Thanks to BuJyo for betaing this story. Always appreciate the help.
Warning Major Angst in this story and spoilers for Season 3.
Disclaimer is the usual. Still do not own the characters or Mary and Marshall would already be together.
Subterfuge
Marshall stared at the ceiling in his bedroom thinking about the definition of subterfuge. Subterfuge: a deception by artifice or stratagem in order to conceal, escape, or evade a deceptive device or stratagem. Stratagem: an artifice or trick in war for deceiving and outwitting the enemy, or a cleverly contrived trick or scheme for gaining an end. The definitions were making his stomach more nauseous as he prepared for his subterfuge.
The thought of what this would do to his family and friends tore at his heart. To Marshall this was a betrayal of the worst kind, but he had to do this in order to protect those he cared about. Hopefully, when this ended he would get a chance to explain why he did it, and they would forgive him.
The phone call he had been dreading came in as he left the Sunshine Building that night, sending him into this tizzy. The code word was given for the operation to begin. Marshall could no longer pretend his meeting with Allison Pearson never took place, the ill gotten 'prison transport' while Mary worked with Faber.
His thoughts drifted back to what happened when he left Albuquerque that day.
Marshall was flown to Leavenworth where he was to pick up the prisoner and go with them to Chicago, before heading home. The trial was supposed to last a week to a week and a half. When the plane touched down in Leavenworth he was picked up in a standard Marshal Service SUV. When they passed the turnoff for the prison he became concerned. It was then he knew something wasn't right. When they turned and headed to a warehouse, he noticed Allison Pearson waiting for his arrival.
"Marshall, welcome to Leavenworth. Follow me please. I'm sure you have several questions. We'll discuss the reason for the secrecy shortly," Allison said.
"Alright," Marshall replied, perplexed.
"Relax, Marshall," Allison said, as she pushed the door open to the warehouse.
Marshall looked around the inside of the warehouse. He noticed the board covered with pictures and information attached to it. This was an offsite planning room. His curiosity was peaked, but something had his senses on alert.
"Take a seat, Marshall, we'll debrief you shortly," Allison ordered.
Marshall grabbed a seat. He felt out of place immediately. He took in the details of the room and information that he could see. The operation wasn't a prison transport from what he could see of the documents. Allison was the only person in the room he knew. He'd worked with the Topeka office several times in the past and not a single person in this room was from there. Nothing was adding up, and he hoped Allison shed light on this quickly.
Allison tossed a folder towards him. "Marshall, the reason you were brought here is because you fit the bill for the kind of person we need to go undercover for an operation. Our target is Octavius Falcon and his right hand man, Rupert 'Shady' Burrows. They're mixed up in several different rackets. Arms and drug smuggling, money laundering, counterfeiting and human trafficking are their areas of expertise."
Marshall still wasn't sure what this had to do with him. This sounded more like ATF, FBI or DEA/DHS; at best Fugitive Task Force to help with the bust.
"I'm here for what part in this?" Marshall asked, confused.
"We need a man on the inside who can work his way around a computer system while being an accurate shot. Octavius is looking to replace his last computer expert. We managed to secure a source that will arrange an interview for you. Once our source gets the green light for the interview, you'll be sent a message letting you know the operation is starting."
Marshall didn't like the way that was phrased. "What kind of source, exactly?"
"The kind you don't need to know about."
"There is a lot of information to go through. Take the file back to your hotel room, read it and we'll discuss it in detail tomorrow. Do not share the information with anyone. That includes your partner and boss. I want no one informed about this operation except for the people in this room," Allison said.
"What am I supposed to tell Stan, when I suddenly disappear for awhile?" Marshall asked.
"I'll handle Stan," Allison replied, while handing him a set of car keys.
Marshall drove to the hotel Allison had set him up in and laid his gear and folder on the bed. The secrecy part including Stan and Mary bothered him. Why wouldn't she want Stan to know she was sending him undercover for an operation? For that matter, why did she call him directly and not go through Stan? The Director doesn't usually send them messages, they go through the Chief.
Marshall headed down the hallway to get some ice for his room while trying to organize his thoughts. It was then that he noticed someone watching him. Marshall discreetly managed to catch a glimpse of the man, and realized it was someone he'd seen briefly in the planning room. Allison must have sent someone to keep an eye on him. He was trained to notice the details, why Allison thought sending someone to spy on him would work was beyond him. The fact that they did caused Marshall to form a plan of his own. Something about this operation wasn't right and he wanted to cover his ass before going into it. He thought about turning down the job, but he was under the impression that wasn't going to be an option.
Grabbing his cell phone, he texted his former college roommate, who happened to be on the Leavenworth SWAT team. Jack Carter and Marshall had both been studying law enforcement and shared several classes together. They had been paired up with an assignment to develop methods of covert communication that could cross technological barriers.
The two had spent hours coming up with elaborate plans and ciphers. He hoped Jack remembered the codes. He sent a text to Jack requesting a recording and video device that was small enough to go unnoticed, but would pick up everything being said in the planning room.
A couple hours after the text went out, there was a knock on the door.
"Pizza delivery."
Marshall smiled, recognizing Jack's voice. He'd already written down the information he wanted to tell him. Opening the door, he barely managed to hide the smirk on his face. Jack looked hysterical in the delivery outfit.
"Thanks for the fast service," Marshall replied, as he placed his finger over his lips and pointed to his ears.
Jack nodded while handing the pizza box over to Marshall. Marshall handed him some money with a note inside telling him what was going on, and that he might be sending him a package that needed to go to one Bobby Dershowitz on the special task force team in Chicago.
"Thanks, sir. Have a happy and safe stay here," Jack replied.
"Will do," Marshall said, knowing Jack was telling him to be careful. He then shut the door and opened the pizza box.
All the items he'd requested were there, with the addition of a cell phone and a note from Jack.
Opening the note, Marshall read it.
Cell phone is non traceable, use it to send me messages if you need to. If you need help I'm willing to do it. You're obviously in some pickle if you're asking for this equipment. Stay safe, buddy.
Marshall ripped up the note and flushed it down the toilet. He came back out and read over the assignment. The FBI or ATF had to have an agent qualified to do this. They have computer specialists that are trained to fire weapons also. The story they were selling him was bogus. The problem was he didn't know if it was for the right or wrong reasons. Heading to bed,] he tossed and turned all night as both scenarios played out in his mind.
Returning his thoughts to the present, Marshall got up and headed to his garage. As instructed, he left his gun, badge and cell phone there. Switching to the SUV he'd been given by Allison, he made sure that his bag and new identity were with him. He left the driveway and was half way down the road when his house exploded.
"Damn it!" Marshall hissed.
Pretending he was dead was part of the plan, but no one said anything about blowing up his house. He was still cursing in his head as he headed out of Albuquerque on his way to Atlanta. The plan was for him to stop in Little Rock to exchange cars and meet up with a team member for any additional information that had been gathered since Leavenworth.
Marshall had used the equipment Jack had given him to record the entire debriefing by Allison. If he didn't make it back from this, he wanted to bring down anyone who set him up. At least with the audio and video it showed his family and friends he didn't get into this mess voluntarily. More importantly, he didn't want to tarnish the Mann name within the U.S Marshal Service. \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
Mary was sleeping when her cell phone began to ring. Picking it up, she silently cursed Stan.
"What?" she snapped.
"Mary, there's been an explosion at Marshall's house. I'm on my way there now," Stan said.
Mary froze at his words.
"I'm on my way," Mary replied, while quickly getting dressed.
Mary was grabbing her badge, gun and cell as she made a mad dash for the door. She almost missed Scott and Brandi sitting and laughing about something on the sofa.
Brandi saw the look on Mary's face, "What's wrong?"
"I have to go," Mary said. It was all she could do to make herself move. Fear gripped her heart, and a part of her was scared to death of what she would find at Marshall's house.
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Stan arrived at the scene, and what he saw numbed his insides. There was very little of Marshall's house left. It looked like a controlled explosion, since his neighbors houses were not on fire, but suffered minor damage. If Marshall had been in there, he wouldn't survive. No one can survive that kind of damage.
Stan had called Marshall's cell on his way there, but it went directly to voice mail. Moving through the firefighters, he went to find the person in charge of the scene. He wanted answers and he wanted them now.
Seeing the fire captain directing orders, he walked over to him and flashed his badge.
"Captain, I'm Chief Inspector Stan McQueen with the U. S. Marshal's Service. I need to ask you a few questions."
The captain barked out a few more orders before turning his attention to Stan.
"What do you need?"
"I need to know if my inspector was in his home at the time of the explosion." Stan didn't miss the grim look on the man's face.
"I'm sorry, sir, but a body was pulled out and taken away," the chief replied.
"My inspector is a little over six feet tall, blue eyes, his hair…" Stan was cut off.
"No disrespect, Chief, but there wasn't much left to identify. They are going to have to do use dental records to confirm the identity of the body," the captain felt bad for the man, as he saw him turn pale.
"What caused the explosion?" Stan asked.
"The blast appears to have been sudden, but we won't know the exact cause until we can get in and investigate further. Your man didn't stand a chance. The blast was big enough to destroy the home and anything in it, while keeping the damage to a minimum on the surrounding homes. In my years of experience that would be a pro. A normal person wouldn't know how to contain a blast that well."
"Thank you, Captain," Stan said softly. He turned to walk away and noticed Mary running through the firemen, working her way towards him.
"Stan, what the hell?" Mary asked, stunned by the vision of what was left of Marshall's house.
Stan didn't want to do this. Mary losing Marshall would destroy her. It was like taking away half of what made her whole. Before he could tell her, she spoke up.
"Where's Doofus? What hospital did they take him to?"
Stan closed his eyes for a second. Taking a deep breath he began, "Mary, they removed a body from the house. There wasn't enough of it left to make identification. They're going to have to use Marshall's dental records to determine if it was him."
Mary shook her head no and began to back away from Stan.
"He promised he wouldn't die on me. Marshall doesn't break his promises. It's not him. It's not him," Mary insisted, heatedly.
"Mary, we don't know if it was him. Right now they need to finish up here. Their inspectors will go over everything. The morgue won't have any information for us tonight. Let's go back to the office and start going over anyone who would want to hurt Marshall," Stan said, needing to turn Mary's focus on the task at hand.
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Marshall had pulled over at a rest stop where he changed into jeans and a t-shirt. Looking for a pharmacy, he found a Walgreens and pulled in. Putting a baseball cap on, he headed to the hair dye aisle. Allison had given him non prescription contact lenses that would change his eye color to green. Grabbing several snacks, he continued driving until he hit Little Rock, Arkansas late the next day. Stretching his body as he got out of the car he questioned his determination to make the remaining thirteen hours non-stop
Finding a hotel, Marshall grabbed a room for the night. He had plenty of time before he was expected in Georgia.
Bringing his gear into the room, he plopped the bag on the floor before crawling on top of the bed. Guilt prevented him from a good night's sleep. Thoughts of his mother grieving and Mary thinking he abandoned her haunted him.
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Stan and Mary spent the entire night going over all of Marshall's cases. It satisfied two goals for them. One to try and find the person responsible for blowing up Marshall's home and two the distraction of not having to think about the body being Marshall's.
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Dr. Bob Franks the ME for the city of Albuquerque, looked at the remains of the charred body on the table. He felt bad for anyone who had to suffer that kind of death. He had begun to work on the dental identification and DNA tests, when a woman walked in wearing a U.S. Marshal badge. "Dr. Franks?" the female asked.
"Yes," Franks replied.
"I'm Director Allison Pearson of U.S. Marshal Service. You're working on a case that I need you to help me with. The body that you're trying to identify needs to be identified as that of U.S. Marshal Marshall Mann. It's extremely important to our case. No one is to know about this conversation. It's important to the safety of one of my inspectors."
"Director Pearson, what you're asking is highly out of the ordinary and illegal. It would require me to submit false information for an ongoing case. I could get fired for that," Franks replied, not liking what was being said.
"You won't be in trouble. It's sanctioned by the Marshal Service for the purposes of the investigation. You will not be fired. If anyone has any questions or concerns you can direct them to my number, and I'll take care of it. This information must stay between you and me," Allison insisted.
"You'll take full responsibility for the actions of this case?" Franks asked, just to make sure.
"Yes," Allison insisted.
"Alright," Franks agreed, reluctantly. "Do you have a business card?"
"I appreciate you're help," Allison said, handing Dr. Franks her card. "You'll need to call Stan McQueen in regards to your findings. He's Marshall's boss. I cannot emphasize enough that he be told it's Marshall. You and I are the only ones to know this conversation took place, until further notice."
Franks nodded in agreement and watched Allison as she left the room. Something still didn't feel right about this. Mulling it over in his mind for awhile, he sat down and typed up the true findings on how the corpse died. He listed everything in detail, and then made a copy for himself with notes of the name, time and person from the U. S. Marshals Office that had given him his instructions. Attaching a copy of the business card to the report, he placed it into a secure location. There was no way he wasn't covering his butt on this. Something was nagging at him and he wanted to preserve the correct information for the case.
With all of that done, he made the call to Chief Inspector McQueen as instructed by Director Pearson. Not knowing why this was all happening or the need for secrecy was causing the ME heartburn. In all his years in this position, he'd never had a request to lie to the boss of a law enforcement official; especially by their own boss. Picking up the phone, he called the number he was given and waited.
Stan, Mary and Charlie were still digging through Marshall's cases when Stan's office phone rang.
"McQueen."
"Sir, I am calling in regards to the body found at the scene of an explosion last night," Dr. Franks said. He couldn't help but feel guilty about what he was doing.
"Were you able to identify the body?" Stan asked.
"Yes, sir. I regret to inform you the dental records match that of one Marshall Mann."
Stan felt like his heart stopped. He slowly sank into the chair and began to rub his hand over his forehead.
"Are you sure?" Stan cursed himself for choking on the last word.
"Yes," the ME replied, hesitantly.
"Did he suffer?" Stan needed to know.
"No sir. It was quick for him." The ME didn't want to make things harder for the man.
"Thank you. Could you please fax your findings to me?" Stan asked, giving the man the fax number.
"I'll have that over to you right away, sir."
Stan hung up the phone, a part of him wanting to cry for the surrogate son he just lost. He needed to call Marshall's family and inform Mary. He wasn't sure which would be worse. Grabbing the phone he dialed Seth.
"Mann residence," Seth greeted.
"Seth, this is Stan McQueen."
Seth knew something was wrong by Stan's voice.
"What happened to my son?"
"Marshall was killed last night in an explosion at his home," Stan said, noticing his voice sounded strange even to him.
Seth closed his eyes as he took in the information. He tried to drown out those blue eyes that looked up to him in adoration as a child.
"What kind of explosion?"
"The non accidental type. We're going through Marshall's case loads. The ME just called."
"How'd they identify him?" Seth wasn't stupid. This had to have been one of two ways. Since Stan didn't call right away, he knew it meant they weren't sure who the body was.
"Dental records." Stan felt a chill run through his body, images of how Marshall died haunting him.
"Carolyn and I will be on the first flight out to make the arrangements."
"Call me if you need anything."
"I need my son's killer or killers brought to justice," Seth replied.
Seth walked into his office and pulled Marshall's drawing out of his briefcase. Thoughts of his son filled his mind. He should have been more loving towards Marshall. He hoped Marshall knew how much he loved him. Anger filled his heart at thoughts of his son's murderer. His son didn't deserve to die that way. Seth wished he stayed longer in Albuquerque to repair his and Marshall's relationship. He knew it was his doing. He didn't, or couldn't, relate to Marshall, and he should've made more of an effort to try. Taking a deep breath, he went in search of his wife. He would need to tell her. They would have to call Avery and Tripp to let them know their brother was dead.
Seth turned to head out of the room when he saw the picture of Marshall he had on a shelf. He picked it up, recalling what he said to Mary. Marshall always had those eyes and that face since the day he was born. He never told Marshall he was proud of him. Setting the picture back down he took several deep breaths before heading towards the kitchen to tell Carolyn. The loss of Marshall would shatter his wife; he'd need to be strong to pick up the pieces.
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Stan hung up the phone and took a few minutes to pull himself together before informing Mary. He wasn't ready to do this. He didn't want to do this. The clock needed to be turned back to yesterday. They could stop Marshall from going home. Finally getting up, he headed back to the conference room.
Mary looked up and felt a hole forming in her heart. She knew what Stan was going to say by the haunted look in his eyes.
"NO!" Mary shook her head and felt the panic begin to rise.
"The ME just identified the body as Marshall's," Stan knew he couldn't comfort Mary. The only person that could wasn't here.
"The ME is wrong. He can't be gone. He wouldn't leave me. He promised." Mary felt the tears spilling from her eyes even as she tried to deny it.
"Mary…" Stan hurt for her.
"Don't," she warned as he came near her. "I need to get out of here."
Stan nodded as Mary dashed out of the room. Going to her desk, she grabbed her keys, gun and badge and escaped down the stairs.
Half way down the stairs she stopped. Grabbing the rail for support, she tried to get herself to breathe. It felt like everything was collapsing in around her. Her vision blurred as the tears filled her eyes. Nothing had ever hurt this much before; not even her father's abandonment. Forcing herself to take deep, calming breaths, she finally managed to escape the stairwell and ran out to her Mustang. Throwing it into reverse, she fled the Sunshine Building.