Numb3rs - Lyceum
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. No financial reward gained. All real organisations are used in a fictional sense. Original characters and the storyline are mine however.
DB said (on mock exams and those that set them) - "What I would give for Don to pay them a nice little official visit"… So for those out there that hate exams, enjoy the cuckoo muse.
The four FBI agents gathered at the rear of the large black vehicle. Equipment boxes were pulled out and each donned a Kevlar vest before checking the functionality of various weapons. Two were carrying .40cal Glocks, one had a larger bore handgun and the last of the group, dark hair, dark jeans, black t-shirt, was readying a rifle.
The man with the rifle was grumbling about the vehicle. It was large and painted black (very roughly and still somewhat damp) but still did not live up to his expectations.
"C'mon Don, you can't expect them to let us bring everything with us." It had taken some doing to get it everything else into the country (Pakistan of all places) and be given permission to carry out the operation.
"It's not fair Megan. How are we expected to make a proper showing of it, fly the FBI flag and all without the proper vehicle?" He complained.
"I think we're flying enough of the flag." FBI Special Agent Megan Reeves jerked her chin at the sidewalks. When they had first pulled up (couldn't screech to a halt – no sirens and hardly any brakes) they had been crowded, now they were emptying rapidly.
"Humph!" Special Agent Don Eppes was still clearly not happy. He finished with his rifle and closed the tailgate of the vehicle. He recalled that he was a professional and had a job to get on with. He fitted a radio earbud into his left ear and checked that the rest of the team were ready. "Okay, you say these people are holed up in the staffroom?"
"That's what the informant said. A large group of sadists currently working on ways to inflict extra torment on those they are supposed to be helping."
"How many again?"
"At least six, collaborating together on the one project."
Six they could handle, they were the FBI. He raised his radio mic and advised the locals that they were on their way in (although with the language difficulties they would probably respond by bringing them lunch).
The building was large and if it hadn't been for the blueprints helpfully provided by the informant they would have never found the room they were looking for. The sign above the hall in this section of the building indicated that had entered the History and Humanities section.
This close to the target Don used hand signals, waving his hand this way then that with various combinations of fingers raised. The others looked at him somewhat blankly, even Colby who had been in the military and loved hand signals seemed mystified at what his boss wanted. Said boss had to make it more obvious then. "On three then. One … Two … THREE!"
The entry was precision in action, only a screen writer could make it better. Special Agents David Sinclair and Colby Granger went in first, breaking left and right respectively. A neat dive and roll manoeuvre and they were up, guns out and aimed at the group gathered around the table. Megan and Don rushed in next, weapons levelled. Nothing happened.
Oh yeah, forgot something. "FBI, freeze!"
Now they reacted, heads snapping round, chairs scraping as two leapt to their feet. "What is this?"
"Hello FBI." One man said stepping forwards half a pace. The English was accented but very good. "You appear to be in the wrong place."
"Megan, check the desk." Don ordered ignoring the comment.
Special Agent Megan Reeves moved over to the table and carefully grabbed a stack of pages. She stepped back and looked them over. "This is it Don. History, English Literature, it's all here. Just as she said it would be."
Don looked at the stacks of papers, stacks and stacks of papers. His lip curled, sadists. As if the students had nothing else to do than mock exams. "Who's in charge here?"
"I am." One of the two standing men responded.
"There won't be any more of this stuff, understand?"
"I'm sorry I don't follow. What 'stuff'?"
"This. These torture tests you are inflicting on the students, people you are supposed to be supporting and teaching."
"Did you go to school Mr. FBI?"
He gripped his rifle tighter at the affront. "How do you think I got to be an FBI agent?"
"That is a very good question but we'll leave that for another time perhaps." (Like when a gun wasn't involved.) "I simply meant that these are practice exams to help the students reinforce their learning. Didn't you do those at school?"
The agent growled, he'd hated exams, especially the mock ones. No-one stood up for him when he needed them. He was determined to carry through now and give some other poor students a break. "Burn them." He ordered his team abruptly.
David and Colby rushed to do their team leader's bidding, in his mood there could be trouble if they didn't. Gathering together the papers they built a respectable mound in the centre of the table. Applying several matches and a few squirts of a flammable liquid from a special container they finally got the paper to catch (industrial school grade non-flammable paper tended to be a little tricky).
David and Colby stood back admiring their handiwork. The glow was rather nice.
Colby suddenly snapped his fingers. "Damn!"
"Forgot the marshmallows."
"Colby, I told you-" Don noticed the incredulous looks from the teachers that were now standing away from the steadily burning table (it was getting rather hot after all and perfect for marshmallows). Professional! He reminded himself. "No marshmallows. I think they got the message."
The senior teacher stared at him with a fair degree of bewilderment. "Mr FBI, what-?"
"See, he understands." Don interrupted, suddenly keen to get out of there. "See that it doesn't happen again, right?"
The teacher decided to give arguing a miss for now (the whole gun thing still). "Right."
Don waved at his team and this time they understood the signal, backing out of the room in another show of textbook precision that only a screen writer could perfect. As they headed down the hall a female student stepped out from an adjoining corridor.
She froze then looked at them wide eyed, taking in their outfits and weaponry. "FBI? Don?"
"You didn't. Did you?"
Don looked the girl up and down, she seemed to know them, know him (perhaps a fan?). "Name?"
"Farah." She responded. She suddenly smiled. "But you can call me DreamBrother."
"Why would I call you Dream?" Don asked in puzzlement. Megan whispered rapidly into his ear. "Ah, right. DreamBrother. Yes we did. ALEO sent us. Something about mock A-Levels and a cuckoo. Very confusing."
A/N: When the cuckoo visits, what can you do?