Numb3rs: A Nice Day Out

Disclaimer – I don't own them, I just borrowed them. Numb3rs and its characters are the property of those that created them. No copyright infringement intended. All real organisations are used in a fictional sense. Original characters and the storyline are mine however.

It was just going to be a nice day out on a boat helping his brother on a math project. At least that's how it started …

A/N: The real USCG vessel Seahawk is stationed at Carrabelle FL, according to the internet anyway. I made the name up then found the real boat. I kept the name, I liked it. I tried to research the layout of the 87' coastal patrol boats but there is not much information available, courtesy of DHS's security precautions no doubt. I've done what I could for accuracy but for those in the know please accept errors as artistic licence.

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Special Agent Don Eppes of the LA FBI leant over the railing and watched as the rescued men came aboard. Beside him his brother kept up a monologue complaining of the interruption to his studies.

"We have to run that whole last series again now. All that data useless, it had to be done in order, in sequence." Professor Charles Eppes said for the tenth time since they had diverted course.

"C'mon Charlie, you didn't seriously expect them to ignore the mayday."

Charlie turned his back on the activity at the stern. "No. Coast Guard and all, I should have expected this to happen."

They were onboard a 87' 'Marine Protector' Class US Coast Guard cutter some nautical miles well off the coast of LA, far enough out to sea that they had long since lost sight of land. They had been working on a project that Charlie had wanted to get to for some time, ever since the Chinese girls had washed ashore almost a year ago. With the search for the racing yacht that had sunk a few months back serving as a reminder, Charlie's motivation to more thoroughly map the offshore currents had been boosted. He'd mentioned the project to Millie, his boss, who had thought the idea had some merit. She had then mentioned it to the regional Coast Guard Commander who also thought that the idea had merit, their maps were starting to get old and the sea floor was constantly in flux. One thing had led to another until finally it had all come together today.

Don had cleared up a case a few days ago and completed all the paperwork yesterday. He had granted himself a rare day off. Dinner at Charlie's last night had resulted in him being pounced on and invited out to sea today. He'd initially resisted the idea but then decided, why not? A day off should be a day off and if he was at sea he couldn't be called in. Besides, it had been some time since he'd been on a boat and he admitted to himself that he had been looking at the boats in the marina in longing last time he'd driven past.

"Any boat has to respond to a mayday, Charlie. You know that." Don reminded his younger brother. Despite the complaint he knew Charlie didn't mean any of it.

"I know, but why today? It was all starting to come together so well." Charlie looked down at the cutter's stern from their vantage point on the small deck at the rear of the bridge. He watched as his four undergrad students were finishing packing away the last of the buoys they had been using. They'd been secured in a hurry en-route to the distressed vessel and only now did they have the chance to lock them down properly, the rough ride through the increasing swells at high speed had made it difficult to get anything done. The latest weather report transmitted to them a short time ago had predicted rapidly deteriorating conditions. It happened sometimes, the weather predictions all good in the morning until Mother Nature decided to throw a curve ball.

"We were running out of time anyway." Don pointed out, lifting his chin towards the setting sun. "It would have only been another hour before we headed in." That hour and more was now gone, taken up by heading miles further out to sea chasing the mayday to the swamped vessel. The sun was already dipping below the horizon. The conditions hadn't been as bad closer inshore where they had been working before the call for help.

Their pre-planned schedule had already been off. They had been delayed in putting out to sea, some of the students had been caught in traffic, then the minor fault on the Seahawk which the lieutenant captaining her had decided to rectify whilst waiting. Subsequently instead of steaming out on the dawn they hadn't left harbour until after 8:30am. Charlie had been all set to call it off but the lieutenant had promised to get the Seahawk on site within the hour and, with the throttles pushed well forward to run at her rated top speed of 25 knots, had managed to do so. That run had been so much smoother, the sea had been like glass that early in the day, unlike the last hour or so.

Charlie really had nothing to complain about, he'd gathered a lot of data which Don knew he'd spend the next few weeks poring over in his non-contact teaching time. As the cutter wasn't due to head back to San Francisco for a couple of more days he didn't think there would be any problem with repeating the final few runs tomorrow. Assuming the weather cooperated.

"I know but we nearly had it all." Charlie sighed and looked at the half submerged power boat off their stern quarter, the much larger Coast Guard boat positioned to provide it as much shelter as possible. "Are we going to tow that all the way in?"

"Looks like." The zodiac had gone back out and her crew were just finishing securing a tow line to the bow of the moderate sized power boat. "Can't exactly leave it floating around as a hazard to shipping."

"I was supposed to go out to dinner with Amita." Charlie said finally after a few more minutes.

"Ah, a hot date." Don smiled, now they got to the real reason for Charlie's grumbles. "So why didn't she come today anyway?"

"She had a panel meeting she couldn't get out of."

"I'm sure Lieutenant Dylan will let you use the sat-phone." They were far enough out now that cell phone reception would be somewhat patchy even with the additional height of the bridge deck. Although the thought of Charlie standing on one leg, hanging onto the railing and trying all those other crazy manoeuvres people did to get a cell signal was amusing, the conditions were getting a little rough for that.

"Hey, yeah." Charlie immediately brightened and headed off into the bridge to see the woman in question. Both he and Don due to their security clearances had free access to the bridge at the invitation of the commanding officer, Lieutenant Sarah Dylan. The grad students had been barred during their pre-sail safety briefing.

Don turned his attention back to the stern as the three rescued men were seated in the lee of some equipment, wrapped in blankets and drinking from steaming mugs. They'd only been in the water for a short time, but with the steadily increasing swells and rising wind Don was sure they were cold despite the warm air. A few minutes later the three men were directed into the mess deck. Don lingered just a little longer watching with interest as the zodiac was run into the cutter's mini-dock and secured, the stern hull section lowered into place and water pumped out. As he headed back into the shelter of the bridge he felt the increased vibrations from the engines. They were getting underway for their slow journey back to port.

Don stepped through the door into the bridge, pulling it shut behind him, impressed again by the quiet efficiency of the crew as they monitored the various instruments. Charlie was at the sat-phone speaking quietly. Don continued through and down the narrow companion-way continuing along the short corridor beside the galley to get to the mess deck proper. He helped himself to the coffee pot before sitting himself in a corner berth. The undergrads had finished their work and were sitting at one of the other tables but Don sat quietly by himself observing as the crew's medic fussed over the men on the opposite side of the room. Despite being on a day off he was curious. He wasn't sure why but they didn't look like casual boaters, nor should they have been this far out, this late, for a day trip.

The men were all in their late twenties and clean shaven. Each was well dressed in quality jeans and button down shirts. A little too formal, Don thought, for a day out in a boat. Even he was wearing a plain t-shirt with an old pair of jeans. His badge, gun and cell phone were all in his backpack in the little cabin Charlie and his students had been given to store their personal gear. There was nothing to make it obvious what he was, he could have passed as a student in fact. If they weren't all at least fifteen years younger than him that was. He was also the only one not wearing a CalSci t-shirt, even Charlie was wearing one.

Speak of the devil, Don looked up as Charlie stopped beside him. "I see you got through."

"I had to leave a message, looks like the meeting's running late." Charlie sounded disappointed. "I also rang Dad and told him what's happening. Since you're not going to be back for dinner he's calling Millie."

Don had been looking forward to having home-made lasagne, a cold beer and watching the game with his father. Don let out a long breath, best laid plans and all that. "Did Lieutenant Dylan give any indication how late we are going to be?"

"She thinks it will be about six hours. We can't make much speed with that sea anchor behind us."

Don nodded. He'd expected as much. Still, it had been a very nice day and he was glad he'd decided to come. The relaxation he'd had today was more than going to make up for the few hours less sleep he'd get tonight. "Gives you time to get to work then."

"Assuming my students aren't too busy." Charlie said raising his voice slightly. He had earlier set up his charts and his laptop on the last remaining table, the largest one. He could have used the chartroom but the mess deck had more space and a better view, the chartroom didn't have external windows. Not that there was much of a view now, the lights were on and the windows were rapidly darkening and throwing back their reflections now that the sun had gone.

There were some good natured groans as the students finished off their drinks and dragged out their own laptops and got to work. Don chuckled as he settled himself further back in his seat nursing his coffee. It had been fun helping toss the buoys over the side and retrieve them as the day wore on. The real work, analysing the data, was well over his head and he was glad he could just chill out and watch everyone else work for a change. He braced himself as they rolled in the swells, the change in direction and their slow pace was making the ride back in rougher than the ride out had been. He expected it would eventually ease once they returned to the more sheltered waters closer in to shore.

By the time he'd finished his coffee the rescued men had been escorted below to a cabin to rest up. One had given him a bit of an odd look as they passed. Don thought no more about it as he helped himself to another coffee, really got to cut back on this stuff. He lounged back and listened contentedly as the students and Charlie argued numbers. Perhaps he could swap from the FBI to the Coast Guard, this was definitely the life.

Half an hour later the crew served up dinner. It hadn't been part of the deal but as they weren't going to be back this side of midnight a scratch up meal was made for all of them. It wasn't Dad's lasagne but was tasty and did the job. Some portions were taken below for the rescued men.

Another peaceful hour passed but the motion of the cutter hadn't yet eased. However, aside from the odd larger wave, it wasn't so rough that combined with a full stomach and what he considered to be his rising immunity to caffeine, the conditions started to make Don feel sleepy. If he dumped all their backpacks onto the floor he was sure he could make room for a nap on one of the two bunks in their assigned cabin. That decided he waved at Charlie miming he was going to have a sleep and took himself below, navigating the narrow companion-way and corridor to their cabin. He had to stop once, bracing himself as the cutter fell into what he called a 'pothole', a deeper than average trough between waves before rising again.

Stifling a yawn he was about to pull open the sliding door when he heard voices. He sighed and gently banged his forehead against the wall, he just couldn't help it. He didn't need the badge and gun to be an FBI agent, it was what he was. He had to go and eavesdrop, his intuition was telling him something was wrong. The voices were coming from the only three berth stateroom onboard, located at the end of the corridor, all the other cabins were two berth. Don moved the few yards closer to the bow and stopped just outside the closed door, leaning against the wall.

"You've got to be crazy." One man was saying.

"Well, what do you suggest?" Another said.

"Not that." The first replied. "There's no need. It's not like we could pull it off anyway."

"We don't have a choice. I told you what he is."

"But he didn't recognise you."

"He will."

"It was years ago. He wouldn't expect to see you out here."

"You don't know him, he doesn't forget."

"So? We just stay out of his way and he won't have cause to remember. We hightail it once we hit land. By the time he works it out we will be long gone."

"We can't take the chance. They're still out there waiting, the longer we do nothing the further away they will be."

"And what do you think they would do when they see the Coast Guard bearing down on them?"

"We radio them, idiot."

"Yeah, right. Like they'd be listening."

"Alright, we run them down." The second man argued. "It's what the Coast Guard does best."

"They run away, it's what they do best. They don't have that engine for nothing."

There was the sound like snapping fingers. "Then we ring them. They have a phone."

"Sat-phone. There's no cell reception out here, I've already tried."

"The Coast Guard has a sat-phone." A third voice said.

There was a pause as the first two men stopped arguing, it seemed that the third had just won the point. Don replayed it in his mind. They knew what they were talking about but Don could only guess, putting the few facts he'd overheard together. The group of over-dressed men from the stricken power boat were obviously heading out to meet a second, very powerful, boat miles offshore. There was the next interesting fact that the second boat would run upon sighting the Coast Guard. Along with the third fact that it sounded like one had recognised him and expected to be recognised in return, Don came to a conclusion. Drug runners. Worse, drug runners who were arguing about doing something involving the Coast Guard. That couldn't be good.

Don started to turn to go back down the corridor, intending to head towards his cabin and his gun. There was also an internal phone he could use to call Lieutenant Dylan and have her break out some handguns and send some men down to back him up. Or rather, he'd back them up, it was Dylan's boat and she had jurisdiction.

The Seahawk took that moment to drop into another 'pothole'. But this trough was accompanied by a steeper wall of water on the exit. The Seahawk staggered as her bow dug in before she stated to rise and corkscrewed. Don unbalanced in mid-turn, lost his footing, bounced off the wall and fell forwards to the hit the deck a few feet from the cabin door. The door to the three berth cabin flew open at the same time; obviously it hadn't been secured on the latch properly. The three men gaped at the eavesdropper as the agent tried to scramble to his feet, oh shit.

Against the three of them in the confined space Don didn't stand a chance. They were on him before he could get fully upright smashing him back to the carpeted deck. He landed a few good hits but they got some in of their own. After a solid blow that split his lower lip and had him seeing a few stars the men backed off. As his vision cleared he saw why, one man had produced a large automatic pistol. It was pointed as steadily at him as the conditions allowed. He stopped moving, sitting braced against the corridor wall as he wondered what they were going to do next.

"Hello, FBI." The one with the gun said. His was the third voice.

"I don't suppose you'd hand that over if I told you 'you're under arrest'?" Don asked hopefully, rubbing his sore jaw.

"Hah!" The man was amused but sobered immediately, gesturing with the gun towards the cabin. "Move."

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