Disclaimer: I'm just gonna come right out with it. I don't own any part of Numb3rs or any of the Numb3rs characters. OC's are mine and on and on. Let's move right along, shall we?
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He paused once inside to make sure he hadn't been spotted. Then, on his neoprene slippered feet, he carefully advanced down the poorly lit passageway. Colby had all five senses wide open. Acutely aware that not only was he totally alone but also not bulletproof, staying invisible seemed a very laudable goal. Don and the others had no notion of where he was. If he were found out, he could be snuffed and dumped over the side at sea. Not even Charlie would be able find him this time. So, Colby told himself, don't get found out.
Eyes and ears going full blast, he climbed a half flight of metal stairs which took him from the yacht's storage/engine room level to one probably inhabited by crew. Not a bit ashamed, he skulked for all he was worth, hugging doorways like a cat burglar. Since each level up increased his chances of being discovered, he knew he needed to move quickly. Departure could happen at any time.
Two minutes of recon confirmed this deck held crew quarters. Each recessed doorway was equipped with a porthole window. A quick peek told him if its occupant was present or not. Largely not. Most of the boat's crew was busy preparing to get underway. He did find one woman, ahem, changing uniforms. Feeling very much like a dirty little boy, Granger moved on, checking the remainder of the cabins. No Christopher Gerrard. Time for another flight of stairs, this time a full one. He actually had a hand on the railing and one foot on the first step when the sound of voices approaching nearly gave him heart failure. Silently tucking in under the stairs, Colby fervently hoped the black and grey of his wetsuit would help him blend in
with the shadows. Controlling his breathing and commanding his heart rate back to normal, he waited for the two crewmembers to descend, talking animatedly. Snatches of the conversation he could hear told him they were discussing his warehouse antics. Apparently, the forklift operator was vehemently denying all responsibility for the disaster but no one believed him. Sorry buddy, Colby thought. You're gonna have to take one for the team, even if you don't know you're on it.
Once the way was clear again, he went up, ascending two at a time. With the caution of a thief inside the Vatican, he poked his head around the corner, ready to sprint for it if one or more of the angry suits were in attendance. Nobody. Whew! Polished teak flooring and walls fairly screamed passenger level. The distance between cabins increased markedly. There were only five on the entire deck, each one probably bigger than his apartment, Colby reflected wryly. No metal doors either. Only more wood, shined until he could make out his own reflection in it. They did have one thing in common with the crew cabins. Porthole windows, only bigger. About to peer thru one, he heard more voices, which entailed more hiding and breath holding. If he made it out of here, his doctor could skip the heart stress test on the annual physical. Quantico, he decided, needed a class on sneaking aboard luxury vessels to search for kidnap victims. He owed David an apology. It was official. His head was not only harder than diamonds, but in the immortal words of Sgt. Bill Castle, evil's chief minion among army drill sergeants, solid bone from ear to ear.
Alone again, he resumed his check of the passenger cabins, rooting for the narrow hallway to remain empty save for himself. Showing no evidence of being occupied, they were neither locked nor had shades drawn, a boon for the nervous FBI stowaway. He struck gold on number three. Sitting cross legged on the king sized bed, bearing a striking resemblance to a kicked puppy, which made Colby see red, had to be ten year old Chris Gerrard. Pulling a set of lock picks from his pack, gaining entrance to the one locked cabin (of course, it would be the only one wouldn't it?) was a simple matter. The child's eyes widened in surprise. Granger put a finger to his lips to keep the boy from speaking aloud.
"Chris, my name is Colby Granger." He spoke in a low tone, both to sooth the boy and not attract attention from outside. The smile on the kid's face was like the sun coming up. "I'm gonna get you out of here, ok? But we gotta be smart about this. Can you swim? Cause, you might have to, at least for a little while." While he spoke he shoved his pack under the bed. It's remaining contents would only be in his way for now.
Chistopher nodded vigorously. "Can I go with you now?! Can I go with you now?!" Chris was desperately eager to leave this gilded prison, with its painful injections, behind him.
"I'm gonna need you to be brave just a little longer, okay? I gotta make sure that this boat can't go anywhere, and then, you and I, we're going to have to get some help. I need you to do something for me." Granger pulled his cell phone from its waterproof pocket and handed it to Christopher. "Take this. After I leave, hit number one or two, then the green button. Ask for Don or David. You know where you are, right?" Another nod. "Good. Tell them where we are and what's going on. They can take it from there. Hang in there, dude. It's almost over. Lock the door behind me" He ruffled the boy's hair, smiled encouragingly, and with a thumbs-up gesture, was back out the door. This time, with a specific destination in mind, trying to ignore the warning signals from his insides. Behind him, in the cabin, Chris looked at the strange cell phone in his hand. The message window was colorfully lighted. It read 3 calls missed from: DAVID.
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Sinclair swore in annoyance. "Now where is he?" After two unsuccessful attempts to call Colby by landline, David resorted to his partner's cell number. It should have been possible to reach him by one or the other, but so far, still no luck. He swore softly again. His "Colby is in over his head" alarm was shrieking like a virgin spinster in a room full of naked old men.
He rejoined Nikki, monitoring Don's interrogation of one of the Global ProtectX five. Which was going exactly nowhere. David had to give these Global meatheads one thing. No matter what they were threatened with, after a rousing chorus of "I demand an attorney", which same were duly produced, to a man, they'd clammed up. Not so much as name, rank and serial number.
That included Barney Craig, who's repeated attempts on the lives of two federal agents gave him the most to lose. When Don was done with him, Barney might need a change of underwear, but he still evidently feared his employers more than the FBI. He, Don, Liz and Nikki needed to find a chink in that fear. A way in. Fast.
"Still nothing?" Nikki asked him, aware of his attempts to contact Colby.
"No. Nothing" David replied, rapping on the one way glass of the interrogation room. Don paused, glaring at the recalcitrant Barney before coming out to stand beside the others.
"You still can't get hold of Colby?" Eppes asked, already knowing the answer by the look on David's face. "You think he went on his own?"
"Don, the last thing he said to me was "I think I figured out where the kid is!" You know Colby. If he thinks he can find the Gerrard kid, he's not gonna wait! I'm trying real hard not to think the worst 'cause he's not answering, but the longer it goes on…" Sinclair left the rest unsaid.
"Yeah, alright. Village idiots one thru five will keep. We're wasting our time with this bunch anyway. Right now, we track down Colby. Get over to his place and…" Don broke off as David's cell started ringing.
Sinclair checked the caller id, then flipped the phone open. "Colby! Where are you?! What going on?!"
"Is this David?" a childish voice questioned from the other end. "Colby told me to ask for David or Don." This sounded like a kid.
"This is David Sinclair. Who is this? Where is Colby?" David demanded urgently.
"My name is Christopher Gerrard. Colby told me to call you. He didn't come back yet! I'm really scared! You hafta help him!" The child sounded tearful, and terrified.
Hitting the speaker button so Don and Nikki could hear, Sinclair modified his tone to calm his young caller down. "Ok, it's gonna be alright. We're gonna help him. And you, too. First I need you to tell me where you are and then tell me what happened to Colby? Can you do that?" All three agents waited restively.
"I'm on the boat, the big one. Colby he went…" Suddenly the boy stopped, saying nothing else.
"Christopher? Chris! What is it? Where did Colby go?!"
In the cabin, Christopher Gerrard, calling for help like he'd been instructed, heard the sound of his door being unlocked. He knew the ones giving him the shots would hurt him or Colby if they found the phone. Instead of hanging up, he quickly scooted off the bed, and hid the phone under it, putting a pillow over it to muffle David's shouts. He'd just sat down on the bed again when the door opened completely, and Chris saw not Colby, but someone else he desperately needed to see. His father.
Seeing the face of his son after days of abject fear that he never would again, Conrad Gerrard broke down. His sobs of relief filled the spacious stateroom as he hugged the boy to him tightly. The traumatized Christopher ended up comforting his distraught parent.
"It's okay, daddy. It's ok. Don't cry! Please don't cry daddy. It's ok." Chris patted his father's shoulders awkwardly, trying to help as best he could in his juvenile way.
"How very touching" Alison Gerrard put in sarcastically from the doorway. Scornfully regarding the emotional scene between her husband and stepson, she switched her gaze to her spouse.
"I'll leave you two alone. We cast off in thirty minutes." She closed the door, locking it and stationing a Global ProtectX sentry to keep watch.
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When Colby Granger was eleven years old, his Aunt Brenda, his mom's sister, left his Uncle Ted. The parting words she yelled in the general direction of her largely clueless spouse were "I think you've always loved her more than you ever did us! I hope you'll be very happy together!" Brenda Morgan gathered in her suitcases and both her children, straightened to her full height and marched to the door, shooed the children out, and then stepped out herself, slamming it behind her. Ten seconds later it opened again. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer!!" She screamed with conviction, slamming the door for good this time.
Ted Morgan did indeed hear from his bitter, soon-to-be ex-wife's attorney. A lot. Brenda, it seemed, wanted it all. The house, the car, the bank account and a generous monthly stipend, otherwise known as alimony and child support. Ted surprised everyone by giving in on every point with scarcely a word of protest.
"Let her have it, whatever she wants. It's not important" Ted instructed his flummoxed lawyer. He meant it too. Ted let nearly every earthly possession he'd managed to accumulate in thirty-nine years go bye-bye, didn't even fight for custody of his son and daughter.
Brenda's attorney found it such a breeze to take her client's ex to the cleaners that the barrister was overheard to complain "It's no fun when they make it this easy."
The reason for Ted's ready acceptance of incipient pauperhood was not, as some might have suspected, another woman, despite Brenda's final words to him. Neither was it, as in many dysfunctional couple's disputes, money. No, the final nail in the coffin of their marriage, the straw that broke the marital camel's back, was twenty four feet, six inches and two decks of cabin cruiser that Colby's uncle rather thoughtlessly christened Brenda, Too. At first, Brenda had been flattered to have her husband's shiny new pride and joy named after her. A sign of his devotion and regard for her she'd deemed it. Gradually, though, after Ted began spending hours, then days, then weeks at a time, painting and refurbishing, fussing over, tinkering with and sleeping on the Brenda, Too, not to mention the fishing expeditions with his friends, Brenda grew to resent the boat, then to hate it. Finally, after Ted's dinner had gone cold for the hundred and fiftieth time, Brenda gave him an ultimatum, "It's me or her." The next day, she'd taken her children and departed.
Colby's uncle loved that boat. Every thing about it. Every line, every angle, every inch of deck space. It was his baby, his precious, his most consuming passion. Colby was firmly convinced that if forced to make the choice, his uncle Ted would have cheerfully laid down his own life in defense of the Brenda, Too.
Which was probably why, when Granger was twelve, his dad had tanned his hide like cheap shoe leather after Colby, on a dare from his resentful, neglected cousin, used all of his preadolescent ingenuity to sabotage the engine and fuel line of the Brenda, Too. He'd learned about engines from a lot of different places. His own dad, other uncles, Jim Dixon, owner of Winchester's one and only garage and body shop, lot of places. So when his cousin chimed in about how much he disliked the cabin cruiser and then dared Colby to prove his knowledge of engine inner workings, it was too much temptation for a twelve year old.
He'd taken up the challenge, and been as amazed as anyone else when his
attempts at subversion bore fruit. His uncle Ted, blissfully unaware of his nephew's destructive monkeying about, bounded aboard the Brenda, Too one bright sunny morning. He cast off the lines, turned the key…and been greeted by voluminous clouds of greasy black smoke and an engine that balked at the words 'turn over' with a throaty, choking gurgle. Twenty-five hundred dollars and twenty four hours later, Colby was banned for life from being in the presence of the Brenda, Too. Young Colby Granger, seeing the smile on his cousin's face at not having to compete with the boat for his father's attention, considered his sore butt and lifetime ban to be worth it.
Now, Colby, returning from gumming up the engine works of yet another boat, in defense of yet another young boy, was hoping to be just as successful. It had taken much longer than he'd promised Christopher Gerrard. Not having himself or his efforts noticed by any of the yacht's crew ate up a horrendous chunk of time. Making his way back to the kid without being noticed more so.
He crept up from the engine room, past the storage and crew decks, and was about to cover the short distance to Christopher's cabin when Alison and Conrad Gerrard stepped into the passageway. Given the great acoustics, Granger was able to overhear everything. The tearful reunion between father and son, and Alison Gerrard's bloodless reaction to it.
"Mrs. Gerrard, you're a douche" he whispered under his breath. Unfortunately for him, she was on top of things enough to leave one of the Angrys behind. Colby's old pal from the boathouse doorway. "And me without a forklift." Colby thought. Now what?
He was still pondering his options when a resounding BOOM!!! echoed thru the entire boat. Looking out of the one window he had access to from his current hiding place, he saw a thick, billowing cloud of black smoke roiling skyward with enthusiasm. Those latex gloves he'd included at the last second. Like duct tape. A thousand and one uses.
"Nice to know I've still got it" He smiled maliciously. Alarm bells sounded on all the decks. Waiting until AS turned his head, Colby melted into the darkness under the half-flight of stairs, waiting out the general mayhem. Running footsteps, and then a shout.
"Johnson! Check the engine room! Find out what the situation is down there! The brat and his old man ain't going anywhere! Go! Now!"
Granger, hunkered down under steps, saw the AS dash past him and continue on to the engine room. Taking a risk, he darted back up to the passenger level, and was immensely pleased to find the corridor empty.
Swiftly working the lock again, he darted into the stateroom, which now held both Christopher Gerrard and a frazzled, startled Conrad.
"Who are you?! H…ho…how did you get in here?! What do you want?! the scientist blurted hysterically, panic pushing his voice into the upper register.
'Take it easy, doc. I'm on your side. I'm an FBI agent. My name is Colby Granger. I'm gonna get you and your son out of here." Colby focused on Chris.
"Did you do what I asked you to do champ?" Granger asked.
"Yes…" Christopher tried to continue, but his father interrupted.
"Get us out of here?! There, there, there's no way out of here! No way off this yacht! I told that other agent, and now I'm telling you! Leave us alone! I, we have no choice! We have to do what they say! We have to! There's NO WAY OUT! You have to go! you have to go now!" He clutched Christopher frantically, "Get out! Get out! Get out!" Gerrard was yelling now, loud enough be heard by anyone passing the cabin.
"Doctor" Colby barked the word sharply, green eyes boring in on the distraught man. "Keep your voice down. The yacht's not going anywhere, not for a couple of hours anyway. I made sure of that. Now you and me, we're gonna have to work together to get Chris out of here, huh? So you need to settle down. We don't have a lot of time before your guard comes back. So we have to leave now. If we do run into anyone, I want you to let me handle it, alright?" he waited until he got nods from both. He went to the porthole, checking for the AS named Johnson. Not back yet. Good. He didn't bother with his gun. Outnumbered by who knew how many to one, reenacting Custer's last stand didn't sound too smart. He turned back to the Gerrards.
"Chris, do you still have…" Colby tried to ask for his phone, but Gerrard interrupted again, this time in an anguished whisper.
"We can't leave! You don't understand! You can't understand! If we leave here my son will..." he left the sentence unfinished, not wanting to blurt the horrible truth out in front of Christopher. The only know antidote to his son's poison lay with Amir Sahar, already on board. Without it, Christopher would have forty-eight to seventy-two hours to live at most. They were trapped. In more ways than one. This Granger didn't, couldn't possibly understand. But Conrad did. After all he had done to protect, to save his son's life over the last two years. Everything he had given up, sacrificed, including his honor and self-respect, his freedom and integrity, he could not hand the responsibility for Christopher over to a stranger now. He would do whatever was necessary. For Christopher.
"W…We're, we're ready" Gerrard told Colby.
"Chris" Granger addressed himself to Christopher again. I need my phone back, Ok?" He smiled at Chris's ready trust. The kid was game, even if his old man wasn't.
Chris turned to dive under the bed, retrieving the still open phone. Before he could hand it to Colby, walking towards him hand out, Conrad Gerrard took advantage of the clear path to the door. He bolted for the entrance, dashed into the passageway and yelled hysterically.
"He's in here! He's in here! Help! Help! You have to help us! He's an intruder and he's in here!"
Colby tried to shut him up, but the damage was already done. Gerrard's hysterical screaming attracted too much attention. Coming on the run were no less than four angry suits. Bringing up the rear, naturally, Granger saw Alison Gerrard and (this time Colby's eyes widened) the target of Don's team for several weeks now, Amir Sahar. With no time do more, Colby snatched the phone from Christopher and tossed it back under the bed, still connected to David. Then the angry suits burst in. Well, ain't this a kick in the head, he thought.
"FBI" he stated sarcastically. "You're all under arrest." During the brief, ugly struggle that followed he worked in at least a couple of nasty hits of his own before taking a gun butt to the back of his head and slumping unconscious to the floor. The angry suits dragged him roughly from the room, under the dark, inscrutable eyes of their ultimate employer, Sahar, and a speechless, appalled Alison Gerrard.
Conrad and Christopher Gerrard were left alone, the boy regarding his father with a ten year olds crushing disappointment.
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