Nate and Sophie were coming out hot. Something had tipped the mark, and haste was of the utmost importance at this point. They had everything they needed except out. Hardison had slowed the other elevators, but the rolling security codes on the computerized buildings system didn't want to let him stall them out completely. At least he could keep the one his team was in moving on an express route to freedom while the others stopped at most floors. Parker had already exited, courtesy of her harness, through the service elevator shaft and rear delivery exit, and he could hear her opening the rear door of Lucille 2.0.
"Everybody coming?"
"Looks like it. Nate and Sophie should be coming out the front any sec- yup. There they are" as he spotted them running to the van. "Eliot man, you out?"
"Go Hardision – get everybody clear of hear. Go to house 17 – DO NOT GO HOME". Eliot's voice shouted in their ears. He was running hard, and sounded more than a little intense.
"What are you talkin' about – where are you?"
"Behind the - Never mind. I'll find you – just go"
"Not leaving you beh-"
"Dammit Hardison, not a suggestion. GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE"
Nate jumped into the driver's seat. "You better know what you're doing Eliot." The van peeled out. They watched the mirrors for signs of a tail, and Hardison started running jamming equipment to make sure no one was monitoring them in any other way. They could still hear Eliot's hard breathing, then a grunt, followed by fight sounds. At first it sounded ok – Eliot with his standard style, telling his challengers to bring it on. It only took a moment to realize that it wasn't going well. The earbuds were picking up enough sound for them to realize he was seriously outnumbered. Nate considered turning back, although he had no idea of where to go. Then the gunshot echoed through the earbuds. A moment later, the signal went dead.
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It had been 9 days since they heard the shot. There had been nothing since. After a couple of days of monitoring the home base, Nate was convinced no one was watching for them, and the team settled back in. But the search for their friend had failed. No matter what Hardison tried, he could find no trace, no signal, no trail. He had tagged every hospital, doctor, clinic and pharmacy in a 500 mile radius anyone with even a faint resemblance to Eliot coming in. He hadn't told the team, but he had done the same for the morgues. He was pretty sure the others had guessed that even though no one would put words to the possibility.
He had found some security video of the attack on Eliot, and immediately wished he'd failed on that effort. They had been right. Eliot was wickedly outnumbered, but he still managed to get 5 of the guys down before a shot from behind had dropped him to the ground. He'd never seen it coming. He was dragged out. These guys were hired goons, not security from their last job. Whatever it was about, it had nothing to do with that con. Hardison had been able to track the van at first but it was soon lost in the maze of traffic and the thinning out of traffic cameras. And now he sat at the keyboard, punching in everything he could think of for a lead.
He could feel Parker's breath on his neck before she put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry darlin'. Nothing new to report".
"I know – you would have been jumping up and down if you even thought you had found something. I brought you another soda." She crawled up on the desk. "He's not dead you know. I'd know if he was dead, and he's not. He wouldn't do that to me – to us."
"Not really up to him-"
"Of course it is – he's Eliot. He won't quit on us. We can't quit on him."
"Nobody's quitting on anyone Parker" Nate walked into the office. "But I am running out of sources. I have talked to everyone from Quinn to Mikel Dayan to Vance. Even Sterling is keeping an ear open for anything. Nobody has a location. Nobody has a clue what to do next. They're looking. We're looking. Eliot has vanished – completely. There are lots of theories; rumors that amount to nothing. I've seen couple of reports of his death that clearly were false based just on the timing, but no solid info on where he is, or who has him. "
"Moreau's people have him."
"Not according to the Italian."
"She thought Moreau in prison was going to stop him. What does she know?"
Nate was inclined to agree. The Italian didn't think it was Moreau, but she wasn't ready to say anything absolute. Whatever she knew, she wasn't sharing. Not that he'd expected her to. But it didn't feel like Moreau. For one thing, he hadn't really had the time to rebuild his force to this degree, especially while still locked up. And there was a certain gloat aspect missing from the whole thing. When Moreau came after them, and they fully expected one day he would, Eliot would be the last victim, not the first.
He shuffled around folders on his desk. There were jobs waiting, things that had been planned before any of this went down. He knew he should look at them, pick something to get everyone back on track. People needed their help. But Eliot needed their help. The difference was, he could do something about the clients. At this point, he could do nothing for the man who regularly saved their lives.
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A black sedan slowed to a stop at the crest of a hill that sloped down to the river bank. The current ran fast and rough below.
"This 'ill do"
"Boss said to drive further outta the city."
"Yeah – well I don't plan on driving around town with a body in the back seat any longer than I have to. Dump it here. He'll roll into the river just as easily now as 20 miles from now, and we'll get home in time for the face-off. I got 2 grand on the game."
The door opened silently and the body was unceremoniously tossed out and kicked down the hill. "So long Spencer."
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He could hear the car drive off at the same time he could feel himself rolling closer to the water. Every bump, every rock sent another spear of agony through him, but he fought with all he had to move past that. He had to stop before hitting the river. He couldn't let his jacket get wet, but he had no strength to stop. If he got wet it really was over. He willed himself to stop rolling, to try to dig into the hillside. He felt he was slowing, but it wasn't fast enough. At the moment his legs hit the water he was jarred painfully to a halt. He forced his eyes open and found himself staring at the couple of rusted out bike frames he had slammed into. Thank god for litter he thought. Now for the hard part. Slowly, brutally so, he tried to move his arms. His shoulders had been dislocated every time he was suspended while being pummeled, and were set back in place to give his abductor the sheer pleasure of dislocating them again. He wasn't sure he could even move them now, but he had to. The broken fingers and mangled hands weren't going to make it any easier. Torture 101 - best way to make sure somebody couldn't even try to hit you back was to crush bones. Eventually, he worked his hand to the hem of his jacket and pried at the stitching till he broke through. He didn't know whether he had gotten used to the misery, or whether the nerves had lost the ability to send signals, but he was finding there was far less pain than he expected. Forcing the muscles to work when there was no reason they should he almost shouted for joy when fingers made contact with the plastic bud. Now, if he could get it to his ear and activate it, he was set. He felt the chill climbing his legs into his spine. He knew he should get his legs out of the water, but that wasn't where he needed to focus his rapidly dwindling energy. He tried to use his right hand to drag the left to his head, but his fingers wouldn't grip onto the fabric. Gradually he worked the hand under his elbow, knowing the movement was going to be brutal, and he was right. If there had been anything left in his system, he would have thrown up, but he was so hollow he was genuinely concerned what he might bring up. Excruciating minutes (that felt like hours) later the effort was finally worth it. He could feel the earpiece slide into place. A final prayer: please God, let it still work, and let them still be listening.
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Sophie sighed. "We can look at the files, but really Nate, do you think we have it in us to pull a game right now. We're exhausted, drained. I think it would take all of 5 minutes till we get blown."
"Look – I get it. I don't know if we can be – us – again. We can't sit around here just waiting for news. We can't do anything more than the searches that are going on. I do know that Eliot would not want us to fold our tents and go home. Like he said – this gets under your skin, and you gotta do something if you can. So, let's find one that Eliot would want. Something he would kick ass for."
"He'd kick ass for us" Parker said. "Who will do that now?"
"If we need someone we can call Quinn."
"NO! He's looking for Eliot. That's his only job now."
"OK Parker, we'll find a job that doesn't need a hitter for now. Something quiet. Something-"
"Holy mother of God" Hardison gasped, staring has his monitor. They looked at him questioningly. Without speaking, he tapped a few keys and the monitor image went on the screen. Eliot's backup transmitter was flashing as active.
Parker ran for the door, before realizing she had no idea where she was going. "Where – where – WHERE!"
A few seconds later the map showed co-ordinates. When she turned back Nate was blocking the door, holding up his hand for silence. "This could be a set up. Hardison, what's there – where is he?"
"River, rocks and not much else. Outskirts of town, but not by much."
Nate had put in his earbud, and activated it. "Eliot – can you hear me, can you talk?"
A faint weak breathing was the only response. "He can't talk Nate – we have to go." Sophie had moved to the door as well, and was ready to throw Nate away out of the way with bare her hands if he didn't move in the next 5 seconds.
"Eliot – you need to say something – anything."
It was a whisper they could barely hear. "Where's the Cavalry?"
Nate had never run so quickly in his life. He almost left without the others.