FULL MOON AND DENVER SEVEN
By AJ
Chapter Eleven
"Samantha!"
As she moved in closer to Full Moon's pier side warehouse, Agent Spade's tight concentration wandered to thoughts of Martin.
"Agent Spade!"
The voice finally registered and she snapped her head around. "What?" she replied sharply and somewhat flustered at being caught with wandering thoughts.
Buck Wilmington was regarding her with a questioning look. "Did you hear Malone?"
"What?" she had to repeat, blinking as she scrambled to recall orders she obviously didn't hear. Pulling herself together mentally Samantha pressed a shoulder against the nearest wall and adjusted her two-handed grip on her weapon. Finally, she shook her head, accepting futility with a sharp sigh. "No," she admitted softly. "No, I didn't. What did he say?"
Raising her eyes to meet the tall agent's was easier than she expected. Until now, working as Wilmington's partner had been both annoying and frustrating. The man was a player, that was obvious, and his every attempt to get her to warm up to him had fallen flat. She'd made a point to flatten him; guys like him did not sit well with her, what with their antiquated idea that the 'weaker sex' needed to be taken care of.
She had to admit, she'd been downright nasty to the man. Wilmington, however, seemed oblivious to her hostility - he never backed down. She had to give a nod to his persistence. Samantha also thought she'd done a pretty good job hiding her feelings for Martin throughout this whole ordeal but she could now clearly see that he'd figured it out; again, she was irritated that he'd read her so easily.
As soon as they were called to task, Buck had become Agent Wilmington and became a working partner. She decided that she could trust him – for now, at least. Trust wasn't something she tossed about with abandon. Samantha accepted then that what she'd seen as a condescending attitude was, in reality, respect.
Buck Wilmington respected women.
But he was still a player.
The resemblance to Danny – but in an annoyingly different way – was undeniable. She shook her head and dropped her eyes with breathy snort. 'Concentrate, Spade, for God's sake. He's got your back and he deserves the same respect.'
"We're to cover the southwest corner, on the pier," Buck relayed with what she knew was infinite patience. "The others are circling around until our back up is in place."
She nodded, now all business and focused. "Okay, then. Let's take a peek."
Before she could move, Wilmington's steady hand gently took her forearm, stopping her in her tracks. Irritation at the delay flamed and she snapped her head to glare at the tall agent. Samantha opened her mouth to demand an explanation but the warm look in his eyes stopped her.
"We'll get him," Buck said in a concerned tone. "He'll be all right."
She shed her anger like a winter coat and instantly felt confidant. Samantha dipped her head and managed a tiny smile. "I know. Thank you."
He nodded and released her arm after a reassuring squeeze. They both checked their grip on their weapons, and Buck nodded that he was ready.
Samantha took the lead as they closed in on the warehouse, moving with quick stealth. The windows on the building were set high above them and tilted open for ventilation. Hearing the murmur of voices but unable to discern the words, the pair made their way to the corner and Samantha carefully looked around to the back of the building.
"That looks like Martin's truck," she whispered, puzzled. "The front end, anyway. It's sticking out from inside the building. Wait . . . it's moving – rocking - like someone's inside. I can't see any more without breaking cover." The sound of the truck's door slamming silenced them. Samantha expected the engine to start but it remained quiet.
Buck raised his radio to his mouth to report their find when nearby gunshots, followed by shouts somewhere behind them, made both of them instinctively crouch down. Buck quickly moved close behind Sam, their backs angled together for optimum cover. The questioning frown she gave him over her shoulder was answered with an unknowing shrug. A tinny voice, raised in excitement, erupted from her ear piece and added fuel to her racing heart.
"Black Suburban just left the tunnel! We've taken out the tires!" An unfamiliar voice. The back up unit? Agent Jackson's cool acknowledgement confirmed her thought
The two's eyes met again.
"Tighten the perimeter!" Chris ordered. "No one gets out!"
The scuffling of feet, a shout and the sound of close gun fire snapped their attention back to the warehouse. The truck's engine roared and raced as a car door slammed, pushing both agents in motion. Buck crossed in front of Samantha and quickly glanced around the corner. He whispered rapidly into his wrist radio.
"Chris! We have a truck starting up and motion in the back of the Full Moon warehouse, on the pier," Buck relayed. "Shots fired . . ."
Loud shouts peppered with several gunshots spilled from the area of the truck. In unspoken unity Buck dashed across the pier and dove behind a stack of boxes as Samantha snapped off cover fire. The truck shot from the open warehouse and lurched into a tight turn directly toward them. Two forms fought to hang on and climb into the bed of the small pickup as it roughly surged away, weaving wildly from side to side before finally setting on a true course straight for her and Buck. Samantha saw the twin scrambling bodies finally roll into the truck bed.
Buck stood up, took a wide stance and put several shots into the radiator. Samantha yelled, "FBI!" as she took a shot at the tires, not wanting to risk hitting the men in the bed of the truck.
The vehicle accelerated as the agents pumped off several more rounds in rapid succession. When the truck raced by Samantha could see that one of the figures in the bed was working on the sliding window at the rear of the cab. The second figure was hunkered down, gripping the side of the bed, trying to gain balance.
By his profile, she could tell that the body hanging looked was Martin – she didn't clearly see the other but assumed it must be the other twin. Buck relayed vehicle information as soon as the vehicle sped past. The scent of radiator fluid and a wet path told of the damage done. When Chris confirmed that the inside of the warehouse was contained, the two agents ran in hot pursuit of the truck.
The truck took an unsteady track down the wide pier, passing several warehouses before it careened around a corner and out of Samantha's sight. Hoping to at least back up the pair in the bed of the fleeing vehicle, Sam and Buck continued to follow the liquid trail. They hadn't quite reached the corner when the scream of the racing engine was abruptly upstaged by the sickening sound of screeching metal and shattering glass. A nauseating thump immediately followed and then it was abruptly silent. To Samantha, the silence was more frightening than gun fire.
The sprint to the final corner seemed to take place in slow motion with their feet encased in mud. When Buck and Samantha finally rounded the corner with weapons up, they immediately pulled up to sort out the bedlam spread before them.
The underbelly of the truck was visible among scattered, broken pallets and boxes. An acrid smell burned the air as stressed metal groaned and settled. A gouge in the concrete traced the path of destruction. Steam belched from the heart of chaos.
Samantha's gut clenched. "Oh, no!" she whispered in horror as she once again dashed forward. A small corner of her awareness heard following footfall and yelled orders for paramedics.
She found the first body crumpled at the base of a warehouse wall among splintered wood, obviously thrown from the back of the truck. The pull to go to him was relentlessly strong, but she was steadfast in her job to back up Wilmington and keep the injured agent safe.
They approached the truck with heightened caution. Reaching the back of the truck first, Buck quickly glanced into the area between the vehicle and the building.
"One down," he reported. He then backed off and stole along the length of the vehicle and glanced around the hood. "Can't see a driver. Airbag was deployed. Cover me."
Samantha first glanced around to make sure no one was hiding nearby and then moved in tight to Buck's back as he tried to force his way to the windshield. Unable to fit, he moved back along the truck's belly and climbed up to the driver's window. "No driver. He got away. Our boy here is stuck half way in the sliding window."
"Alive?" Samantha asked, her throat tight.
There was a long pause. "Yeah, there's a pulse. Let's check the area so we can clear the medics to come in."
Before Buck's feet hit the ground again, black-clad reinforcements appeared from the street side of the buildings. Wilmington found her gaze and nodded toward the first body. "They'll secure the area. Go and check on him." He nodded back to the body by the wall. "I'll stay here."
Samantha didn't argue. She retraced their path with her heart in her throat.
"Martin!" she cried as she dropped by his side and holstered her weapon. Her fingers searched under his slack jaw for a pulse as she gently laid her other hand on his bloody cheek. His shoulder was at an odd angle and his arms and chest were covered with raw scrapes under shredded cloth. A knot was already forming high on his temple. "Martin!" she called again as she stroked his cheek with her thumb. Her throat threatened to close; there was still no response but Samantha was encouraged by the regular beat of life under her fingertips.
"Is he . . ?"
Samantha glanced up into the wide, green eyes of a breathless Larabee and her heart skipped a beat. He stood over them in a protective stance, looking down with frightened trepidation – the first sign of uncertainty she'd seen in his face. Fear emanated from the imposing figure; fear and something she couldn't exactly place.
"There's a pulse," she said simply, the short statement a balm to her quaking nerves. All Larabee gave her was a silent nod as one hand tightly gripped a lowered gun. The other hand squeezed into a tense fist at his side. Suddenly, it occurred to her what she saw in reflected back to her from his eyes – deep concern edged with bewilderment.
Larabee knew this wasn't Tanner in the same way she knew it was Martin, and the why unnerved him.
The ATF leader's gaze shifted to the truck and he was moving before either could say another word. He ran to the truck and she heard rapid exchange between him and Buck as the area around them slowly filled with agents. She turned back to her charge and replaced a shaky hand on Martin's cheek, willing him to open his eyes. Samantha was torn from the moment with the arrival of her team leader and friend.
"How is he?" Jack dropped down next to her, breathing hard. Danny joined them moments later, also winded.
"I'm not sure." She heard the quiver in her own voice. "He's out. His shoulder's messed up . . ."
"Agent Jackson's a medic," a soft southern voice offered. Samantha looked up to see a well-dressed albeit very rumpled man with a pained expression cradling his left arm tightly against his body. His torso was stained with blood. The towering Agent Sanchez appeared to be holding the man up with one strong hand. "I cannot tell you if that is our Mr. Tanner or your Mr. Fitzgerald," the injured man said softly. He grimaced in pain before continuing. "The resemblance is more than astonishing, I can assure you. Side by side, I cannot ascertain one from the other."
They all looked down on the unconscious man at their feet and then glanced briefly over to the truck where the other half of the agents gathered. Samantha looked around to make sure the scene as secured. With that responsibility handed over, she was able to turn her full attention to the unconscious agent.
"It doesn't matter at this point," Samantha whispered. "They both need our help."
Her heart, though, told her she had her Martin.
"There was one more driving," Samantha reported to her boss as she gently stroked Martin's slack cheek. "Older man. Asian, I think. Wilmington said he wasn't in the truck, Jack. He has to be around here somewhere."
Jack reacted almost immediately to the information. "Search the docks and surrounding buildings. He must be on foot and is possibly injured."
It wasn't over.
oooooOOOOOooooo
With the scene finally secure Chris Larabee and the rest of Team Seven wearily retreated in the direction of their vehicles, leaving the scene processing to ATF's forensics team. The underground facility would never have been found if not for this case. The local office suspected its use in numerous gun smuggling operations and everyone now assumed there were more tunnels in the area – it was the only way the missing Asian man could have given them the slip.
The disappearance of the driver was galling. The man that Ezra had killed in the warehouse and the two marshals were only the hired help. Chris had gambled three agents' lives to find the Triad lead and lost. Ezra had told them the driver's name was Jong Wu, but so far, there was no information to be found on the man. They hoped the truck would give up some prints or DNA on the missing suspect.
The remaining team members paused at the tow truck dragging Fitzgerald's battered truck onto the flatbed. Viv and Danny were standing shoulder to shoulder watching the process as the vehicle groaned its way up the ramp. The others fanned out behind, tiredly staring at the smashed truck's progress with blank expressions.
Buck winced at a particularly loud and long squeal of resistance. "Ouch," he muttered.
"Maybe Fitz'll finally get a real car," Danny said brightly, drawing a hand over tired eyes.
"A real car?" JD asked.
"Yeah," Taylor said with a weary sigh. "I mean, who drives a truck in the city anyway?"
"What's wrong with a truck?" Larabee's tone resembled a growl and he turned his piercing green eyes on Taylor.
Danny hesitated and took a cautionary step back from the frightening glare.
Buck backhanded his boss' shoulder. "Easy, stud. Good guy, remember?"
Chris' shoulders slumped and he shrugged as he rubbed his temple. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Any word from the hospital?" Ezra had accompanied one of the unconscious twins while Samantha stayed by the side of the twin she insisted was Martin.
"Samantha said they still haven't come around. Ezra's shoulder was dislocated and he got a bullet graze on his arm. The one Sam says is Martin has a broken collarbone and a concussion. The other one has facial lacerations and possibly some other broken bones. He's been to x-ray already, but the doc hasn't looked at them yet." Jack blew out a frustrated breath after the recitation.
Vivian nodded at the list and frowned. "How does she know which one was Martin?"
"I'm not sure," Jack started.
"She just knows," Chris said with quiet conviction. "Like I know which one is Vin."
The ATF men nodded in understanding. The New Yorkers looked skeptical.
Josiah expelled a short laugh at the unconvinced faces and playfully slapped Danny's back, causing the lanky agent to stumble forward a step. "Well, I'm sure in the case of Miss Spade that it's her heart recognizing the lucky Mr. Fitzgerald."
Vivian's brows arched in interest and she looked to Danny. "Uh," Danny breathed, obviously searching for a way to voice a thought he couldn't quite put into words. His head was cocked in Chris' direction. "Well, if that's so . . . does that mean you and . . . I mean, you know Tanner because . . ." He waggled a finger in Chris' direction and audaciously raised a questioning brow.
Buck quickly figured out the innuendo and burst out laughing. Josiah and Nathan joined in immediately after making the connection. Chris' frown dropped to dangerous depths with uncertainty while JD simply looked confused. Jack and Vivian turned expectantly to Chris for a response.
"No, no, no!" It's not like that at all!" Buck managed to wheeze.
"Like what?" JD innocently asked.
Chris' jade eyes ignited as he finally followed the implication. He turned his glare on Danny once again and the FBI agent's dark eyes grew wide, but he didn't retreat. Instead, a tentative smile quirked his mouth. "Well?" he prodded.
"No, no," Nathan started as he caught his breath. "It's just that Chris and Vin have this weird 'talking without words' thing that they do. It's kinda spooky, but that's all. There's no . . ." Nathan's words sputtered to a near whisper when Chris turned his eyes on him. ". . . er . . . relationship. Like that, anyway."
Chris snorted and stomped away in the direction of Jack's car as understanding finally dawned on the often naive JD.
"OH!" the young man blurted, blushing. "Oh! Yeah, I mean . . . no. I mean, what he said . . ." He pointed at Nathan.
Jack shook his head and pulled car keys from his pocket. "Things are as secure here as they're gonna get. Let's head to the hospital while we wait to see what forensics comes up with." They slowly trailed along Larabee's path and then separated out for the trip to their absent partners' sides.
oooooOOOOOooooo
The clock told her she'd been here for nearly three hours. This was the first lull in treatment there had been in the busy emergency room and Spade finally felt that she could move about without getting in the way of any medical personnel.
Samantha stood over the unconscious man in the bed and gazed down at his slack face. Bloody scratches etched a riotous pattern across his forehead and cheeks. Two of the deepest lines were accented with tiny, dark stitches. The bump on his forehead, just at the hairline, had already turned a painful-looking purple. The cervical collar seemed to swallow the defined jaw line and a temporarily splinted left arm was placed across his abdomen on a pillow.
She let her eyes travel over his face again and then down to his chest where the gentle rise and fall of the thin blanket told her he would be fine. Without realizing how it got there, she found her hand resting on his chest to feel his heartbeat, not trusting the rhythmic beep of the monitor.
Samantha couldn't see anything different about him – the two of them, physically, were identical yet she knew this wasn't Martin. That perplexed her because her analytical mind couldn't express how she knew. It was simply . . . weird.
She studied Tanner a little longer before returning to her chair between the two beds. The curtain between the two emergency room bays had been shoved aside for now so she could watch both of them. Samantha gently slipped her arm under the rail of the second bed, resting her hand on the still arm underneath the sheet.
"How fare our friends?" The tired voice caused her to turn to the speaker and smile. Ezra Standish had introduced himself shortly after their arrival, somewhere between radiology and the nurses' station. His arm was in a sling and white bandages topped one ear. She could just see more bandages encircling the slinged arm's bicep and peeking out from the bloody rent of his shirt. More blood – not his, she was relieved to hear – stained the shoulder of the once cream-colored material.
She gave him an assessing look. "Not much worse than you, I'd say. Agent Tanner's still unconscious but Martin's getting restless. I think he's coming around. The others are on their way here."
Ezra wandered in and dropped down onto a second chair closer to Tanner's bed. He looked from one to the other. "Remarkable," he muttered.
"Did they get to talk at all?" She asked, turning her eyes back to Martin. "I imagine they'd have a lot to say."
"The gentlemen have not yet had the chance. I daresay the opportunity may even result in our Mr. Tanner uttering more than a dozen words in a row." He must have noticed Samantha's puzzled expression. "Mr. Tanner is known as a quiet man," he explained.
Sam leaned back in her chair. "Not Martin. He has no problem speaking his mind. Does . . . um, Vin . . . eat junk food?"
"By the crate load," Standish sighed rolling his eyes. "Why he's not the size of Rhode Island, we'll never understand."
She smiled at a memory. "Martin's got a stash of Ding Dongs in his desk."
"The very name sounds perfectly Tanneresque."
"Cheeseburgers?"
"For breakfast. We have yet to figure out where he gets them at that ungodly hour in the morning."
Samantha laughed shortly and squeezed Martin's hand, then turned to Ezra. "How are you doing?"
"I am in the process of being sprung," he said, stretching his legs. "And will recover to sleuth again."
"They're finished securing the scene," she informed him. "They didn't find Wu."
Ezra shifted uncomfortably. "That is most regrettable. I do believe that may be problematic as I got the distinct feeling that Mr. Wu is no stranger to retaliation."
Samantha found her hand drifting to her gun. Thoughtful silence was marred by the sudden increase in the tempo of the beeping monitors.
Fitzgerald shifted on the gurney and a breathy moan escaped his lips. Samantha put her hand on top of his and he settled. "Martin's parents are on their way from California," she said, her eyes on Martin's face. "I can't wait to see the expression on Victor Fitzgerald's face when he gets here."
Ezra's eyes slid her way. "Victor Fitzgerald? As in Deputy Director Victor Fitzgerald?"
"Yeah. You know him?"
Standish pinched the bridge of his nose as if in pain. "Unfortunately, yes, I am acquainted with the formidable Deputy Director. We served time together in the Atlanta office." He must have seen her frown. "I was in the FBI before transferring my allegiance to the ATF," he explained. "I did not leave the Atlanta office on the best of terms with the brass."
Samantha head tilted sideways so she could give him a sympathetic smile. "Then you're in good company," she said. "I don't know anyone on the best of terms with Victor Fitzgerald, including his son." With a second thought, she glanced at the second bed, wondering if it contained a second son.
The agents had another few minutes of relative peace, the bustle of the ER poorly dampened behind thin curtains. The nurse peeked in once and assured them that they were just waiting for a room to open up and the two men would be moved upstairs. Samantha told her that Martin seemed to be waking up, and she said she'd find a doctor and disappeared. Soon, loud voices drifted their way from the direction of the emergency room reception area followed by foot fall coming their way.
"I believe our backup has arrived," Ezra stated just as the curtain was roughly pushed aside.
"Ez? How're ya doin'?" Chris asked as he stepped in, casually tossing Ezra's jacket to him. "Paramedics left that." His boss was followed closely by the thin-lipped man with untamed dark hair Ezra recalled seeing at the scene, who moved to stand by Samantha.
Ezra smoothed the blood stained jacket across his lap. "An unfitting end for Brioni," he sighed wistfully.
"I'm sure a replacement will show up on your next reimbursement request," Chris said with a slight grin. "That's what you get for severing an artery with a screwdriver."
"I was aiming for the cretin's heart." Ezra's growled lowly. "But his demise was the goal I apparently achieved."
"Yeah, you achieved it, alright." Chris's featured softened as he turned to study Tanner's quiet form. "Damn it, Ezra, what the hell happened?" he finally asked.
"Direct and to the point as usual, Mr. Larabee." He shifted in the chair. "I assure you, I did not intend our pilgrimage to cast us so far from the home front. I applaud young Mr. Dunne's ability to maintain a connection."
The yet unnamed man snorted. "His reports must be a joy to read."
"His expense account is much worse, trust me." Chris' expression softened a little. "Ezra, this is Jack Malone, Martin Fitzgerald's boss. Jack, Ezra Standish."
"At your service." Ezra winced and didn't bother to stand.
"The rest of the gang's in the waiting room. They'd only let two in at a time," Chris said as he wandered to stand next to Vin. Once there, he rested his hand on his friend's shoulder and spoke softly. "He's got a compression fracture in one of his cervical vertebrae. He'll be wearing that collar for awhile. He hasn't come around at all?"
"Not yet," Samantha said.
Martin groaned, getting Malone's attention. "Sounds like he's waking up."
Samantha stood next to Jack and they both watched Martin's face as he came back to them. Ezra turned his attention to Chris and noted the lines of worry mapping his boss' face. 'I wish encouraging thoughts would rouse our teammate, too, Mr. Larabee,' he wearily thought.
oooooOOOOOooooo
Swimming up through the roar in his ears brought him closer to a goal he couldn't quite understand. Then the roar receded until all he heard was mumbled words, beeping and his own breathing. Then he felt cold for a moment before pain rolled over his entire torso, overriding everything else.
He groaned and fumbled to drag his hand across eyes that didn't seem to want to open.
"Hey, watch the IV lines."
A soft hand restrained his motion. Martin was grateful the soft voice didn't antagonize his headache. He let out a sharp breath and dragged his eyelids open, squinting into the painful light. A fuzzy, golden framed face filled his sight.
"Martin? You want some ice chips?"
The suggestion made him realize that his mouth was bone dry. He tried to say yes, but it sounded more like a croak. The form retreated and he heard a rustling noise just before the icy goodness slipped past his lips. Martin sighed with delight.
"How are ya doing, champ?" a vaguely familiar voice asked.
"Jack?" he mumbled around the second spoonful of ice chips which seemed to help his thoughts come together. "What . . ?"
Then it came to him in bits and pieces and Martin tried to sit up. His broken collarbone chose that moment to make it self known and he yelped at the sharp pain.
"Don't move so fast, Martin. Your shoulder and arm are bound up and you have a concussion." Samantha arranged some pillows and found the button to raise him to a sitting position.
"God, I feel like shit," he mumbled, carefully maneuvering his IV laden hand to his pounding head. He dared to roll his head sideways and attempted a smile for Samantha. The sight of her caused the heart monitor to flutter.
"Hey there," she said with a smile.
"You look great," he replied. Then he looked beyond to another face he recognized. "Hey. You're okay?" he said to Ezra. "What happened?" When Ezra stood, the blood on his shirt became clearly visible. "Shit! Where's . . ." he strained to see the adjacent bed sparking a galaxy of stars to explode in his head. Moaning, he sank back and slammed his eyes shut until he could ride out the agony. A southern-tinged voice soothed his head and gave him something on which to concentrate outside his discomfort.
"Mr. Tanner will be fine. He has not yet chosen to join us at this juncture." Martin forced one eye open and peered at the bloody agent. Ezra shifted and attempted to straighten the ruined shirt. "I assure you that the stains you see are not from me. They are courtesy of Mr. Wu's trained behemoth."
Martin frowned. "You always talk like that?"
The rugged blond man next to Ezra – Larabee, was it? - let out a short, hard laugh. "'Fraid so."
"What about Tanner?"
"Vin's going to be okay." Larabee glanced down and Martin realized that his twin must be right in the next bed. He forced his other eye open and, slowly this time, turned his head aside. Samantha took a step back so he could see the profile of his look-alike. There wasn't much to see above the wide cervical collar and Martin felt strangely disappointed that he couldn't sense the man. He wondered if the odd mental conversation he'd had with Tanner just before things went to hell was a figment of his imagination; a little voice inside told him otherwise. Martin involuntarily shuddered as flashes of memory raced through his mind intertwined with a woman screaming. What did it mean?
"Ezra, you said the guy that hired you was Jong Wu?" Chris asked.
"Yes. Did you find him?"
"We can't find anything on him," Jack said. "We found his name tied to some Full Moon holdings, but we can't find anything on him. No identification of any kind. He doesn't exist on paper as far as we can tell."
"Forensics got some partial prints and they're running them now. It may take awhile." Larabee turned to the still form on the other bed.
Martin felt his gaze fall on what little bit he could see of Vin Tanner's lax face, the distinct feeling of familiarity settling over him once again.
"I think I know him," Martin said softly. "From where, I can't quite figure out."
Samantha raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Tanner. "You said that before, to Danny."
"JD's looking into that as we speak," Larabee said. "And he's very good and finding things."
"Victor's on his way from California," Samantha said. "The nurse told me."
Martin's heart skipped. "My dad? From California?"
"I left a message at his office." Jack scrubbed his eyes. "I didn't think he'd respond that fast. Sorry."
"Actually, I'm looking forward to his arrival," Martin said flatly, turning his aching head to face the other bed. "I have questions."