Title: Shall We Play A Game?

Author: FraidyCat

Disclaimer: per diem re all Numb3rs characters and characterizations. The "main hospital" featured in this fanFICTION is a work of FICTION and does not really exist in any location other than my mind. Ditto the "downtown Y", as well as whatever else I decide to make up.

A/N: The Cat takes this opportunity to clarify: Suggestions are always welcome in any review. Said suggestions may be ignored, borrowed, filed for future reference or, if there are enough of them, burned at midnight during a full moon while chanting Latin.

When Last We Left Our Villians…

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Chapter Twenty-One: Cops and Robbers

When Cracker and Dawn returned from their morning casing the downtown Y, they brought a bag of apples and a chunk of cheddar from the farmers' market, and called it 'lunch'. The Los Angeles branch of Planet Green was, by now, all gathered in a third-floor walk-up of a ramshackle tenament near East L.A. that had teetered on the border of extinction for years.

There was only running water in one room of the flat; unfortunately, that was not the bathroom, but the kitchen. The kitchen was also the only room that had working electrical outlets. When the cadre used this location, they burned candles and camping lanterns picked up at second-hand stores, and they showered at homeless shelters. The group could have split up, or stayed at the apartment they had abandoned that morning, after Cracker kicked Sarah out; but the sense of "roughing it" and suffering for the cause appealed to them all. Besides that, Planet Green in L.A. had long ago begun to exhibit signs of inbreeding. "Leadership" was "leadership" in name only. In truth, they were lemmings, content to follow the charismatic Cracker off a cliff.

Most of them, anyway, Aaron assured himself. Even Sarah, blinded by her own bitterness and her hatred of all that even lightly smacked of authority, since Joe's death – she would probably be right there with Patty, Dawn, Marcus and the rest of them, if she could. They had talked, last night, in-between the repeated throes of passion; they had dared to dream. Sarah was now convinced that Joe's death meant almost as much to Aaron as it did to her, and Aaron was convinced that if he helped her accomplish this one thing – pay this one debt, and exact retribution against the pig who killed Joe – Sarah would finally let it go.

She could be a brilliant speaker, a gifted composer of revolutionary rhetoric, a brave and fierce soldier. She would make a fine 1st Lieutenant. With Cracker and Dawn gone, Aaron could assume his rightful position and steer Planet Green back to what it should be. The others would accept his leadership, and would not question his decision to bring Sarah back in. He could almost taste it.

Which was more than he could say for the 'lunch' their two 'leaders' had provided. How could anyone expect to keep an army in top shape, ready to react or attack at a moment's notice, on a diet of cheese and apples? Still, sitting cross-legged on the filthy carpet, Aaron thoughtfully bit into his Red Delicious, chewed for a bit, then added a bit of cheddar to his mouth. He chewed once or twice more, and swallowed before looking across the living room at Cracker.

"Maybe I should go to the other cache," he suggested. "Imagine it; you detonate the C-4, and the cavalry comes running. Can you see the additional havoc it would create, if someone were to lob a well-timed grenade or two as the first responders hit the scene?"

Dawn, lying on the floor with her now-dark-brown-head in Cracker's lap, squealed and gazed up at him. "It's delicious!" she crowed. "All that screaming, crying, gnashing of teeth – and everybody scared shitless to do anything about it!"

Marcus ventured an opinion from the other side of the room. "We've had the stuff for a while," he pointed out. "Might as well finally get some use from it." He glanced at Aaron. "We could synchronize our actions, and hit them from opposite locations at the same time. Anybody left alive wouldn't know which way to go first!"

Patty, sitting beside Cracker, pouted prettily. "What about me? I'm part of leadership, too; I want to be in on the action!"

Cracker smiled at Aaron like a loving and proud father. "I like it," he announced. "I'm glad to see you thinking like a soldier, Aaron." He glanced at Marcus, still benevolent in his praise. "The double hit is a good idea, too; you and Aaron coordinate that." Finally, he swiveled his head to lean and kiss Patty full on the lips, leaving her somewhat breathless. "We're depending on you the most, Baby. You have to liberate a vehicle, and be ready to pick us all up at the rendezvous point. It might take us hours to get across town on foot, but when we get there, you've got to get us out of L.A. fast. We'll head for the San Diego chapter."

Patty considered her role in the cadre and decided Cracker was indeed trusting her with the most important gig. She tossed her long, now-auburn hair over one shoulder. "Maybe I should finish up a disguise and go with Aaron now; pick up a van somewhere."

Aaron tried not to show a negative reaction. "Great!" he enthused instead, and started to stand. Then he frowned and thumped back to the floor. "I don't know, Cracker, what do you think? The operation is at 1400 tomorrow; if Patty finds a vehicle this early, we'll have to stash it somewhere."

Cracker nodded sagely and agreed. "Last thing we need is extraneous attention, right now," he informed Patty. "Some Bozo reports his van stolen, we don't want it anywhere near any of us."

Aaron smiled disarmingly at Patty. "You watch your back tomorrow, too. You're gonna be with the van for several hours, waiting for us. You see something suspicious, ditch."

"Absolutely," Cracker input, patting Patty on the knee. He yawned, belched loudly and placed one arm around Patty, the other hand on Dawn's breast, which he began squeezing gently. "Take some bus fare from the kitty," he suggested, looking at Aaron. "Three grenades out to do it. Dawn and I will carry one for back-up."

"No problem," replied Aaron, rising easily to his feet. "Be back as soon as I can."

"Take your time," Cracker offered magnanimously. "I'm gonna be busy for a while, anyway."

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Andi Sommerfield had told them that she left money for Sarah in the bowling alley locker, and that Sarah left a duffle of clothes and other items she could use to disguise herself there. The locker was empty now, which didn't really surprise either of the agents.

Ian was surprised when Don offered him the keys to the SUV as they walked back through the parking lot. "You know the way to the bus station?" he asked gruffly.

Edgarton tried not to register shock; he'd offered to drive, after all. Eppes' arm must really be hurting. "Uh…yeah, I think I remember," he answered. He pointed the key fob at the SUV and unlocked the doors, and the two men approached their respective entrances. Almost in tandem, before either of them had climbed into the vehicle, both of their cell phones rang. They shrugged at each other over the hood of the Suburban.

"Edgarton," Ian practically spit into his cell, wandering a few feet away from the SUV.

"Eppes." Don's tone was clipped, tired, and reflected his current state of unwellness.

Each man listened intently, asked a few questions, and disconnected within minutes. They met again at the Chevy. Ian arrived first, and tilted his chin in the direction of Don's phone, which was disappearing into the front pocket of his jeans. "Important?"

Don frowned slightly. "Something's…I mean, it's good news. That was the Doc at the clinic, and he's identified the infection as staph. Best part, I'm Brucella-free; so he's leaving a vial of…some kind of mycin for me to pick up."

Edgarton tapped his fingers on the hood of the vehicle. "You should get on that right away; could be resistant to treatment and turn into MRSA." He grinned. "Figure your family could do without that, right now."

Don's mouth gaped. "How the hell…" he started, and Ian shrugged.

"I read."

Don let a small smile play at his lips. "Yeah. Well, luckily, so does the doc at the Bureau clinic. He's already asked me to come in at least once a day, given me all the warnings…" – his face darkened – "…told me to stay away from Charlie…." He shook himself and focused on Ian's phone, which the other agent was still holding in his hand. "What about your call?"

Ian sighed. "That was Agent Horn. The lab geeks traced the GPS chip associated with the number Sarah sent me, and Horn and his partner went to the location. They had her picture, and were just going to sit on it for a while, see if she showed up – a small bakery near the federal building."

Don looked interested. "And?"

Ian made a slight noise of disgust. "Apparently, your office needs to brush up on the concept of a stake-out. They must have stuck out like sore thumbs. Not five minutes after they got there, some waitress comes running across the street and walks right up to the car; asks if they're feds. Horn figured they were busted anyway, so he confirmed. Gal hands him a GPS chip and a one page note – same block letters as on the one I got. This one says, 'Don't insult me again. Children will die.'"

Don grimaced, looked at his watch. "You're making the call from the office, with all of us there," he ordered, not for the first time. "We'll try for a trace, but it sounds like she's smart enough to anticipate that." Don started for the passenger door again. "We've got almost three hours – let's check out the bus station and then check-in with David and Colby."

Ian nodded and moved toward the driver's door. He glanced at Don again as they both climbed inside. "So what's bothering you about the staph?"

Don looked back at him, once again impressed with Edgarton's perception. "I don't know," he admitted. "It just seems weird. I've had infections before, but never staph…and this was just a small scratch that I got in a hospital. It was treated right away!"

Ian thought as he inserted the key into the ignition. "Well, you already know that I read," he teased. "I've always heard that staph is a fairly common infection to be acquired in a hospital. Patients are always going in for one thing and ending up with something else."

Something clicked inside Don, and he tried to pull it together verbally. "Havercamp said that St. Michael's just passed an inspection, and has received several commendations in the past for its high level of cleanliness. Its rate of hospital-acquired infections is ordinarily quite low. That's why she began to suspect that something new had been introduced to the hospital environment; patients were not improving. They were developing secondary problems, like Charlie, and growing worse."

Ian jumped ahead. "It's not clean, anymore."

Don nodded, arching up a little and reaching into his pocket for his cell. "It's in the disinfectant. Or the bottles that should be disinfectant. Planet Green arranged for the hospital's own employees to spray Brucella all the hell over the place. I'm calling Lee."

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The house was disgusting; filthy. A 'condemned' notice was nailed to the front door, and it was obvious why. Colby wasn't sure he believed Andi. Surely human beings no longer came here for shelter, no matter how desperate they were.

There was no electricity, or running water. There were, however, hot and cold running rats, scurrying from one pile of debris to another. They were making nests in discarded piles of old clothes, and had chewed holes in 5-gallon plastic buckets that contained something lumpy and liquid that Colby did not want to think about. The smell was making him ill, and his perusal of the house was fairly rapid. He had to get outside to the polluted L.A. air before he made his own contribution to the mess and completely blew his image. David would never let him live that down.

He pushed out the back door, which was hanging by one hinge, and leaped the few feet from the porch to the backyard, avoiding a set of suspicious-looking steps. David was just coming around the corner of the house with the bolt cutters from the trunk of the F.B.I. sedan. "Next time you take the house," Colby breathed, nodding at the bolt cutters. "What are those for?"

David smiled at his still slightly-green partner. "Cutting bolts," he dead-panned, and Colby rolled his eyes. David laughed and led the way to the dilapidated garden shed behind the house. "Strike you as odd, that a condemned house needs a shiny new padlock on a shed that's falling down?"

Colby followed his gaze and raised an eyebrow. "Well, well, well. Ain't that just the most interesting thing you've seen today?"

David extended the shears and snapped cleanly through the padlock, which fell to the ground. He shouldered the bolt cutters and looked at Granger, waving toward the sagging door like a 'Price Is Right' model. "I can smell the house from out here," he remarked. "I think you've earned the honors."

Colby grinned, and stepped forward. As he pulled the door open, David moved in behind him, and they both stood for a moment in the doorway, eyes blinking and adjusting to the dimmer light in the shed. It didn't take long – sunlight was leaking through several gaping holes in the roof and cracks in the framing. They could see the outline of several boxes below a blue plastic tarp, held in place at the corners with rocks.

"Wonder what they're protecting?" murmured Colby, stepping forward to pull at the plastic. The first box he uncovered was wooden, with large block letters stenciled in black on every surface: 'F1 Anti Personnel Device'. "Holy shit," exclaimed Granger, backing into David and stepping on his partner. "Holy shit," he repeated, not even noticing. "This place is full of grenades!"

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Aaron had approached the safe house from the rear, through the hard-packed dirt alley, so he did not see the federal vehicle in the driveway. If Granger had not yelled so loudly, giving away his presence, Aaron would have walked right into the back yard and the welcoming arms of the feds. As it was, he barely had time to skid to a halt and retreat behind the overgrown hedge that bordered the property.

Quietly he dropped to his knees in the dirt, and peered through the thick brambles. His heart fell at the sight of the open shed door, then leaped to his throat when a black man in a suit hurriedly stepped outside, followed by another who already had a cell to his ear.

Having seen more than enough, Aaron backed away as slowly and silently as he could. He would stay on his hands-and-knees for at least 25 feet before he rose and ran to the nearest bus stop, jumping on the first bus that passed.

His mind was racing even before his feet were. He didn't know if he could get in touch with Sarah again before the pig was due to call at 4. Aaron had just called, on his way to the house, and told her that Cracker and Dawn were taking down the Y at 1400 tomorrow. If he didn't reach her first, she would spill everything, thinking she was setting the sniper up for his own death – never suspecting that Aaron had failed in his mission. His stomach began to churn as he contemplated the fact that he was expected to return to the loft with grenades, as well; he would have to inform Cracker that there was a leak in the organization.

Cracker would suspect Sarah, but Joe knew she wasn't responsible; for one thing, she wanted the grenades herself. For another, he, Aaron, had been with her all night and had written the note to the F.B.I. cop himself. He jogged down the alley and hoped it was a long bus ride.

He had to think.

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Edgarton and Eppes were waiting for the manager at the bus station to let them into the locker Andi had identified as a Planet Green drop when Don's phone rang again. He had left it on in case Havercamp or the other team members called, and it was with some impatience that he recognized his father's ringtone. He sighed, shrugged at Edgarton and brought the phone to his ear.

"Dad, I'm in the field right now. I really can't talk, and I need to leave this line open. Can I call you in about an hour, when I get back to the office?" He frowned, and dropped his gaze to the floor as he brought his free hand up to cover his other ear. "What? It's kind-of loud in here."

Ian started to look away, but stopped when Don paled so dramatically he became worried he was about to have an unconscious federal agent on his hands. "That's impossible," he heard Don mumble, but was unable to make out any more of the conversation. His curiousity was killing him when Don finally disconnected and raised dark, stricken eyes to his own. Eppes still looked like he might pass out. Ian's brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Don beat him to the punch, wavering where he stood like a man who'd had too much to drink. "Charlie's missing," he informed Ian in a tone that suggested he still couldn't quite believe the news himself. "There was some mix-up in the evacuation, and the wrong patient was sent to the private rehab Dad and Millie set up. Millie and Amita went to see Charlie and found a complete stranger, instead."

Ian tried to reassure the shaken agent. "Then Charlie must have been sent wherever that guy was supposed to go."

Don shook his head. "That's what Dad thought. Turns out it was the county lock-up, so maybe it's a good thing." He tried to smile, failing miserably. "I don't think Charlie would do too well there, even in the infirmary."

Ian stepped a little closer. "Didn't they notice their prisoner never showed?"

Don grimaced. "It just gets better and better. St. Michael's sent them some poor old guy with a similar name. They discovered the problem about the same time Millie and Amita did."

Edgarton reasoned aloud. "Maybe Charlie went where the old man should have gone?"

Don shook his head again. "That would be county hospital, and they're saying 'no'. Dad said LAPD is getting involved now." He ran a hand over his head and looked at Ian in abject misery. "My God. Charlie's sick, and sent who-knows-where during a botched evacuation – and I can't even help! Even if by some miracle I find him, I'm not supposed to go anywhere near him!"

Ian made up his mind quickly. "I can," he said, and Don gaped at him. "Drop me off at St. Michael's, get back to the Bureau and make the call at 4. Convince Sarah you're me; she doesn't know my voice. You should probably do it anyway – I don't have any experience at this sort of thing." Don opened his mouth to speak, but Edgarton didn't give him the chance to protest. "Look," he informed Eppes in a no-nonsense tone, "I'm a tracker. I told Charlie this morning that I would track him down, wherever he ended up…and by God, I will."

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A/N: Oh, no!! Will Don be able to convince Sarah that he is Ian? Will Aaron reach Sarah in time, and convince her not to take the call at all? Did Colby break David's toe when he stepped on his foot? Is poor Charlie sleeping in the student nursing lab, or have the mannequins rebelled and taken him hostage? How much more can Amita take? Will Cracker cancel his plans when he finds out there is a leak, or will he continue to live up to his name?