Chris Larabee entered the small conference room on the seventh floor of ATF headquarters in Denver and tossed dossiers, the inside sheets still warm from the copier, to the six men who sat at the large table. "We've now got a face to go along with our name," Chris said to his team, "This is Kyle Lackland a multi-billionaire exporter/importer and philanthropist."
"Hell, it's easy to give away a ton a money if your makin' it runnin' guns and sellin' drugs," Vin Tanner commented leaning back in his chair. He put his boot up on the edge of the scuffed and worn conference table, a dour look on his handsome face. He hated men like this joker, men with enough money in one hand to buy their way into heaven while holding a syringe in the other leading kids to a life of hell on earth.
Larabee continued, "He's 54 years old, highly respected in the Denver community. Political contacts out the ass with..."
"Holy Shit!" Buck Wilmington said aloud. Instead of following along as Chris read the intelligence report, the ladies' man had perused the folder in front of him and had come upon the pictures contained therein. He issued a low whistle, his interest defiantly piqued as his libido kicked up a notch.
"...with the prerequisite trophy wife," Chris finished loudly and mentally sighed as he watched the others dig deep into their respective dossiers to check out the photos of their intended target and his wife at various social functions.
"Some guys have all the luck," JD said wistfully as he stared at one photo and ran his finger lightly across the shiny surface.
"Well, I for one would surely like the chance to console this little lady after we take down her sugar daddy," Buck added with a smile that bordered on a leer.
"Buck, it seems this particular trophy can tell you "never" in seven different languages," Josiah observed, "She has a masters in linguistics from the Sorbonne Nouvelle."
"That's if she don't go down right along side him, Nathan said and tossed his picture packet aside to begin reading the pertinent information on Lackland and his various businesses.
"Yeah. She's gotta know how her husband makes his money so why would someone like her stay with a scumbag like that if she ain't in on it? 'Side's he's old enough to be her father," Vin, a solid believer in guilt by association, added tersely.
"Mr. Tanner, by now you should know that most people will sell our souls for the right amount of money," Ezra said as he studied a photograph of Mannon Lackland standing next to her husband at some function at the Governor's mansion. She smiled radiantly but Ezra noted that that smile never seemed to reach her eyes...in any of the other photos. He'd seen those same eyes a thousand times before...each time he looked in the mirror.
Sighing softly to himself, Ezra began memorizing everything about Lackland and his wife. When he went undercover, his life would depend on how well he "knew" these people, how well he fit in with them and into their lifestyle. He had to be able to convince them all he was a high roller, smart enough and financially able to hold his own in their world. He would also have to convince them he was as dirty as they come.
"If Ezra doesn't want it, I'd like to volunteer to be the UC on this assignment," Buck volunteered leaning back in his chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, "I think I'd be perfect for the job."
"Oh, we have no doubts as to your talents as an undercover man, Buck," Nathan said, " God only knows how many times you've been caught under covers by one irate husband or another," the medic deadpanned and Buck rewarded him with a scathing look.
"Good one," Josiah chuckled, "As old as the hills but still good."
"Chances are pretty good you'd blow the whole operation all to hell the first time you got caught with your hand up this guy's wife's designer skirt," Vin added nodding knowingly. "'sides I just can't picture you rubbin' elbow with these fat cats...no offense."
"Yeah Buck, not only do you not know which fork to use, it's all we can do to get you to use silverware at all." JD said and deftly ducked out of the way when Buck tried to slap him on the side of the head with his file folder.
"Ezra's already got the clothes and the car," Nathan then reminded them, "And the balls to walk right into high society like he was born into it."
"Thank you, gentlemen," Ezra said and gave a small nod.
Chris, trying to rein his team back in again, said with finality, "Ezra's our point man and this is not up for debate nor am I looking for any volunteers." Chris looked to Ezra and added, "Lackland is very thorough but your cover's air tight." The team leader held up a separate folder with Ezra's new identity. "For all intents and purposes you'll be Mark Carvelle right down to your fingerprints. Carvelle is the CEO of a highly profitable security firm with major contracts in the Middle East and is always looking for ways to circumvent the government's regulations regarding the purchase and sale of weapons both domestically and overseas."
Chris sat on the edge of the table, handed the second folder over to his UC and added, "Right now, Lackland and his wife are summering outside of Telluride so we'll set up surveillance in one of the houses further up the mountain from their mansion. We'll be using satellite reception and should be able to pick up most of what's said inside the house, including the offices and library."
"Good," Ezra replied never taking his eyes off of his reading material, "I doubt if I could get within ten clicks of this place with any kind of wire or ear bud. Lackland has a complement of the best private security men in the business."
"Bank accounts have been set up in Cavelle's name and any references you might need are covered. Here's a list of business and social contacts plus a couple of CI's who'll vouch for you if Lackland checks to see just how dirty you are."
Ezra scanned the list quickly as the others waited. When he was through he looked up. "Just checking to make sure Mother isn't one of the latter," he deadpanned and the table erupted in laughter.
Chris quieted them down once more and continued. "Nathan is going in as QWEST and will take care of the phones in the mansion including cells. All calls in or out will be routed straight to us for screening before being rerouted on to their original destinations. We should be able to intercept anything that might compromise you."
"How will I come into play?" Ezra asked as he closed up his dossier and set it on the table before him.
"You'll be flying in from Atlanta to attend a party for the Governor at the Lackland mansion on Saturday night. You'll be staying at the Hotel Essex in downtown Telluride for as long as needed. Buck will drive the Jag and leave it for you there at the hotel complete with rental plates."
A pained look crossed Ezra's face. In case of emergencies, he knew it was safer to have a vehicle he was well familiar with, no time wasted trying to fine the ignition or light switches, but did Buck have to be the one to ferry one of the only joys in his life up the twisting, rutted roads of the Rocky Mountains?
"Party for the Governor. Guess you'll have to rent one of them monkey suits, eh Ezra?"
Ezra looked to his left and lifted an eyebrow. "Mr. Dunne, one does not rent a tuxedo."
JD slapped his forehead, rolled his eyes and quipped, "Of course, how remiss of me."
Chris rolled his eyes, too, and forged on. "Ezra, you'll fly out of DIA to Atlanta in the morning and catch a corporate jet back to Telluride. You can be as visible as you want. Your bio has been fed to the usual contacts at the papers and to the people responsible for setting up this bash. We've already had contact in Atlanta from Lackland's people and it seems the man likes what he hears because you name's been added to the guest list."
"What can I say gentlemen, money talks," Ezra said for a fact.
Chris looked at his watch and stood. "I don't have to tell you all how important this bust is. DEA has been trying to get this guy on a drug count for months but it looks like we'll be able to take him down when our Mr. Carvelle here facilitates one of the largest weapons sales to ever take place in the US. And if this comes off without a hitch..."
"We'll be legends," JD finished erroneously for him.
"In our own minds." Buck added and swung again, this time connecting with the folder.
If Chris Larabee wasn't positive he had surrounded himself with some of the best people in the business, he might have been concerned with the amount of joking around and the apparent lack of respect but the senior agent knew he had chosen wisely and well when he had assembled his team. He had only to clear his throat loudly and he knew they were tuned into every word.
"As I was saying...if this comes off as planned we'll be able to put away the most prolific illegal gun trafficker in the US for life and confiscate the enormous cache of weapons he's been stockpiling just over the border - not to mention Lackland's sizable assets. It'll be a feather in ATF's collective cap for sure," Chris assured them and added, "But don't forget for one second that this man and his associates are killers, plain and simple. So watch your backs."
"Yeah, maybe now we'll get the respect we deserve from the Federales," JD said to no one in particular referring to the bureau's usual subordinate roll to both the DEA and the FBI.
Ezra snorted his derision. The opinions and mandates of his former agency held no significance for him anymore.
There was a knock on the door and when Chris opened it a lovely young blonde administrative assistant stepped into the room. Despite her comely appearance and her 'just this side of regulation' skirt, she was all business and carried with her a stack of papers and a large manila envelope balanced on a clipboard. Walking up to the table, she set her load down and began to disperse the items.
"Agent Standish," she said, "Your ticket, essential's cash, your ID's and cell phones," and handed the thick manila envelope to him along with a receipt, which he quickly signed with a flourish and gave back to her along with a two-fingered salute.
"Your surveillance equipment requisitions, Nathan, Josiah." She cleared her throat nervously and passed the papers to the medic and the profiler. "Your computer equip. reqs, JD," she then said with a quick smile for the computer whiz.
The young man stammered his thanks and blushed as her hand brushed his in the exchange.
"Your vehicle reqs Buck," she added.
"Thank you, darlin'." Buck had seen JD awkwardness dealing with the delightful Miss Hallie Jones and a smile split his handsome face as he took the pro-offered paperwork from her.
Ignoring the obvious invitation, Halliel just retrieved the next paper in the pile and moved on. "Your munitions requisitions, Vin." She slid the papers across the table to him almost as if she were afraid to get any closer to the long haired sniper. The quiet Texan just smiled and winked his thanks as the papers came to rest before him.
"And Agent Larabee, here is your team's Per Diem, directions to the house and the keys," she said hurriedly and handed over her last packet as if it burned her hands, the taciturn leader of Team Seven as intimidating as ever.
Chris signed his receipt and said pleasantly, "Thank you, Hallie."
She still jumped at the sound of his voice and, as he opened the door for her, she looked ready to bolt but took the time to fasten the signed paperwork to her clipboard and then turned. With the number of requisitions and other paperwork being generated, not to mention the rampant rumors, everyone in the office knew Team Seven was undertaking a large and potentially dangerous operation.
"Good luck, you guys," she blurted out and hurried from the room.
Buck's eyes were firmly glued to her nicely rounded backside as she left and, turning to J.D., he sighed, "My, my."
Chris shook his head and shoved the house keys into his jeans pocket, "Saddle up, boys, we're goin' to a party."