Undercover | By : IrenaAdler Category: M through R > NUMB3RS Views: 2309 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own NUMB3RS, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Part 35 – Field Trips
Though Don wanted to run back to the office immediately and
drag Rubel out of lock-up, he went instead to his family’s house and
slept. He woke up, gave Monster an
update on Will’s status, and went into the kitchen.
As he stared into the fridge, he gave a snort for his own
shallowness – he really missed Will’s cooking.
A cold pasta casserole warmed up okay in the microwave, then Don gave
Monster a thorough brushing. Finally he
decided that it was morning enough, even though the rest of the household was
still asleep, and he headed into the office.
Don was only mildly surprised to see Megan already
there. She’d finished her guard rotation
and was back to reading something at her desk.
She looked up as Don walked in.
“Ready for our trip to the morgue?” Megan asked.
Don gave her a guilty smile.
“Oh, you are so not taking Rubel downstairs by yourself,”
Megan said, correctly interpreting Don’s expression, and handed Don a sealed
manila envelope with his name on it. DEA
was stamped across it.
Don curiously looked inside the envelope to see a set of
enlarged photos. He started to pull them
out, but as soon as he saw part of the top photo, he shoved them back into the
folder, his heart pounding. He threw the
envelope down on his desk and leaned heavily against the back of a nearby
chair, breathing hard.
Her eyebrows raised, Megan picked up the envelope. Don closed his eyes. He heard Megan pull the photos out, catch her
breath, and slowly return them to the envelope.
Don opened his eyes and shook himself. “Bring it,” he snapped.
Megan nodded. She
silently handed Don a folder and Don scanned the contents, both gathering
needed information and allowing himself time to calm down.
“Okay,” Don said at last.
“Let’s get our great crusader out of lock-up.”
Rubel looked mussed and grumpy as he was brought out of
lock-up. He was still wearing the same
T-shirt and blinked with annoyance at the agents. Don would bet that Rubel was a night person
and not used to being woken up at 7AM, and probably hadn’t slept well either.
“Good morning,” Don said cheerfully. “We’re gonna take a little field trip.”
Rubel eyed him blearily and rubbed his face, his handcuffs
rattling. “I don’t suppose I could get
some coffee,” he grumbled.
“Sure,” Don said.
“Want you to be alert for our field trip.”
Don led Rubel back upstairs to the FBI office, Megan
guarding the rear. “Can’t say it’s
great coffee,” Don said, pouring Rubel a cup from the break-room coffee pot that
Megan must have started earlier. “But
it’s got a kick.”
Rubel took the cup, eyeing Don suspiciously, then added
creamer and sugar. He chugged the hot
coffee down, life coming into his face.
“Thanks,” he said grudgingly.
Don nodded and waited, outwardly patient, as Rubel finished
his coffee. He did want Rubel awake and
thinking, though somewhat disoriented was also good.
“So what plans do you have for me this morning?” Rubel said
with a superior smile. “More of your
strong-arm interrogation?”
“I thought we’d take a visit to the morgue,” Don said.
Rubel’s eyes flickered uncertainly then cleared. “Oh, I’ve seen this one on TV,” he said with
disdain. “You take the poor smuck down
to witness an autopsy and tell him all the stuff that’s gonna happen to his
corpse, show him organs and stuff. All
that’s gonna get from me is vomit.”
“Well, we’re only ignorant stooges,” Don said lightly. “Gotta try all our old, useless tricks
anyway, because we can’t think for ourselves.”
Rubel cocked an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment. Don took Rubel’s arm and led him to the
elevator, Megan following. In silence,
the three of them rode down to the bottom floor and walked down the quiet
halls. Don held onto Rubel’s arm while
Megan went into the morgue and asked the lone attendant if they could have the
area. The man exited, looking curiously
at Rubel, and Don led Rubel into the room.
The morgue was clean and empty, a little odd for Don, who
was usually here when there was a corpse to be studied. He let go of Rubel’s arm and walked across
the room to a steel wall covered with small doors. Behind each door would be a refrigerated
drawer, most likely occupied. He
searched the numbers on the doors until he found what he was looking for. He nodded at Megan, who moved Rubel closer.
Don opened a door and slid out a metal pallet with a
sheet-covered corpse. Don pulled back
the sheet to reveal the head and bare chest of a body, complete with the signs
of an autopsy.
“Meet John Richland,” Don said. He pulled out another drawer to reveal a
similar-looking corpse. “And his
brother, Jarvis.”
Rubel swallowed and said nothing.
Don continued, keeping his voice even, “These men were no
idealists, not people who share your opinions about the DEA. They were businessmen who thought that they
could get rich by creating an attractive poison. They didn’t care about anyone that got hurt.
“You sent three emails to the Richland brothers – one email
for each of the teams that went undercover there. You say that you sent the emails so that
people would clear out and no one would get hurt. The brothers didn’t clear out. The first time they got an email, they made
the agents sick, some sort of food poisoning.
The second time they got an email, they manufactured a hiking
accident. One agent got a sprained knee
and the other ended up in the hospital with several broken bones and a severe
concussion.
“The third time you sent them an email, the brothers finally
decided it was time to move on. However, the brothers also knew that Will and I
were there, without backup, weapons, or outside contact. So they finished the batch of CTen they were
making, sent it out, then set a trap for us.”
Don led Rubel over to an empty autopsy table and Megan
silently handed him the envelope. Don
set his teeth, pulled the photos out and laid them out on the cold, metal
table. The enlarged, high resolution
photos allowed no escape from the horror of the scene.
The first photo showed Don holding Will’s bloody, unconscious
body. Don barely recognized himself, his
chest and arms covered with dark, thick blood, his eyes wild and white around
the edges. The gun was a blur in his
hand as he raised it to point at the agent holding the camera. Staring at the photo, Don tried to speak, but
nothing came out.
Megan stepped forward and put her hand on Don’s arm. Mutely, Don turned away from the image. Instead, he looked at Rubel, whose eyes were
riveted to the photo.
“That’s Don with Agent Will Stevens,” Megan said
quietly. “His partner and longtime
boyfriend. Jarvis Richland shot Will in
the shoulder. John Richland shot Will in
the head at point blank range. Will only
survived because he was turning his head at the time. Will was airlifted to UCLA Medical where it
took a top neurosurgeon almost five hours to get the bullet out of his
head. He also needed massive blood
transfusions and spent days in a deep coma.
He is still in the hospital and we don’t know yet if he has long term
brain damage.”
Breath hissed out between Don’s clenched teeth and Rubel
flinched. Megan squeezed Don’s arm then
slid the next photo under Rubel’s gaze.
With relief, Don saw the rest of the photos had been taken
after he and Will had left in the ambulance, though a large blood patch on the
carpet marked where they’d been.
Pictures of the lab area showed tables and walls chewed up by
bullets. The floor was strewn with
broken glass, pieces of bottles, whitish powder, and some blood spatters that
might have come from Don’s cut arm. The
next photo showed the body of John Richland, two red holes in his chest where
Don shot him. He lay crumpled against
the wall, his face twisted with pain and anger. His brother’s corpse was in the next photo,
a gaping hole in the back of his head where the bullet had exited. His brains were spattered across a small
table behind him.
Rubel’s face was pale and tinged with green. Don made sure that Rubel had gotten a good
look at the photos before he said softly, “This happened because of your
email. Will was shot because of your
email. These men are dead because your
email. They set up a trap and got
themselves killed.”
“Will survived,” Don continued, his voice strained. “But I’d like you to meet some people who
didn’t.”
Don went over to the steel wall and pulled out three drawers
in quick succession. “Meet Mia Ferguson,
Dan Moser, and Dallas Forcier. Mia was a
student at UCLA, who had never taken drugs before but was talked into it ‘just
once’ after finishing a big exam. She
was nineteen and the first woman in her family to go to college. Dan wanted to be an actor, had even gotten a
few commercials, and was starring in a local theater production of King
Lear. He’s dead at twenty-three. Dallas was a car mechanic, a Little League
coach, and took some Cloud Ten at his Thursday Night poker game. He’s dead at thirty, leaving two kids without
a father.”
Don turned back to Rubel. “These are only three of the
people that Cloud Ten has killed, the most recent ones. They died after
the second warning you sent to the Richlands.
Would you like to explain to their families how you helped the Richlands
create more of their drug?”
Rubel’s face was pinched, his lips pressed tightly
together. He looked away from Don’s
eyes.
Don silently put the sheets back over the corpses and slid
the drawers back in while Megan gathered up the pictures.
“One more stop,” Don said.
“Someone who wants to talk to you.”
Don, Megan, and Rubel were met at Don’s SUV by more FBI
agents. They drove in two cars to the
hospital and walked down the white halls to Will’s room. Don nodded to the agent on guard.
Megan waited outside with Rubel and the other agents while
Don went into the room. Cindi and Alan
were there, and Will was sitting propped up in his bed.
“You up for this?” Don asked, and Will nodded firmly.
Don didn’t argue, just opened the door for Rubel and Megan
to enter. Rubel’s eyes flashed around
the room and landed on Will. Don hoped
that he was remembering the image of the blood-covered Will in Don’s arms. It was not an image that Don was ever going
to get out of his head.
“Hi, Matt,” Will said, and his voice was calm, even
gentle. Don had to admire Will’s poise
when he himself had lost it repeatedly when he’d met Rubel. Don was reminded that Will was DEA’s top
undercover agent, and no stranger to interrogations himself. “I’m Will Stevens and this iz my shister,
Cindi, and my fathuh-in-law, Al’n Eppez.”
Rubel’s gaze skittered over Cindi and Alan, then back to
Will.
“Cindi, Alan,” Will said.
“Do you thin’ ya could wait ‘n the hall?
I don … really wan’ ya to hav’ ta hear this.”
Alan set down his crossword puzzle, Cindi set down her book
and they silently went out into the hall.
Rubel stared at Will, and Don could tell Rubel was gathering
his courage, telling himself how much he hated the DEA and everything Will
stood for.
Will tilted his head and asked, carefully enunciating his
words. “Have you evuh been a dr-rug ad-dict?”
Rubel blinked. “Not
unless you count caffeine,” he said with forced humor.
“Well, I’ve been a cocaine ad-dict,” Will said
conversationally. “Yearz of my life
spent with the sing’l focus of wond’ring where I’m gonna get my next hit. I did many terr’ble thingz in search of that
hit. I un’stand the power of dr-rugs,
their siren call.”
Don grimaced and bit down on the urge to go to Will. Megan put her hand on his shoulder, both
comfort and aid.
“Have you evuh seen someone you cared ‘bout waste ‘way from
dr-rugs?” Will continued in that same
quiet voice that somehow filled the hospital room. “Helplessly watch ‘em throw away their
health, their l-lives? Hear their
pr-romises to get help but know that the dr-rugs will win in the end?”
Rubel gave a little shake of his head.
“I have. Have you
evuh held the hands of a five-year-old girl as she died, cut down by stray
bull’ts from two gangs fightin’ for territory?
Tried to pick out ‘nough pieces of a body from car ‘plosion to give a
fr-riend a decent burial? Hadta tell a
mother that she’d lost a third son to dr-rugs?
I have.”
Megan’s hand tightened on Don’s shoulder. Rubel didn’t say anything.
Will leaned forward, his eyes alight, and his voice
hardened. “What I wanna know, Matt, iz
how wha’ you did changed any of that.
Did you make it bett’r? Save one
l-life? Bring l-light into one person’s
darkness?”
Will shook his head slowly.
“I can un’stand your arguments ‘gainst DEA, evun agree with some of
them. You ‘ve impr-ressive computer
skills, but you decided to use them to hinder, not to help. You could ‘ve done something positive, like
broken into gover’ment computers and sent money to organ’zations you thought
worthwhile. You could ‘ve hacked into corr-rupt
businessez and ruined their finances, sank them. You could ‘ve monitored websites where child
molesters hung out and sent their info to FBI.
Ill-legal, yes, but pr-roductive.
Helping ‘least one person avoid a terr’ble fate. How did hackin’ DEA do that?”
Rubel looked away from Will, down at his feet.
Will reached a shaking hand out towards his water
glass. Don pulled away from Megan and
went to help him.
“Here you are,” Don said, holding the glass for Will to
drink. Will’s face had gone pale and Don
could see the effort it had taken him to be awake for Rubel’s arrival, and then
to speak clearly. Don didn’t know if Will had said all he planned to say, but
he’d said enough. Don took the glass
away and stroked Will’s face. “Rest now,
aein.
I’ll be back later.”
Will nodded and lay back against the pillow, his long, dark
lashes fluttering over too white cheeks.
Megan led Rubel out of the room. Don brushed back some hair from Will’s
forehead and placed a soft kiss there.
“Love you, Will,” he whispered, though he knew Will was
already asleep, and followed Megan. Outside
the room, Don nodded to Cindi and Alan, but no words were exchanged.
Rubel was quiet on the drive back to the office and Don let
the silence lie heavy in the car.
After they reached the office, Don helped Rubel out of the
car. Rubel met his eyes and it was like
a different man was looking out of them from the man he’d interrogated the day
before. Yesterday, Rubel had been
confident, arrogant, sneering at everyone’s behavior. Now he looked chastened and even a little
uncertain.
“I want to call a lawyer,” Rubel said slowly. “And tell Charlie, it’s in the background.”
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