*** The stage is nearly set, the players just going over their roles in their heads. There won't be any rehearsal...it's got to go just right the first time. The problem is that there are scenes being played out that others don't know about. Whose paths will cross at just the wrong time? Hmmm... But now, lets just take a breath and settle in for the night."
Tuco: You never had a rope around your neck. Well, I'm going to tell you something. When that rope starts to pull tight, you can feel the Devil bite your ass.
- The Good, The Bad and The Ugly
-o-o-o-
Jill: What's he waiting for out there? What's he doing?
Cheyenne: He's whittlin' on a piece of wood. I've got a feeling when he stops whittlin'... Somethin's gonna happen.
- Once Upon a Time in the West
Marshall held the take-out containers from the Golden Dragon restaurant at shoulder height as the group of dirty and disheveled pre-teen boys dodged around him while they chased each other through the lobby of the hotel. Apparently a soccer team come to town for some competition, their matching jerseys and loose hanging shin guards wore clods of dirt and grass stains that advertised neither victory nor defeat, just a long day's play. At that age, their high spirits were more likely due to an anticipated visit to the hotel's indoor water park than to a winning score. He smiled as he thought of his own dusty state; hat brim stiff with dried sweat and dirt ground into his knuckles. Had he brought along a pair of swim trunks, he wouldn't have minded a few slow laps around the Lazy River himself.
The wranglers and cowhands had been released for the night after dinner, management knowing the younger men needed a night to blow off steam before the round-up the next day, and the older men just wanted some downtime. Most had headed into town for the local bar scene, but some elected for a chance to head north out of town to the gun range or dirt bike tracks. Marshall had looked for Eliot at first, hoping to engage the man in some conversation over a drink, but he had made himself scarce; likely at Sheryl's for the night…just as likely not.
The younger man had been uncharacteristically irritable all day, throwing himself into the fence work and brushing off any attempts at small talk. He had left the group towards late afternoon without explanation and Marshall hadn't seen him since. Though not odd enough to mention to Stan and Mary, the wrangler's absence was noted on the marshal's mental spreadsheet of characters. Marshall really didn't want to think Eliot was involved other than occupying Sheryl's bed, the man seemingly of sound moral mind, but he had learned his lesson long ago when dealing with professionals; if it's got teeth, it can bite you…no matter how hard the tail wags.
Jostled again by adolescent exuberance, Marshall veered to the left towards the stairs instead of fighting the boisterous crowd at the elevators. The ICE agents had picked a more centrally located and populated hotel for their surveillance this time around, thinking anonymity would be better attained by the sheer volume of guests. Though the population in the lobby was far from 'throngs,' Marshall could appreciate the distraction from his own entrance; front desk busy with check-ins, and any housekeeping personnel left rolling their eyes and hoping an early curfew was imposed upon the younger guests. Perfect.
He shouldered his way through the doors and took the stairs two at a time to the third floor. The hallway was quiet and cool, and he transferred the bags to his left arm in order to dig his badge out of his front pocket before knocking. Identifying himself softly, Marshall patiently waited as he was undoubtedly scrutinized from the other side of the peep-hole, both agencies extra cautious. The door was unlatched, and he pushed through slowly. Agent Hardison kept one hand on his weapon as he closed the door behind the marshal, his greeting more friendly once the man was in the room.
"I'm really hoping that food is genuine and not just a prop. I'm starving here," the ICE agent whined.
Marshall chuckled as he placed the bags on the table. "I once filled a take-out bag with sand as a prop during a stakeout." He pulled white containers of various sizes out of the larger bag.
Hardison raised his eyebrows expectedly. "And?"
Marshall looked over at him with a grimace. "You'll note the usage of the word 'once.' I was afraid to open my desk drawers for a month after that." He handed Hardison a pair of chopsticks. "Hell hath no fury like a woman denied her wontons."
The agent smiled politely, puzzled, but accepted the utensils and helped himself to some bins. The two men exchanged more professional information, Marshall specifically inquiring as to the "electrical work" Hardison had completed at the Redpoint barn a few days prior, and the foodstuffs were steadily consumed. Finally full, Marshall sat back as Hardison moved over to the desk to tweak some of the surveillance equipment.
"I can see the interior of the west wing of the main barn at Redpoint, including the loading ramp extending off the west wall. I had limited time to place any cameras, and an audience, so I had to choose key vantage points." He typed a few commands and the laptop screen showed four views at once. "In addition to the ramp, I can see the entrance from the corral, the approach to the barn from the south and the door to the manager's office." He pointed to each window, and Marshall pulled a chair over for a closer view.
"So all the intel points towards the women being held at this location?" Marshall asked, studying the screen.
Hardison nodded and reached over to snag a file folder off the bed. "The info from your girl is really the only thing we have to go on for the location of the human cargo. That point in the river isn't close to anything except the Redpoint area, and no one thinks Brad is stupid enough to parade that sort of commodity through miles of desert scrub just for a refreshing dip. They have to be holding the women close to that barn…or in it."
Marshall drummed his fingers on the desk in thought. "I've been out to that barn. Seen the corral and a few of the sheds. There was no sign of activity other than the four legged kind. You'd think there would be some sign of human presence, captive or not, if they were anywhere near that barn. Even if you keep them locked up in one place, you've got to bring in basic supplies and get rid of waste. Keep it relatively clean or it'll stink…and the animals would find it." He squinted at a map the agent handed to him.
"See this group of mesas right behind the sheds here?" Hardison ran his finger along the features on the topo map. "The Indians dug a lot of tunnels in this whole region. Grain storage, stock pens, hideouts during the wars…Point is, there's a lot of gopher runs behind that barn, and we're nearly certain the women are being kept back in there." He sat back with a sigh. "'Nearly,' because we can't get anyone in there to search, and the GIS gurus have nothing to ping. Contrary to popular belief, Google Earth is not all seeing."
Marshall raised his eyebrows with a grunt. "Your cameras don't have GPS dots? Can't the satellites use those to triangulate a grid?"
Hardison looked at him appraisingly. "A geek in the marshals' service? I thought you guys were all six-shooters and battering rams."
"You've met my partner, then?" Marshall quipped, turning his attention back to the maps. "She gets testy if I get in her way, so I earn my keep with the intellectual clean-up while she kicks down the doors."
"Right," the agent muttered. "Moving on." He handed Marshall a few more pages from the file. "There are cattle trucks at the barn once a month, and a smaller supply truck from the main lodge delivers once a week. The cattle trucks are what we're interested in. Forensic accountants have done their magic on the Circle R financials, and those cattle deliveries seem to be the cash cow…so to speak."
"Brad's laundering the smuggling payments through the stock accounts?"
"Lather, rinse, repeat," Hardison joked. "He's careful, but not careful enough. If he had never gotten involved with the major league players, no one ever would've noticed, but once the Sancristos were onboard he got greedy. The larger deposits triggered FDIC alerts and the guv'mint took an interest."
"How'd you wrestle this away from Treasury?" Marshall asked as he continued to study the pages.
"It reeks of Cartel…and the treasury boys don't like to step in that shit. They were only too happy to let us run the show." The agent rose to walk over and adjust the air conditioning. "Once we started digging, the stench wafted across the street. Now that there's also human transportation during these deliveries, the FBI's waiting for their scraps, and Secret Service will scrounge for anything they can claim as their own. Treasury will get a piece in the end, guaranteed."
Marshall took a deep breath as he placed all the pages back into the folder, satisfied with what he had seen. "Well, all we want is the girl," he drawled, smiling. "Hand her over peacefully and no one gets hurt."
Hardison shook his head sadly and the men shared a chuckle until interrupted by a chime from another laptop. Hardison reached over to tap the mousepad a few times as Marshall rose to peer around him at the screen. The agent explained the view.
"The main parking lot at the ranch." He zoomed in on the arrival vehicle. "A late night visitor. Odd."
Marshall swallowed a small lump in his throat. He didn't think the dark windowed Mercedes transported an errant guest or extra cowhand. A driver exited and opened a rear door for his passenger.
Hardison leaned forward and sucked air through his teeth. "Oh man…is that…?" A few more camera adjustments and he sat back and slapped the desk. "Dammit."
"What?" Marshall demanded.
Hardison was rubbing the bridge of his nose as he thought. "That's Jaime Sancristo. The younger of the two brothers. Shit. What the fuck is he doing here?" After a moment, the agent finally decided on some action and snagged a headset to attach to his ear. He connected his phone to the computer and used a few more devices to hastily set up a relay station.
Marshall watched the screen as the other man muttered and swore, and as the driver popped the truck to pull out a bag the lump became a solid mass of apprehension. Mary's words of prophetic wisdom came back to him as Hardison handed him an extra headset.
"To quote my partner," Marshall said, adjusting the ear piece, "This just gets better and better."
/\/\/\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\\\\\\\\\\\\\/\/\/\/
Mary pulled on her second boot just as Diane came through the door. Offering a quick greeting to her roommate, she grabbed her jacket and shoved one arm into a sleeve.
"I don't think you'll need the jacket," Diane offered. "It's still pretty warm." She tossed a towel and iPod onto her own bed, having obviously returned from the pool, and looked Mary up and down.
"Hot date? Do tell!" Flopping onto the mattress, Diane looked at her expectantly, one foot bouncing to some internal beat.
Mary tossed the jacket back onto the chair and tucked her phone into her pocket while glaring at Diane. "Are you sure you left any men for the rest of us?"
Diane just chuckled and smiled wider. "Spoil sport. Finders keepers, you know…early bird gets the worm and all that. All those years of getting up at the crack of dawn have taught me something."
"That hoof and mouth disease can be an STD?" Mary muttered around her hair band as she raked her hair into a ponytail.
The other woman raised her eyebrows as her smile fell. "Wow. I'm guessing not a hot date then?"
Mary heard the hurt the Diane's voice and realized she had fallen too far out of her character. Mary Shannon was expected to cut to the bone. Mary Shepherd wasn't quite as sharpened, and Diane hadn't actually done anything to deserve her ire. Sighing loudly, Mary arranged her face into a rueful grin and looked at her roomie.
"Sorry. I'm just…" She shrugged and patted her phone in her pocket. "The ex is having a crisis and has managed to loop me into his spiral of insanity. I need to make a few calls to straighten it out before he ends up in jail."
Diane nodded in understanding as she swung her legs back off the bed. "You're too damn nice, Mary. I'd let him hang himself. But I get it." She began to gather toiletries on her way to the bathroom. "Now don't stay out too late, young lady. We have cowboys to ogle bright and early."
Mary barked a laugh on the way out. "Whatever."
-o-o-o-
The night was warm, stars sprinkled across the sky slightly blurred by a high, thin layer of clouds that looked as though they were brushed onto the firmament by some celestial artist. Marshall had tugged on her ponytail when he named them for her the first time so long ago.
"Mare's tails," he said, pointing at the wispy objects of interest as they sat outside the gelato shop in Albuquerque.
Mary swatted at his hand at the back of her head. "Keep your hands to yourself, pervis. And don't call me 'Mare.'"
"The cloud name refers to a horse," he chuckled, "and nicknames have been around since the 1300s. Historically they conveyed a level of acceptance into a society and were chosen as almost a ceremonial rite of passage. The shortening of one's name by those close to them should be considered an outward extension of trust, and usually the nickname is an affectionate personification of their character." Marshall spooned jalepeño gelato into his mouth with a hummed appreciation while Mary glared at him.
"So you think of me as a horse?" she challenged, her own bowl of frozen treat melting in neglect.
He rolled his eyes over to peer at her. "You did kick me in the thigh last week when I startled you." Smiling, he indicated her bowl with his spoon. "Eat your gelato. We have to go see Tony after this."
His distraction technique worked, as usual, and the thought of visiting his smarmy witness had her curling her lip and viscously attacking the gelato.
She never forgot the name of those clouds.
Mary chuckled to herself as she wound her way past the cabins and towards the copse of trees near the playground. Fitting justice that she was now riding a mount named Marshal. Her mirth slowly gave way to the warmth of remembered desire with the memory of Marshall's hands on her hair. She nibbled at her bottom lip while recalling the sensation of his fingers on her scalp…the way he tugged her head gently sideways in order to suckle her neck as he slid inside her…She reached up to gently rub the marks he had left on her neck hidden by the collar of her shirt. A roughness she had found surprising, but incredibly arousing.
She growled in frustration and shook herself free of a reverie that would only increase her irritation as base needs would not be met. The object of her desire, however, was soon to be within her grasp, and Mary had to consciously quell the tingle of excitement in her gut. Down, girl. Marshall had texted her the plan for the meet-up right before Diane had returned, and they both knew it was going to have to be a quick exchange of info…nothing more. Mary's cover story for her roommate wouldn't hold up if she returned reeking of sex.
-o-o-o-
Marshall leaned back against one of the cottonwoods in the small wooded area and let his head fall back on the rough bark. Other than the murmurings of frogs near the creek, the silence of the ranch at night was only punctuated by a random chirp of a cricket and even more infrequent hoot of a distant owl. The winds from the day prior had given way to the quiet air of a strong high pressure system that had settled over the area, and Marshall was confident he would hear any approach or disturbance within the stillness. He had wandered through the barn and ranch house before ambling towards the trees to make sure all hands were either in bed or still out on the town. It was quiet. It was safe. And now he couldn't help but smile in anticipation of seeing his partner.
He had awoken twice the night before, his dreams full of sultry sighs and visions of smooth pale curves revealed to him in the moonlight. He could still taste her, and the dreams only enhanced his senses…urged him to trail kisses down her abdomen, over her thighs, his mouth covering her while she gasped his name and moaned for more. Marshall grunted and shifted position, his current situation only marginally better than being stuck in an occupied bunkhouse with a raging hard-on. Not much he could do about it either way, and he hardly thought a quickie in the bushes was acceptable behavior on an undercover op. As though a quickie in the barn was any more appropriate.
His internal sexual ethics debate was cut short by the sound of approaching footsteps. He recognized Mary's gait and relaxed back against the tree. She ducked through the low hanging branches a few moments later and walked over to stand in front of him with her hands tucked into her pockets. Unsure. Marginally defensive. Marshall decided to dive right in with business.
"Jaime Sancristo is here at the ranch. Arrived about two hours ago and settled right in. Looks like he's bunking in the main lodge." He watched Mary's posture stiffen and she looked around warily.
"That's the younger Garcia, right?" she asked, and he nodded. She reached up to rub her forehead. "So the snake's in the cage with the rat now. What prompted that, do you think? Do you think the Garcias have been tipped off to the operation? Do we need to move Sheryl sooner?" She peered at him from underneath her palm.
Marshall sucked air through his teeth as he pondered her questions. "Hardison doesn't seem to think the visit is anything more than precautionary. The undercovers haven't picked up any chatter about fed involvement, no change of schedules have been noted, and Brad's still alive." He pulled a twig off the tree trunk. "I think the usual paranoia amongst thieves has just prompted Lúcho to take out some insurance. The only one interested in Sheryl right now is Brad."
"Not comforting, Marshall," she huffed. Finally settling a hip onto a nearby stump, Mary appeared to relax into the conversation.
"Stan finally got back to me with the info on all our suspects. Nothing. Nada," she said. "Either we're incredibly gullible, or the Zeta is good enough to fly under our radar. And if that last part is true, we're not going to track them down until the deed is done. I think if we pull Sheryl out right before the buy goes down we'll avoid any contact with them anyway. The 'who' and 'where' isn't our problem. Let the glamour boys deal with wolves in sheep's clothing."
Marshall chuckled as he remembered Hardison's similar agency comparison. "To that end, they're agreeable." The twig crumbled in his hand as he twirled it, and he brushed the pieces off his pants while pushing off the trunk to slowly pace. "I'm definitely not going to be here to help you get Sheryl out. The task force knows the buy is going down right before the drive reaches Redpoint. They suspect Brad will stash the merchandise, then load the girls into the cattle trucks while the rest of us are dealing with the actual cattle and guests. By the time they actually load the cows, it's all over and done. Hardison's team needs a man present prior to the buy, and I'm it."
Mary crossed her arms and stared into the night for a long minute. Finally, she shifted her gaze to meet his. Serious. "I don't like it. You've got no communication…no back-up if you're made before there are men at the scene."
He was quick to reassure her. "Hardison stashed an ear piece at the barn. I'll grab it when I get there and be in communication. I'm observing, that's it. Maybe help chase down a rabbit if I get lucky. They just need the inside eyes and ears." She tossed her head, dissatisfied, and he stepped over to stand in front of her. "I promise to emerge ass cheeks intact."
She grinned for a fleeting moment, then fell back into seriousness, still ruminating on the plan. "For chrissake, James Bond. Be careful."
"I will," he said softly. "I expect similar efforts from you."
She snorted quietly. "All I need to do is get picked up for lunch with a friend in tow. I'll set a time with Sheryl tomorrow morning. All the players are going to be otherwise occupied and the ranch will be on skeleton personnel. No one will know the difference, and I'll be back in Albuquerque before you're finished cleaning out your bunk."
She looked at him expectantly, and Marshall watched the shadows from the branches play across her face. A swell of protectiveness washed over him and he couldn't help but to reach out and trace and gentle finger along her jaw. "And when I get back…we'll talk?"
"Jesus, Marshall," she sighed, dropping her gaze. "What do we need to talk about? Please don't tell me you're one of those guys that has to map out every moment of a relationship in power point slides?" She squinted back up at him then reached out to grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him closer. "Let's keep it simple."
She stretched up to cover his lips with her own, tasting and teasing until he moaned and gripped her ribs with both hands to steady himself. Her tongue slid along his teeth as her hands crawled upwards to capture his face, and Marshall started to re-think that quickie. The woman in his arms was warm, willing and bringing him to full attention faster than he thought possible. He slid one hand down to cup her ass and Mary smiled against his mouth before releasing him from the kiss.
"You like that?" she whispered, her lips still brushing his and her hips gently teasing his jeans. She nipped at his bottom lip, but wouldn't let him resume the kiss. Playing.
Marshall retaliated by gripping the back of her head and moving his attention to her jawline and throat. She hummed in pleasure and pressed against him and he smiled. Buried his nose in her hair and nibbled on an ear with a murmured response, "I do. Very much. And I think you do too."
Mary shivered, all senses aching for more pleasure. "Then let's do that when you get back home. You can talk all you want once you're naked."
His jeans became impossibly tighter at her words, and Marshall pulled her against him firmly, kissing her fiercely with increased arousal. She was the only woman who could make him nearly lose his senses, and his finesse, with mere words. Her fingers twined into his hair and she tugged his head back, both breathing heavily into the night air as she pulled away.
"Whoa, Cowboy." Her smile belied any concern. "I'm not doing boots-down-ass-in-the-air two nights in a row." She trailed her fingers down to his belt buckle and Marshall saw stars. "And we're a little old for blow jobs on the playground."
"I'm not too old," he replied shakily, hopeful as her hand dipped lower and stroked him once.
She chuckled and stopped teasing him, instead reaching up to brush a piece of hair off his forehead, surprising him with her tenderness. "I gotta go. I don't need a suspicious roommate."
He squeezed her hip and released her, understanding the moment needed to pass. The focus needed to return to the present, and future events would have to be fantasized about in the darkness of his room for now. She stepped away from him and turned to leave; turned back with a worried frown.
"I'm serious, Marshall. Watch yourself. I have a bad feeling."
He watched her disappear into the shadows, taking with her his nod of assurance and his own words of warning. The moon slid behind a thicker cloud and the grove darkened ominously. Shaking off a shiver of dread, Marshall squared his shoulders and headed towards his own destination. The players were in place, and he and Mary were well removed from the action. Ancillary at best, accessories at the worst. The operation was nearly over. One more day.
*** I HATE it when someone has a 'bad feeling' about things. Especially these two. One more day, indeed. Please REVIEW to let me know how I'm doing. Still interesting? Want to see the ending? Confused? (if so, PM me). Thank you, always, for every one of your reviews...love it! ***