Disclaimer: Let's make it quick this time. Don't own any part of
Numb3rs including the characters. Warning! Fictional locations ahead.
Now that that's out of the way…Beep! Beep! Beep! Backing up just a bit.
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(The team's POV)
"Gotcha!" Nikki Bentancourt wheeled around triumphantly in her chair, clutching
the results of her frenetic search in her hand. "I found the yacht! It's a ninety footer
currently berthed at the Cabina Rey Yacht Club. The Mariana Star.
Looks like they're making preparations for a trip, though. A long one.
Lots of stuff being loaded on board. Guy I talked to is the harbor master.
He talked like he thinks they're gonna leave any minute."
Liz ended her phone conversation and joined Don and Nickki. "Colby's carrier puts the signal here. It was a lot easier to pinpoint because the line is still open" She jabbed at a spot on the map she was using. The wealthy playground of Cabina Rey.
"Don" David Sinclair started rushing in, "SWAT's ready to roll, as soon as we get the where!"
"Just did" Don replied grabbing vest and gun and running for the elevator. The rest followed, each hoping Colby could hold out until they could get to him.
David, intently monitoring the open phone line the entire time, desperately listened for the sound of his partner's raspy sarcasm. For most of that time he heard nothing. If there was anyone left in the room, they didn't speak.
Then, suddenly, the sound of the cabin door being flung open. David could hear dragging sounds, something heavy. That was followed by a voice he did not recognize, full of malignant pleasure.
"Not so tough now are ya?" the stranger spat out viciously.
Sinclair, to his immense relief, picked up Colby's mouthy response. Following on its heels was the sound of a kick and a grunt of pain. David's hold on the armrest tightened to a death grip.
"When I find you, I'm gonna rip that leg off at the hip" Sinclair silently vowed to Colby's unseen abuser.
Behind him, weapons were being checked and Kevlar donned. At a distance devouring seventy-five miles per hour, Granger's FBI rescue team drew ever closer.
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"Doc" Colby's agony soaked mumble broke the strained silence within Christopher Gerrard's stateroom. "Doctor Gerrard? Doctor Gerrard!" Colby's much put upon rib cage, the recipient of quite a bit of his questioner's attention, registered a stringent protest. Unable to do much about it with his hands tied (a lot tighter that was strictly necessary by the humiliated Johnson), he gasped and rode out the pain. He suspected he had at least one, maybe more, fractured ribs.. Fat lip, tender jaw, loose teeth, one eye completely closed, and just to round things out, possibly even a little internal bleeding. His surgical site wasn't feeling too swinging either. Lovely. He tried again. "Doctor…Gerrard!" This time more insistent.
"Doctor, listen to me. I understand you're worried about your son. We, you and I, we gotta get Christopher out of here. Sahar and your wife, whatever they've already done to him, it's just gonna get worse if we don't. You know that. You can turn away, you can tell yourself whatever you have to, but if you really want to protect him, if you really love him, you'll listen to me."
Gerrard exploded. "Don't you try to tell me how to protect my son! Don't you tell me I don't love him! You don't know what I've done for him. How far I've gone! You have no right to judge! What do you know?! What do you know?! What could you possibly know?!" The distraught father crossed the room to stand over Colby, then as his knees gave way, collapsed beside the FBI agent, nearly inarticulate with impotent rage, tears running down his face.
"You don't understand! You don't understand!" Gerrard hissed, barely above a whisper. He cast a look behind him to Chris, crouched a few feet away, unsure of how to respond to this new behavior from his dad. The boy could see but not hear the exchange between his father and Colby.
Gerrard continued in the same undertone. "They, they po…they poisoned him. Sss…Sahar and my wife. They gave him poison. Sahar is the only one with the antidote! And it has to be administered every twelve hours! Even if we could get him off the ship, without that antidote, my son will die within seventy-two hours! Th…the…there's no way you could, no way anyone can prevent that! He has to have those injections! I will do anything I'm told to do! I've already done terrible things! Unthinkable things! And I'll keep doing them, do you understand me?! I have no choice! I can't let my son die!" Conrad buried his face in his hands.
It took all of Colby Granger's considerable self-control to stay poker faced during the doc's revelation. Obviously, Chris had no idea of what was being done to him. What kind of people did this to a kid? Through his years of war, and with the Bureau, Colby had seen a lot of the twisted things one human being could do to another. It took a lot to shock him anymore. But this? His blood boiled. He filed Gerrard's assertions of what had already taken place away for later.
"Doc, look I…you're right. I don't have any idea what this must be like for you. And I don't, I don't know how to counteract whatever it is they gave him. But hear me, ok? I'm friends with some of the finest minds in the world. These friends of mine, they know some of the rest of the finest minds, including the medical ones. If anybody can help Chris, figure out what he was given and how to neutralize it, they can. But we have to get him out of here first. We have to. If we don't, he doesn't stand a chance. Let me ask you something. Which do you think is more likely to happen? Do you really believe that once they have no more use for him, or you, that they're gonna give him some kind of ultimate antidote? That everything will be all good? That Sahar and your wife, once they're done with you, that Chris will be given a cure for this poison? You'll be free to live your lives in peace, no looking back? Or will they kill you and just let him die? Because those are your options. There's no middle ground. Sahar and Alison stole your son's life, and yours. You have to take them back. For Chris's sake. There's only one way to do that." Colby stopped, nothing else to say.
Gerrard was also quiet, staring first and Granger, then at his son and back again to Colby. Struggling to find the words, he finally gave up, concentrating instead on the floor, indecision strangling him.
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With the legal niceties chopped thanks to a no-nonsense judge, Don Eppes FBI team hit the Mariana Star with the ferocity of a hungry tiger shark. Giving the yacht's defenders no time to react, the agents simply overwhelmed the opulent vessel's private security force. Somewhere on that boat lay a possibly badly injured Colby Granger. Don's bull-horn warning of "Attention Mariana Star, this is the FBI! We have a warrant! Prepare to be boarded!" was greeted by gunfire from the boat. Fine by me, Don thought.
David Sinclair stitched his target up the right side with a three second burst from his assault rifle. Firing on the run as he rushed up the gangplank right on Don's heels, he didn't slow. Forced to finally break the cellular connection to Colby as the raid got underway, David reacted blink fast as a man foolishly attempted to block the passageway. Sinclair, senses attuned for any threat, unknowingly traced the same route his partner had traveled earlier. Winding his way cautiously but quickly thru what appeared to be ship's storage, he could look to his left and see the engine room. To his right, a half-flight of metal stairs led upwards. He started for them, only to be blocked by more shooters, armed with automatic weapons of their own. David was momentarily pinned down before receiving an assist from the powerful punch of three SWAT agents returning fire. A brief, nasty firefight ensued before two of the 'security specialists' were down, one dead, one injured. The third, abruptly seeing the error of his ways, chose to give up, ending face down on the metal floor. Leaving the mess for SWAT to attend to, David rushed up the stairs to what looked like a series of modest sized cabins. Quickly clearing them, he could hear sounds of more fighting going on outside on the decks and above him on the upper floor. His ears caught running footsteps, and he whirled ready to deal with whatever danger presented itself. Experience stayed his finger on the trigger as Liz Warner materialized in the doorway, similarly armed.
"You've been hanging around Granger too long. Thought you might try to find him by yourself."
"I think these must be the crews quarters. Not swanky enough to be for any passengers. Come let's get out of here."
Amir Sahar, seething at the emerging debacle happening around him, knew he had a matter of minutes before FBI agents were upon him. He had no intention of being caught up in some sordid attempt at escape. Nor would he be fool enough to try and "shoot it out", as the American media was so wont to portray. Equipped with diplomatic ties to several nations, Sahar was not overly worried about spending an undue amount of time in FBI custody. The shipment, his main purpose for coming to the United States, was even now wending its way to those for whom it was intended. These pathetic federal policeman could not prevent that. They did not, would not know of its existence. He had no fear Alison Gerrard would betray him. She could not reveal what she was not aware of. She did not understand about the shipment's true potential. Not that it would have made a difference either way. Alison was ever the pragmatist, and completely under his control. In the extremely unlikely event that she decided to be cooperative with her soon to be captors, Sahar was confident his international connections would protect him. As for her husband, since his full usefulness could now no longer be realized, Amir knew his orders for the scientist and his son were being carried out. Confident Gerrard would never be able to reveal what he knew and prepared to let Alison Lucern Gerrard (the absurd woman, always so conscious of her imagined superiority) as the saying went, "twist slowly in the wind", poured a finger of scotch and settled back to comfortably await developments.
Alison Gerrard shook uncontrollably as she heard the FBI agents getting closer. The large quantity of brandy she'd consumed did nothing to calm her shattered nerves. How could this have happened? How could they be here!? And so quickly!? What was she going to do!? What…what…sh…she, she couldn't think. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to get away. They were supposed to be away from here by now. Away from the jurisdiction of the American or any other authorities! She couldn't be handcuffed! Paraded about, subject to public ridicule! She couldn't go to prison, jailed like some common felon. Totally out of question! She was a Lucern! Her station in life was above such indignities! How could this have happened!? How were they found so soon?! In her inebriated panic, she seized on the only refuge she could think of. Amir. She had to get to Amir. He would protect her! He had to! She rushed to the door, yanking it open, very close to losing control completely. Gasping with shock, Alison backed up into the room, stumbling over her own designer shod feet and falling. Grimly businesslike, Nikki Bentancourt, gun ready, stood over the shaken society maven. Two SWAT agents stood ready, watching impassively.
"Nice to finally meet you Mrs. Gerrard. Turn over on your stomach. You're under arrest." Holstering her weapon, Nikki stepped over the drunkenly compliant woman, applying handcuffs with a certain amount of satisfaction.
Crashing into stateroom # 1, Don came face to face with the man his team had been tracking for weeks now. Garbed elegantly in navy blue Italian silk, Amir Sahar sat calmly in one of the salon's wing chairs, crystal tumbler of Glenlivet by his side. His face bore an expression of self-satisfied untouchability, completely at ease. By the way this guy acted, Don thought, you'd think he got raided by the FBI on a daily basis.
"Amir Sahar, FBI. You're under arrest for kidnapping , the attempted kidnapping of a federal agent and suspicion of possession of and trafficking in biological weapons. I'm sure there'll be more but that's good for starters."
"I have diplomatic immunity. I am officially under the protection of the Afghan flag. You have no authority to arrest me. I insist that you contact my consulate so that they may provide me the proper legal protections until such time as it may convenient for me to return to my country." Sahar's measured tenor sounded almost bored.
"Yeah, well, we'll see about that. Just because you're all sexed up to the Afghan government doesn't mean they're gonna want to kiss you back. Stand up" Eppes said shortly, "let me see those hands." Cuffing Sahar roughly, Don nudged him out of the room.
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Ducking low to remain out of sight, Johnson moved quickly up the stairs from storage to crew level and then to the staterooms. He had business to take care of.
He'd hired on at Global ProtectX after being kicked out of the Marine Corp for assaulting his lieutenant eighteen months ago. A buddy got him the Global slot. One of the first persons he'd met, curiously enough, was a tall, dark-skinned Arab looking guy wearing a set of threads and a watch that probably cost more money than Johnson would ever see. Later he'd found out the dude's name, Amir Sahar. Some kind of big wheel in the arms dealing game. Summoned to Sahar's office, Johnson was ushered in after being made to wait for an hour. Seated in front of the antique mahogany desk, Johnson had waited for the man seated in front of it, high-backed leather chair turned away, to address him for another thirty minutes. Finally deigning to notice, Sahar regarded him contemptuously. Johnson felt a chill. The guy had the flat black eyes of a great white.
"Michael Johnson, twenty-seven years old, from Wheeling, West Virginia. Dishonorably discharged from the United States Marine Corp for striking a superior officer, and other offenses. Interesting that you should find your way here to us at Global ProtectX."
Johnson started to speak but those shark's eyes killed the words in his throat. Sahar reached into his desk's center drawer, extracting a single sheet of buff colored paper. He stabbed Johnson with his deadly gaze once more.
"The 'official' reason given for your separation from the Marine Corp was the physical assault of your lieutenant, a young man from a wealth family. I wonder" Johnson's interviewer posited sardonically, "would they have simply discharged you from the service were the full extent of your transgressions, particularly those committed in Iraq, made known to them."
"I, I, I don't know what you mean, what, I don't know what you're talking about" Michael Johnson stammered, wanting out now, but afraid to leave.
"Mr. Johnson, do not make the mistake of taking me for a fool" Sahar answered, pushing the buff colored sheet of paper across the desk at him. "I sure this will be of interest to you. When you have completed it, you and I will discuss certain 'particular duties' to be included in the tasks you will be responsible for as an employee of Global ProtectX."
Johnson read. Then he and Amir Sahar discussed his 'particular duties' for Global ProtectX, at some length.
Now, aboard the Mariana Star with the FBI closing in, Johnson prepared to carry out those duties. The father would be easy, the kid even more. Johnson wouldn't really mind doing the kid. The little pisser had kicked him in the nuts once when Johnson went to give the kid one of his shots. Listening to the firefight encroaching, Johnson decided to save the kid for later. Kids gave a guy a much better bargaining position. He'd learned that lesson in Iraq. Doing the fed, now that was going to be the best of all. He smiled coldly, bracing his shoulder against the cabin door, and flinging it open.
"Time to die, wisea…" his vengeful pronouncement went unfinished. They were gone! The room was empty! The doc, his kid, that FBI puke, all gone! Impossible! Where were they?! Where?!
"I know you're in here. Don't make me look for you! You make me find you and it's gonna be slow! I'll make it hurt! I promise! Come out and I let the kid live!" he lied. Prowling the floor angrily, Johnson knew his three targets only had so much space to hide in. On one knee by the bed, He was about to check under it when a sound from the bathroom whipped his head around. With a sadistic grin, he headed in the direction of the sound. Reaching the ten-thousand dollar shower curtain with its eighteen carat gold in-laid thread, he ripped it aside to reveal Conrad Gerrard and his terror-stricken son.
Raising his gun to Conrad Gerrard's forehead, Johnson said, still smiling vindictively, "All in a day's work, doc. Been nice knowin' ya."
"Bet he can't say the same" said Colby Granger from behind him. Johnson spun, trying to alter his aim in time. Colby didn't give it to him.
Ten seconds later, David Sinclair and Liz Warner arrived to find the scientist and his son holding one another as they wept. A very deceased Michael Johnson leaked blood onto the imported bathroom tiles, and a thoroughly tenderized Colby was braced against the wall. Johnson's checking the bathroom first instead of under the bed gave Colby time to retrieve his gun from his stashed pack.
"Took you long enough" Colby muttered, at the ragged edge of his endurance, sliding down until he reached the floor.
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The mop up was mercifully brief. Following the arrests of Sahar and Alison Gerrard, the remaining Global ProtectX gunmen rapidly threw in the towel, choosing prison over dead. The yacht's crew and warehouse workers were also taken into custody as a precaution. Conrad and Christopher Gerrard were, for the time being, placed under FBI protection. The doctor, Don pointed out, had a great many serious questions to answer. After learning of Chris Gerrard's unique medical condition, the father and son were escorted under guard, to UCLA Medical Center.
After seeing Colby and a hovering David Sinclair into an ambulance, Don and his remaining agents headed back to L.A, wondering how close they were to the end of this increasingly complicated case.
Don's arrest of Sahar produced an immediate benefit. A small amount of the temporary antidote being injected into the Gerrard kid was found in the arms dealer's stateroom. The chemists at UCLA were confident enough duplicate serum could be duplicated to keep Chris going until a cure for his poisoning could be developed. Upon hearing the news, Dr. Gerrard came close to a total collapse with relief. The man had done a copious amount of babbling about how he'd done terrible things, but had no choice with his son's life at stake. Now back in L. A., Don decided the hour had come for Dr. Gerrard to come clean. He gave Gerrard time to see his child settled into a bed at the med center and sleeping peacefully, then, the scientist was brought to the Bureau offices and parked in interrogation.
"Dr. Gerrard, your son is safe. Sahar and your wife are in custody. You've done a lot of talking about having to do terrible things out of fear for the life of your son. The people that hurt him can't do it anymore. We got your little candygram at the hotel. It's time for you to tell us what it means. I want it all, doctor. Every line, every chapter, every verse. Don't leave so much as a syllable out, and don't for one second consider lying to me."
Gerrard studied his hands, clasped together on the table, then looked up to meet the flinty gaze of his interrogator, then Liz Warner and Nikki Bentancourt, also present. He swallowed hard and began.
"My field of expertise is in bio-weaponry. How to create and counter-act them. Six months after I met my wife at a fund raiser, Amir Sahar showed up at my home. Somehow, he'd learned my identity and connection to the United States Government and my work with AMRID. I, I later found out this information came from Alison. They are, she and Sahar…" Gerrard hated to make the demeaning admission, "they're lovers. Alison pursued and married me on his instructions. On our 'honeymoon' I discovered why. Sahar showed me pictures of my son, at school. He explained to me what he required of me, and that my son's life was dependent on my compliance. Don't you see, I had no choice! They would have killed my son! My son!"
"Doctor, what exactly is it Sahar forced you to do? That note you note you left in the shower mentions lots of other families grieving for their sons." Don slammed a hand, palm flat down on to the table,. Gerrard jumped, drawing back from the angry agent. "Enough with this vague crap. If you did something that's gonna get people killed…What did you do for him?!" Don banged the table again, hard. "What?!!"
Haltingly, filled with shame for his actions and afraid of how his listeners would react, Gerrard told them. "I've engineered several biological agents. Compounds that can be deployed as weapons. Quite lethal, fast acting and all capable of being used target specific. They can be narrowly applied to any desired group."
"Any desired group?" Nikki echoed. "Sahar has some buyers for this stuff already doesn't he? Some 'desired group' these compound of yours are going to be used against, doesn't he? And you know who it is? Don't you?!"
Gerrard shrank.
"Answer the question,doctor! Who are Sahar's buyers? Who is targeted to get hit with this stuff? Who?! You tell me right now or if we don't stop this in time, I'm gonna see you charged with as many counts of murder as there are deaths! Talk to me!" Don yelled, his face two inches from Conrad Gerrard's.
"American soldiers! American soldiers in Afghanistan. The group Sahar's buyers are planning to use it against are troops in Afghanistan. They contacted Sahar after the build up was announced. He has strong ties to Al Qaeda and the Taliban. My wife, My…wife has been his lover for years. He ordered her to develop a relationship with me, to marry me. That's when they revealed their intentions for me and for my son. I'm sorry. God forgive me! I'm sorry!"
"This devil's brew you cooked up for him, you know where it's going? How it's gonna get to Afghanistan? Do you?!"
"No! No! I swear" Gerrard screamed, equal parts guilt and fear. "I, I, I don't know!" He was anguished, breath coming in harsh gasps. "Wait, I, I overheard a conversation between he and Alison. I couldn't hear it all but I did hear them mention the port of Marseille. I don't see how that will help. There are so many possibilities!"
As Gerrard finished speaking, Don, Nikki and Liz all arrived at the same conclusion simultaneously. "Charlie!" they said in unison.
Twenty four nerve wracking hours later, a sleepless Don Eppes received word that Amir Sahar's shipment of death had been intercepted thru the joint efforts of his brother's math genius, the Marseille police and Interpol. After informing his team, including the hospitalized Colby, he went home to crash into bed. Amir Sahar faired not so well. Having his ties to Al Qaeda and the Taliban revealed resulted in (for him) the very disappointing loss of his diplomatic immunity. Also in his becoming a pariah. Deserted by his former protectors, Sahar's untouchablility vanished like a magician's assistant, never to return. Don was there to see to Sahar's transfer to the federal detention center. Don would've said he was trying not to look insufferably smug, but no one asked him.
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Author's Note: Nope this isn't the end. My tale is not quite done. Stay
Tuned. –T.