Show: NUMB3RS
Genre: Action/Adventure/Suspense
Rated: T (some violence and language, but it'll be kept at a minimum)
Pairing: Don/Terry friendship
Summary: As Charlie works on his formula to find the perpetrators of a devastating robbery and murder spree, Terry disappears. When Don and the team are given an ultimatum, will they be able to find her in time and uncover the identities of the criminals before another attack?
Disclaimer: I swear I don't own NUMB3RS. I swear I don't make money by writing this. Please don't beat down my door and arrest me, nice-awesome-CBS-executive-people.
Author's Note: This isn't the last chapter! Stay tuned!
Chapter Fifteen:
Hearing the muffled buzz of voices from outside the door, Don and David entered the conference room to speak to their assembled recovery team. Their meeting with Tursack had gone well, and he was prepared to give Don whatever means necessary to get Terry back safely. When they entered the conference room however, he was amazed at the number of agents that had been appointed to the task; over twenty-five agents, some from the SWAT teams and some from technical and forensics teams, were gathered in the room awaiting instructions. Upon seeing Don in the doorway, the agents quickly fell silent, eager to begin the next mission.
Throwing a few files on a desk, Don made his way to the projector, bringing it into focus and clicking on the photograph of their suspect. "Agent Brooks has identified this man as the kidnapper of Agent Lake and the ring-leader of the murder and robbery spree," he began, noticing several agents exchange interested looks. "We're looking for a man named Bill Klaptosky, believed to be armed and extremely dangerous. We also have reason to believe that he may not be alone, as his alleged crimes were the work of several people. Deployment will take place in thirty minutes to his home address on Barrymore Street, where we also suspect Agent Lake may be held. Our main objective is to ensure the safety of our agent – capturing Klaptosky alive is preferred but secondary. Understood?"
The other agents nodded affirmatively and cleared the office, moving to their respective positions for the recovery. Don and David, who were leading one of the SWAT teams exchanged optimistic glances and followed the others to suit up and collect their gear. As he pulled on his Kevlar vest, Don prayed that they would make it in time – "Hold on, Terry. Just a little bit longer, and you'll be home. Just hold on."
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Bill paced the dim living room as his two friends stood by watching anxiously. Casting another suspicious, angry glance toward his silent cell phone that was lying open-faced on the couch, he ground his teeth impatiently.
He heard Paul's voice timidly from one of the corners, "When did he say he was going to call?"
Not even bothering to look back in his direction, Bill answered, "You know he always calls at 6:00. It's 6:23 now, and he's never late."
More worry crept into this friend's voice as he asked, "Do you think the Feds caught him? Do you think they got him to talk?"
Bill had already considered this, and yes, it did concern him that Brooks was late with his call (very late) and yes, he wasn't completely confident in Brooks' loyalty at this point. It was possible that he was caught, and that he'd blabbed to his coworkers, in which case Bill knew he had a problem. He had an abducted FBI agent in the upstairs closet, an ultimatum that was hours away from expiring, and an informant that had missed his check-in time. If something had gone wrong, he knew that faith in Brooks wasn't going to save him – rationality and decisive action would go much farther.
Turning to face the other men he said, "We have to accept that he may have been caught. If that's the case, we can't stick around here for much longer, so I want you two to head over to Paul's place – make sure you're not followed. I'll give you a ten minute head start, and I'll follow with Agent Lake. If there's a problem, I want you to call and get yourselves out. Are we clear?"
The others nodded, grabbing their jackets from the nearby chairs, Paul giving Bill a quick squeeze on the shoulder which Bill promptly shrugged away, too preoccupied with thought to give much notice. When he heard the front door quietly click shut, he reached for the holster on his belt, unclipping the gun, and lightly rubbing the trigger with the ball of his thumb. Casting a pensive glance from the door to the landing upstairs, he sat in an armchair to listen to the silent countdown in his head.
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Terry jerked herself awake when she heard the closet door bang open, her neck creaking painfully as she lifted her head. She saw the familiar silhouette of her captor, and her heart began to rapidly thump in her chest when she saw the revolver dangling from one of his meaty palms. He took a step toward her, his other hand closing around the elbow of her uninjured arm. Without a word, he pulled her to her feet; Terry, who had been curled up on the floor for who knew how long, felt her knees buckle slightly and her sight swim before her as her head throbbed. Struggling not to show him how weak she felt, she bravely asked him, "Where are we going?"
"There's been a change of plans," he muttered, shoving the barrel of his revolver between her shoulder blades. "Walk."
Wincing slightly against the light, Terry slowly made her way from the closet and proceeded down the hall, her captor and his gun close behind her. There was still the wild fantasy she clung to that Don and the team would show up out of nowhere, saving her at the last possible moment with all of the bravery and luck that accompanied such miracle saves. Of course, Terry had no idea where she was being taken now, but she knew that he was probably impatient enough by this point to be ready to kill her. If Don hadn't given him what he wanted, and she had no doubt he refused, then her captor was probably pissed enough to shoot her, dump her, and be done with it. Terry knew that this was it – there would be no miracle save, and it was now up to her to live or die.
Focusing all of her FBI-trained mind on the task in front of her, she attempted to analyze her present situation with a clear and level head. Though she was physically weakened, she could use the element of surprise – she doubted that her captor expected her to attempt a feasible escape. He had let go of her arm, and her only restraint at this point was the pistol that he was holding – surprise, again, would be necessary. The corridor was quickly coming to an end, and she could see a staircase ahead – if she made a move, it would have to be there.
At the first step, Terry grabbed for the rail and clutched her ribcage, groaning in what she hoped was believable pain. The man behind her lowered the pistol slightly and leaned closer to her. "Hurry up," he whispered urgently.
Terry chose that moment to suddenly straighten, ram her good elbow into his stomach, and push him up and away, heaving his weight with all the strength she had. He stumbled back with a shout, firing blindly but hitting only the ceiling, until finally losing his balance and crashing to the floor. Terry wasted no time and immediately started down the stairs, hurrying as fast as she could but was heeded by her injuries.
Halfway down she heard his roar and his lumbering footsteps as he followed her down the stairs. Terrified, she tried to go faster but found herself thrown to the floor below as he launched himself at her. She shrieked in pain as her already bruised head hit the baseboard, and she watched through squinted eyes as her pursuer went rolling in the opposite direction, revolver flying from his hand and skittering across the wood floor.
Terry fought to get to her feet but the man was faster, and he slowly approached her, eyes glittering with hatred as he towered over her. "You stupid bitch," he breathed. He suddenly drew back his enormous booted foot and planted a square kick in her side. Terry felt her already cracked ribs explode in agony, and she heard the distinctive popping sound of breaking bone. She gave an involuntary yelp and curled into a ball in an attempt to protect her head and damaged ribs.
He stood over her, breathing heavily, and she watched with frightened eyes as he slowly made his way to the fallen revolver. As he reached to pick it up from the ground, she squeezed her eyes shut against the inevitable, tears of anger, misery, and hopelessness beginning to burn. The sounds in the room seemed to be magnified – the slow, heavy steps of her captor, the distant plopping of water droplets in the kitchen sink, the creaky pinging of the radiators. However, these sounds were nothing compared to the sudden burst of noise that filled the room as the front door banged open and multiple shouts echoed from the doorway: "FBI! FBI! Put the gun down, and put your hands over your head!"
Terry snapped her head up and was amazed at the number of FBI agents suddenly pouring through the doorway, all wearing standard-issue vests and all heavily armed. Several of the agents had weapons pointed at her captor who, calm and collected to the end, was slowly putting his gun on the ground and allowing himself to be frisked and cuffed. Still shocked and shaky that she would actually be okay, she barely noticed one of the agents break away from the group and move to her side.
Tearing her eyes from her cuffed captor, she saw Don Eppes quickly striding toward her, tearing his protective goggles from his face and kneeling concernedly by her huddled figure. "Terry? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" he asked urgently.
She shook her head mutely, evading his eyes. "I'm fine. Could you help me up?"
He took her gently by the arm, and helped her into a sitting position so that she could lean more comfortably against the wall. She winced as her ribs pressed painfully against the wall, and she hurried to cover up her pain. Don, who was carefully searching her bruised face for hints to her condition, immediately caught her expression.
"Terry, what happened? Where does it hurt?"
When she down-cast her eyes again with a shake of her head, he knelt beside her and gently cupped her face in his hands, turning her to face him. He swallowed painfully when he saw the ugly, purplish gash on her left cheek; he locked his gaze with hers, but she quickly looked away, not wanting him to see the slowly ebbing fear in her eyes.
"It'll all be okay. We're going to take you home," he whispered, gently stroking her hair. She nodded shakily, squeezing his other hand tightly. Don glanced over his shoulder where Bill was being led from the room by several agents. David was on his cell phone with Tursack, and he gave a reassuring, happy smile in their direction. Catching the eye of Agent Simons, Don called, "Can you get some paramedics in here?"
Simons gave a quick nod and headed for the front door to flag down some members of the ambulance staff. Don turned his attention back to Terry, who was cradling her bloodied arm and silently watching him delegate. He moved closer, sitting back against the wall next to her, and put a comforting arm around her shoulder, drawing her into a gentle embrace. Don heard her give a shaky sigh, her hand reaching out to find his and squeeze it for comfort. Casting his eyes down to the woman beside him, Don finally felt that his world was coming back together.
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To Be Continued (more Don/Terry to come)! This isn't finished yet, and I know, this has been a long time coming, but I hope it was worth it!