A Numb3rs fanfic. The brothers go on an undercover operation that goes horribly wrong. Rated T or PG 13 for violence and some language.

This is a wild one. It features dual brother whumping; Don's whumping is unique – so unique that I am applying for a copyright on the story line. As usual, I whump the heck out of Charlie – with him, it's not the 'how,' but the 'who' that will get you. Ian Edgerton is back for this fic, and Megan makes a cameo appearance.

I started work on this story last July, and the plot bunny for it predates that by about a year – this one's been hopping around for a while. As I start to post, I'm not yet finished with it, but I'm far enough along that I can start to release some chapters. To start with, I plan to post on Tuesdays and Fridays; I may up the frequency when I finish the story. Many thanks to my priceless betas, FraidyCat and Alice I.

Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or any of the characters, but I do claim rights to the storyline. Any resemblance of characters to real people, living or dead; is purely coincidental. This disclaimer applies to all chapters in this story.

Mind Games

Chapter 1

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The group gathered in a secure backroom in a building owned by the U.S. federal government, on the Virginia border. They were a collection of heads of government security and law enforcement agencies – NSA, DEA, FBI, among others. Even the CIA, which normally didn't concern itself with domestic matters, was involved - in fact; information from the Central Intelligence Agency had prompted the meeting. Along with the department heads were a scattering of utility men, fixers, not affiliated with any particular group – they moved from one project to the next like nomads, bringing their cunning minds to bear on whatever new problem had erupted.

Dave Maxwell, the head of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, eyed the director of the CIA, James Conaghan, dubiously. "It's nothing but conjecture, at this point."

Conaghan shrugged. "Your own people bore it out, Dave."

Bill Masters, one of the fixers, had been following the exchange intently. He had the title of Chief Security Advisor, and was a renowned problem solver, a fixer. On paper, he reported up through a covert ops group in the Pentagon, but he worked in whatever sector to which he was assigned. "Can we start at the beginning?" he asked. "Dave's people bore what out?"

Bob Tompkins, Assistant Director of the NSA, had been leaning back in his chair, idly listening and waiting for the meeting to begin officially. He sat up and addressed Masters and two others who sat behind him, all fixers. None of the three had been in the prior meetings. "A couple of weeks ago, the CIA got wind of a potential plan to smuggle weapons technology and equipment out of the United States, to Iran. They actually picked up the lead from our operatives in Tehran. The operatives had no idea where the source would be in the United States, or even if one has been identified – just that a fundamentalist group in Tehran had put out an offer. The Iranian government maintains that the group, Aswad Shar'e, is an unsanctioned splinter faction, but our guys think that they actually are secretly sponsored by the Iranian government."

One of the other fixers, Brian Rogan, spoke up. "So what does this have to do with Maxwell's agents?"

Dave Maxwell picked up the thread. "I have a couple of agents working undercover, both inside, one pretty deep. They've been trying to infiltrate an outfit called Montreaux International, Ltd, based out of New Orleans, owned by a wealthy Louisiana businessman, Jack Montreaux. It's supposedly a legitimate import-export business, mostly foodstuffs and textiles, but we believe they're importing more than what's on their manifests – specifically cocaine. We haven't figured out how they're getting it in – that's why our agents are there. Then last week, Montreaux put out word in the business community that he's looking to expand his operations to include shipping equipment and chemicals – as exports."

Masters shrugged. "So, what's suspicious about that?"

"On the surface, nothing," said Maxwell. "But then Montreaux contacted one of our two agents. Our first agent, the one in deep, had brought the second agent in, - we'll call them Agent 1 and Agent 2. Agent 1 had suggested Agent 2 as a utility guy for Montreaux, and Agent 2 has worked his way up through Montreaux's organization. He's currently finding clients for the cocaine dealings, so he's already inside Montreaux's drug business. What our two agents haven't figured out is how Montreaux is getting the stuff in. Last week, in addition to Montreaux's public announcement that he is expanding his export operations, he pulled Agent 2 aside, and asked him to search out experts in programming and higher level math, who might be willing to develop export routes for Montreaux – under the table."

"So in addition to illegal imports, he's adding illegal exports," said Rogan.

Conaghan nodded. "We think so. Of course, we don't know what those exports might be, but the timing of his business expansion, coming so soon after word of the Iranian request, is suspicious. So is the fact that he will be exporting equipment – the same vessels and shipping containers that handle chemicals and construction equipment could also handle weapons manufacturing equipment. We think he might be preparing to make a bid for the Tehran job – or maybe he's already gotten the bid, and is developing capability."

Masters frowned. "Why couldn't he use the shipping channels he uses for the cocaine?"

Conaghan shrugged. "Different product, different source and end locations. It's a lot easier to hide kilos of cocaine than it is to hide manufacturing equipment for nuclear warheads."

"We could be completely off-base on this," conceded Tompkins. "Montreaux may have nothing to do with the Tehran deal, but won't know for sure until we find out what he's up to with this export business."

"Who'd he use to set up his cocaine smuggling routes?" asked Joe Bishop, the third fixer. Like Rogan and Masters, he worked on various projects, but on paper reported up through one of the agencies – in his case, the CIA.

Maxwell answered. "At one point, during the startup of the business, he had a guy working for him whose specialty was computer hacking, but who also was very proficient in higher level math. We think he was the guy who developed Montreaux's smuggling plans for the cocaine."

"So why doesn't he use him again?" pressed Bishop.

Tompkins made a face. "Because he's dead. He was killed in a nasty accident, a year or two after Montreaux's operations really started taking off. Maybe it was coincidence, but it could be Montreaux just didn't want anyone incriminating around. He had the programming he wanted; he didn't need the guy anymore."

"So that's all interesting, but how in the hell would they even get their hands on the equipment?" Masters demanded. "We haven't heard of any thefts, or uncovered any secret weapons equipment manufacturing sites, right?"

"We don't want to underestimate them," Conaghan replied firmly. "They're in this for the long haul – it will take months, probably years of planning. They need to set up a way to get it out of the country, and probably test the shipping method first, with legal equipment. Once they have that, they'll turn their attention to procuring the weapons equipment – if they haven't started already."

It was Rogan's turn to shrug. "So we stick another guy undercover, right? Montreaux will take Agent 2's recommendation – we can put in anyone we want."

"That's the problem," said Maxwell. "We can't put in just anybody. Montreaux gave our agent an example of the type of analysis he's looking for – which was a small goldmine in itself – we think it's a section of his cocaine smuggling scheme, although any pertinent data had been removed, and it's just a small piece, so as of now we can't tell exactly how he's working it. Still, we have experts looking it over, to see if we can extrapolate to get the rest of it. However, judging from the piece we have, he's looking for someone with some very high level mathematical skill. Neither Bob nor I have any agents, much less anyone with undercover experience, with that kind of know-how."

"I do," said Conaghan. "I have four CIA people who would qualify, but they're already in deep covert ops overseas, on projects just as important as this one. We spent years getting them in there – we can't just yank them out." He shot Maxwell and Tompkins a dour look. "You guys are gonna have to look harder at your domestic sources."

They looked back at him stonily; the three of them had obviously already discussed the matter. Mike Jacobs, the DEA head, who up to that point had been silent, spoke up, addressing Maxwell and Tompkins. "I thought you guys brought a list of candidates. I know I've used a couple of your contract people before – what about them?"

FBI Director Maxwell sighed, reluctantly typed a few lines into his laptop, and using a remote, flicked up an image on the wall screen. Six pictures flashed up on the screen – head shots, security photos of six people, with the names underneath. "We've got eight consultants who could possibly do the math work," he said. "But they're not agents, and I can't imagine any of them undercover. Half of them don't even have high enough clearance for this type of work."

Conaghan studied the group with a skeptical expression – five men and one woman, all of them in their fifties, and extremely conservative in their appearance. "Bunch of goddamn stuffed shirts," he muttered, under his breath. "Who else you got?"

Maxwell clicked the mouse, and the remaining two pictures flashed on the screen. Conaghan leaned forward, with interest, and jabbed a finger. "What about that guy – the young one with the long hair?"

Maxwell and Tompkins exchanged a glance. "That's Charlie Eppes," said Maxwell. "He's definitely got the capability; in fact, he's one of the best mathematical minds we've got."

A look of recognition passed over Conaghan's face. "That's the guy we put on the watch list after he sent that email to Pakistan."

"Yeah," said Tompkins, quickly. "I don't think we'd want to consider him for that reason." Frankly, he didn't like the idea of sending any of the consultants on the list undercover, and neither did Maxwell.

Conaghan raised a hand. "Hold on here - I know his clearance was reinstated. My people were the ones who checked out the recipient of the email, and verified that the info was actually being used for legitimate purposes. Other than being a bleeding-heart liberal, we found that Eppes wasn't guilty of anything harmful. In fact, if anything, I'd say the fact that he had the guts to do something like that would make him a candidate – you need someone decisive out in the field."

Maxwell sighed. "Look, Jim, let's cut to the chase here. We've already discussed this. None of these people have the preparation or the make-up to be able to go undercover."

Conaghan sneered. "You guys are a bunch of pussies. The CIA regularly recruits ordinary citizens and puts them to work in some of the hairiest covert situations you can imagine. And you've already got a couple of agents in there – they can help him out."

Mike Jacobs, the DEA head, spoke up. "The DEA has used the Eppes brothers before – both of them. Charlie has a brother, Don – currently SAC of the L.A. office, if I'm not mistaken. I used him back when he worked Fugitive Recovery, pulled him off for some undercover drug stings." He looked at Maxwell wryly. "He was so good at it; I tried to recruit him to come and work for us. What if we set up a cover for both of them – put them in together? Your agent could tell Montreaux they come as a package deal."

Maxwell tried to hide the sour look on his face. He and Tompkins had spent hours outside of the meeting trying to convince Conaghan that it was a bad idea to put any of their consultants into the operation, and now Jacobs wanted to drag in one of his best agents, in addition. Before he could speak, Conaghan jumped in. "That could work. We could set their cover up as brothers, they could work it together – then your consultant would always have an agent with him." He looked at the picture on the screen. "Charles Eppes looks a little bit like a rebel – I think he could pull it off. You got a shot of his brother?"

Maxwell manipulated the mouse, brought up a shot of Don Eppes, and placed it next to shot of Charlie. The group stared at the two pictures for a moment – the lean handsome face, sharp eyes, and short dark hair of Don Eppes, and Charlie's youthful-looking more angular face, surrounded by long dark curls. Even in the picture, Charlie's dark eyes, his expression, exuded an eagerness that spoke of a certain social innocence.

Tompkins made a last ditch effort. This battle was truly between Maxwell and Conaghan – both of them were a level above him, although Tompkins agreed with Dave Maxwell, and was trying to help him out any way he could. "Charlie may look like a rebel, but he's not – he's a little geeky, actually, not very street-smart."

"But he's young enough to not look establishment," argued Conaghan. "And who wouldn't expect a math expert to be a little geeky? We tell our deep cover people they only need to hide their real identities – not their inherent personality."

Tompkins and Maxwell exchanged a look of resignation. "All right," said Maxwell. "I'll ask them."

"You'd better do more than ask," said Conaghan sharply. "There's a lot at stake here."

Maxwell's jaw hardened. "Look, I can order Don to do it – he works for me. Charlie's another matter. He's a private citizen – I can't force him."

Conaghan looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. "Then you'll need to make a good sales pitch, won't you?" He glanced at Rogan and Masters. "I'll tell you what – send a couple of these guys to make your pitch." His eyes bored into Masters', who stared back, unperturbed. "You're a hard-nosed sonafabitch, Masters – I'm sure you could talk them into it."

Masters nodded, emotionlessly. "I know I could."

"All right, then," said Conaghan, "it's set." A moment of silence descended, and all eyes turned to the two pictures on the screen.

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"Juneau!" asked Charlie incredulously. "Alaska?" He and Don stared across the dinner table at Alan, who grinned with ill-concealed delight at the looks on their faces.

"Oh, I don't think we'll get it," Alan said. "It's a huge job, basically revising the whole downtown layout of Juneau. If we did get it, Stan and I would have to contract a whole support staff. It's kind of neat to be considered, though."

"You've certainly got the background for it," Don pointed out, ignoring the unhappy look that Charlie sent his way. "How many of your competitors can claim they have a former city planner for one of America's largest cities on their staff? I'll bet that would carry a lot of weight."

"It has helped to have that on my resume," admitted Alan modestly.

Charlie looked at Alan, trying to hide his anxiety, and failing utterly. "So, that would mean a lot of time away – you'd have to commute every weekend. What about your engineering classes at CalSci?"

Alan raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "It would mean more than commuting, I'm afraid, Charlie. We'd have to move there, at least for the first several weeks. Although once we had the plans nailed down and a crew in place, we could do a lot of it from here. I'd have to skip classes for a semester – fact is; I'd probably be too busy anyway." He smiled reassuringly. "Anyway, you don't have to worry about it – I really doubt we'll get the job."

"Right," said Charlie, but he looked down at his plate, appearing less than relieved. He looked back up, guiltily. 'I mean, I hope you get it – it's a great opportunity."

Don smirked a little. He knew Charlie relied heavily on Alan to help with the house, the daily cooking and cleaning, and if their father got the job, his brother would be facing a dose of reality. "Welcome to the world of the homeowner, Chuck. Look at it this way; you'd finally have a chance to show you can handle the cleaning, cooking and home maintenance on your own." He grinned. "What an opportunity."

Charlie gave Don a sour glance. "I already know what that feels like." Alan shot him a look that said Charlie didn't know the half of it, but wisely stayed silent, as Charlie continued with his own jab. "And anyway, look who's talking? You rent an apartment – no maintenance, not much to clean, and your culinary skills are confined to frozen dinners."

Don refused to be baited; he just grinned, his eyes glinting. "At least I know how to work the microwave." The weekend before, Charlie had accidentally stuck a plate in the microwave with a fork on it; and the resulting arc had set off a minor display of fireworks. Charlie rolled his eyes.

Alan shook his head, smiling to himself. Truthfully, if he did have to go, he was fearful of the condition of the Craftsman when he returned. Charlie was something of a slob – not that he wasn't inherently neat, and he took pains over his personal appearance – he simply was easily sidetracked by projects, which always seemed more important to him than household matters. Don, on the other hand, had always been responsible with his things, and normally kept a tidy apartment. Neither one of them could be bothered with cooking, which Alan personally loved. 'Thank God they don't live together,' Alan thought to himself. 'They'd drive each other crazy."

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End Chapter 1