Disclaimer: Here we go again. Don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. OC's in the story are mine. I do this enough times the disclaimer may start to write itself.

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"What were you thinking, Colby? I mean, I know the surgery wasn't as major as it could have been, but still… the docs gave you at least a week to ten days to take it real easy. Which part of 'don't do anything strenuous' and 'no driving' went by too fast for you?"

David launched into him before he could get the door open good.

"Do you not understand that the more you do what the doctors tell you the faster you heal and the quicker you get back to your normal routine and back to work? Sometimes I think your head is the only substance harder than diamonds."

"Look, don't make a big deal out of it, huh? I'm fine. I swear! 'kay, a little tender, but no permanent harm done. I'm sturdier that that! Don't make too much out of this."

"You want to tell me exactly what was so important that you had to go against doctor's orders? Where'd you go anyway?"

Here we go, Colby thought. "I, um, I went back to the hospital" he admitted.

"What? Why? You said you're not having any adverse reactions. Why would you need to go back to the hospital…? Oh no, wait a minute! Tell me you didn't go back to that room! Come on, Colby! There was no murder man! It didn't happen. It was a dream!"

"No, David. It was not a dream. Something did take place in that room. Just not what I thought, that's all." He went on before Sinclair could jump in. "David, I know for certain it positively was not a dream or the result of medication or anesthesia. I didn't see a murder. David. I saw an attempted kidnapping. What I didn't know until today is that they came back for him!"

He stopped the incipient interruption by speaking first, starting with the brief, cryptic phone call and then included his field trip and conversation with Nurse Stevens. By the time he was finished, Granger could tell he had his partner's undivided attention.

"Homeland Security? Stevens said Homeland Security was involved in all of this?"

"Homeland Security doesn't operate that way. At least I hope they don't. Plus the call. Whoever it was sounded scared to death. He was a kid, David, the person on the phone. It was a kid. Probably pre-teen. The voice was young, male, and completely freaked out. Now he might be in trouble too. I'm not going to let this go. I can't. These people need my help."

Sinclair regarded him solemnly. "No, I wouldn't expect you to let it go, after hearing what you just told me." He was silent for a moment. "Alright look, the place to start is with Gerrard. Find out about him and his work. Find out where he's supposed to be and what he's supposed to be doing. I'll take that angle. You need to start with the wife and her family. If the Lucern family is involved, we're going to have to watch where we step."

" Does everybody know who these people are except me? Colby was annoyed. Stevens and now you? I don't …wait, we? You believe me?"

"Of course, I believe you, rock head. There's too much smoke for there not to be some fire here somewhere. But we're going to have to find it before we can knock it down"

How are you gonna help with this? Don't you already have a full time active case?"

"Yeah" David answered. "And if Don catches me not working it, I better have something pretty substantial to show for it. I'm gonna get out of here and get started."

"Great. Since I'm already dressed I can…"

"You can park yourself on that sofa with your laptop and start researching the Lucern family. I'd kind of like to know how a husband goes missing, especially this husband, and not a whisper shows up anywhere, wouldn't you? You can do that without leaving this apartment. You are supposed to be recuperating from surgery, Colby. For the sake of your stitches and my sanity, will you at least try to do this the right way?" Sinclair said, exasperatedly.

"Yes, Dr. Sinclair" Colby replied, with a cocky grin.

Regarding him with an almost parental disgust, David shook his head. "I'm being punished for something, ain't I?" he said, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. "Just stay in, alright? I'll call you later. We can compare notes"

Getting back into his car, Sinclair glanced in the rearview mirror. "Oh, shut up" he told his wary reflection, starting the car to head back to the office.

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RING!!!

"Hello"

"The black one…"

"I believe the correct term is 'African-American' Clarence."

"Sorry. The African-American one" Clarence emphasized, careful to keep the irritation from his voice, "just left. What do you want us to do?"

"Merely surveillance for now. The necessary arrangements must be made for more complete coverage of either man. Do absolutely nothing to draw the attention of the FBI. Is that understood?"

"Completely." Clarence sniffed at having his competence called into question. There was no need to be insulting. After all, he was a professional. Nothing like those two stooges who worked the hospital job.

"Excellent. Goodbye." The conversation was ended without ceremony.

Clarence closed his phone, and, after dropping off Keith to keep an eye on Granger's building, concentrated on following the black age…the African-American agent. Great. Now they had to worry about not alerting the Bureau. Clarence sighed heavily. The things he did for a paycheck.

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SLAP!!! Alison Gerrard gasped. The shock of being struck was more painful than the actual impact. Being slapped around was a unique sensation for her.

"How…wh…what…why?!" She shrank under the threat of another blow. "What did I do to deserve that?!

"You stupid woman! Your bungling has succeeded in involving the FBI. At the worst possible time! First you fail to contain your husband, then you allow his whelp to contact an FBI agent!

"But I…" She cringed as Amir Sahar whirled, dark eyes blazing with fury.

"Be quiet! Are you too simple to comprehend?! Our dealings are at a critical juncture. We cannot afford any undue scrutiny. Particularly from the Federal Bureau of Investigation!"

"They, they don't suspect anything!" Alison was frantic to contain Sahar's anger. She knew he could be very violent. She never expected to be on the receiving end.

Sahar gripped the woman savagely. Glaring her protests into silence, he flung her to the antique oriental rug. She cowered there, terrified, afraid of provoking him, unable to fathom what she could do to diffuse his rage. For the first time in her memory, Alison Lucern Gerrard was too frightened to speak. She could only be thankful the entire horrid scene was played out privately. The idea of anyone witnessing this…humiliation, was too grotesque to consider. It was this last thought that enabled her to gather herself together. Alison stood, drawing herself up to her full height. She was a Lucern. That meant something! He dared to strike her! She vowed to make him regret that. For now, however…

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"What we have no choice but to do. We move up the timetable. I cannot take the chance that your fumbling about has alerted the FBI to our dealings. Negotiations with my present clients are proceeding nicely. That must not be interfered with. Therefore, you will follow my instructions precisely. Your husband may too valuable to kill, but he must be silenced until our plans for him can be brought to fruition. You will attend to this matter."

"How should I do that? He has friends within the United States government, people that he works with, military and civilian connections. I, I'm not sure how to proceed" She admitted, sure she was about to provoke another outburst.

Sahar reached out, smirking cruelly as Alison flinched involuntarily. He cupped her chin in an iron grip. His voice, soft as it had been as her lover, was now chilling.

"Why, my dear, the solution is so obvious that even you should be able to grasp it. When you seek to control someone, you must wrap your hand around their heart."

'My, my husband and I…Conrad and I came to an understanding long ago. Our marriage is a convenient business arrangement. Nothing more." Although she knew Sahar was aware of the sterile condition of her marriage, the admission still shamed her.

"I was not referring to you. In your husband's case, his heart lies with his child. To control the father, we only need make proper use of the boy." He took a small leather case from his pocket, explaining its contents to her and issuing instructions on their use.

Though stepmother, and a distant one at best, to Conrad Gerrard's son, Christopher, Alison suddenly felt a totally useless pity for the ten-year old's fate. She smothered it. She would do what had to be done. She always had.

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