Disclaimer & Author's Note:
Okay, so this is an idea I've had kicking around for a little while. For those following A Dangerous Game, don't worry, there will be an update on that story soon, that's a promise. I want to ensure that the standard matches that which has gone before, hence the delay in ending the hiatus (so I've got two stories running. So sue me…) This one's a little extra Easter bonus for you all, and one that'll probably whip along at a fair old pace, too.
As always, I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs or the regular cast involved in this story. I do, however, own the story, the Brit characters and I'll go all BOOM! on anyone who says otherwise. No death, destruction or really bad language in this chapter, but be warned, things will get 'interesting' as we progress so if you don't like carnage, Anglo Saxon expletives or stuff getting blown up, the Harry Potter fanfic is over there *points*
Lots of math to come in this season, so stand by your 'Algebra for Dummies' books…
Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…
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"Morning!" Don strode purposefully through the Bullpen, heading for his desk. As he approached his normally neat table, he could see a tottering pile of files filling his 'in' tray, threatening to tumble over the edge and spill out across the floor. He groaned loudly and gave a despairing look towards the heavens. "Really? I'm away for three days and this is what greets me?"
David glanced up from his computer screen and chuckled. "That'll teach you to take a long weekend, bud!"
"I thought we agreed that when you took over as relief supervisor I could take some extra time out!"
"Don, we agreed that. Unfortunately, the criminal fraternity of Los Angeles didn't get the memo."
"Probably because it's buried somewhere underneath that lot!" Don scowled at the pile of buff files and slumped down into his chair with a sigh. He pressed the 'on' button on his Intranet system and saw a cascade of emails tumble down the screen. Another groan. "Oh, man, c'mon!"
David laughed out loud this time and stood up, wandering over to his boss's desk. "Glad to have you back, Don."
"Oh yeah. So damn glad to be back. I mean, just look at this!" Don waved a hand towards the blinking screen as yet another email joined the backlog.
"Dude, you sound like Colby!"
"Yeah, well, right now I'm starting to understand Colby's renowned hatred of paperwork. And…where is he anyway?"
"Out on a call with his team. They're acting as heavy artillery for a major drugs bust Liz has going down this morning. Intel we got from Tabakian on Raphael DeMonzes. He's been singing like a canary ever since he was shot in prison." David sat down in the empty chair next to Don, happy to just spend a few minutes away from his own mountain of paperwork and to play catch up with his boss. "They were locked and loaded at four this morning. There were concerns that DeMonzes had some pretty exotic weaponry so they asked MIT to go in all guns blazing. You should've seen the grin on Colby's face when he got the brief!"
Don turned and faced his friend, a broad smile lighting up his face. "Our boy does love getting down and dirty, doesn't he?"
David nodded and smiled back. "He's come a long way, Don. The MIT team are pretty much the go to guys for anything major now. That's pissed SWAT off no small measure, I can tell you."
Don laughed. "Remember that second week you guys were teamed up?"
"What, the Vietnamese biker gang? Yeah. Colby damn near got me killed!"
"I remember the pair of you bitching like little girls about each other…"
"How he was a complete hothead…"
"…And you couldn't figure out why he had the whole army mentality thing going on?" Don finished David's sentence for him and laughed again. "Kinda worked out okay though, didn't it?"
David smiled quietly. "Yeah. It did."
"Okay, so where's everyone else?"
"Nikki's on leave. Apparently she's gone hiking with Ian."
Don raised an eyebrow. I thought she was seeing Micky Cox!"
"Complicated, buddy. Very complicated. I doubt if even your brother could figure out the mathematical dynamics on that one."
Don chuckled to himself. "Okay, so looks like I'm facing a paperwork day then. Anything else I should know about?"
David smiled wryly. "If there is, I'm sure you'll find a report about it in there somewhere." He motioned towards the unstable pile of papers.
"Thanks. Yeah, thanks for that, David!" Don spun his chair around and glared at the contents of his swamped desktop. "Hope these are in some kind of priority order." He sighed and decided to start with the emails.
David chuckled again and stood up. "I'll leave you to it, bud." The comment provoked a grunt of acknowledgement from Don and nothing more. David wandered back to his own pile of paperwork, glad to hand the reins of command back to his boss.
The elevator doors pinged open and cheerful laughter echoed through the Bullpen. David glanced up to see Colby Granger, Micky Cox and Tim King burst through the open doors, still dressed in their characteristic black SWAT-style combats. As soon as Colby saw Don sitting in his familiar place, a broad grin lit his face up and his green eyes twinkled with mischief. He could see Don's mountain of paperwork and the scowl it had prompted from the normally calm man. He marched straight up towards Don's desk and slapped yet another file on the top of the precarious pile. "Hey Don! Welcome back!"
"Granger, I swear to God that if that file isn't telling me that you've solved the disappearance of Amelia Earheart, the truth behind the Yeti and the Roswell incident, I'm gonna make you eat it!" Don glowered at the younger man, but Colby could see the warmth in his brown eyes.
Colby grinned. "Nah, Don, just a report about the DeMonzes bust. I'll give you the final version later. And welcome back, bud. Nice break?"
"Not long enough. All good with you?"
"Yeah." Colby stretched lazily and disentangled his FMP90 from his shoulder. "Early start, but worth it to see Liz sashaying DeMonzes into a squad car, buddy, believe me."
"Any problems?"
"Nothing we couldn't handle. They had some tasty semi-automatics and a couple of Klakkers, but apart from that a kid with a slingshot could've taken them out."
"Hate to think your talents are being wasted, Granger. Must've been disappointing for your boys!"
Colby shrugged and shook his head. "Don, any gunfight you can walk away from is a good one, ya know? I reckon SWAT could've handled it with one hand tied behind their back, but it's never good to assume your enemy is weaker than you, especially if the intel says otherwise." Colby perched on the edge of the desk and unzipped his flack jacket. Despite his jovial tone, Don noticed the more thoughtful side of Colby's nature bubbling to the surface. Nobody had gotten hurt today. For both Don and Colby, that was the best they could wish for.
"How's Dee?"
Colby chuckled. "She's in London for a couple of weeks training some of Six's new recruits on counter espionage techniques."
Don's eyes widened. "Dee? Teaching?"
"Bud, she was a driving instructor for two years with INT 14. If you don't pass the driving test, you don't get in. So she's used to teaching. But yeah, kinda surprised me too, especially after all the shit she went through with London."
"What happened there?"
"Long story, dude. I'll tell you about it over a beer later?"
"Deal!" Don grinned. "So you're flying solo then?"
"Nah. Micky's my wingman until Dee gets back. He's a lousy navigator, though..."
"OY! GRANGER! COFFEE?" Micky Cox called out cheerfully from the canteen area.
Colby turned and nodded. "Yeah, thanks Mick." He glanced at Don and then back at his English friend. "Better make that two, buddy. Don here looks like he could use some caffeine right about now!"
"Yeah, and where exactly do you suggest I put said coffee cup, Colby?" Don frowned and waved a hand at his cluttered desk.
Colby looked at Don's overwhelmed desk and chuckled. "You could always hire an arsonist, dude."
Don laughed, glad to be back in the driving seat. He'd missed the good-humoured banter, the energy and the vibrancy of the Pen. While riding the Moto Guzzi around the desert for three days had been fun, it had been an empty, lonely kind of fun with nothing to show for it at the end except for a little less rubber on the fat back tyre and some sand in the air filter. Robin was in Baltimore and he needed a little time out to clear his head. But being back, despite the paperwork that threatened to tumble into his lap at any second, was like coming back home...
Colby nodded towards his screen. "Hey bud, that one looks urgent." Don looked back at the screen to see a new email with a red exclamation mark next to it. High priority. He sighed and opened the email with a click of the mouse button. The screen was blank except for a file attachment with 'OPEN ME' written under it and an instantly recognisable grid.
Colby frowned and looked at the screen. "Hey, man, isn't that a Minesweeper game grid?"
Don's face mirrored Colby's frown and he nodded. "Yeah. What the hell?"
"What's the other file?"
"I dunno…" Don opened the file and a graphic of a voice analyser popped up. The cursor blinked furiously at the start, waiting for Don to press play… He glanced up at Colby and shrugged. "Beats me."
"Guess you should play it, bud." Colby's face was neutral, but Don could see that already the big man was on alert. Colby's ability to sense when something wasn't quite all it should be was one of his strongest assets, and one that Don had relied on countless times over the years. David was his friend and he trusted the older man with his life. But Colby's instincts had saved his ass more times than he cared to remember, and over the years they had worked together he had learned how to pick up on the younger man's responses. Something wasn't quite right here…
David wandered over and laid a hand on Colby's shoulder. "Hey bud. What's up?"
"Dunno, man. Weird email time."
"What, not more Viagra adverts, Don!"
"Nope, not this time, David." Don had a small crowd around his desk by now, as Micky Cox and Tim King wandered over, coffees in hand. Micky leaned forward and peered at the screen.
"Only one way to find out what's in it, mate." Micky slurped a mouthful of coffee and simultaneously handed over a cup to Colby. "Open the bleedin' thing. 'Ere, might help if you've got the sound button on. That's an audio file." Micky reached over Don's shoulder and turned the audio system on. "Go for it, Don."
Don pressed play…
"Agent Don Eppes…Who I am is not important. What is important is what you decide to do next. With this file you will find a simple child's game. Minesweeper. I'm sure the cluster of agents you have buzzing around your desk right now will all recognise it. The principle is very simple. You have to find the squares covering the mines without setting them off. Some squares will indicate how many mines are in the vicinity of the square, some will be blank. But this game is a little different. Behind twenty of these squares are triggers to real bombs planted in the central Los Angeles area. Hit the wrong square and a bomb will be detonated. Flag a bomb square and that particular bomb will be made safe. However, if you hit more than two bombs, all of the safe ones will be reactivated and moved to new squares. You have twenty-four hours to find all the bombs, Agent Eppes. If you don't, I will detonate all twenty simultaneously. Can you imagine the carnage that would cause? How many innocent lives would be lost? Now you may decide to avoid this situation by refusing to play the game. However. If you do not start playing within one minute of this message ending, I will detonate the first bomb. You must play at least one move every hour. If you don't, I will detonate one of the bombs. Don't think that I want anything, Eppes, or that you can negotiate with me. I don't want a ransom or some random political prisoner released. I'm doing this because I can. Because I can, Eppes. Because I like games, Don. Oh, I do love to play games, Don. Do you? Message ends…
The distorted voice abruptly stopped.
The timer on the Minesweeper game started counting. "Don…" Colby looked in alarm at the grid.
"I know, I know!" Don glared at the counter. He had fifty-seven seconds to make a decision. Fifty-six. Fifty five… "Shit! SHIT!" He turned to David. "Get everyone in, NOW!" David ran back to his desk like a scolded cat and immediately started yelling orders across the Bullpen. The activity rate suddenly shot up as agents started making calls.
"Tim, get on to the bomb squad. Put them on full alert." Colby's voice was cold and clinical. Tim nodded a curt response and jogged over to his own desk, scooping up the phone and dialling frantically.
Fifty one, fifty, forty nine, forty eight…
"There has to be a traceable link on this email. I'll get the tech teams on it." Micky dashed off towards the tech room.
Thirty seven, thirty six, thirty five…
Colby and Don stared at the screen as the flashing red numbers counted relentlessly towards zero. Twenty two, twenty one, twenty… "Don. You need to make a decision. You need to select a square."
"Yeah, but which one? Which one, Colby?"
Colby glared furiously at the screen. "I hate this game! It always pisses me off when you hit a bomb square and that dumb-assed little icon pops up with the tongue sticking out and its stupid crossed eyes." Colby leaned in, studying the grid. "But if we have to do this, start with the top left. Unless this son of a bitch isn't playing fair, it should be a safe square."
"Colby, if we get this wrong…"
"Don, we have eleven seconds! We don't have time to second guess ourselves!"
Ten, nine, eight, seven…
Don moved the cursor over the first square and, holding his breath, clicked the left button on his mouse.
Three, two…
The countdown stopped.
Don sat back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. His heart was pounding. "Jesus…"
Colby sat back and puffed his cheeks out. "Shit, man!" He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the screen. A second timer was now counting up. They'd already used two minutes of the twenty-four hours. The seconds ticked off relentlessly. "Okay, so we don't have a choice here, Don. We're playing the game. We've got twenty-four hours to find twenty bombs, and we've gotta play at least one move every hour. So we've got fifty-six minutes to plan our next move. That's a hell of an ask, bud."
"Bomb squad are on their way." Tim called out from across the room. Colby gave a brief nod in response.
Don shouted over to David. "I want a full briefing in the war room in twenty minutes. Colby, get down to Cal Sci."
"Charlie?" Colby was already standing up.
"Who else?" Don turned and raised an eyebrow…
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Nineteen minutes later, the war room was filled with agents, bomb squad personnel and other representatives from various law enforcement organisations. Micky Cox had routed the ticking Minesweeper grid onto the plasma screen. The timer was relentlessly counting onwards towards sixty minutes, and nothing any of them could do would stop it. Don ignored the general hubbub around him and stared at the screen, wrapped up in his own thoughts. They had less than forty minutes before they had to make the next move. Colby had already radioed in that he was on his way back to the office with Charlie and Amita in tow. For Don, they couldn't get here soon enough…
"Don, Matt's still working on trying to trace where the email came from, but the bomber sent it through a dozen IP addresses. He's having a hell of a time backtracing it." David trotted into the war room and stood next to his boss. He looked up at the screen and scowled. "I know we have to take this seriously, but…"
"…Could it be a hoax?" Don shook his head. "Micky says there's some seriously weird coding behind the email, so I'm not taking any chances, David. No, we have to take this as a genuine threat until we know otherwise."
"Whoever did this has some serious technical abilities, Don."
"Agreed. Get someone to go through the database. We're looking for possibles who have both bomb-making experience and high-end computer programming skills."
"And…look I hate to say this Don, but that message?" David frowned. "It seemed real personal, Don. Like he was talking directly to you, bud."
Don turned, a small smile on his lips. "You noticed that too, huh? Yeah, Colby said the same thing just before he left for Cal Sci."
"You want me to go back through your case files?"
Don nodded. "Yeah. And see if our techs can clean that voice message up. I wanna hear what this guy sounds like for real."
David nodded briskly and moved away towards Micky Cox, who was urgently tapping at a computer keyboard.
Don took one last look at the Minesweeper grid and turned away. Staring at it wasn't going to get him any further. "Okay people, wadda we say?"
His voice immediately stilled the buzz of conversation as each section began their briefings…
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"So you say that the bomber is using the Minesweeper game to activate real bombs in LA?" Charlie's eyes widened and he grabbed at the overhead handhold as Colby took a corner on less than four wheels. In the back, Amita let out a small yelp as she slid across the seat.
"Sorry, Amita. Yeah. Look, could he actually wire up an email attachment to a real-time bomb like that?" Colby glanced in the driver's mirror back at Amita.
"It's possible. But it's more likely that the game isn't wired up to the actual bombs, but a router point. If the game isn't activated within a set time, a message is sent through to the router that will alert the bomber that no action has been taken. He'll then probably remote detonate a bomb from a standard cell phone. It's possible that the game might be directly linked, but it would leave a traceable pathway that we could follow to find the location of the bombs."
"Okay, so this sicko's good technically." Colby pressed the horn of the big SUV and a slow moving car got a blast of the full fury of his road rage. "GET OUTTA THE GODDAMN WAY, YOU ASS!" He hauled the steering wheel around to the left and the tyres screamed and smoked in protest.
"I'm feeling a little motion sick here, Colby…"
"Sorry Amita, but we only got a few minutes before Don has to choose another square or we could be looking at a lot of dead bodies."
"You say that the message was specifically for my brother?" Charlie was also looking a little green as the SUV swayed and bodyrolled around another corner.
"Yeah. Makes me think that it's someone with a personal grudge against Don, bud."
"And he's played the first square?"
"Yep. Had to. We had to start playing the game within a minute of the message ending or the first bomb would go off. Problem is, what's the next square?"
"Well, there's a whole lot of math involved in Minesweeper, Colby, including one that's particularly interesting. The Clay Mathematics Institute have offered a million dollar prize to anyone who can crack the P equals NP problem."
"The what, now?"
"It's what is known as an open question problem. Basically…"
"Charlie, right now isn't a good time for a math lesson, buddy. Just hold that thought, okay?" Colby swung the SUV into the FBI's underground car park and the screaming of four tortured tyres echoed through the lot. The SUV juddered to a halt and Colby hauled on the parking brake. He turned to Charlie, a deadly serious look in his eyes. "Listen, bud, I think there's something more behind all this, and I think it has a lot to do with your brother. This guy knows that if Don makes the wrong decision, he'll be responsible for god knows how many casualties. You help him make the right call, and I'll try and nail the son of a bitch before we start having to sweep up body parts off the streets, okay?"
"Colby, the P equals NP equation is one of those problems that is considered to be almost unsolvable. That's why the game is so difficult to predict. And if the bomber has introduced some new variables into this particular game then it could be impossible to say what move is the right one…"
Colby laid a friendly hand on Charlie's shoulder and smiled reassuringly. "Bud, I know we've asked you to pull some pretty tough equations outta your ass over the years, man, but I don't want you to try and solve some unsolvable math problem here. I don't need you to do the impossible. I just want you to help Don play this particular game as well as you can, okay? And if anyone can do that, it's you."
Charlie gave his friend a wry smile. "No pressure then, huh, Col?"
Colby smiled warmly and gave Charlie's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "No pressure, bud…"
TBC…