The Unquantifiable Variable
By BeckyS
April, 2005


The Eppes family and the characters and situations from the TV show "NUMB3RS" are the property of the Scotts and the creation of Cheryl Heuton and Nick Falacci. No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

Chapter 1, Part 2

Don Eppes eased his aching body into his chair at the FBI's Los Angeles office, grateful he was wearing his jeans and a comfortable pullover, and could slouch without worrying about wrinkling his clothes. His partner, Terry Lake, leaned against her desk, facing him, still dressed in one of the casual long-sleeved knit tops and the flared-leg jeans she preferred for after-hours work. He rubbed his eyes with a futile hope that she wouldn't continue her argument.

Their argument.

No; hers. He was too tired after an all-night stakeout to argue.

How had he ended up posing as the wine-soaked bum crashed in a stupor against that torture rack of a dumpster, while young, strong, flexible David was in the comfortable air-conditioned van with all the listening equipment? He knew the answer – he'd been the one who set it up that way. He preferred calling the shots, but this job had been pretty straightforward, and he'd figured David needed the experience behind the scenes. He'd kept override privileges via the headset hidden under the smelly flap-eared hat he'd worn, but otherwise had let David run the show. The operation had gone off without a hitch, reaffirming his confidence in the young agent, but it had taught him something, too – it wouldn't be all that many more years before he'd be too old for the stakeout business.

When after a few moments Terry still hadn't spoken, he looked up. She merely raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed in exasperation. "Look, I know you're right, I'm just too whacked right now to want you to be right."

A pixie gleam lit her dark chocolate eyes. "So if I let you get a ten-minute nap, you'll take care of it?"

"Twenty."

"Fifteen."

"I'll take it." He sank down farther in his chair and closed his eyes. He heard her talking in a low voice to someone, then what seemed just a moment later, smelled something wonderful under his nose.

"Coffee," he mumbled.

"Fresh from Bianca's Bakery," he heard David say.

His eyes wouldn't open. "It hasn't been fifteen minutes yet."

"Actually," the younger agent said, "Terry said it's been twenty."

He sighed and gave up. He straightened in the chair, looked blearily around until he located the bright red cardboard cup that David had been waving in front of him, and welcomed its warmth to his hands. A single sip of the steaming hot brew brought his mind back into focus. The extra five minutes had been just what he needed.

David smiled sympathetically and leaned against the opposite desk. He was back in a suit, and his sleepless night didn't show at all. Somehow, Don pondered, he never looked rumpled. It was a good trait in an FBI agent, to always look cool, collected and in control, even if you weren't, but Don wondered sometimes how the younger man did it.

"Where's Terry?" he asked, taking a second sip.

David gestured at the two cups on the desk behind him. They stood next to a pile of the fresh fruit filled pastries David had introduced to the team, to their communal delight. "After I got back with the coffee, she headed for the interrogation room to see what Joe was able to get out of our new friend, Martin. Left me on guard duty."

"Guarding me?" Don huffed.

"She said the pastries, but I got the message. We all had time to rest yesterday before the stakeout while you were still working with Charlie. No one came by that had anything that couldn't wait. I would've woken you up if they did."

Don selected one of the pastries that had thinly sliced fresh peaches layered on top. "Mmm," he mumbled and chased it with a larger swallow of coffee. "Sure wish Bianca would open a bakery out my way. Or even near Dad's, like at that little shopping center around the corner."

"Arroyo Plaza?" Now it was David's turn at the pastry tray. His hand hovered between the blueberry and the cherry. "The one with the hardware store, next to Arroyo Savings and Loan?"

Don laughed. "Even you know about Benito's?"

David looked skyward. "They not only have tools and hardware, they have paint and grass seed and lawn furniture and—"

Terry strode in and slipped a hand under David's, snatching the blueberry pastry.

"Hey!" he protested.

"Plenty more," she mumbled around a mouthful. She unremorsefully swiped a crumb from her lips and waved him away from her desk.

He shook his head at her and took the strawberry pastry, but didn't move.

Don noticed that he didn't look too put out. He grinned. "Gotta be fast around her, David. Gotta be smart." He turned to his partner. "So, what've we got?"

"Well, Martin says he's got kind of a silent partner. Doesn't know who he is – gets instructions via email, payments at different drops. Fred from the lab is taking a team over to his apartment to confiscate his laptop, but if this partner is as smart as we think he is, we'll be lucky to get anything off it."

"Email from one of the major free services, sent from public locations," David guessed. "Nothing to tie him to the mob."

She nodded. "He probably sends them from libraries, coffee shops, the mall – any place he can find a wireless hot spot. The emails tell Martin what to do next. One email, one step. Anything goes wrong, he doesn't know any future plans."

Don scrubbed at his face. "There should be information in the email headers that'll tell us which ISPs they were sent through, then we'll have to get a warrant to get those companies to release the data on the sources."

Terry nodded. "We can do it while you get some sleep, Don. I'll call you when we have something for you to look at."

"Something for Charlie to look at, you mean." He yawned.

"Mmhm. Do you know his schedule today?"

He stood up and stretched, his body telling him it had been too long from the sack. "Free this morning, a couple of classes midday, then office hours later this afternoon for students he's advising. He doesn't like to cancel those, but he can."

David figured the timing and said, "Probably won't need him until this evening or tomorrow anyway. By the time we figure out which ISPs we need to talk to, get a judge to issue the warrant and then get the data from them, I'm sure he'll be finished with his students."

Terry wadded up her napkin and threw it in the garbage can. "Then the best use of your time, Don, is to get some sleep while you can. Let Charlie know we'll need him, and then check back in when you wake up."

"I'll go crash at the house – be easier to bring him in with me."

David studied him with a slight scowl. "You okay to drive?"

"Hey, I just had a twenty minute nap and some of the best food on the planet. I'll be fine." He slipped a couple of bills from his wallet and laid them on Terry's desk. "And whether or not you were right about whose turn it was to pay for Bianca's, thanks for the nap."

An impish smile lit her face. "You're welcome," she said as he walked to the elevator.

"So," said David. "Whose turn was it really?"

She just waggled her eyebrows at him.

And at the Arroyo Savings & Loan, a teller stepped on her silent alarm button.