Disclaimer.

After last week's trumpets, the cello section of an orchestra and dancing girls, my budget for big production disclaimers is shot to pieces so…

(Cue tatty piece of cardboard with crayon writing on it held up to camera)

This is a disclaimer. I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. I don't know the cast, the crew or the bloke that books the locations. Nor do I write for the show, make the tea/coffee/do tequila runs or order Pizza for the cast. I do, however, own this story, lock, stock and two smokin' barrels sunshine, and I'll go all Guy Richie on anyone's arse who says otherwise. I also own the characters of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter and Micky Cox and currently keep them in a large Tupperware box under the bed.

Usual warning for violence and bad language, especially from Micky Cox (the man has a mouth like a bleedin' cesspit...) so if you don't like that kinda thing, go read some Harry Potter.

If I can massage the books/re-mortgage the office/mug someone rich, the trumpets will be back next time…

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Ian reacted on pure instinct. The dull green, pineapple-shaped grenade had rolled to a stop right next to his head. He had three seconds at the most…

His hand shot out faster than one of his own sniper bullets. He grabbed the grenade and hurled it back out of the window, throwing a protective arm over his head to shield himself from the blast he knew was coming. It was going to be close and real loud. It was like being back in Afghanistan all over again…

The grenade detonated in mid arc, just a few feet from the gaping window frame. A huge explosion blew what was left of the glass that clung to the frame inwards, showering the three men with shards of razor-edged shrapnel. Ian was too busy protecting himself from the falling debris to take any notice of the stream of heavily accented expletives that came from the corner of the room. The general gist of it though was that Micky Cox, after cursing everything American, was planning to get on the first plane out of LA and head straight back to the relative safety of England if he ever got out of this motel room alive…

A strange silence descended. Ian realised that he was still alive and carefully looked up from the floor. "MICKY!"

"This fuckin' country is full of nutjobs! Seriously! What the FUCK?"

Ian couldn't help a small smile. If Micky was cursing, he was probably okay…

Micky uncurled himself and looked through what was left of the door at the carnage below. Three cars were on fire, including their own SUV. "Bugger. Car's gone."

"It was insured."

"Well, there goes the FBI's no claims bonus then, mate, 'cause the damn thing's an inferno."

Ian shook his head and a small smile flickered across his face. "I have absolutely no idea what that means, Micky."

"Means your insurance premiums just went through the damn roof, mate." He scanned the detritus-strewn parking lot. "No sign of our welcoming committee." He carefully stood up, aware for the second time that day of the approaching wail of sirens. "You alright, Edgerton?"

"Fine. Ya know, I think being blown up twice has actually managed to restore my hearing. Who knew?" He slapped the side of his head a couple of times and grinned. "Yep. Clear as a bell."

"How's our house-guest?"

"Crap…" Ian flipped himself over and immediately checked Mountbatten. " Barely conscious. But alive."

"Good. Barely conscious I can live with. It'll stop the little shit from whining until we want him to start talking properly." Micky's voice was hard, emotionless. He held out a hand and Ian grasped it, feeling himself lifted onto his feet once more by the strong Englishman. As he stood, Micky locked his gaze into Ian's eyes. "Nice move with that grenade, mate. Guess we're even, then." Micky grinned and shook Ian's hand. Both of them knew that, after saving each other's asses that day they were now friends for life…

Micky broke the clasp and grabbed Mountbatten by his cuffed hands. "Upsy daisy, mucker!" Unceremoniously he hauled the stunned man to his feet and held the injured Englishman upright by the scruff of his neck. Mountbatten was swaying and blinking, dazed by the last few explosive moments. "So. Someone apart from me, Dee and Colby doesn't like you very much, Monty, do they? How's it feel to be on the receiving end of ordinance for a change, you scumbag?" He shoved Mountbatten roughly towards the shattered doorframe. "If they're still out there, they can have the first shot at you, Mont. Think of yerself as, oh, I dunno, a human shield?"

"We need him alive, Mick. Remember?" Ian carefully picked through the wreckage of the room and gathered up Mountbatten's meagre possessions.

"Damn shame."

"All the same…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't worry. Our friends with a discount card at Bombs are Us have buggered off. Just a load of dazed and confused civvies out there, mate." He grabbed Mountbatten's arms and led him out of the wrecked motel. Ian watched the two Englishmen walk out of the room and smiled, shaking his head. Being around the Brits for any length of time was certainly exciting if nothing else…

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"They did what?" Diane barked into her cell-phone. "What, again? Jesus Micky, that's twice in one day, for Chrissake! No no, just…for fuck's sake, just get your arses back here in one piece. And Micky? Sweetie? Try not to become involved in the wanton destruction of any more of Los Angles on the way here, would you? There's a good chap!" She snapped the phone closed and turned, a frown creasing her brow. She ran a hand across her face and sighed deeply. "Jesus H Christ on a bloody skateboard, the bloke's a damn menace!"

Colby raised an eyebrow. "Not again?"

"Cox is a walking ordinance target, I swear…"

"What the hell happened this time?"

"Seems like they had a bit of a welcoming committee at Mountbatten's motel. Bastards lobbed a grenade through the window."

"Jesus! They okay?"

"Nobody was hurt, not for want of trying, though, mind you. Sounds like Mountbatten took a round in the shoulder and bashed his cheekbone diving for cover from what Mick said, but he's alive, he's breathing and I should imagine right about now he's going to be quite talkative."

"Um, when this is all over, you guys are going home, right? Because every time you turn up, things start exploding." David glared at Diane. "Kinda a bit of a signature of your lot, Dee."

"Hey, you can't pin those two on me, pal. I was here all the bloody time!"

"Any ideas who the grenade-happy crew were?" Don was getting jumpy. Bombs, grenades… what the hell next?

Diane shook her head. "Monty can answer that one, Don." She smiled darkly. "Don't worry. Give me an hour and I'll have plenty of answers for you…"

"No." Don stood up, slamming the empty coffee cup down on the table. "This isn't some vigilante torture session, Armstrong. You're in my goddamn office now! We do this our way." He turned and faced Colby, holding a hand up before the man could speak. "I said no, Col. This is a federal investigation. If we want to get whoever is behind all this, we do things by the book, clear? Besides, you honestly think that Mountbatten is going to want to talk to you two, of all people?"

"Don, it's not that simple…"

"…Colby, it is exactly that simple! David takes the lead on this one." Don's voice was hard and hoarse. He'd let everyone run around on a spree that had resulted in two explosions and the entire Downtown district of LA on high alert. He was taking control back…

Colby glanced at his friend and nodded. "Not a problem."

"Colby…" Diane began to protest but the big man rounded on her and shook his head. His back was to Don so his boss didn't see the slight 'cut' motion Colby gave the Englishwoman. Megan, however, did…

"No, Dee. Don's right. We do things our way from now on. Let's face it babes, your way hasn't exactly been a resounding success so far, has it? There's hardly anyone left standing and the only person who can give us a breakthrough on this is on his way back. Besides. We have other things we can be doing." He looked hard into her green eyes, some unspoken communication passing between them. She paused and then silently nodded.

Megan frowned, shooting a look at David. He'd noticed it too. Neither of them wanted to consider what the other things that Colby and Diane had planned were…

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Mountbatten sat in the interrogation room, fully aware that his every move was being watched. Once he had arrived at the FBI's offices he had been ushered quickly into a room, the door locked firmly behind him. He could hear a heated conversation outside between Micky Cox and an American – probably Granger. Damn. All of them were still alive…

A medic had attended to his shoulder and cheekbone, but for the past hour he hadn't seen or heard from anyone. Then a black agent had come into the room. Mountbatten recognised him from the hospital… Sinclair? Yes, that was it. Sinclair. Seemed to be the only reasonable one around here…

"How's your shoulder?" David clicked the door locked and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Hurts like a bastard."

"Should've dropped to the floor quicker. You probably wouldn't've gotten a stray bullet in your arm otherwise."

Mountbatten let out a short laugh. "Is that what Cox told ya? That I copped this in the crossfire? Mate, you shouldn't believe a damn word that Cockney bastard says. He's Dee's little yes-boy. He'll say anything to save his own sorry backside."

"So you're saying Micky Cox shot you?"

"Just came in and bam! Straight in the shoulder. I mean, there's me, lying unarmed on the bed and the fucker just pumps a round into me for the sheer hell of it! I ask you. Is that the act of a rational human being? He did this, as well." Mountbatten pointed to his bruised and swollen cheek. "There's no way you could class that as self defence, my friend." He watched David walk around the table and sit down in front of him. This wasn't what he'd expected… "So. Where's Armstrong? Isn't she gonna come in here and start doin' all that Ninja shit she does to get me to talk?"

David shook his head. "Nope. Just me." Mountbatten looked puzzled. Exactly the effect they wanted… David smiled quietly at the Englishman. "You see, what we want to talk to you about is a list of federal offences, my friend. Carried out on American soil. So," David shrugged. "Diane's got no jurisdiction here. Colby's so pissed at you that there's a good chance he'd snap your neck the second he walked through the door, and Micky…Well, Micky's the same as Diane. No jurisdiction." He shrugged again. "So that leaves me." He leaned back in his chair and opened a file. "So let's start at the beginning, shall we? British Intelligence has given me full access to your military jacket. Seems you weren't exactly popular in the SAS, Phil."

"Have you ever met that lot? Bunch of elitist bastards who think they're better than everyone else." He tapped the side of his head with a finger. "Thinkin' for yourself ain't allowed, mate. Not part of the 'Regimental way'." His voice was full of sneering sarcasm.

"That's not what Granger says."

"What the fuck would he know? He's a yank. God alone knows how he ended up working with our lot. The regiment doesn't even like the British bloody army, let alone the Americans!" He smirked. "Reckon the only reason Granger ended up working with the SAS is because he was sleeping with the field commander, know what I mean?"

Behind the two-way glass, Colby shook his head and chuckled. "Man, this guy really is something else."

Don looked at Colby, frowning. "This doesn't bother you? What he's sayin' about you and Diane?"

"Hell no! What, I should get worked up about some brainless wonder like this? Are you actually hearing the same crap as I am? Because really? He's just chattering to kill time. Try and give himself the appearance of co-operating, all friendly, puttin' the onus on everyone else. Trying to make David think he's the injured party here." Colby laughed again and nodded towards the room and Mountbatten. "I mean, who in the hell disses their own goddamn regiment? Not exactly a professional soldier, Don. The only thing that does wind me up is the fact that good people have died because of this bastard. That? Yeah, that does piss me off." Don grunted in agreement and they turned their attention back to the interrogation. But Don couldn't help noticing that the laugh that Colby had let out had an edge to it. An edge that hinted of real anger behind his casual, laid-back exterior…

Back in the room, David smiled to himself quietly and shook his head. Mountbatten frowned. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothin'. Just that I've so gotta be there when Granger finally catches up with you." David chuckled again.

"I thought you said that you were doing this so-called interrogation."

"Did I? Well…" David smiled to himself, as if laughing at some private joke. "Let's just say I'm doin' the first part of it." The smile vanished. "Who tried to kill you at the motel?"

"Micky fucking Cox, that's who!"

"You know what I'm talking about. Who started throwing grenades around, Phil?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh, c'mon…"

"Seriously!"

"So you seriously have no idea why someone would want to see you dead enough to throw a live grenade through your window?"

"Really."

David smiled, a disbelieving lilt to his voice. "Say something to convince me of that."

Mountbatten sighed and mockingly answered. "Really. I have no idea who would want to see me dead enough to throw…"

David interrupted the man before he could finish the sentence. "…So if we decided that, oh, I dunno, maybe we didn't have enough evidence to hold you and let you go, that they wouldn't be waiting to take another shot at you? Especially if we made it known that you'd been talking to us? Hmm? How long do you think you'd last, Phil?" David leaned forward. "Because at the last count, buddy, you got a whole list of people gunnin' for your ass. Let's see, there's the SAS," he held up a finger, "and I reckon normally I'd stop counting at that because I know how good they are, Phil, despite your opinion otherwise. But then, ya see, the list goes on, doesn't it? Because then there's Colby, isn't there?" He held up a second finger, "Now despite the fact that he's an FBI agent and sworn to protect and serve, he does kinda have his own, shall we say, agenda here and, well, let's put it this way. I've known him to put his own interpretation on the rule book now and then, ya know? Believe me my friend, that is one man you do not wanna cross swords with. Especially after you've tried to run him off the road in a semi, kill his friends and accuse him of dishonourable conduct with a senior officer in front of him. Out of the three? I'm guessing that last one is the one that'll really grind his gears, ya know?" David jabbed a thumb towards the glass of the two-way mirror and smiled at Mountbatten. "Oh, yeah, my friend, he's standing just inches away, listening to every word that comes out of your mouth. Why do ya think I locked the door behind me when I came in? And you know what else, Phil? I think that out of everything that's going on here, Colby and Diane are the ones that you're most worried about right now, aren't they? Because you know that there isn't anywhere you could run to that would be far enough away from them, is there?"

Phil stared blankly at David and snarled a defiant reply. "There's a lot of ifs and buts there, pal. You think I'm scared of those two nutters? Go unlock the door, mate. Let the bastards in. Let's see who gets to walk back out again!"

David sat back and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, my money's on Granger, buddy. All the way down!"

Phil didn't respond. He knew that David had called his bluff and that both Diane and Colby were perfectly capable of tearing him to pieces in seconds. He was desperately hoping that being in an FBI office would protect him from that fate, but right now? He was beginning to wonder if the slender glass barrier and a flimsy door lock that lay between him and a man who currently hated him with a passion would be enough to keep him alive for more than a few, brief seconds…

David smiled again and held up a third finger. "Then? Well, we've got these guys with the grenades and the automatic machine pistols, who, from what Ian and Micky said were pretty damn determined to see that nobody came out of your motel room in one piece. I'm betting that they'll try again at the first opportunity because what you know, Phil, is enough to make their lives very, very difficult. You're a dead man talking, buddy. And they know you've been talking to us. So really, your odds ain't that great, are they? Especially with a busted arm like that. Waddya you think, Phil?"

The Englishman stared in silence at David, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder at the two-way mirror…

In the observation room, Don glanced at Colby. The man's face was impassive. But then, Don had learned a long time ago that Colby could mask his emotions better than almost any one else he'd ever met. That's what made him such a good undercover agent. As Colby watched Mountbatten begin to squirm he seemed almost amused. But Don knew that underneath the passive exterior a dark rage was building up. Colby's powerful arms were crossed over his chest and Don could see the tension in the muscles. That was always the biggest giveaway with Colby. The next thing the target of the big man's anger usually knew about when he got this angry was a massive and frighteningly fast fist punching them into the middle of next week, the face still totally impassive and emotionless…

"Phil?" David waved a hand in front of the man. "You still with me here, bud? I asked you what you think your chances would be."

"Yeah. I heard ya." Phil looked back at David, the brown eyes trying to disguise the concern he felt inside him but failing dismally. He licked his dry lips. "Look. If I tell you everything, what's in it for me?"

"Nothing. Just the satisfaction of knowing you'll have a clean conscience. Enough for ya?"

"But…you've gotta protect me!"

David slammed the flat of his hand down on the desk – a move both Colby and Don had seen him use before. The sudden sharp noise made a suspect physically flinch because it was so unexpected. It disorientated them just long enough to throw their train of thought off the rails. Colby had taught David that little trick very early on in their partnership and David had used it to great effect ever since. Mountbatten duly flinched at the sound and it was clear from his expression that the tactic had worked…"We haven't gotta do anything, Phil. You don't have a choice. I reckon I can keep Colby away from you for a while, but ya know him. He's a sneaky bastard. At some point I'm gonna have to go to the bathroom and then?" David shrugged. "He moves real quick for a big guy. Reckon he'd get in at least a few shots on you before we managed to pull him off. And as for Diane…" David shrugged again. "Well. She's a whole 'nother bagful of pain, Phil, isn't she?"

In the observation room, Colby turned to Don with a frown. "Do I strike you as a sneaky kinda guy, Don?"

Don smiled broadly and nodded. "As sneaky as they come, Col!"

Colby looked taken aback and mildly affronted. "Gonna have to work a bit more on my social skills then, huh?"

"That's what David's always sayin', buddy…" Don laughed quietly at his friend and colleague, relishing just a few second's banter in the mist of a tense situation. Defusing an irate Colby was like trying to defuse a ticking time bomb sometimes…

Back in the interrogation room, David closed the file and stared hard at Phil. "The British have already started extradition proceedings against you, Phil. And I'm guessing they're gonna get pushed through pretty damn quick. So your best bet is to tell me everything you know about who killed Gary Parks and why someone ordered you to kill a federal agent, sorry, no, make that two federal agents and, most importantly, Phil, who that someone is." David sat back and waited… "Or perhaps you'd rather talk to Colby? Because, ya know? He can do things to you that won't even leave a mark…"

Phil Mountbatten knew he was cornered. He shifted uncomfortably on his seat, his eyes darting from David to the mirror and back. He leaned forward on the table and fixed David with a hard stare. "Okay. I'll tell you everything. Just keep that psychotic bastard and his bitch girlfriend away from me, right?"

David smiled lazily. "Deal."

"I was recruited by a guy called Nigel Winters in England. He told me to get the team together for a CPP detail over here. Contact was Nathan Peterson. Only Winters had other plans for Armstrong and her team. I was ordered to keep the team in position until Winters had a crew in place to take them out. Wasn't hard, mate. I mean, Armstrong? Yeah, she's a looker and all but she's a tyrant to work for. Evil bitch, know what I mean? Anyway, I had nothing to do with Gary Park's death. Truth be told, I actually quite liked Gaz. He was a nice bloke. Peterson told me I could earn myself a bonus by taking out Granger and Cox. How the fuck was I to know the two of them would be harder to kill than a couple of fuckin' cockroaches?"

"So Peterson gave you the orders?"

"All the way, mate."

"And how much was he paying you? How much was this bonus?"

"Two million. Guess I ain't gonna see that any time soon, huh?"

"That's a hell of a bonus."

"It was a once in a lifetime job. Killing a fed and an ex-SAS soldier? C'mon, I'd be runnin' for the rest of my damn life!"

"What about Diane? Was she part of this bonus package of yours?"

"Nah. I wasn't to touch Diane. Apparently they've got something special lined up for her."

"Who's they?"

"No idea. That was the deal. No questions."

"Not enough, Phil…"

"I swear! I have no idea who's pulling the strings here, mate! You want that answer? You go talk to Peterson!"

"Peterson's the middle man?"

"Bet your life on it, pal." David stood up quickly and picked up the file. Mountbatten looked at him quizzically. "Hey, where are you going?"

David smiled nastily and glanced over at the two way mirror. He slowly looked back at Mountbatten, that lazy, nasty smile still on his lips. "Bathroom break…"

TBC….