.
Usual warnings apply for bad language, violence and unintelligible Cockney rhyming slang.
About all that beating to death with the soggy end of a severed limb, by the way. I'm actually a really nice person. No, honestly. I like kittens and everyfink…
Roll credits…
The red and white striped barrier lifted and the armed guard waved the white van through. Slowly, the van trundled through the checkpoint, the dark haired driver waving his thanks to the guard. The swish of windscreen wipers added an underlying rhythm to the persistent drumming of the rain on the roof of the cab. The guard, squinting against the driving rain, watched the van slowly disappear onto the base and ducked back inside the hut. "Filthy day."
"You think this is bad? You wait till you get out to Kabul. You'll be praying for fucking rain once you hit a hundred and twenty degrees, buddy!"
"Yeah? Well, right now, all I want is a smoke. Cover for me."
"Those things'll kill ya, ya know."
"Really? Well hey, here's a thing, soldier. It's alright for you, my friend. You've just got back. You're gonna be safe and warm in your mama's bed for the next six months! Me? I'm shipping out in five days to the worst fuckin' hellhole on God's sweet earth, surrounded by Taliban insurgents who wanna blow my goddamn head off. Ya honestly think I'm gonna worry about one lousy cigarette, Brett? Now, ya gonna cover me or not?"
"Sure. Just don't get caught."
"That's what 'cover me' is supposed to mean, asshole!"
"Up yours, Toynbe!" Brett stuck a finger up and grinned broadly.
"Back at ya, dickweed!" Toynbe ducked out of the hut and, checking quickly that nobody was looking, he scuttled around the back of the hut and cupped his hands around a cigarette, fighting a loosing battle against the raindrops that threatened to turn it into mush.
The white van drove sedately along the spotlessly clean, broad boulevard that ran through the centre of Fort Irwin. Turning left into a smaller road, the driver eased the van towards a squat, solid looking building. The small windows had thick iron bars on them and a single sign stencilled onto the steel door was all that distinguished the building from its neighbours. The Armoury. The van trundled to a stop outside the door and the engine coughed and died. Three men exited the front cab, all dressed in plain blue overalls and baseball caps. The guard at the armoury door raised a hand and asked for their credentials, gesturing impatiently for them to hand the documents over. He scanned them quickly and nodded, opening the door and stepping aside to let the men in.
The armoury was dimly lit and stank of gun cleaner. A strange, metallic tang tainted the air and the sharp smell of cordite made the hairs in the men's nostrils twitch. They approached the quartermaster's desk.
"Guys. What can I do for you?"
"Requisition order. O'Neil's Demolition. I think you're expecting us?"
The quartermaster straightened up and studied the three men. Two looked back at him levelly but the third man…hiding in the background… The quartermaster frowned and his eyes lingered for just a couple of seconds on the edgy man. For an instant, their gazes locked and the old soldier could sense something else behind the darting, dark brown eyes. He snapped his attention back to the leader and held out a hand. "Requisition?"
"Two cases of dynamite. Charging cord, fuses, detonators. It's all there." The man held the order out. For a second, the quartermaster stared at the piece of paper, looking at it as if it were contaminated. He took the order and scanned its contents. He took a few extra seconds reading through the credentials. Something wasn't right. He couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe it was nothing, but…
"Okay. Wait here." He turned and walked into his office, still studying the piece of paper. Glancing back at the men, he pushed the door closed and crossed to his desk. His hand reached for the phone…
Two muffled shots crackled dully, their sound dampened even further by the thick walls. The quartermaster was dead before he knew it, a trickle of blood running down from the hole in his skull between his eyes. Another red stain spread slowly through the fabric of his shirt, turning the olive green of the material a dull red-brown across his chest. He slumped forward, falling against the corner of the desk and pulling the phone down onto the floor with him. His fingers still grasped the handset in one hand and the requisition order in the other.
The leader reached down and ripped the requisition order from the dead man's fingers, tearing it in two. He stood up quickly, stuffing the torn piece into his pocket and pushing his silenced pistol into the front of his overalls. He bent back over the man and ripped the bunch of keys that hung from a chain on his belt free. He tossed the keys to one of the other men. "Ninety seconds. Move."
The two other men peeled off and ran into the armoury. They knew exactly what they wanted. The leader watched a stopwatch intently. "Sixty seconds!" A flurry of activity saw the men put together a pile of cases containing automatic weapons, grenades, fuses, explosives and ammunition in the centre of the floor. Not pausing for breath or to check what they had, they sprinted back into the armoury a second, third, fourth time. Each trip garnered more bounty. "THIRTY SECONDS!" A last dash into the depths of the dark corridors and they were back, this time carrying two long cases.
While the two men were busy with their cases, the leader, the stopwatch still clutched in his hand, sprinted to the right wall of the office. He reached into his overalls and pulled out two blocks of C4, a detonator pressed firmly into the soft, putty-like explosive. He slapped it against the wall and set the detonator…
A quick, last glance at the stopwatch and he stood up quickly.
"TIME!" The man stopped the stopwatch and sprinted for the door. He wrenched it open and grabbed the guard by the neck, dragging him inside the building and out of sight, choking off any chance he had to shout in alarm. A blade slid between his ribs and straight into his heart. For a split second he felt the cold metal slicing into his body. Then nothing. The man let the guard's lifeless body fall to the ground and stepped over it, shoving the corpse out of the way with a firm kick. He ran out and slid open the side door of the van he had so conveniently parked so close to the door. He spun on his heels and held his hands out. A crate came through the door and he deftly caught it, loading it quickly into the van. Within seconds, the team had the entire contents of their raid in the van. The third man leapt into the interior with the crates and slid the door closed. The leader and his partner jumped quickly into the front, starting the engine before the doors were shut. As he leapt into the driver's seat, a crumpled piece of paper fluttered from his pocket and was blown across the tarmac…
The van reversed quickly up the road and spun around ninety degrees, the front of the hood pointing towards the main gate. The side of the van slid open and the dark eyed man kneeled in the opening, pointing the snub nose of an RPG straight at the side wall of the armoury. The leader smiled nastily. "Time for the diversion…"
The RPG let out a whoosh and spiralled its way towards the armoury wall. From this range, the powerful rocket punched easily through the cinderblock outer shell and buried itself into the reinforced concrete guts of the wall. At precisely the same moment, the C4 on the other side of the wall detonated, the combined explosion enough to blow the wall to pieces and set of a chain reaction of blasts throughout the armoury. Not only had the men been taking something out - they'd also been leaving something behind. A snake of fuse cord had set off a series of explosions in the heart of the armoury, triggering off small but deadly packages of C4 in the middle of a building full of explosives. The 'diversion' could be seen and heard for miles around…
The van's engine gunned and it shot forward towards the gate. Before Toynbe had a chance to throw his cigarette down and swing his automatic rifle up, the van was on top of them. The driver pointed a machine pistol out of the window and Toynbe felt the bullets cut across his body. Blood filled his mouth and he fell back, dead…
Inside the wooden hut, Brett just had time to stand up and reach for his gun before the rapid fire of the machine pistol punched bullets through the thin wooden shell of the building and into his chest. He didn't have a chance…
The van screamed into a ninety-degree slide and out onto the main strip, barrelling through the traffic at breakneck speed. Behind the fleeing van, the base was in chaos. Explosion after explosion ripped through the armoury, keeping everyone ducking and running for cover. Alarms screamed and armed soldiers, filled with confusion and panic, yelled instructions at each other.
Most of the soldiers had been back from Afghanistan for just two weeks.
They were supposed to have been safe…
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Colby Granger groaned and reached across the bed. The hollow dip where Diane had lain was empty, the warmth of her body already dissipating from the sheets in the chilly dawn air. Opening one green eye, Colby looked at the empty pillow, the indent from where her head had been still evident in the crisp, white cotton. He sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes. The smell of fresh coffee wafted in from the kitchen and he swung his legs around onto the edge of the bed, the cool stone tiles strangely soothing on the soles of his feet. Stretching lazily and scratching absentmindedly at his short, blonde hair, he stood up and shuffled out to the kitchen, drawn instinctively by the aroma of fresh Java.
His sensitive hearing picked up the gentle tap of fingers dancing quickly across a keyboard. Diane was already up and working. Trying to pinpoint the origin of the sound, he poured a second cup and went in search of the Englishwoman. He found her on the veranda of the beach house, a laptop resting on her knees and the ocean breeze ruffling the still-short auburn hair on her head. "Hey." He sat down on the step next to her and held out the coffee.
"You're up then."
"Nope. I'm actually a figment of your imagination and this is all just a terrible dream." Colby grinned broadly at her and she shook her head, laughing.
"You really shouldn't attempt sarcasm when you've only just woken up, you know. You suck at it first thing in the morning."
"That's not what you said last night, baby!" Colby playfully nuzzled at her neck and nipped the skin on her shoulder with his teeth.
"Ow! You bugger!" Diane laughed and smacked him on the back of the head. "No biting!"
"And again, that's not what you…"
"Colby!"
Granger grinned at her and kissed her gently on the lips. "So. Whatchya doin'?" He peered over her shoulder at the laptop screen, but she shut it quickly with a snap. "Oh. Hey. Sorry. Official stuff?"
"Um, no. Not exactly."
Colby raised an eyebrow. "Unofficial? You freelancing, baby? Langley doesn't really approve of its operatives hiring their skills out to third parties, ya know. Conflict of interests and all that. Did you not read your contract?"
"It's nothing to do with work. It's…it's personal."
"Okay, so now I'm intrigued." Colby grinned at her. "C'mon, tell me."
"You can be very annoying sometimes, you know that?"
"Honey, I haven't even started to be annoying! This is me being charming and interested. You want I should do annoying?" The mischievous grin broadened and he took a deep, dramatic breath in…"Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me…"
"Shut up."
"I can do this all day."
"This an interrogation technique you learned in Langley? Because it's intensely irritating…"
"That's the whole point! Tell me, tell me, tell…"
Diane scowled. "Oh, for the love of God will you SHUT UP! Okay! Okay! I'll tell you!" She stared at Colby who was smirking back at her triumphantly. "But you have to promise not to laugh. I…" Diane looked deeply embarrassed and cleared her throat, taking a sip of the coffee. "I write fiction, okay?"
Colby's eyes widened and he grinned broadly at her. "By fiction, you don't mean…" He grinned again and waggled his eyebrows at her.
"What? NO! Dear God, Granger! You have the morals of a fucking alley cat!"
"It would've been kinda hot if you'd said yes, though." He ducked the slap she aimed at the back of his head but she got him on the backswing. "What? OW! Hey!"
"You so deserved that, you filthy little tyke!"
"What in the hell is a tyke?"
"Under the dictionary definition they've got a picture of you!" Diane scowled at him, but he could see the corners of her mouth twitch with mirth. Colby laughed merrily and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. A wave of contentment flowed through him as he felt her shift into the embrace. Sitting on the steps of the beach house with the white sand and the deep blue of the Pacific Ocean stretched in front of them, and the soft breeze, warming with every passing second, blowing the clean smell of salt air deep into his lungs…
He felt completely at peace for the first time in years.
"So come on then, beautiful. Whatchya writin'?"
"You haven't promised."
"I promise I won't laugh."
"You laughed at that picture of me in my regimental dress."
"That was different. I mean, that was a lot of dress." He kissed her again. "But I did say you looked every inch the officer, remember?"
"Alright then. But you dare laugh…"
"Dee, for God's sake! I promise! I won't laugh!"
"You're already smirking!"
"Just tell me, already!"
"Alright. I…I write murder mystery stories." Colby stared at her for what seemed like an eternity, his pale green eyes wide with amused surprise. Diane sighed. "There. I've told you. Go on then. Laugh. I can see you want to."
Colby could barely suppress the giggles that threatened to break free. "What, you mean like Sherlock Holmes and that?"
"No. I mean like…like Agatha Christie. I'm a fan. I write Agatha Christie fan fiction, okay?" She paused. "Especially Poirot."
That did it for Colby. He couldn't stop himself any longer and burst into peels of merry laughter. "Oh, man, you're serious? What, really? I say old chap, jolly good show and all that?" Colby rocked back on the step, laughing heartily. "Oh, baby, that is priceless!" He held on to his side, still laughing. "Seriously, it hurts!" He wiped a tear from his eye and looked at her, still grinning broadly and chuckling happily.
"Piss off, Granger!" Diane scowled darkly at Colby, who merely started laughing again.
"No seriously, Dee, I think it's great you have a hobby!" The end of the sentence merged into a fresh peel of laughter from Colby. "Honestly!"
"You promised you wouldn't laugh."
"I know, but…" Colby giggled once more and wrapped his arms around her, ignoring her petulant, playful resistance to the embrace. He pulled her onto his lap and cuddled her gently. "It was just so unexpected, baby. Is all." He kissed her again and smiled. Diane's frown suddenly transformed into a bright laugh and she kissed him back on the lips.
"Guess it is a bit weird, huh?"
"Just, not what I would expect, darling, seriously. I had you down more as a, I dunno, Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels kinda girl, ya know?" He smiled gently at her.
"Kudos for naming a British film there, CJ!"
"Gary made me sit though it a few years ago. I didn't understand one, single goddamn freakin' word of it."
It was Diane's turn to laugh. "We'll rent it again and I'll translate for you, how's that?"
"Fine, but I'm still intrigued by this whole Agatha Christie thing you've got goin' on." With one arm still wound around her back, he picked up his coffee and took a mouthful.
"Nothing to tell."
"Bull."
"I just happen to like Agatha Christie novels, okay?"
"Yeah, I like Gary Cooper films but that doesn't mean I write fan fiction about it!"
"Gary Cooper didn't solve the murder on the Orient Express, pal."
"Granted, but it was in the what, nineteen twenties? Thirties?"
"Nineteen thirty four."
"Exactly. We've kinda moved on in modern detective work since then. I mean, how did you even get into Agatha Christie?"
"Downtime in the barracks. What, you think I read bleedin' skin mags, Granger? I know I was always considered as 'one of the lads' but not to that extent, love!"
Colby nodded. He knew how boring down time in camp could be. Although any soldier was glad of the break from the constant pressure of battle, thirteen months in a tent got pretty damn dull after a while. He'd chosen chess. Diane, apparently, had chosen classic crime literature…"Fair play. But what in the hell got you writing it?"
Diane shifted on his lap and looped an arm around his neck, relaxing into his embrace. "I dunno. Guess I've always been pretty good at languages, I mean, I speak seven. But I was pretty good at English at school too. Dunno. Just…just always enjoyed writing I suppose."
"So you gonna let me read 'em?"
"Um, how about no?"
"Awww, c'mon!"
"I said no!"
"Why not?"
"Because you'll laugh."
"I promise I won't."
"Yeah, like you did earlier? Because that worked out well, didn't it?"
"That was merely a shock reaction. That's my defence and I'm sticking with it." Colby grinned at her.
"You know what they say about the man who defends himself has a fool for a client."
"I just wanna read it!"
"Why are you obsessing about this?"
"If I admitted to you that I wrote nineteen twenties murder mystery stories…"
"Nineteen thirties. If yer gonna mock, at least be historically accurate, buddy..."
"Okay, okay then, nineteen thirties murder mystery stories, wouldn't you be intrigued and wanna see?" He cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her.
"Yeah, suppose your right."
"Cool."
"Yer still not seeing 'em!"
"Awwwww, c'mon!"
"No!" Diane laughed and locked Colby in a passionate kiss that took his breath away. She finally broke the kiss and stared deep into his eyes, gently smiling at him.
Colby smiled back. "Wow. What was that for? Not that I'm complainin' or anythin' here, but…" She kissed him again, stopping him in mid-sentence.
"It wasn't for anything, Colby. I was just trying to shut you up!" She grinned mischievously at him and slipped off his lap. "Surf's up."
"What?"
She pointed at the ocean. "Coming?" With a playful wink, she trotted into the house, bending down and ruffling his short hair as she danced past him.
Colby watched her disappear inside and then looked out over the breaking surf of the ocean. This was what he'd always wanted with Diane. To just be together. No worries hanging over their heads, nobody trying to kill them, set them up, frame them, blow them up or otherwise try and generally ruin their day. To just laugh with each other. This moment. Right now. Perfect…
He smiled to himself and got up, scooping up the abandoned coffee cups. Stretching his back as he climbed the top step, he wandered into the house behind the woman he loved…
Inside the house, Diane stood, her arms crossed in front of her, staring at the television. She didn't turn as Colby walked in. "I think you better see this, love." She pressed a button on the remote, turning the sound up. Behind the reporter's vacuous words, a scene of carnage and devastation could be seen from an aerial camera. A building was a roaring inferno, explosion after explosion powerful enough to make the camera picture jump, even from hundreds of feet above. Colby moved and stood silently next to Diane, disbelief in his eyes. The caption said Fort Irwin.
"Jesus…"
"Guess the surfing's out then." Diane turned and tossed the remote control onto the sofa. She walked back into the bedroom and turned, holding her hand up. "Five, four, three…" she counted down on her fingers and as she reached two, both their cell-phones rang urgently. "Blimey. Didn't even get to one…" She shrugged and turned back, disappearing into the bedroom. She reappeared briefly and tossed Colby's ringing cell-phone to him. He caught it deftly and snapped it open.
"Hey Don. Yeah, I've seen it. I'm on my way." He snapped the phone shut just in time to catch his clothes as they were tossed towards him by a semi-naked Diane. "Wanna ride?"
"Nope. They want me at CT. Stat."
"Okay. You get anything…"
"Don't worry, I'll call you later." She disappeared back into the bedroom to finish dressing. Colby dragged his clothes on quickly and sat on the arm of the sofa lacing his boots. Diane emerged, fully clothed and pushing a gun into her waist holster. She grabbed a jacket and keys and quickly cupped her hand around the back of Colby's neck. He responded to her lingering kiss, stroking back a stray wisp of hair from her cheek. "Keep your head down, Colby."
"Stay safe." He smiled briefly and stood up. This was their life. Brief moments of bliss interspersed and interrupted by the real, brutal, savage world…
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"Hey Col. Waddya say?" Don slammed the driver door of the SUV shut and walked towards Granger. Around him was a scene of utter devastation. The Armoury was a smouldering wreck. Firefighters were still damping down and the entire quadrant was crawling with agents.
"Hey Don." Colby looked up and nodded to his boss. "No prizes for guessing what went boom." He nodded towards the blackened shell of a building and raised his eyebrows. "They took out the gatepost as well. Four confirmed dead, seventeen injured."
"Jesus." Don puffed out his cheeks and pushed his baseball cap back on his head. "Guess we're lucky there weren't more killed, huh."
"Luck doesn't even come into it, Don. We're pulling all the CCTV footage but obviously anything from the Armoury itself is toast."
"So why are we here?"
"It's an all agencies, Don. The military aren't happy about it, but it's got terrorism written all over it so that puts it in our ballpark." Colby shrugged and sighed.
"What about CT?"
"Diane got the call same time you called me. She's gone straight to the Agency."
"We got anything else?"
"Not yet, but forensics are all over it." Colby glanced down at his notebook and a flicker of white caught his eye. He looked at the floor and saw a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. Frowning, he bent down and picked it up. Don watched him a small smile on his lips. Colby's reputation as a neat-freak was an office joke…
"You on trash duty, Col?"
"When have you ever seen trash on a military base?" Colby straightened up and studied the piece of paper. "Especially trash…with traces of blood on it?" He held the piece of paper up carefully, his gloved fingers just holding the corner of the torn fragment, and raised an eyebrow at his boss…
TBC…