The team knew that it was a risky plan. They'd played at high stakes before with big-time marks and international markets but nothing like this. Not with a member of the team put in this position.
They'd run cons where one of their own was taken and "interrogated" but there was never any real danger; there was usually a back-up plan for their back-up plan and they always had a way out.
This time was different, though. The client's case was too urgent for luxuries to be taken.
(flashback to 24 hours ago)
"Run it, Hardison." Nate ordered as he sat to join his team for the presentation.
"All right. "Our client, Christian Mahone, was attacked on his way to compete in the Annual Boston Jazz Dancing Competition."
Parker gagged. "I hate Jazz. Why are we helping this guy?"
"Be-cause," Hardison replied frowning at her interruption, "the men were trying to abduct him and have been stalking him ever since. Now, we've got him safe for now but these guys won't stop." He pressed a button and pictures of the masked men popped up. "I ID'd them based off of their heights, gaits, strides, motive- you know, this actually took a lot of research, on my part, so I wouldn't mind if-"
"Hardison," Nate warned.
"Right, right. So, these creepy burglar-masked dudes are part of an organization with... well, they have quite the reputation, which by the way, was hidden pretty well."
With another press of the button, documents came up on the screen. His usually bubbly attitude faded a bit.
"These are the reports of hundreds of men and women missing and dozens found mangled n' strangled."
Sophie shook her head, pointing to the screens. "How do we know they're connected?"
"They fit a specific type." Nate stepped up to the front, nodding to Hardison. "They're all professional or physically refined athletes. Christian Mahone dances and he's extensively trained in MMA. He's well-built, handsome, and young: just their preference."
The hacker stepped back in front of the team, nudging him back to his seat. "Yeah, and they ain't gon' ask him ta join some private dance-off. This group, they take these people for some twisted form of entertainment. What they do is pick the best for withstanding physical pressure, the most desirable, and..."
Eliot leaned forward. "They torture them."
Everyone turned to him.
"The most powerful people in the world are cold-hearted CEO's, politicians, and big-time criminals that made their fortunes off of break-back tricks and doing anything to get to the top. They've got plenty of money to spend and they ain't looking to family outings for fun. They're psychopaths lookin' for entertainment that's... more exciting." The hitter gestured to the board. "This is a global market that's in high demand. It's just an even more sadistic form of human trafficking."
"More sadistic?" Sophie commented skeptically.
"Y'all should see the victims." Hardison shook his head. "I can't imagine what they went through but nobody could survive it, physically or mentally. It wasn't just torture, man, it was-"
"It was a person being used as a toy, property. It was a work of art to the sick bastards." Eliot flipped his hair back in anger. "We can't let this go on, Nate."
"Well, it's a global enterprise, controlled by the most powerful corporate psychopaths in the world. What would you have us do?"
"If we can't take the whole network down, let's at least end this branch. There has to be one here in Boston, big ol' sport-centered city like this one."
"Hmm." Nate thought for a minute. "Well, it'd be pretty big, dangerous..."
"We'd be saving lives and delivering a blow to human trafficking. Nate, we can't let this slide."
After a moment's consideration, the mastermind agreed. "Okay. But we've got to be careful on this one. Now, we don't have an abundance of time for our client so it has to be fast." He stood, already planning the con. He noted the determined faces of his team. "Let's go steal us a psychopath."
(20 hours ago)
The plan was to use Eliot as bait. Hardison hacked into blogs and news sites to promote a boxing competition in Boston, in which the hitter's alias, Mike "the Rock" Mason, was to be the star fighter. Stories were posted about his skill and prestige; the hacker made sure that he was on the organization's radar.
He had Eliot review the false reports he put together.
"Check it out, man! I gave you some of the biggest awards for fightin'. Lookit, there it says you won the 'Silver Fist' in a contest in Russia!"
"That doesn't even exist, Hardison!"
"It does now. Pretty fantastic, too. You know that to win the Silver Fist you gotta wrestle a shark?"
Eliot growled. "It's not considered wrestling if the animal ain't got a chance."
"Right, 'cause you'd definitely be able to win against a shark, absolutely, no doubt, poor thing ain't even got a chance? Man, you're way too cocky."
"Done it before."
"Aaaaand why am I not surprised?" Alec said almost nervously. "Well, I guess I should just delete that story-"
"No, just... it's actually kinda cool. Gold fist?"
"Silver, sparky. Ya lost it to the Butcher. He's got quite the rep, I thought it wouldn't hurt to add to it."
Eliot glared at him.
"Right, you got a fight to pick wit' that guy. I see that lil' twitch in your brow, you mad now, huh? Fine, y'all get the Bronze fist now, ya lost ta Lil' Miss Sunshine too. How ya like that?"
The hitter grabbed the keyboard and they argued until Nate walked in.
"Cut it out, you two. Eliot, we're on the move. You've got a show to steal."
(15 hours ago)
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand the winner of the Boston Boxing Blowout iiiiiiiiiiis... MIKE "THE ROCK" MASON!" The crowd cheered as Eliot stood over his unconscious opponent with his fists raised. A man in the crowd left to call his employer.
The winner was just the one for their little "show".
(14 hours ago)
"Good job Eliot, the organization definitely has you on their radar now. It's only a matter of time before they try to 'recruit' you." Nate patted him on the back.
"Yeah, great job Eliot, excellent work Eliot. You got to hit some dude while I sat toiling away at research an' makin' sure I got y'all's backs, but good job Eliot." Hardison congratulated his friend sarcastically.
"I've been fighting non-stop for hours while you typed away at your little computer with the options of rest and air conditioning, but you're the one that's breaking a sweat?"
"That's right!"
Eliot groaned in annoyance. "Well have fun taking the hits for the team. I'm going home."
Nate stopped him. "Be careful. You're in their sights now."
"I can take care a' myself, Nate."
He stormed out and took the stairs down to the bar to leave through the back, heading to his grey pickup. He sensed a threat and tensed, standing still. It was a muffled step or a hidden breath or a subtle distortion of the air, but he felt it before they spoke.
"Eliot Spencer."
He felt the familiar burn at the back of his neck as the electric shock of a taser knocked him out.
(10 hours ago)
Eliot woke slowly, cautiously. He did not alter his breathing or move an inch. He kept his head bowed and eyes closed, letting his senses tell him where he was.
He knew that he was restrained to be completely taut: his arms, by the wrist, were chained up to two points in the ceiling as far as they'd stretch; his legs, by the ankle, were also chained so that his limbs were pulled tightly and the joints strained. The hitter could tell from his stiff body and aching muscles that he'd been chained like this for several hours. His fingers were numb and his feet could barely feel the concrete floor. He was wearing only his jeans, a small favor to be thankful for as he shivered at the chill. No sound was to be heard except his own breaths, from which he deduced that he was in a concrete room of about 10'x10' with the door shut. He heard it creak open suddenly and quelled any reaction.
"Cut the act, Spencer. If you weren't conscious by now I'd assume you were dead, and killing the world's best retrieval specialist simply cannot be that easy."
Eliot raised his head to formidably meet the gaze of his captor.
The man wore a fitted suit, polished loafers and an expensive but classy watch. His hair was trimmed neatly and he was clean-shaven. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a wealthy businessman.
"You're probably confused, so I'll explain. We caught on the moment that your team discovered us. Your hacker's not as clever as he thinks; ours followed his poorly covered tracks and we found you. Which con were you trying to run? The Scandinavian Duchess? The Apple Pie?" He sneered. "I wanted to kill your whole team but then my man saw you fight. The stories are true. You really are the best hitter." The man approached and admired his toned chest. "Did you know that you're in the highest demand for this market? The great Eliot Spencer, wanted by countless territories and despised by some of the world's most powerful men? Oh, you're the catch of a lifetime. I will earn millions!" He smirked at the livid hitter. "And don't expect your little friends to come and save you. I have computer experts that can easily out-hack the likes of Alec Hardison. I have Jude Koenig and Alexander Zasady, the best. Wanna know why they're the best?" He leaned in as if telling a secret. "You haven't heard of them because they never get caught." The smiling man called back as he left, "You're ours now."
(5 hours ago)
The hitter had analyzed every thing about the room from his chains to the blinking light of the camera recording his every moment of imprisonment. He almost looked forward to the man's return for something else to do.
(present)
Eliot regretted wishing for his return.