AN: Time matters. Pay attention.

NUMB3RS

Wednesday, 12:30 a.m.

There was no pleasant sensation to greet Don as he came around. His mouth held a sour taste, and the smell that assaulted him wasn't doing much to help matters. He couldn't see anything, but that probably had more to do with the cloth he could feel wrapped around his head than a lack of lights. He was sitting upright on a metal chair – he could feel the cold seeping through his jeans – with his hands tied behind him and his ankles tied to the legs of the chair. Other than that, he hadn't a clue as to his situation.

A soft scrape off to his left told him he wasn't alone. He tilted his head in that direction and tried to clear the cottony feeling in his head. "So what's the plan?" he rasped out finally.

"Well, it's a bit fluid at the moment." The voice from before was back, but it held much more personality now. The accent was more pronounced this time, clearly Southern, maybe from Texas. Don would even go so far as to call the voice beautiful if he were feeling a bit more generous – which he wasn't. Still, if the goal was to get out of here, then he should probably try to cater to his captor's sensibilities – heavy on the playful, and light on the dark and mysterious.

"My brother once made me watch a TV show that had a really great comeback when the bad guy said something similar. Pretend I remember it and just insulted you."

The woman seemed to find that rather funny, because she laughed, which Don took to be validation of his theory. "I think I know the show, and I'll accept the remark as it was intended. I must say, you're taking this much better than most people."

"You do this a lot?"

"Not really. Most people I'm hired to kill are dead by now."

Don swallowed nervously and took a moment to digest that information. "Not that I'm opposed to staying alive, but what are you going to do to me?"

His blindfold was suddenly removed, and he blinked at the harsh light shining into his eyes. He heard a few soft clicks, and then the lights were turned off. As Don's eyes adjusted, he saw he was in a small room with no windows. There was nothing to distinguish it – they could be anywhere as far as Don was concerned.

The most interesting feature of the room, however, was the woman seated at the desk directly in front of him. The glow of the laptop in front of her framed her face, giving it an eerie quality. She was tall, probably pushing the six foot mark, and she was well-built without being manly. She had black hair, and her skin was pale. She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a green fatigue jacket and black fingerless leather gloves.

He could see her face. Well, that's not good.

When she looked up and saw him studying her, she smiled brightly, revealing a perfect row of white teeth. "At last we meet! You have no idea what an honor this is."

"Right." Whatever Don had been expecting, this wasn't it. "Who are you?"

"You asked me that before. The answer hasn't changed much with our location." She pulled back her jacket to reveal a Glock in a shoulder holster. "But since we're going to be spending some time together and I don't answer to 'Hey' or 'You', you can call me Hawk."

Don contemplated that and then shrugged as well as he could with his hands tied. "Okay, Hawk. What happens now?"

'Hawk' smiled. "Establishing a rapport? Trust me, I know the FBI manual forward and back. You'll need more than standard negotiating tactics. But since you asked nicely…" She flipped the laptop so the screen faced him. He was graced with a picture of himself from a few moments before, squinting into the lights and looking rather the worse for wear. "Your Agent Reeves should be getting these about now. I'll be sending updates every hour."

"They'll track you down."

"Eventually. But even your darling brother with all his mathematics won't get here for at least another three hours. Plenty of time for us to have a little chat."

"What do you want?"

"Again, you've asked me that before. I told you, I have everything I need right here. Whether that changes is all up to you."

Confusion tinged his next question. "What are you talking about?"

Hawk moved around the desk and sat on the edge, only a few feet from Don. "You have two options. Option one, we stick to the original plan you outlined to Agent Reeves. I kill you in oh, about ten hours now. Maybe less. It won't be quick, and it will be painful. You suffer, your family suffers, and I get paid. Hardly fun for you. Option number two is a little more complicated and will require quite a bit of trust and cooperation. You and your family still suffer, I still get paid, but we all feel better about ourselves. The choice is yours."

Don followed her with his eyes as she disappeared out the only door. He was left staring at his picture on the laptop, trying to puzzle out exactly what was going on.

xXxXx

Wednesday, 12:50 a.m.

It wasn't exactly rare to see Team Eppes working late in the office, but the anomalous element on this particular early morning was evident to all who were gathered. Don Eppes was well-liked in the Los Angeles office, and more than one person was feeling the strain without him there to direct the flow of ideas.

Megan Reeves was doing an adequate job of filling in, though.

"Okay, everyone, by now you all know the score and the deadline we're up against. You should all have a preliminary report on the tasks you've been assigned. Cooper, you first."

The techie stood. "We managed to trace Agent Eppes' SUV to a parking garage downtown. Local P.D. did an initial sweep and didn't find anything, but it's being brought here for further analysis."

"Any surveillance footage?"

"No, whoever did this used the same tactic to block the signal here. We're continuing to pursue that angle."

"Any prints on the gun or photos?"

"Only Agent Eppes'."

"What about the message on the Eppes' answering machine?"

"It's like the one you received – probably scripted. More information, though, suggesting Don did something to get himself in this mess."

Colby chimed in. "The last part is weird, all about numbers divided by zero."

"It's also wrong," Charlie piped up, pacing.

"Hang on, I thought if you divide a number by zero, the answer is zero. That's what I was taught in school," Colby said.

"They tell you that because it's easier than explaining undefined numbers," Charlie responded. "Asking 'what is nine divided by zero?' is another way of asking 'which number, when multiplied by zero, gives you nine?'. There is no such number. That's why it's not really true to say that a number divided by zero is always zero. It has to be a code."

"It might just be that they're bad at math, Charlie. Or it could be a message to us, just not one we want to hear." Colby frowned apologetically. "Another way of viewing zero is that it's nothing, which could be this guy's way of telling us there's nothing we can do."

"We'll keep looking into it," Megan interrupted. "Okay, Granger, anything in Don's file?"

"Standard grievance letters, a few credible threats we're running down. Nothing in the last two months that would indicate it has something to do with our recent cases, but I've been going over everything just in case something pops up. I gave the letters to Charlie for a threat analysis. None of them were from a woman, though."

"Do we have anything in that direction?"

David took over, shrugging. "Whoever she is, she's careful. Don didn't say anything that could give us a clue?"

"No, he just said that 'she' was going after Charlie and Alan. We can't rule out the possibility that we're dealing with more than one person, either. I received this e-mail," she pointed at the plasma, "twenty minutes ago."

Colby read it again. "Not much to go on. 'Eppes has ten hours left. The attached photo will be updated every hour.' No demands, nothing to indicate what this is all about."

"Charlie?" Megan turned to the mathematician. He looked tired and worried, and she was sorry that she was putting him through all of this, but she knew that he was their best chance of finding Don before the deadline – and suddenly, that term had a whole new meaning, and she didn't think she'd be using it again anytime soon.

"I'm running two separate sets of calculations. The first is the threat analysis that Colby asked me to do, but it's going to take time. The second will narrow down the search. We're assuming that Don is being kept in L.A. somewhere, so I'm building an expression to pinpoint the area with the greatest statistical probability. The problem is, I don't have enough data right now to complete the equation."

"Can you backtrace the e-mail?"

Charlie leaned against the corner of a desk. "We're trying, but whoever sent it is using high-level encryptions and routing through half a dozen countries. It'll take a couple of hours."

"Okay, that's good work, Charlie." Megan surveyed the room. "We have less than ten hours to find Don before this bitch does something she'll regret. We're on a strict time budget, and that can lead to sloppy work. Be quick, but be thorough. We don't want to miss something because we were in a hurry." She studied the photo of Don on the plasma, her back to the room. "Get to work."

xXxXx

Wednesday, 2:30 a.m.

Don had thought he'd get used to the flashes by now, but he still jumped a little when Hawk took the picture. As always, it was uploaded to the laptop so Don could see. Hawk set up a little slide show so he could see his deterioration. He had a new cut above his left eyebrow that was trickling blood. It joined the split lip from the previous hour, both contributing to his rather haggard appearance.

"How long are you going to keep this up?"

Hawk glanced up from the e-mail she was sending. "What, the pictures? Every hour on the half until you're dead. Eight hours to go!"

"You don't have to sound so happy about it." Don grimaced and pulled on the ropes restraining his hands. "Think you could remove these?"

"In a minute."

He raised his eyebrows, wincing when he pulled on the cut. "Really?"

"Baby brother should have enough data now to find this place. We have to move."

xXxXx

Wednesday, 3:15 a.m.

Colby crouched next to the door, nodding to David who turned the handle and pushed in. Colby lunged forward, his gun up and scanning the room for targets. It took less than ten seconds to determine that there was no one there.

"Clear!" Colby lowered his gun and turned a slow circle, taking in the details now he was sure they were alone. "Charlie was sure about this place?"

David holstered his weapon in frustration. "Within 86 percent probability."

The room was small, holding nothing but a table and chair. Colby stepped back – he recognized the set-up of the furniture from the photos. He approached the chair and knelt down to examine the floor. What he saw didn't make him feel any better. "He was here." David came over, and Colby gestured toward the table. "He was in the chair. Our perp was at the table – the angle is right for the photos we got."

"How do you know Don was in the chair?"

"It's anchored to the floor." Colby sighed. "And there's blood underneath."

xXxXx

Wednesday, 5:58 a.m.

Don winced as the needle bit into his arm. "I don't know!" He growled in frustration. He was no closer to getting out of this than he had been seven hours ago. "This doesn't make any sense."

Hawk glared at him. "Think harder, damn it!"

xXxXx

Wednesday, 7:35 a.m.

"Um, Agent Reeves?"

Megan looked up at the computer expert. "What is it, Cooper?"

"There's another e-mail."

"Anything new?"

"Oh yeah. You'll want to see this."

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before nodding. "All right, get Colby and David in the war room."

"Not Charlie?"

"If the game has changed, I don't want Charlie or Alan seeing something upsetting." She paused. "More upsetting."

She was glad she had held off when she saw the e-mail on the plasma. When David and Colby joined her, she pointed at the screen. "This is a problem."

David read out loud. "'I've changed my mind. You have one hour to gather $54,178.50 and have Dr. Charles Eppes deliver it to the Internet café on the corner of Vine and Park. He will receive further instructions upon his arrival.' What is that supposed to mean?"

Colby looked confused. "It's what we've been waiting for, isn't it? We expected them to ask for something."

Megan shook her head. "We expected it within three hours of Don's call. Not three hours before he said he'd be killed. He told me that there would be no last-minute reprieves or demands. Something has changed."

"And what's with the amount? It's completely arbitrary," David added.

"Charlie would tell you that nothing is completely random," Colby reminded him. "What are we going to do?" he asked Megan.

"There's something else." She pointed the remote at the screen and the image changed, this time revealing another picture of Don. "We're running out of time."

Don had steadily been getting worse in the photographs, but he had always been conscious before, head up and eyes defiant. Now, though, he looked defeated, his head resting against his chest and his body slack and listing slightly to one side. His collection of bruises and cuts had been growing, but it hadn't been anything serious enough to cause real concern for his health. As they studied the image closer, though, they could make out the newest injury – a dark patch staining Don's left shoulder and a flash of mottled skin.

He'd been shot.

xXxXx

Wednesday, 8:30 a.m.

"I can't believe they actually let him do this. It's completely against regs!" Don couldn't believe his eyes. His brother Charlie had just entered the internet café, toting a duffel bag and glancing around furtively looking for a clue as the whereabouts of his brother. He's probably calculating exit vectors and polynomials or something equally nerdy.

Hawk rolled her eyes as she studied the feed from the café. "Please. You would have done it."

Don couldn't argue with that. "Still, I'd have more protection on him than Colby and a couple of rent-a-cops."

"Right – like Reeves and Sinclair in the van across the street, the two agents in the corner of the café, and the four squad cars patrolling the street at regular intervals." Hawk pointed them out on the small screen. "Besides, baby brother isn't in any danger. I promised."

"Whatever. Do the thing."

Hawk muttered a few obscenities under her breath, but got to work. She now had two laptops, though Don couldn't begin to explain what she was doing on either of them.

"Okay, we're set. Make the call."

Don hit send on the cell phone in his hand, keeping a wary eye on Hawk and the ever-present gun. He watched on one of the laptops as Charlie fumbled in his jacket for his phone, glanced at the screen, and then looked directly at Colby and raised his eyebrows. Don bit back a groan at the action and promised his brother a slap upside the head if – when – he got out of this.

The ringing stopped as Charlie followed Colby's directive and answered the phone. "Charles Eppes speaking."

"Charlie." Don heard the catch in his brother's voice.

"Don. Is that you?"

"Yeah, it is. Charlie, I don't have a lot of time. Do you have the money?"

"Yes. Are you okay?"

Don saw Hawk smile triumphantly at whatever she was doing on the other computer and knew he had to hurry things up. "I'm fine, Charlie. The money is to be placed in locker 342 at the main bus station. Someone will pick it up at 10:00. Once it's been secured, I'll be let go."

"Where are you?"

"I can't tell you right now. You'll see me again at 10:30."

"Don, what is going on? I saw the pictures, you're not okay."

Don steeled himself against the panic in his brother's voice. This was the way things had to be. He saw Hawk close her laptop and nod. Don was tempted for a moment to stick his tongue out at her, but bit down on his frustration. This would all be over soon enough. For now, though, he had to hang up on his brother. "Charlie, whatever happens to me, promise me you won't get lost in the numbers."

"What? No, that makes it sound like you're dying."

"10:30, Charlie. Now promise me."

There was a pause, and Don watched as his brother tried to maintain his façade of calm. "I promise."

Hanging up was the hardest thing Don had had to do in a long time.

xXxXx

Wednesday, 10:28 a.m.

The e-mails had stopped.

Megan supposed the phone call Charlie had received at 8:30 counted as that hour's update, but 9:30 had come and gone without a word, and now Megan was trying to keep from suspecting the worst.

There had been a fierce debate about sending Charlie into that café. Colby and Charlie had wanted to risk it; Alan and David had thought it too dangerous. Megan had listened to both sides, taking everything into consideration. Something about this was still bothering her, more than the obvious. As a profiler, she should have been able to narrow down the type of person they were looking for. The problem was, whoever had Don wasn't conforming to any patterns – or rather, no single pattern. Just when Megan thought she had a complete profile, the game had changed. At first, it was an escalation in violence, then a change in the tone of the e-mails from playful to no-nonsense. Then this whole money thing had come into play.

Charlie hadn't gotten anywhere with the threat analysis. None of the letters had shown a tendency toward this type of behavior, and no one on the list of enemies made it into a high enough percentile for Charlie to flag them. They were still checking them out, but that took time, and time had now run out.

Their last hope had been pinned on the bus station. The money was safely ensconced in its assigned locker, which was being watched diligently by a uniform and two agents. Even that hope, though, was dying, because the time had long passed when their target was supposed to arrive.

The clock on the dash clicked to 10:30, and Megan's stomach churned. She picked up the radio. "This is Reeves. Anyone have a visual?"

As the chorus of negatives washed over her, the churning worsened. She was about to call the office when her cell rang. Exchanging a glance with David, she answered.

"Reeves."

"Lovely to finally hear your voice, Agent Reeves. I feel like we've really had a chance to get to know one another over the past few hours."

David nodded to let her know the trace was running. Megan had been waiting for this moment for hours, but now it had arrived, she felt only fear – fear for Don, fear for the future, fear for what this would mean to those around her. The voice was that of a woman, though clearly being filtered through some kind of device, evenly pitched and suffused with a sarcasm that Megan tied to the second profile she'd done.

"Where is Special Agent Eppes?"

"No idea. I'm sure you've guessed by now, Agent Reeves, that I won't be picking up the money. In fact, this will be the last time you hear from me. It really has been a pleasure."

That was the third profile – cold and calculating. "You held a federal agent for twelve hours and threatened his life and his family."

"Don't forget the threat to the team, Megan darling," the woman interrupted, this time playful.

"Who are you? Where is Don Eppes? You told Charlie he'd see Don at 10:30."

"I lied. Besides, you're tracing this call. You'll find out what's happened to ickle Donnie soon enough. Oh, just in case baby brother's listening, Donnie wanted me to remind you about the numbers, and to tell you that Colby will be looking out for you now. And, let's see, there was something else. Hmm … oh, yes. He'll be sure to tell Margaret that you and Alan love her and miss her very much."

The call ended, and there was a stunned silence for a moment. It didn't last long, though. Megan flipped on the sirens and pulled into traffic. David gave her the coordinates of the trace and then gave her the phone.

"Colby, get to the coordinates with S.W.A.T. and two teams. We'll meet you there."

"Megan, Cooper wanted me to tell you that they found something in the computers."

"What is it?"

"He tried to explain it, but you know me and computers. All I got was that someone logged into the system with Don's identification code two hours ago. They didn't pick it up until now because they were monitoring everything at the café."

And suddenly some of the madness of the past few hours made a little more sense. "Diversion?"

"Probably. They don't know what was accessed yet, but they tell me they're working on it." A pause. "This isn't going to end well, Megan."

Megan shut the phone without answering. No, this would not end well at all.

xXxXx

Wednesday, 10:45 a.m.

There was blood everywhere. Colby had seen a lot in Afghanistan, but as he surveyed the scene, the pictures of Don had set up a slide show in his head, threatening to overpower his senses. The pool of blood on the floor, the splatter against the wall, left a metallic scent in the air, clashing with the scent of fear and desperation. Whatever had happened here had not been pleasant.

The blood was so overwhelming; he almost missed the small note laid on the chair in the center of the room. It was smudged, but still legible.

A NUMBER DIVIDED BY ZERO IS ALWAYS ZERO.

Colby didn't need a math genius to figure out what it meant.

Don was gone.