Disclaimer

Today's disclaimer is brought to you in the form of a limerick.

It goes:

There was a young woman from Nantucket…

*Cue urgent screams of "Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!" from lawyers*

*Innocent eyes* What? (Much urgent pointing and whispering at censorship rating) Oooooooright, gotchya.

Okay then, back to the bog-standard…waddya mean I can't say 'bog'? Ohfortheloveof… *Deep sigh, much rolling of eyes* Just to keep the lawyers happy, I hearby declare that I have nothing whatsoever to do with the cast, crew or creative process of Numb3rs. However, the story, characters of Diane Armstrong, Micky Cox and Danny Smith are MINE, so anyone tries sayin' otherwise and these 'ere lawyers are on freakin' overtime, got it?

Right you lot *stabs accusing finger at lawyers*, back to work. And stop answering that bleedin' phone! It costs me a damn fortune every time you buggers go near the bloody thing…

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Don walked outside into the bright LA sunshine, aware that the dark cloud hanging over his head was nothing to do with meteorological conditions. "Col? Got a minute?"

Colby glanced over at his boss and immediately frowned, mirroring Don's own concerned look. Something wasn't right… He quickly finished giving instructions to the FBI agent that held Monroe in a forceful grip and made his way over to his boss. "What's up, Don?"

Don beckoned and moved out of earshot of the other FBI agents. His voice was low. "We have a problem."

"What, another one?"

"I don't think the FBI was the safe haven of integrity you were hoping it was, Col." Don pulled out a notebook and a handful of photographs and passed them to the younger man. He waited while Colby scanned the documents. Eventually Colby looked up from a black-bound notebook, his face unreadable.

"Jesus…"

"Explains why they've been one step ahead of us all the way through, buddy."

"But…Christ…" Colby shook his head and closed the notebook. "Don, this changes everything. Miller will know by now that we've got Monroe. This was an official operation. There's a damn record going all the way up." He pointed at the notebook. "He'll have the authorisation on his desk. And you can bet your ass he'll be straight on the phone to Miller."

"There's also a good chance that he'll know about Tyler."

"No. We're the only ones that know Tyler's in play. That operation was strictly off grid, Don."

Don nodded. "Okay, so let's keep it that way. You're handling him, right?"

Colby passed the photos and notebook back to Don. "Yeah. Don, listen. We're gonna have to bring the rest of the team in on this. One of them says the wrong thing to the wrong person, even by mistake…"

"…I know. And we've got ourselves a cover-up of Kennedy proportions."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"Waddya mean?"

Colby looked genuinely concerned. "Look. I know you hate all this counterintelligence shit…" Colby held up a hand as Don opened his mouth to speak. "No, bud, let me finish here. I know how you feel about it, okay? But if this gets up the chain I'm worried that it could pin a goddamn target on everyone's back. You don't know these kinda people like I do, Don. They'll stop at nothing to cover their asses. Plus, if this gets out..."

Don rubbed his eyes and frowned deeply. "Yeah. You're right." He glanced at his friend. "Jesus Col, how the hell did he ever manage to keep this covered? I mean, in his position?"

Colby smiled sadly. "You had a spook right under your nose for two years before you found out, remember?" He shrugged. "Best way to hide something, Don."

"In plain sight?"

The sad smile faded from Colby's lips. "Yeah. In plain sight…"

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"You got it?"

"I got it." Mark Tyler walked up to his boss's desk and held out the flash drive.

"Armstrong?"

"Out of the game."

"Smith?"

"Dead."

Miller frowned briefly. "You're sure?"

"Yes, sir."

"Granger?"

Mark paused. "He…"

"Still alive, huh? That son of a bitch is damn near indestructible!" Miller slammed the flash drive down on the desk and leaned back in his chair. "Well, there's nothing he can do now. He's got nowhere to run. We can take our time dealing with Special Agent Granger. He's not an immediate threat." He glanced up at Tyler, suddenly very conscious that he was vocalising his inner thoughts.

"You still here?"

"What about Monroe?"

"He's been arrested by the FBI." Miller scratched idly at his chin. "That could be a problem. Lucky we know someone on the inside, huh?" He smiled nastily at his subordinate. "Good job, Mark. Take the rest of the day off."

"But you'll need a report…"

"Oh, I don't think that any paperwork is required on this operation, do you?" Miller raised an eyebrow at Tyler and smiled benignly.

"Sir." Mark nodded curtly and turned to leave.

"Mark?"

Tyler turned back and looked at the man he now knew was an enemy of the state – a traitor… "Sir?"

"Any other…issues?"

"No sir." Mark held his boss's gaze evenly, fighting an almost overwhelming urge to pull out his sidearm and put a bullet straight between the bastard's eyes…

"Good. Thank you. That'll be all."

Mark Tyler walked quickly out of the room, making every effort to keep his body language as neutral as possible…

Miller watched the man leave and waited until the door closed softly behind him. He picked up the phone and dialled quickly. "It's me."

"God DAMN it Miller! What the hell?"

"It would be wise if you calmed down."

"Calm down? They've just brought Monroe in. I've ordered an immediate report from Sinclair but he's stalling. Miller, what the hell's going on? Monroe, he's…"

"Your problem. I have a bigger one."

"Which is?"

"Tell me. The Brits. How are they?"

"They're alive and drinking my goddamn coffee, that's how they are! What're you getting at?"

"Oh, just that I've been reliably informed that Armstrong was out of the game and that Smith was dead."

"Really? You wanna tell them that? Because they're here, large as life and twice as much a pain in my ass. Your so-called reliable information is a crock, buddy."

"That's what I thought. Question is, why?" Miller sighed and leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "Look, this is getting out of hand. This was supposed to be a simple clean up operation. You assured me that Granger wasn't a threat. That his investigation into Amber Room was over. That he wasn't a problem any more!"

"He wasn't until those damn Brits showed up! Anyway, waddya mean? You passin' the buck here, pal?"

"Our agencies have never exactly seen, shall we say, eye to eye, have they? I thought you had a good grip on things your end. Granger's your man, after all. Surely you can put a leash on the bastard."

"Bull. He may work here, buddy, but he sure as hell isn't one of my people! Remember? Operation Spiderweb? That was your goon factory's idea, not ours!"

"Spiderweb was a perfectly justified operation. Nine eleven can't be allowed to happen again. Our agents were placed inside law enforcement agencies with the full co-operation of everyone involved…"

"To spy on your own fucking people?"

"No, to ensure that the flow of intelligence between the agencies from the ground up remained unhindered. Not, as you so emotionally put it, to spy on our own fucking people." Miller let out a small laugh. "Just as well, really, huh?"

"Jesus Christ, Miller! You think this is funny?"

"You knew the risks from day one, my friend. You also know how messy this could get for you if it ever came to light, what with your little problem and all…"

"Are you threatening me, you son of a bitch?"

Miller laughed quietly. "Of course not! Just sayin' like I see it, buddy. Besides, Spiderweb isn't the issue here. This is an Amber Room clean up. I want that damn project put to bed. And that includes everyone involved in it." He leaned forward and tapped at a couple of keys on a laptop, distracted by a 'you've got mail' message. Frowning, he read the message on the screen and immediately hit 'delete'… He sat back, refocusing his attention on his telephone conversation. "It may be a good time to, well, take a couple of day's leave. Get some fishing in, ya know."

"Fishin' season's closed."

"You're a powerful man. Open it." Miller put the phone down and picked up the flash drive, studying it thoughtfully. "So Tyler. What little game are you playing, my friend, huh?" He turned the flash drive over in his fingers, examining it from every angle. "What little game?"

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Mark Tyler flipped open the phone, holding down the panic that threatened to twist his intestines into knots. He hit speed dial one…

"Granger."

"Package delivered."

"Good. Any problems?"

"Miller's smart. He's suspicious, I'm sure of it."

"Okay, why ya thinkin' that, Mark?"

"He asked about the Brits." There was a pause at the other end of the line. "Colby?"

"Get home, get packed and get the hell out, Mark. Do it now." The line went dead…

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Colby snapped his phone shut and swore quietly. Don, guiding the SUV through the busy LA streets, glanced at his friend. "Problem?"

"Miller's on to Mark already. Fuck. FUCK!" Colby slammed a fist against the dash of the truck, furious and frustrated. "Every time. Every goddamn time we try to move, that bastard's all over us!"

"Okay. So this is your gameplay, buddy. What next?"

"We need to isolate Monroe. We can't run the risk…"

"…That he'll say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Yeah, already done, Col. Question is…"

"…Wadda we do about this? Yeah, trying to figure that one out myself, Don." Colby flicked through the notebook again. "There's a good chance that Winter's has been tipped off that things have gone south. Chances are he's already on his way outta the country. Don, he gets on a plane we'll have no chance of grabbing him again. Means we've lost any chance to get any intel outta him about his contacts this end. We've got Monroe for Peterson and Michelle's murders and we know Mountbatten organised the hit on Gary. Who pulled the trigger?" He shrugged. "I'm guessing we'll never know that. This thing's got so many fuckin' layers I'm freakin' drowning over here."

Don glanced at his partner, a frown of concern on his face. Colby was starting to worry him. The frustration was tipping the big man over into that dark place again – he was tailspinning… "What about the Brits? I mean, surely we've both got enough evidence now to mark him? Us and them?"

Colby stared out of the window, lost in thought. "Yeah." His response was a mere mumble of agreement. "Possibly. They got their own way of doin' things, bud. And honestly? I figure Winters is their damn problem now. I spoke to Dee, gave her the heads up on everything. She's getting in touch with London for further orders."

"Col, her team…"

Colby looked at his boss. "I know. They're a kill team, Don. But Winters is more use to them alive. Don't worry. They're not gonna be committing any more felonies on US soil, with or without our government's approval." He gave his boss a half-hearted smile.

"I thought you'd quit from all this shit, Colby."

"Spooks don't quit, Don. We don't retire, we don't leave."

"So how the hell do you get away from all this crap?"

Colby didn't answer straight away. He watched the LA landscape blur past the window of the SUV, his hands tightening into fists. Don could see the man's nails digging into the skin of his palms, the flesh reddening as the pressure increased…"We die, Don." Colby looked back at his boss, his green eyes clouded. "That's the only way out…"

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"Eyes on Winters says he's rabbiting, guv." Micky Cox walked quickly into the briefing room and slapped down a file on the table. "Our guys have him at LAX buying a ticket back to the Smoke and looking bloody nervous."

"I'm not surprised." Diane picked up the file and scanned through it quickly. "Are Six waiting at the other end?"

"In place and ready to escort him into one of those little private rooms. Ya know. The ones where they wear latex gloves and a nasty smile?" Micky grinned broadly at his boss. "I don't think his answer to 'did you pack your bags yourself, sir' is gonna be too well received. Especially when they find a kilo of Colombian marching powder in amongst his Y-fronts."

Diane smiled quietly to herself, noticing the look of horror on David and Megan's faces. She looked at them, the smile vanishing and a hard, cold look coming into her eyes. "Whatever it takes, agents. Whatever it takes."

"What about this damn flash drive that he's supposed to have?" David perched on the corner of a desk, wincing and rubbing gently at his injured shoulder.

"No sign of it. Techs went through his stuff with a fine toothed comb when we tossed his hotel room." Danny shut the door behind him and leaned casually against the wall. "The bastard's still probably got it on him."

"Or he's done a dead drop on it. Question is, where? And when?" Megan studied the collage of photos and documents on the monitor.

"Not your problem any longer, Agent Reeves. We'll take care of things our end." Diane snapped the file shut and discarded it on the cluttered table.

"So what are we waiting on now?" Megan turned and faced the Englishwoman. The mask of 'out of control worry' that she had worn throughout the operation had vanished. Now that they all knew the operation had been a set up from the start, there was no point in pretending otherwise. Megan and David had a hard time coming to terms with the way the British did 'business' – the FBI agents were way out of their comfort zone here. This was Colby's world. Diane's world. A world of double and triple crosses, of using 'any means necessary', of words that had alternate meanings or no meaning at all. It was all a lie – an illusion. And it stank…

"We're waiting on Colby and Don to get back here." Diane looked at Megan and for a second, behind the cold, professional soldier Megan thought she could see a glimpse of some genuine concern. Pity, even…"I'm sorry folks. I really am."

"For what?" David frowned. He felt as uncomfortable as he knew Megan did with all this. It seemed wrong to him. The same feelings of betrayal he had wrestled with when he thought Colby had been a traitor had surfaced again. The knot in his stomach warned him that something in their own back yard was wrong here, and not just this shadowy Miller character…

"Colby and Don'll brief you when they get back. Until then? None of you are to leave this room."

"What?"

"You're on lockdown, Agent Sinclair."

"Oh, now wait just a damn minute here…"

"Not my orders, David. These come from Don." Diane's gaze was level but uncompromising. David glanced towards the door. Danny Smith still stood casually against the frame but the body language told David that any attempt to exit the room would be met with gentle but firm denial from the powerfully built man. Danny shrugged and shook his head. "Obviously there's been developments. He was most insistent."

"Shouldn't be too long, anyway, Sinclair." Micky grinned and pointed. "The boss approacheth…"

Danny glanced over his shoulder and mirrored Micky's grin. "And by the looks of it, he don't look too damn happy, mate!" He moved aside from the door and opened it, letting Don and Colby enter the room.

"Don?" Megan sounded concerned. The look on Don's face was one she'd seen before – the same look he'd had when he'd found out about Colby's assumed betrayal…

Colby shut the door behind them and patted Danny affectionately on the shoulder. "Been keeping them on lockdown, buddy?"

"Thought they were gonna rush the barricades for a moment there, Col!" Danny grinned, but David could see behind the banter. Something was seriously wrong. Colby moved quietly to the back of the room and sat down next to Ian. Ian glanced at the man – Colby merely shook his head. Again, those wordless conversations. Megan felt disjointed. Her years of training hadn't prepared her for this. There were no psychology textbooks that dealt with the unspoken conversations between counterintelligence officers. But instinct told her that a storm was coming that would shake the very foundations of the unit…

"Okay. Listen up. What we discuss in here does not, under any circumstances, leave this room. Are we clear?" Don's voice was sharp and authoritative. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair and paced anxiously. Turning suddenly, he looked at his audience. British and American, fighting side by side in a war with their own people. He felt sick. Sick to the pit of his stomach. He stopped pacing and leaned back against the table, his head on his chest. "Jesus guys, I don't even know where to begin." Don looked up at his team. The best damn team in the FBI. He could see the concern written across David and Megan's faces. Colby and Ian? Well, they had their own agenda but Don knew damn well that the two ex soldiers were utterly loyal to his team and completely committed to seeing this through to the end…

Don took a deep breath. Best just to lay it out there…

"Winters is boarding a plane to London as we speak. I trust your people have everything in hand?" He looked towards Diane who merely confirmed the question with a curt nod. "Good. That just leaves our end. Monroe in isolation?"

"Yes. Don, I had a request from the deputy director's office for the file on Monroe…"

"Have you sent it up?"

"No, not yet, but…"

"Good." Don stopped David in his tracks. "The last thing we want is to give White any intel on this operation."

David frowned. "Why not? He's the deputy director, for God's sake!"

"And did you stop to wonder why he was so damn interested in this case, David?"

David frowned deeply. "What are you saying here, Don?"

"White's dirty." Colby's voice came from behind David. It was quiet – barely audible. David spun around and faced his friend furiously. Colby sat impassively, his emotions completely unreadable. "Sorry bud. It's the truth."

"The deputy director? Oh, c'mon!" David turned and faced Don. "Jesus, you're serious, aren't you?"

Don merely nodded. "We found evidence at Monroe's that puts Deputy Director White up to his neck in all this. They've been playing us, guys. Playing us all like fucking puppets. Six months ago, White was given a full report from Colby's people on Operation Amber Room. He knew of Colby's involvement in the operation and that the investigation was still going on."

"White's appointment was considered to be a political one." Colby picked up the thread. "He was an average agent at best, but damn good at manoeuvring himself into the right positions at the right time. Like you said to me once, David, the FBI's a top down organisation. The people at the top?" He shrugged. "Sometimes they have their own agendas, buddy. White had a bit of a secret life. His position gave him the ability to cover it up. But it put him right into the hands of Miller."

"What secret life?"

"Seems our deputy director likes to play cards." Don carried on. "Really expensive cards. The guy's got a gambling habit that would make the Vegas casinos break out the champagne."

"We found a notebook at Monroe's. Probably given to him by Miller. White was being blackmailed by Miller to pass intel on operations directly to him. As soon as he saw our first report with the words 'Amber Room' written on them, Miller went into overdrive. Started coming down hard on White. That's why the son of a bitch has been one step ahead of us all the way. Our own goddamn boss has been offering us up on a silver fucking plate." Colby's voice was hard. "The notebook had transcripts of documents from the genuine Amber Room flash drive. Remember a while back we busted a gang for gun running? And how that whole case ended up falling apart because of so-called procedural anomalies?" David nodded. The case had frustrated all of them.

"And then there was Damien Lake."

"But that was jury tampering, Don. We proved that." Megan sounded confused.

"We never really looked too closely at how that whole thing started, did we?" Don smiled briefly at Meg. "I know you weren't around for that case, Meg, but believe me, we damn near busted out on it. There were plenty of unanswered questions after we put Lake away."

"Questions that got swept under a very nice carpet up on the top floor, Meg. Along with some questions that never got answered about my situation? Or yours with the DOJ?" Colby's matter of fact tone chilled Meg. "This has been going on for years. Miller's had White's balls in a vice since day one. Christ knows how many operations and cases have been compromised. Internal Affairs are gonna have a fucking field day when they find out."

"Christ…"

Megan stared at Don. He looked devastated. The organisation he had dedicated his life to had a rotten core – a rot that would jeopardise the entire organisation's reputation. "Don, if this gets out…"

"Then the FBI as an organisation is gonna take a massive hit, Meg. All of us. Every single one of us will be seen as compromised."

"So what the hell do we do?"

Don looked at his team. This was probably the last time they would all be in the same room together. Once the internal investigation started, he knew his team would be torn apart. Colby and Ian would probably melt back into the shadows with the CIA. He knew he would be hauled over the coals for this. His career was finished. Meg and David? Maybe they would survive. Maybe not… He sighed deeply.

"We arrest deputy director White for treason…"

TBC…