Disclaimer:
Usual disclaimer applies. Choose from the following list of options:
I have nothing whatsoever to do with Numb3rs.
Are you kidding me? Do you think if I was getting paid I'd write this crap?
This isn't my house…
My meds have worn off and I'm doing it again…
The story and Brit-pack characters are mine and I'll practice my Krav Maga moves on anyone who says otherwise. Usual warning for bad language, some nifty KM moves by Micky 'Take that!' Cox and unintelligible Cockney slang apply. For those of you waiting for the return of Marcus Bowen, he's back next chapter but gets an honourable mention in despatches in this one.
Roll credits and wonky Numb3rs board…
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"Micky, keep eyes on our guest, bud." Colby stood up quickly. He nodded to Micky and the Englishman responded to his silent gesture, moving out of earshot of the man. To be sure, Colby lapsed into Albanian. He knew Micky spoke the language. He was pretty sure Tyler didn't…"No rough stuff, Micky. Well, nothing that will leave a mark, okay? Find out exactly what he knows. Ya know. In your own, inimitable British way." Colby flashed his friend a nasty grin.
"Understood. Head-fuck time. Copy that." Micky's Albanian was excellent. He glanced over at Tyler. "That son of a bitch isn't telling us everything, Col. Enigma's way above his clearance level. That was just name-dropping to buy time."
Colby frowned and nodded. "Agreed. Find out why. And then make sure you isolate the bastard. I don't want him having contact with anyone other than you and me, crystal?" He patted his friend on the shoulder and threw one last look at Tyler. "Micky here is gonna look after ya for a bit, bud, okay?" Tyler nodded and gave him a thumb's up.
"Not a problem, Col."
Micky frowned and turned to one side, again lapsing into Albanian. "Doesn't it strike you as just a tiny bit odd as to how excessively friendly he's being, big guy?"
Granger responded in the sharp tones of Albanian to keep Tyler off balance and unaware of their conversation. "Friendly's good, Mick." Colby's voice took on a dangerous edge. "So hey, let's keep it nice and friendly too, right?"
A slow, nasty smile spread across Micky's lips. "Oh absolutely. Friendly. I can so do friendly…"
Colby chuckled quietly. He knew what Micky's 'friendly' could be anything but…
Micky Cox shut the door quietly as Colby left and turned to Tyler. The American studied his interrogator, trying to get the measure of this unknown quantity. English, he was sure of that. Probably military. Powerfully built, obviously at least bi-lingual – god alone knows what they'd been jabbering on in at each other. MI6 maybe? Military intelligence? Wait…Granger had said that Thompson was SAS. Did that mean that this Micky was too? Tyler didn't have any handle on the man. All he knew right now was that the man was a friend of Andy Thompson. And that gave him enough reason to be very, very nervous. This was all starting to unravel…
Micky leaned back casually against the door. "Col's gonna be a bit busy for a while, so it looks like it's just you and me, old son." The strong accent was difficult to place, but he'd heard it before. The Englishwoman. Colby's girlfriend. She'd had the same lilt to her voice. A Londoner, perhaps? Tyler was desperately trying to piece together some kind of a profile of his interrogator. Without that framework, he didn't know which game to play. Or if any game he tried would work…
"What's goin' down, bud?"
"Fuck knows. Large lump of crap impacting somewhat forcefully into a fan, by the sounds of it." Micky pushed himself off the doorframe and strolled casually around to the opposite side of the table.
"So what do we do now?"
"How about a nice, friendly chat?"
"What like earlier, you mean?" Tyler's eyes narrowed. He hadn't forgotten the speed with which the man had moved, slamming him face first into the hard surface of the table. "You ain't FBI. You ain't got any influence here, buddy."
"Oh, you'd be surprised just how much influence I actually have, buddy. Micky's normally friendly face darkened." He paced slowly, his powerful arms crossed over his chest. "So who is running the circus then, Marky Mark?" He shot a look at Tyler.
"What?"
"You said to Col that the briefing at Langley made you wonder who was running the circus."
"And?"
"Wanna tell me a bit more about this briefing, mucker?"
"Classified, buddy. Sorry."
"Oh, I bet you a barn cake to a wine gum my clearance goes way higher than your's, gofer boy."
"What does that even mean?"
Micky had been carefully closing the blinds on the interrogation room windows. He casually reached up and appeared to disconnect the camera. "It means, old son, that you are going to tell me everything." He turned abruptly and Tyler was confronted with a pair of ice blue, freezing cold and utterly ruthless eyes boring right through into his very soul. That same chilling look that he'd seen in Colby's eyes more than once. A look that told him that things were about to get very unpleasant for him… "Let me explain how this goes, Tyler. We know that you've been feeding us a crock of shite from the get go." Micky dragged out the spare chair with his foot and sat down. "But here's the bugger for you, old son. I'm a Brit. We invented all this kinda shite, mate. Your lot? They learned everything they know about espionage from us. We taught them, Marky Mark. You know the saying never try and con a conman?" He leaned in. "Well, me? I'm a fully paid up, card-carrying conman, mate. I learned from the best, my friend. I learned from Colby Granger and Dee Armstrong. So that makes me pretty damn good at sniffing out a big pile of steaming horsepoo when I think there's one right in front of me, my old china. You've been oh so bloody careful to make yourself seem like a good guy, haven't you? Rescuing the lads from a blazing building? Playing the hero? Shame it all went pear-shaped, huh? But not as fuckin' pair-shaped as it went for Andy." A vicious snarl curled across his lips. "Andy was my mate, Tyler. My oppo. He was Regiment. Do you know what that means?"
"It means you're pissed. I understand that. I'd be pissed if he'd been a Marine. I understand about loyalty, Agent…I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name…"
"No, you didn't, did you? And my, you're everso understandin', ain't ya?" Micky sat back for a moment, studying the man, looking for the 'tells', looking for a crack that he could work at. The sister. He knew the whole 'my sister's being held hostage' was just such a pile of horsepoo, but his presence at the Langley briefing had been true. It was a start. Work through the lies and you'd eventually tie the bastard in enough knots that he'd inadvertently give you the truth… "So let's try again. The briefing. What were you doing there?"
"Our department was ordered to carry out background checks on a bunch of Langley bods they suspected of running a black ops codenamed Enigma. They never told us what the operation was, just the name."
"What did you think it meant, Marky?"
"I just thought it was the usual, ya know. Rogue agents gone native somewhere."
"And Andy?"
"He was just there, man. I didn't know who he was."
"Really?"
"Really. I figured it was the usual 'hands across the ocean' crap, ya know, your people working with ours…look…" Tyler sighed. "Could I have a drink please? Some water, maybe?"
"Nope."
"Oh, c'mon, man…"
"Earn it."
"Don't fuck with me, Limey!" A flash of anger replaced the mask of helpful friendliness for a split second. "All I want is a fuckin' drink, for Chrissake!" Tyler slammed a fist onto the table, and snarled across at Micky. "I've given you everything I know, man! Everything! I think I've at least earned a drink of water!"
"Not in my book you ain't. And as for telling me everything…" Micky let out a short laugh. "You've told me everything you were told to tell us, Marky Mark. The bullshit about your sister being kidnapped? The little nuggets here and there of supposedly useful intel? Name-dropping an operation code you supposedly know fuck all about?" The joviality evaporated and in a heartbeat Micky Cox had reached across the table, grabbing the man's throat with his right hand and Tyler's own right hand with his left. In a sharp move, he had twisted the man's body across himself, rendering him unable to move while the thumb and forefinger of his right hand squeezed just below Tyler's Adam's apple. Tyler instantly found himself with his left cheek flat on the cold surface of the table, his body twisted agonisingly and choking for air. The man was definitely Special Forces. That Krav Maga move was one he'd been taught himself and one that was remarkably effective, insanely painful and left no mark…
Cox was on his feet, leaning into the hold, his mouth next to Tyler's right ear. The words were hissed, full of venom and menace. "You're lying, Marky Mark! You're a fuckin' liar! Granger saw through it, I can see through it! You're a shite liar, Mark!" A quick jerk raised and smashed Tyler's head back onto the table. "Really shite! And I'm sick to the back teeth of hearing bullshit lie after bullshit lie come out of your north and south, mate! So let's…try…again!" Three times more, Tyler's head slammed onto the table. "The briefing. Tell me what you were doing there!"
Tyler panted, gasping for breath. Slow, dark madness crept into his mind. This shouldn't be happening. They'd told him he'd be believed. They'd told him it would be a simple matter of convincing the FBI agents that there was some secret Washington conspiracy to put LA to the torch. They said 'use your sister. Tell them we have her. Convince them'. They'd promised that Thompson, Granger and Armstrong would be taken out of the picture – that Thompson and Granger would never make it out of Kosovo alive and that Armstrong and any other lose ends would be taken care of and it would be made to look like Al Q'eda or the Irish or someone, anyone… They'd promised that, if he played his part, the distressed agent, worried for his sister's life and distraught at the thought of nameless, faceless somebodys committing treason, that he'd be looked after. That financially he'd be made for life. They'd promised.
They hadn't factored on Micky Cox being part of the equation…
"I SWEAR! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!"
"Swear all you like, Marky Mark. Tell me you don't know all you like, mate. I know different. Wanna know how I know? Because I know all about fuckin' Operation Enigma, mate! I was one of the buggers who worked on it! It was a ruse, Marky Mark! A bluff. A what if situation. What, you thought it was real? Wow, you really are stupid, aint' ya?" Micky let this sink in for a moment. Wait for the right time, wait until your opponent had talked themselves into a lie you knew to be false. Let them talk it so much that they start to believe it themselves. Then let your opponent know you know more about the situation than they thought you did. Colby had taught him that one. Worked every time. Tyler knew he was trapped. He knew he'd been 'busted', as Granger liked to put it. Slowly, Micky let go of Tyler's throat and casually sat back down, letting the dishevelled man regain his composure. He knew now that Tyler was completely off balance. He knew now that at last, they had a chance of finding out the truth…
Mark Tyler sat up slowly, rubbing his throat and glaring at the Englishman. The pretence was gone. Open hostility replaced his previously 'over-eager to please' act. There was no point any more. He knew he'd never get out of this alive. Fuck it. Let them know what kind of a death they could all expect. Give them the slow, creeping anticipation of a bullet, coming out of nowhere, never knowing when, never knowing who pulled the trigger… A lazy smile spread across Mark Tyler's face. Get Granger's trust, they'd told him. He'd done that. He'd gotten close to the agents his masters considered most dangerous to their plan. The agents that couldn't be bought, couldn't be bribed, couldn't be convinced to look the other way. He'd done that. The rest was up to others to finish. He knew they were all marked men. It was only a matter of time…
He'd plotted up in the community centre and, once he'd got the signal from his bosses, he'd set the cameras up. He'd watched Granger and the others wait outside his door. So he'd had the 'please don't hurt her!' pretend conversation with the shadowy Burkess. He'd made sure they'd heard it. Lure the flies into the web…
"Clever, Limey. Very clever. But it won't help. You know that, right? All your friends out there?" He laughed. "They haven't got a clue, have they? They're all running around, chasing bombers, terrorists that don't exist…But you…" he wagged a finger at the Englishman. "Oh, you know, don't you? Same as Thompson did. He knew. Stupid fucker was supposed to die in Kosovo but oh no, he had to come back alive, didn't he? I admit, I didn't expect that goddamn fire escape to collapse, so helping Granger's friends get out of the community centre was purely to save my own ass, dickwipe! The whole point was to take Granger and Thompson out. And they'll keep trying, buddy. Oh, trust me, they'll keep trying until they get every last one of you! There's no way a bunch of fuck-assed ex grunts are gonna stop this from happening, buddy. And you?" He wagged his finger at Micky again. "You just made the list too, my friend! Oh hell yeah, you're on the fuckin' list!"
Tyler sat back and smiled enigmatically. "Operation Enigma was the perfect cover. Set the internal investigation lot off chasing ghosts, give 'em plenty to keep 'em occupied, yeah sure, there was bound to be a bit of collateral damage, but hey, who's gonna miss a few shitty little gang-bangers, huh? A few bombs here, a bit of Internet chatter of a potential terrorist plot there and suddenly you're all off chasing shadows." He leaned forward. "But what goes on behind the shadows, Limey? Huh? Who really is runnin' the circus? Because it sure as hell ain't that bleeding heart fuckin' liberal Obama and his pussy-assed cronies, bud. We run the circus, Limey! We run it!" Tyler sat back and started to laugh. It was all over for him. He didn't care any more. He hadn't cared since he came back from that stinking Afghan hellhole three years before.
Micky had been right. There had been a lot of disenfranchised, damaged and angry men coming back from that war. And Mark Tyler had been one of them…
"So all of this was just a few spooked out fuckwits trying to tie up some lose ends?" Micky was stunned. He couldn't believe the lengths some people would go to to protect their own backsides…
"Lose ends? You call people like Granger a lose end?" Tyler let out a laugh. "If that was the case, we'd have just shot the son of a bitch!" But that would leave even more lose ends flapping in the wind, wouldn't it? This way? It all gets muddied in the waters. That's what this is all about, my friend. Muddying the waters."
"Let me guess. And it would've worked if it wasn't for us pesky kids, right?"
Tyler leaned in, a crazed glint in his eyes. "Who says it hasn't worked?"
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Don stood at his desk, a phone pressed to his ear. All around him, agents checked databases, fielded phonecalls and generally tried to make sense of the chaos that had blown up. Literally. In the background, a plasma screen permanently switched to the rolling news channel showed the raging inferno and crater that was once O'Neils Demolition. The place had gone up like a low-yield nuclear bomb. There had been enough high explosive stored in the place to level a city block.
Colby stared at the screen, a sinking feeling twisting his guts into knots. The one lead they'd had was now a smoking, blazing ruin. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned, looking straight into the serious blue eyes of Micky Cox. "Need to have speaks with you, old son. Right now."
Micky led Colby into a side room and shut the door. "Mick, we're right in the middle of something here, buddy…"
"Not important."
"Not important? Are you kidding me? O'Neils has just gone up like fuckin' Hiroshima and you're saying it's not…"
"Col, trust me, it's a red herring. It's all been one giant red herring from start to finish, mate!"
"Okay, not sure about the fish reference…"
"They're going after you, Col. You, me, Dee, everyone they think they can't buy off. Everyone they're scared of. And I'm sorry mate, but that means your team as well. You've got too bloody good, old son. Tyler's lost it. Remember I said some of us came back from Afghanistan pretty screwed up? Yeah, well, there's none more royally fucked up than our loyal Marine in there, mate. He's been under orders to get close to you for months. Ever since the whole Amber Room shitstorm. You've poked a hornet's nest mate, and they're comin' out stinging."
Colby sat back on the edge of a table. He felt like his legs were about to give way under him. "Explain." His voice was hoarse.
"You've made some pretty bloody powerful enemies, Col. Enemies that don't like the way you have of digging down underneath all the dirt and finding out the truth about some pretty shady goings on. Enemies that don't give a flying fuck about collateral damage, mate. Tyler said that this was all about muddying the waters to such an extent that if you got killed in the crossfire, they'd have complete deniability, you'd be remembered as a hero for trying to stop a terrorist plot against the city of LA, yada yada, posthumous medals, shit like that. And nobody would bother digging deeper to find out who was really behind it all."
"Mick…"
"Colby, there's no terrorist plot, mate! There's no balloon about to go up, there's nothing! It's all fuckin' smoke and mirrors, Col!" Micky sounded angry – more angry than Colby had ever heard him before. "And they don't give a shit who gets hurt. Innocent civvies, your friends, your colleagues…anyone in the way gets took down!" Micky rubbed a hand across his face and started to pace. "Look. Remember when all this kicked off, you thought there was something hinky about it from the get go?"
"Yeah…"
"And what's the best way to get to your enemies without being noticed?"
"Create a diversion…"
"One fuck off big diversion, mate. Look, you and I both know that our people deal with some pretty shady characters, right?"
"As much as I hate to admit it, yeah. Your point?"
"And remember Dee said it's better to have someone inside the tent pissing out than someone outside the tent pissing in?"
"For fuck's sake, Micky!"
"Think about it, Col! Your trip to Kosovo? These people are powerful enough to get an exec order through the army recalling you to send you on some crazy-arsed suicide mission to go collect a load of dis-information. They knew it would fuck your head up going back out there, hopefully fuck your head up enough for you to make a pig's ear of the whole mission. But they weren't counting on all of you coming back alive, Col. In case you did, they had contingency plans in place all over the shop to send you off chasing your tails in different directions." Micky was pacing angrily as he spoke. "As soon as they found out that me and Dee had been covering your arses via satellite, they knew we were in on the game. That's why they tried to wipe us out afterwards. We left 'em a paper trail that led straight back to here, mate. And I'm sorry about that, old son, I really am. I didn't think they'd go as far as they did."
"Tyler?" Colby's head was spinning as he tried to process the information.
"Tyler was a contingency plan. He was plan fuckin' B, Col. The bomb that nearly took out me and Dee? Arranged by them, mate. Point a few ex-IRA bastards with a grudge in the direction of a couple of old adversaries, tell 'em to have at it, knock themselves out with a couple of blocks of C4 and a detonator and poof! There goes a couple of lose ends. The IRA get the blame, we're left as bloody corpses on the café floor and there's at least two problems solved. Any of your team that survived would find a trail back to the IRA and nothing else. Next, you and Andy don't die in Kosovo like you were supposed to, so, poof! Kick in another tragic incident say, oh, like a fire at the community centre and there's two more problems dealt with. Don and his team are left beside themselves with grief at the loss of fallen comrades, believing it was all some convoluted terrorist plot that never came to fruition, you get a star on the wall and a top knotch funeral all expenses paid by a supposedly grateful government, but nobody digs any deeper! And if they do? Well, hey, these people can arrange anything, Col. Any-damn-thing they want!"
Colby felt physically sick. "People are dying, Micky! For Christ's sake!"
"Like they give a shit!"
"But…that's the whole point, Mick. Who are they?"
Micky was quiet for a moment. "That I don't know, Col. The only name we've got is Walter Burkess. And that could just be another fuckin' smoky bloody mirror, mate." Micky sighed deeply and leaned back against the wall. He looked exhausted, frustrated and, for the first time ever, scared. He looked up at his friend, deep concern on his face. "Right now? We're all walking around with bloody great targets on our backs. And mate? I have absolutely no bloody idea who's aiming at us."
"I can find out."
Micky looked up sharply. "What? How?"
Colby frowned, deep in thought. "There's one person I know I can trust in Langley. Lawrence. Lawrence Gibbs."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
The two men fell silent. Colby felt like the walls were closing in on him. People around him – people he cared about – were at huge risk because someone, somewhere, wanted him dead. What had he stumbled upon that had so worried certain parties that they were willing to go to such extremes to eradicate him?
The same thought crossed Micky's mind. "Col, what do you know, mate? What do you know that's so fuckin' scary to them that they're prepared to go to these kinda lengths to stop you from uncovering it?"
"I don't know, Mick, I swear to God I don't know."
"Then I suggest you start thinking pretty damn hard, Colby." Don's voice was quiet. The two men's conversation had been so intense that they had failed to notice his silent entrance into the room. He looked deeply concerned and walked over to the younger man, laying a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder.
Colby looked at Don, an expression of desperate sadness in his eyes. "Don…I'm so sorry, man. I swear…"
"Col, it's not your fault, bud. Okay? Okay? You're not the bad guy here!" Don gripped the man's shoulder firmly.
"No Don, it is my fault. It's my fault that everyone here's on a goddamn list, bud." A look of dark determination came into his eyes. Suddenly, Don felt the powerful muscles of the young man's shoulder tense. "And it's time we stopped playing their stupid damn games, too."
"What ya thinkin', mate?" Micky's voice was quiet and calm. He knew how Granger worked…
"Time to start playing games of our own, Mick. We've been runnin' scared from these bastards for too long." He looked at Don. "Don, I need you to run with me on this, bud."
"Talk to me, Col."
"Carry on investigating O'Neils like they expect. But I need to drop offgrid for a bit. Just 24 hours, Don. That's all I need."
"You ain't going in solo, Granger. Not on my bloody watch. Dee would have my bollocks in a mangle." Micky's voice was hard.
"I agree." Don nodded. "And there's no point trying to make any kind of argument otherwise, bud. You're damn good buddy, but you're going up against some real first class greasy sons of bitches here, Colby."
"Trouble is, if we use any of your people, our bad guys are gonna be all over it in a heartbeat. We have to assume your unit's been compromised. Good job we've got Marcus and Doug on their way over, then, aih?" Micky winked.
"What?" Colby scowled at his friend.
"Mate, we thought something was off about this whole thing from the moment you got the Kosovo gig. Doug's an intelligence expert, don't let him tell you otherwise or fool you with that, 'I just jump out of planes raining death and destruction on people's heads' crap. And Marcus? Well, he's one of the best men to have at your back you could wish for and a first rate sniper." Micky's face darkened. "They won't be expecting our people, mate. We go at them sideways. Your team carries on with your own façade of chasing down supposed terrorists. Create our own diversion. If anyone asks, Colby's home getting some rest. They'll believe that. After all, you've been on the go for like, two weeks non-stop."
Don nodded. "We'll cover for you, Col. 24 hours, no more than that, clear?"
Colby grinned. "Just make sure the cavalry's standing by, Don, okay?"
"Saddled up and ready to ride, bud!" He patted Colby on the shoulder. "Do whatever you need to do, Col. Just…be careful, okay? And find some way to keep me looped in right through. We're gonna need it further down the line. I don't want anything covered up, Col. I want to see these bastards in the cold light of day with a pair of bracelets on, understand?"
Colby nodded slowly. "When are Marcus and Doug due in?"
"They should be landing in about…" Micky glanced at his watch. "Oh, about twenty minutes ago. And Marcus is a damn good comms man. He'll find a way of getting everything through to you without being compromised, Don."
"Good." Don nodded. "What about Tyler?"
"He thinks that interview wasn't taped. It was. I left the camera running. If you could, a-hem, edit out the rather forceful bits, that'd be good, though." Micky flashed a grin at Don. "The rest is totally useable. Full confession, mate."
"I need to make a call." Colby stood up and looked at Don. "Bud, I need you to keep this to yourself, okay? Not even David."
"Col…"
"The less he knows, the better. I'll square it with him if we all live through this."
Don frowned deeply but nodded. "Okay. What's your plan?"
Colby shrugged. "A meet and greet, Don."
"What? Are you kidding me?"
"No. Get them out in the open. Tell 'em I've got something they want."
"Which is?"
Colby's normally gentle, green eyes hardened. "Me, Don. I'm gonna give 'em me…"
TBC…