Disclaimer:
Yeah, yeah, I know, about bloody time! Sorry for the delay folks, usual situation my end – silly amounts of paying work taking priority. Anyhoo, here we go again and yep, things go BOOM! Much excitement this time around…
As always, I have N-U-F-F-I-N-K to do with the writers, cast, crew or production of Numb3rs. All of the regulars belongy Cheryl and Nick. The Brits and the story are MINE and I'll thumb-wrestle into agonising submission anyone who says otherwise.
Not too much harsh language this time around, but if you're easily offended…what the hell are you doing reading this? You know me by now, surely…
Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…
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"Hey, alright! Charlie's here!" The usual smile of greeting was missing from Don's face as his brother walked into the war room. "Colby, check in with Micky, see if the tech team are any closer to tracing that original email."
"Will do. Amita, might need your help on this." Colby gave Amita a small smile and she nodded in response.
"I can see if we can ping back on the original server and find out if there's any pattern to the routers the bomber is using. That may help us to narrow down an origination point a bit more." Amita frowned, deep in thought.
"Well, as much as I love my tech, I have absolutely no idea what you just said there. Micky and Matt will probably be able to have a more useful conversation with you than me. Shall we?" Colby graciously stepped aside to let Amita exit the war room first. He threw a quick glance back towards Don. "How long before you have to choose another square, Don?"
"Eleven minutes."
Colby simply nodded and followed Amita out of the war room, leaving the brothers alone. Charlie stared at the plasma screen, studying the Minesweeper grid intently. Don moved quietly and stood next to his younger brother. "Did Colby fill you in?"
"He said that whoever sent this to you said that they'd hidden twenty bombs on the grid, linked to real bombs in LA. Don, there's some really sophisticated math going on here. The sheer number of probabilities is astronomical. Minesweeper is a great example of the P equals NP problem. Basically computer scientists believe that a P problem, which is a problem solvable in polynomial time, cannot be reduced to an NP, namely a problem that cannot be solvable in polynomial time. It's intuitively obvious, but no mathematical proof for this has ever been discovered."
Don frowned and stared at his brother. "Bud, I don't know about that, but all I do know is that I have…" Don checked his watch, "nine minutes to pick the next square."
"Don, that isn't enough time for me to solve a problem that has had the greatest mathematicians in the world working on it for the last god knows how many years!"
"I'm not asking you to, buddy. I'm asking you which square should I pick? That's all."
Charlie moved closer to the screen. "Most people when they play Minesweeper approach it almost like a jigsaw puzzle."
"Huh?"
"In a jigsaw puzzle you need to find the corners and the edges first so that you can build a framework to create the main picture in the middle. It's the same with Minesweeper. By eliminating the corners, you're reducing the likelihood of hitting a bomb on the opening moves. See here?" Charlie pointed to the square Don had already clicked on, the top left hand corner square. "This is the optimum move to begin the game because it offers the best chance of not hitting a bomb, although even that is often a mistaken assumption. But see in that square you've uncovered a number two?"
"Yeah, so from that I know there's at least two bombs in squares adjacent to that square, right?"
"Yes, but you have three squares to choose from, Don. Only one of those three squares is a safe square. You have a much higher probability of hitting a bomb than you do hitting the safe square."
"So you're saying if I choose one of those squares and flag it as a bomb, we're at least taking one potential bomb out of the equation?"
Charlie nodded. "Yes. But if you choose the wrong square…"
"Then I've still got two bombs there and no way of knowing if I've flagged the right one or not."
"Minesweeper won't reveal if you've been successful in tagging a bomb until the game's been played out. It's a hidden variable."
"Yeah, well Charlie I've got just five minutes to make this hidden variable unhidden, buddy. What do I do? Do I go for another corner square and hope I don't hit a bomb, or do I chance it and flag one of the squares around that first square in the hope I can take a bomb out of the running?"
"Neither."
"What?"
"You do neither, Don. You choose a completely random square. The game generates the positions of the mines after you make your first move, not before. So no matter what square you chose originally, you would have been safe."
"But the guy who sent this said he'd already positioned the bomb squares on the grid!"
"Then he was lying to you, Don. That's not how the game works. Not the real Minesweeper, anyway. If he did position the bomb squares prior to you commencing the game, then this grid isn't a real Minesweeper grid. It has a set pattern. And if that's the case, I can work it out."
"In…four minutes?"
"No." Charlie let a small smile flash across his face. "Even I can't do that, Don. But I can use a mersenne twister algorithm to calculate the possibilities using random number generation, and apply it to the grid. That should give me a starting point to work from."
"And right now?"
"Like I said. At this point until we know otherwise, we have to assume that it's a randomly generated grid. We haven't got enough information yet to find any kind of pattern, if one exists. You've got as much chance of hitting a safe square if you just choose any square from the rest of the grid."
"Charlie, I've also got a good chance of hitting a bomb square too, and potentially killing a lot of people!"
Charlie's face grew serious. "Yes, yes you have. I'm sorry Don, at this point that's all we have. There simply isn't enough data yet to ensure that the square you choose is guaranteed to be safe!"
Don stared at the grid. He had one minute to make a decision. Standing in the doorway, David and Colby stood silently watching. David felt his guts twist up with tension. He could see from his friend's stance and the rigidity in Colby's shoulders that Granger felt the same anxiety that he did. There was nothing any of them could do. Don had to make a decision. A decision that could give them another hour to work with. Or it could mean that innocent people in LA would suddenly be plunged into a nightmare world of violence and death…
Don silently walked over to the computer keyboard and placed his hand on the mouse. He couldn't breathe. He was fighting every instinct to pick up the keyboard and hurl it at the grid on the plasma screen – a grid that seemed to taunt him personally.
The seconds ticked down.
Ten. Nine. Eight…
He moved the mouse and the cursor's arrow danced across the grid.
Six. Five. Four. Three…
It landed on the top right corner square.
Two. One…
Click…
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Alan Eppes put the last sparkling dish into the drying rack and squeezed out the dishcloth into the washing up water. He hummed quietly to himself, content just to potter around the house on a Saturday morning and do all those little jobs that Charlie kept putting off. There were cobwebs to dust out of dark corners, the laundry to put on and at least three roof shingles that needed attention before the leak in Don's old room started staining the ceiling again. Then he had groceries to buy, the car to wash and the Koi pond to clean out. That damn pump was playing up again, and Ray had promised to come over this afternoon and check it out for him. Alan and Ray had struck up a firm friendship based on a love of all things mechanical and level of practically that seemed to constantly elude his two sons. Even Margaret had been more practically minded than Charlie. Nobody could grout a bathroom tile wall like her… Alan stopped, lost in a comforting memory of his beloved wife, the damp dishcloth still clutched in his soap-covered fingers. A small, sad smile spread across his lips. "Margaret…" Just saying her name was a comfort, but one tinged with a feeling of terrible loss that still seemed to cloud his world with a smothering darkness…
A loud squeak outside snapped his attention back to the here and now. Outside the red mailbox flag stood proudly to attention. Alan heard a car door slam and an engine snarl into life. There was a squeal of tyres as an unseen car sped away from the front of the house.
Alan glanced at his watch and frowned.
Strange…
It was just past eleven. The mailman normally came much earlier…
Alan threw the wet dishcloth back into the bowl and wiped his hands dry on the towel that hung on the back of the kitchen door. He pushed the kitchen door open and walked into the front of the house. Next to the green fluted bowl that took pride of place on the table in the middle of the room lay a pile of letters. Letters he'd brought in at eight am this morning. He paused and glanced at them, a frown crinkling his face. They weren't expecting any courier deliveries and besides, a courier would knock, not just leave the package in the mailbox…
He opened the front door. At the end of the walkway, the mailbox stood with its red flag still up. Alan took a step forward onto the front porch…
The explosion blew him back through the front door and into the house. As he was tossed backwards like a rag doll, he tried to cover his face with his arms, desperate to protect his head from the force of the blast. The front window exploded inwards in a shower of glass daggers that peppered the front room with lethal shrapnel. Where the mailbox once stood was a crater of brown earth big enough to lose a Buick in. Stones and debris rattled down onto the roof, smashing shingles and raining down into the front yard. Car alarms screamed and yelped. Terrified neighbours dashed out of their houses, their quiet Saturday morning blown apart…
In the middle of the roar of chaos, Alan Eppes lay in the wreckage of the front room, his right arm still thrown over his face…
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"Oh god, no…" Don stared in disbelief at the screen. Top right. A red background with a black bomb flashed at him. That irritating icon at the top stuck its tongue out, its eyes crossed out. But instead of the game ending, the countdown began again.
Don spun around and stared at his brother. "Charlie!"
Charlie looked mortified. "Don, I'm so sorry. I…"
Don took a shaking breath and shook his head. "No, buddy. It's not your fault. There was nothing you could do." Don was utterly crushed. Somewhere out in LA, someone's peaceful Saturday morning had been shattered by a massive explosion. He glanced up at David and Colby in the doorway. "Find out where." His voice was hoarse. David nodded and began to turn away. But at that moment Tim King trotted up behind them, a deadly serious look on his face. He spoke quietly and urgently to Colby.
Colby's expression changed from one of serious professionalism to complete disbelief. "Jesus, no…" He looked at his boss. "Don…"
"Colby?" Don frowned deeply. He rarely saw that terrible look of concern on Colby's face and when he did, he knew something dreadful had happened…
Colby walked quickly into the room and stood in front of the brothers. He swallowed nervously, trying to find the words. He took a shaking breath and then carefully and quietly spoke. "Don, the bomb…they…it's your dad, Don…"
Don's eyes widened in horror. Next to him Charlie grabbed at the edge of the table, feeling his legs start to give under him. David rushed to his side, gently helping him down into a chair. Colby put a comforting hand on Don's shoulder. He could see that his boss was in shock. He tried to reassure the shaken man, not wanting to believe it himself but putting on a calm front for the sake of Don and Charlie. "Don, there's no reports of any casualties. If your dad had been hurt, we'd know. Don? Hey, Don? You with me here, buddy?"
Don snapped out of his stunned silence and stared at Colby. "My dad…"
"All we know is that there's been an explosion at the house. LAPD are on the scene. Come on. I'll drive you. Tim, get the car around the front. Now." Tim nodded wordlessly and ran out of the room. "David, stay with Charlie."
"No! I need to see my Dad!" Charlie stared up at Colby, his eyes wide with fright and his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm coming with you!"
David stood in front of Charlie, his deep brown eyes filled with concern. "Charlie, listen to me. Your place is here, buddy." He held up a hand. "No, listen to me, Charlie, listen. It isn't safe for you to go back there. The place is going to be crawling with our guys, I promise you, I promise you we'll take care of your dad. You need to help us, Charlie. You need to help us figure this out."
Don moved towards the shocked, hunched figure of his brother and crouched in front of him, cupping the young man's face in his hands and forcing him to look straight into his eyes. "Charlie, we've got less than an hour to stop this happening again. Anyone can push the buttons on that grid. It doesn't need to be me. I need to be out there, Chuck. I need to find this son of a bitch before he hurts anyone else. I need you, Charlie. Please." Don wrapped his arms around his frightened brother in a comforting embrace. "Dad's gonna be okay, Charlie. He's gonna be okay." For a moment the brothers clung to one another, oblivious to the presence of David and Colby, wrapped up in their own personal world of hurt and fear. Slowly, Don broke the embrace and sat back on his heels. "Charlie, you need to figure this out for me, buddy. I can't do this without your help. Okay?" He stood up slowly and looked at Colby. "Let's go."
Colby nodded wordlessly and shared a look with David – a look that said, 'Take care of him. I'll look after Don.' David nodded and watched as his two friends quickly left the war room. He turned back to Charlie and spoke softly. "Okay Charlie, waddya need?"
Charlie looked up at David, tears rimming his eyes. "I need my dad to be okay, David…"
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Colby had broken every traffic law in the book. Sirens screaming and lights flashing, he careered through the LA traffic and towards the normally peaceful, calm neighbourhood of Alan's house. As they rounded the corner he could see a cordon around the house and dozens of emergency service vehicles already at the scene. The Dodge screamed to a stop, and before Colby had even switched the engine off Don was already out of the passenger door and sprinting towards the house. Colby put the car in park and followed his boss, dreading with every step what they might find. Alan had been like a father to him for years. He had welcomed Colby into his family with open arms and a warmth Colby had rarely experienced from his own dad. That their dangerous lives had finally affected such a gentle, kind man made him sick to his stomach, and angry beyond measure. He couldn't even begin to imagine how Don was feeling right now…
Don dashed through the shattered remains of the front door. "DAD! DAD!" He grabbed a policeman by his arm. "Where's my dad? WHERE IS HE?" The policeman pointed towards the dining area.
Sitting stunned and shocked, with blood covering one side of his face was his father. He was being attended to by a medic, who was gently cleaning the worst of the blood from his cheek. Alan looked up and saw his frightened son standing in the middle of a devastated living room. He looked lost. Helpless. Alan gently shooed the medic away and carefully got to his feet. Don could see that the older man was shaking – shock was setting in. Alan's faltering steps took him towards his son and Don rushed to meet him. "Donny…" Don threw his arms around his father and he clung to him, the relief of seeing his father still alive almost overwhelming him…
As the two men held on to each other, Colby watched from a distance, relief flooding through him. He flipped out his phone and hit speed-dial. "David? It's me. Alan's okay. Tell Charlie he's okay." Colby snapped the phone shut and looked again towards Don and Alan. They were still holding on to each other, oblivious of the chaos around them. Colby smiled and turned away. This was a father-son moment he had no right to intrude upon. He glanced around and saw Tim King talking to one of the bomb squad members. Time to find out what the hell happened here…
Alan carefully pulled back from his son's embrace and looked at Don. Don's brown eyes were filled with concern and grief. "Dad, I'm so sorry…I…" Don paused and took a shaking breath. "Are you okay?"
"Okay? Well, apart from being blown backwards through the door and getting pelted with dirt, yes, yes, I'm fine."
"Your head…"
"Don, you know head wounds bleed like mad. Seriously. I'm okay." Alan smiled reassuringly at his son. Don could see quite clearly that his dad was not okay. He was confused, shocked, frightened. Definitely not okay…
"Tell me what happened." Don guided his father back over towards the waiting medic and helped him to sit down. He could see his father's hands trembling violently as he sank down into the seat. The medic began fussing over Alan's head wound again as Don crouched on his heels next to his father.
"I was doing the washing up. I heard something outside. You know that squeak that the mailbox flag makes? Well, I heard that. I thought it was a bit odd, you know? The mailman gets here early on a Saturday and I'd already brought the mail in. There was a car outside. I heard it pull away. Must've been going at a fair old speed too, because whoever it was made the tyres scream like you wouldn't believe."
"What time was this?"
"Eleven oh two."
"That's pretty precise, Dad…"
"I checked my watch. I distinctly remember checking my watch. Anyway, I went to the front door, opened it and boom." Alan paused and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Donny, what's going on?" Alan's voice was a hoarse whisper. He was trying to be his usual, calm self so as not to alarm his son any more.
But Don could see how shaken his father was. He grasped his father's hand and held on tight. "I don't know, dad. But I promise you I'm gonna find out!" He stood up and spoke to the medic. "Get my dad to hospital."
"Donny, I'm alright. Besides, look at this mess!"
"Dad, don't argue with me. You're going to the hospital and that's final. We're gonna have crime scene boys climbing all over the house for a while yet. The mess can wait." He looked at the medic, a hard cast in his eyes. "No matter what he says to you, you get him to the hospital, okay? And don't let him try bribing you with brisket or anything like that. Believe me, he'll try." He gave the medic a reassuring smile and the medic nodded back, grinning.
"No brisket bribes. Gotchya, Agent Eppes."
Don patted the man on the shoulder and turned away, looking for Colby. He saw the younger man deep in conversation with Tim King and carefully manoeuvred past the busy crime scene guys who were sifting through the rubble of his childhood home. "Waddya say, Col?"
Colby laid a hand on Don's shoulder. "How is he?"
"Grouchy. Complaining about the mess." Don ran his hand over his face and puffed out his cheeks. "Okay, what have we got?"
"Pretty basic stuff, Don. Enough C4 to make things real unpleasant for anyone standing too close. Simple timer mechanism. No signs of a remote control detonation." Tim scowled. "Don, this was strictly amateur hour stuff. Something you could cook up in a coupla minutes if you had the kit. More like a blasting charge than an actual bomb."
Don frowned. "Col, dad said he heard a car speeding away just before the explosion."
Colby shook his head. "That doesn't tie in with what our bomber's claimed, Don. He said that the bombs were already planted."
Tim spoke hesitantly. "Don, I hate to ask this, but are we sure this is connected to the case and not something entirely separate?"
"You mean is it coincidence?"
"I gotta ask, bud. Colby's always said that you need to check everything before you start making assumptions…" Tim shrugged and glanced at a scowling Colby. "Sorry, boss."
"No Tim, Colby's right, you do need to check everything before assuming anything. But in this instance, there's no way this is a coincidence. This is our guy, I'm sure of it. I played that square at eleven am precisely."
"And if your dad said this all happened at just after eleven…"
"Eleven oh two. He checked his watch."
Colby nodded. "Okay, eleven oh two. So that means the guy was literally waiting around the corner to plant the bomb. Don, remember I said this feels personal?" Colby studied his boss carefully. "Well, it kinda doesn't get any more personal than this, huh?"
Don sighed and nodded. "Yeah." He stared around the living room. It wasn't just the superficial damage to the house that shocked him. This had always been a 'safe' place. It was home. It was where he knew the people he loved would be protected from the violence and tragedy he saw on the streets every day. And now? That had been shattered, just like the smashed windows and the broken door hanging from its hinges. They could replace the windows. They could fix the door. They could put up a new mailbox and replant the garden. But would this ever truly feel like 'home' again?
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The ride back to the office had been filled with silent tension. Colby had given Tim King strict instructions to stick to Alan's side like glue and not to leave him alone for a second. Tim had nodded and the last Colby had seen was the tough ex-Marine climbing into the back of the ambulance with Alan, a determined look on his face.
Colby drove through the traffic, taking the shortest route back to the FBI building. Don sat in the passenger seat, staring thoughtfully out into the bright, sunny day. They had another thirty minutes before the next square had to be played.
Who was doing this? And why? Don's mind churned over and over. Colby glanced at his passenger, noticing the muscle that twitched in Don's jaw. This son of a bitch had hit Don where he was most vulnerable – at his family. Colby knew that Don would rip LA apart to find the person behind this sick game. And Colby would be right there, tearing up the streets with him…
"Don, you okay?"
"Huh?" Don snapped back into the here and now and looked over at the younger man. "No, Col. I'm not. Someone just tried to kill my dad. And I don't even know why, let alone who."
Colby nodded. "Okay. Let's think this through. You and I both know you've got a lot of enemies out there. Man, you can't do this job without racking up a few psychos who would want to get back at you. But this is different, Don. This…" Colby frowned. "I dunno, man. This feels real personal."
Don fixed his attention on his friend. He knew he could always trust Colby to speak his mind, no matter how difficult it might be. Don had once joked that Colby was the most 'honest goddamn spy he'd ever known'. The younger man had laughed, but understood exactly what Don had meant. And right now, no matter how much he didn't want to hear it, Colby's analysis of the situation might help him make a connection, join some dots, find out why…
"Look, I'm just thinkin' out loud here, Don, okay? It's just that, well, I've seen this kinda thing before."
"When?"
"When I was working in Kosovo and…um, elsewhere." Colby flashed Don a brief grin. "Sorry bud, you know I…"
"…Can't tell me details, yeah, I know Col. If you did, you'd have to kill me, right?" Don briefly smiled back at his friend.
Colby chuckled quietly. "Yeah. Anyhoo, this kind of vindictiveness, ya know, getting at someone by attacking their family? People they're close to? It's like a real South American or Russian Mafia kinda thing to do. Russian Mafia vendettas go on for years, man. Years. And remember Gary Walker said to you that the Russians would shoot you just to see if the gun works? They're a whole different kinda crazy, bud." Don frowned deeply as Colby continued. "If it was any other type of gang or perp, they'd go after you personally. Like Buck did, ya know? But this? Goin' after your dad? Nah, man, this just feels wrong."
Don was silent, lost in thought. Colby glanced over at his boss and frowned. "Don?"
"You're right, Col." Don nodded slowly. "You arrested DeMonzes this morning, right?"
"Yeah, but Don that email was sent about a half hour after we arrested DeMonzes. That's way too short a time to put something this complex together. Besides, Tabakian might have the connections to do something like this, but he's turned snitch, bud. He wouldn't do anything that could hurt his plea bargain with Robin. Besides, that was Liz's case, not yours." Colby shook his head. "No man, this ain't South American. They're way more creative. The callousness of this? Goin' after your dad? This is Russian, bud. Trust me."
"That's what I don't get, though, Col. If the Russians were involved, why didn't they go after you? They've got a damn sight more reason to bust your ass, not mine."
Colby was quiet for a moment. Don could practically hear the younger man's mind whirring. Slowly, Colby shook his head. "No. I get what you're sayin', but let's face it man, this time you're the target, not me." He manoeuvred the big SUV back into the FBI parking lot and parked up, turning the engine off and pulling on the parking brake. He turned in his seat and faced Don, his green eyes serious. "There is someone I can think of, Don."
"Who?"
"Yuri Koverchenko."
Don frowned deeply. "What, the guy we arrested for hacking into the bank computers?"
"Don, think about it. He wiped out your bank accounts, hacked into the FBI computers to get those kids released from holding under your name, remember? Hell, Don, he even rigged that bomb when we hit their flop house! David took a bullet in the shoulder, man, remember? They may have been brutal but dude, they were seriously teched up. The guy's got all the right connections and the right skills set to pull something like this off."
"Except for one thing, Col. He's doing thirty years in supermax."
Colby shook his head. "Don, you gotta start thinkin' like a Russian, buddy. Yuri might be someone's bitch up in the big house right now, but what about his crew? What about his family, Don? The guy's a Russian mobster. They tend to run their outfits like a family business. You gotta figure that there's more than one Koverchenko, man."
Don nodded slowly. "You've got a good point, Col. David said it felt personal too, and suggested checking back over some of the old cases." Don took a deep breath. "Okay. I want you to chase this up. Check back over Koverchenko. Find out everything you can about him. Find out if anyone's visited him in prison, if he's had any contact with anyone, I don't care who it is. I want names."
Colby nodded. "Not a problem. I've got plenty of contacts still over in Eastern Europe, bud. I can find out if anyone associated with Yuri's been payin' visits to the US recently. Ya know. Any high end hackers and bomb makers, for example."
Don gave Colby a cold stare. "Whatever it takes, Col."
Colby's green eyes hardened. "Understood." He opened the driver door and began to climb out of the cab. Don laid a hand on his friend's arm, stopping him in his tracks. Colby turned, a puzzled expression on his face. "Don? You okay?"
"You're off the leash, Granger. I trust David to do things by the book and he'll be the one to get us the evidence we can use in court." Don paused and his face darkened. "But these bastards tried to kill my dad, Col. If you're right, and they're going after people I care about to get to me? I don't care what we have to do to stop them. Is that clear?"
A small, vicious little smile flickered across Colby's lips.
It chilled Don to see it, but this time? This time things were personal...
"Crystal, Don. Crystal…"
TBC…