Chapter 2: The Attempt
The Seven from the ATF are on their way to DC to stop a presidential assassination. I own none of them except Sam, Walters, not Seaborne.
Spoilers: I bet there are plenty, but I couldn't name them. Thanks to those who came up with the name of Ezra's horse.
~~
"They're going after Bartlett," Ezra muttered, shaking his head. "If that's not cocky I don't know what is."
"If they're gunning for the most highly protected man in the country than they know something we don't," Vin's blue eyes were somber.
"I've met Butterfield," Chris told them. "He's an honest agent, but I think he has a mole he doesn't know about. I'm calling upstairs. We need to start this ball rolling."
"No!" Samantha Walters cried. She lunged across the table, knocking the receiver from Chris's grasp. Her eyes were wild. "You can't call upstairs, you can't call anyone. I told you, the government has been having problems with security lately. My contact in the CIA told me not to discuss the mission with anyone. He'd have my hide if he knew I let you in on it. It's us, working this alone, or me without any of you."
Nathan was not fond of ducking regulation. He liked to be by the book whenever possible, not that it was possible much with Team 7. "So what do you suggest we do? We can't just sit here."
"I'm not suggesting that we do. I think the first thing to do would be to interview our terrorist friend at the hospital. Chris, how soon can you get time off?"
"Tomorrow at the earliest, but it can't be all of us. The brass will get suspicious if we all up and head to DC on zero notice. But we all have time coming, so I think I'll manage. Take Vin and Ez and go interview our suspect. We'll expect you back at six."
They all nodded and headed for the elevator. "One car or two?" Sam asked the two agents.
"Considering the fact that Mr. Tanner's vehicle is the only one equipped to handle three passengers, and I refuse to set foot in it, I'd say two." Ezra's emerald eyes met Vin's blue ones over the top of Sam's head. He mouthed, 'go with her.' Vin nodded. If Ezra was not yet ready to trust Sam, than neither was he.
Sam hopped into her front seat. Vin rapped on the window with his knuckles. If she was surprised to have him with her she didn't show it. "Do you know where we're going?"
Vin nodded. "Avista Medical in Superior. I'll give you directions."
"Fasten your seat belt." Vin barely had time to comply before they were squealing out of their spot and down to the road. Soon, they were speeding along I-25 towards Westminster and Boulder. Sam slipped a CD into the car's stereo. She glanced at the long haired man over her sunglasses. "You don't listen to country and western do you?"
"Not often."
"Good, cause all I got is rock and roll." Hendrix filtered out over the speaker's to Vin's ears. Sam's head bobbed along with the music. Her eyes were transfixed on the road, but her mind was focused in on the music. The pounding base beat overpowered the throbbing in her head.
They arrived at Avista less than an hour later. Ezra's Jag pulled in beside them. They walked three abreast into the hospital. It smelled of antiseptic and sickness all at once. The sweet smell wafted through the hallways. Vin shuddered. He hated hospitals.
They reminded him of everything he wanted to forget. Hospitals reminded him of the dangers of his job. They reminded him of people's frailty and how easily they can be hurt. He'd sat in chairs often enough to know that people don't always come back all right. He never wanted to be there to hear that one of his surrogate family had departed. The men he worked with were more than his colleagues or even his friends; they were his brothers.
Vin shook the depressing thoughts from his head. He had a job to do. The two agents and Sam entered the elevator. "What floor?" he asked Ezra.
"A nurse on the phone informed me that he is out of surgery and conscious. The contemptuous villain resides on the fourth floor. We can talk to him for fifteen minutes, but no more."
Vin punched the button with his thumb. "You coulda just said four, ya know."
Ezra grinned slyly. "True, but where would be the fun in that?" The elevator lurched into motion. Sam envisioned a peaceful end to the day. She could get information for her contact in the CIA and be done with it. No more being a double agent, no more going undercover. She would finally have her normal life. All she had to do was interview one more suspect.
Ezra and Vin were still mincing word when the elevator reached four. The doors slid open and the two men walked out. Sam trailed on their heels, eyes cast on the floor. She didn't see the man until it was too late. "Ooph! Hey sorry about that. I really need to watch where I'm...hello?" The man she had bumped into shouldered his way past without responding. Sam glowered. "I said sorry!" She glared at his receding back.
His shirt hung lopsided off one shoulder. A black trench coat rested in the crook of his elbow. Peeking out from under his collar was a tattoo. A vicious looking Cobra wound around a sword stared back at her. The cobra's blood red eyes seemed to stare at her. The tattoo was, in a word, creepy. She turned and trotted after Vin and Ezra.
They rounded a corner of the hall and walked straight into pandemonium. Doctors and nurses were running everywhere. One nurse wheeled a crash cart into a room. Vin broke into a run. He skidded to a stop by the window looking into the ICU. A man on a portable bed was thrashing wildly about. The covers of the bed were strewn about the floor.
Ezra and Sam skidded to a stop next to the sharpshooter. "That's our guy!" Sam exclaimed.
"It seems that we might be a little late for our interview," Ezra muttered. "he is looking less than well at the moment."
Sam groaned and let her head flop against the window. She blinked tiredly, and then she saw it. It took a moment for the figure to register in her mind. Around the convulsing man's left wrist was a cobra with blood red eyes, wrapped around a sword.
"It's him!"
"It's who?"
"The guy, the elevator!" She didn't stick around to explain, but rather rushed back down the hall. Vin and Ezra looked at each other in puzzlement. By mutual, unspoken agreement, Ezra stayed, and Vin followed.
Ezra caught the arm of a passing nurse. "What happened to this man? Last I heard he was stable."
The harried looking nurse shrugged. "Bad reaction to some medication. He's had a seizure and his heart stopped. The doctor is trying to restart his heart. Now excuse me." She dashed into the room.
Ezra frowned. He hated coincidence, in fact he didn't believe in it. He ran a hand through his hair as the doctor shocked the man's heart again. He watched quietly as the heart monitor jumped once, then leveled out into a flat line.
--
Sam reached the elevator and pushed the down button repeatedly. When it didn't come right away she gave up and burst through the door to the service stairs. She cursed herself as she ran down each flight, taking the steps two, even three at a time. She should have noticed the tattoo. She should have seen it on the suspect, but she didn't and now he was dying and the man responsible was getting away.
She jumped down the final flight, taking all seven steps in one leap. Her left knee gave out when she landed, but she pushed herself up and moved on. She sprinted down the hall and out the door into the sunlight. She looked frantically from left to right. She spotted him, head down, striding quickly into a line of cars.
"Hey you, stop!" The man hunched lower and broke into a run. He disappeared behind a string of SUVs. She dashed into the parking lot, peering at cars. An engine a few cars away roared to life. She spun in the direction of the sound. She stopped, but the world kept spinning. The scene in front of her blatantly refused to still. She swayed. The car pulled from the parking spot. She couldn't tell if it was on her right, on her left, or coming straight at her. One of the three cars coming at her was real, but she had no idea which one. She just knew it was coming, but dared not move from her rooted position.
The engine grew louder. A sense of panic welled in her throat. Her head screamed for her to move, bit her legs refused to obey. Suddenly, something crashed into her, sending her flying onto a grass median. She felt the air rippled as the sedan flew by.
She and her 'something' landed in a heap in the grass, a tangled mass of arms and legs. Sam blinked and the figure came into focus. Vin looked somewhere between annoyed and concerned. "Get off me Tanner," she growled. "My ribs are killing me."
Vin complied, rolling off to the side and jumping nimbly to his feet. Sam propped herself on an elbow, content to stay down a moment longer. "What was that Walters?" He barked, doing a rather remarkable impression of the voice she had heard Chris use when angry.
"I felt like playing chicken," she replied flippantly. Frankly she didn't know what had happened, but she didn't want to discuss it.
"With a car that could have made you into road kill?"
"I like to live life on the edge. You gonna give me a hand or not?" Vin's lips thinned into a stern line, but he offered his hand nonetheless. Sam took it and used the leverage to get to her feet.
"Come on. Ez is inside. Explain on the way up to our John Doe's room."
"Our newly deceased John Doe."
"What makes you say that?"
"It wasn't a heart attack or anything like that. The guy that we passed on the elevator had a tattoo on his shoulder by his neck. Our guy has the same one on his wrist. My guess is that these guys don't like to leave loose ends. I'd give you odds that the guy on the elevator was in the same terrorist group as Doe."
Vin nodded as she explained her theory. Finally he told her, "I wouldn't bet against that if you gave me odds of 100 to one. Let's grab Ezra and report back to Chris."
"What's the deal with Standish anyway? He seems very, aloof." It was a blatant attempt to change the subject, but it worked just the same.
"Ezra don't like to let anyone too close. I suppose I can understand that. You don't get close you don't get hurt. Seems like the man is closer to Chaucer, his horse, than he is to any of us."
Sam wrinkled her nose. "He named his horse after the author of the Canterbury Tales?"
Vin gave her a strange look. "Huh?"
Sam closed her eyes. "Never mind."
They met Standish halfway. Ezra was coming through the lobby, a sour expression on his face. "Scratch one source of potential information. It seems our man had an adverse reaction to some penicillin. Never had a chance. So, what's next?"
"I'd say we head to DC."
--
"I don't like it."
"Buck," Chris told his oldest friend with more patience than he felt, "we've already been over this. You all decided to draw straws to see who would come. You lost, JD won, now get over it. He'll be fine."
Buck shifted from foot to foot, his eyes locked on the raven haired agent slinging his bag over his shoulder. JD looked so young to him, the newspaper boy cap slightly askew on his head. His eyes were bright at the thought of visiting DC and possibly even meeting the president. JD was like a little brother to the sweet talking ladies man. They teased each other relentlessly, lived in the same apartment, and shared a love of anything ridiculous and annoying. Especially if it annoyed Chris.
Ezra, Vin JD and Chris were the members of Team 7 who had won their spots on the plane to DC. Sam was coming too, not that any of the ATF agents could have stopped her if they tried. Samantha was almost as stubborn as Chris and just as devious as Ezra. One way or another, Chris knew she would be on that plane to DC.
The flight attendant at the gate gave the last call for boarding. Buck tried once more, "Give me your ticket." He pleaded. "Better yet, give me Sam's."
Chris couldn't help himself, he laughed. Buck was the most unbearable mother hen when it came to JD. "I think you'd have to wrestle her for it."
"What? You don't think I could take her?" His voice was dead serious.
"Go home Buck. Keep up appearances in the office. JD will be fine. We'll be back in a week or two, maybe less. I want a stack of finished reports on my desk when I get back." Chris shot a last smile at his friend before jogging to the gate. The attendant waved him inside. Buck watched Chris's receding form until the door closed. Then he watched the flight taxi to the runway.
Chris took his seat in business class next to Vin and two seats down from JD. Ezra and Sam were seated together a few rows back. Larabee smirked at the thought of the reticent southerner and the feisty, he could think of no better word, woman seated together for the better part of three and a half hours. 'At least', he thought 'they'll entertain each other.'
"Mr. Larabee is attempting to punish me. I'm sure of it." Ezra mumbled as the plane lifted off.
"Punish you for what?"
Ezra shrugged. "I have angered our leader innumerable times and am sure this is ample retaliation for one I can't think of at the moment."
"I'm no that bad," Sam told him huffily.
"Try saying that from the position I now sit. You might very well change your tune."
Ezra's head snapped in Sam's direction when he felt her cuff the back of his head. Sam, wide innocent eyes staring back at him merely shrugged. "I slipped. You're no picnic yourself Standish. You're mouthy and obstinate and, and, and" Her voice trailed off.
Sam shut her mouth, but her mind continued with her rant. 'You're stubborn, but God you're cute. You and Vin. Whoa, where did that come from? I really do need my head checked.'
Ezra followed along the same line as Sam. "Point being? You are irritating and stubborn and require more looking after than Mr. Dunne." 'And you remind me far too much of myself. Whoa, that was odd.'
Samantha glared at the undercover agent, her hazel eyes blazing. "Why do I require more looking after than JD? What, is it because I'm female and somehow that makes me frail and weak? Oh yes, I remember this. I'm a single independent woman so I'm bound to be raped, murdered, kidnapped, pillaged. I'm back in the days of the fucking Vikings, pillaged!" A few people near them turned to stare. Sam blushed.
Ezra blinked. "You know," his voice was velvety calm. "I'm not really sure your use of the word pillage adequately supports you train of thought. Perhaps mugged would suit the phrase better."
"Shut up Standish." Samantha shifted so that she wasn't directly facing him anymore and pulled out a set of headphones and CD case. Her eyes twinkled, amused by her conversation. Ezra picked up the book he'd been reading the last few days. He held the book higher than usual, making sure Sam did not see the grin that threatened to slip over his stony façade. They didn't speak again the entire flight, but let the amiable silence fill the space between them as the country drifted by beneath the plane.
--
The four agents and Sam rented a large four by four at Dulles International Airport. While Chris and Vin went to pick up the vehicle, Ezra, Sam and JD got a chance to look around and plan their next move.
JD bought a newspaper and began to shuffle through it. His eyes trickled over the pages until they spotted something of interest. He folded back the paper and brought it over to Ezra. Ezra took the paper and began to read. Sam peered over JD's shoulder. On the third page back, there was an article about Bartlett.
Ezra read aloud. "President Josiah Bartlett is attending an open forum today near the Washington Monument in DC. Mr. Bartlett is to give a speech after an introduction by press secretary CJ Craig. Bartlett is expected to confront the issues of teen violence, education and gun control during his speech. After he is finished, the members of the audience will be allowed time to ask the president questions on any topic of their choosing. The forum will begin at one thirty Eastern Standard."
Sam glanced at her watch. "That gives us just over three hours."
JD looked at Sam in surprise. "What makes you think they're going after him today? How can you know?"
"I don't Bright Boy, but I can guess. Think about it. Open forum, the middle of the day, and it's not like there are a lot of places around the Washington monument to put snipers. Bartlett is going to be pretty much in open air. He'll have tons of security, to be sure, but without an eagle eye position it'll be difficult to spot anything, especially with a good crowd."
"The press is expecting a formidable sized turnout. This forum is unique and a lot of people want to ask Bartlett questions. I agree with you Miss Walters, that this forum would provide ample opportunity to assassinate the president."
A few people nearby gave Ezra odd looks, and some even visibly backed away from him. Standish appeared unfazed and, seeing Chris and Vin waiting by the curb, promptly left the terminal.
A blast of muggy air washed over them as the doors slid open. Ezra was unperturbed, the humidity reminiscent of his days growing up South of the Mason Dixon line. Even though technically Virginia was still the south there were a few important differences. First of all, virtually no one North of Richmond said ya'll. Secondly, asking for tea in Virginia meant you got it hot with a bag, rather than iced and chock full of sugar. Fond memories of childhood few and far between made Ezra reminisce for less than a minute. He jumped into the seat behind Chris.
Sam remembered the heat, the humidity, but it was all like some pleasant faraway dream. A dream she couldn't quite touch. Beads of sweat began to roll down her neck the moment she stepped outside. Chris too looked uncomfortable, not surprising considering his black shirt and black jeans. Only Vin, the Texan, felt at home in the sweltering sauna.
Despite the heavy midday traffic, the agents made decent time into DC, at least, better than they had expected. Dulles was only fifteen or twenty miles from the city, but Bartlett's speech and the fast approaching weekend made traffic a nightmare. They were inside the city limits in just over an hour and a half.
Of course, that was just into the city. Bumper to bumper traffic on the Beltway, not unlike midtown Manhattan, slowed their progress to little more than a crawl.
It was one o'clock before the Washington monument became anything more than a speck on the horizon. Vin felt an unexplained felling of apprehension wash over his body. Glancing around he realized that the others felt it too. JD was staring fixedly at the monument, Sam chewed her lip, Ezra shuffled the stack of cards he kept in his pocket, and the vein in Chris's temple started to throb. None of them liked to be so close, yet still so far away.
It was ten minutes later and a half mile closer to the monument when Vin's patience gave way. He unbuckled his seat belt and threw open his door. With a helpful nudge from Ezra, JD and Sam followed. "Sorry cowboy, but this is gettin us nowhere fast. We're gonna hoof it the rest of the way."
Chris protested. "Wait just one damn minute! One of you park and I'll come along."
Vin took off at a ground eating jog. He craned his head back toward the car and yelled, "Hey, you insisted on driving. Now you can park."
Vin and the others soon were out of bellowing range. Chris hit the steering wheel. He would have gone after them, but he couldn't just leave the truck in the middle of the road. "Damn you Tanner."
--
"This is insane!" Sam called out, having to yell just to be heard. "There are more people here than live in this God forsaken city!" She paused briefly, making sure that Ezra and JD were still behind her. She wouldn't have been surprised if the two men had gotten lost in the throng. She was having enough trouble keeping Vin's tattered, worn, brown leather jacket in sight.
JD and the southerner were both behind her, picking their way through the crowd. Ezra, despite all his complaints had kept up with the others on their run from the car to the crowd. In fact, he barely looked winded.
Sam caught up with Vin near the front of the crowd. She'd spotted Secret Service at various times, and none looked overly concerned. 'At they're here.' "Hey Tanner." Vin turned. "What do we do now?" The sharpshooter shook his head.
A roar went up from the crowd as two limos pulled to a stop not far from a crudely constructed podium. Secret Service agents exited the stretch limos, then White House staffers like Leo McGarry, Josh Lyman, Toby Ziegler and CJ Craig followed. An entire troop of people made their way onto the podium. Several members of the press and cameras were already set up. Craig, a thin, tall woman grabbed the mike. This was a woman, Vin decided, that commanded attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen, officers of the press, I would like to thank you for being with us here today. Today the president will be speaking directly to you all on issues that concern you, the people. Today is not a day for big business and special interests. Today we hear from you, the people." She paused for applause. "Now, if you would all please welcome, The President of the United States!" People on every side burst into raucous applause.
JD wasn't paying attention. He caught sight of a lone man, eyes to the ground walking quickly away from the podium. His blonde hair was cropped short, and a black leather coat was slung over his shoulder. Sunglasses prevented the young agent from seeing his face. Then JD saw it, the tattoo on the man's upper arm. The cobra looked ready to sink its fangs into anyone who came too near. JD tugged on Vin's arm and pointed. The sharpshooter immediately caught on.
"We have a problem guys." Sam and Ezra looked at him expectantly. "They're here." Sam and Ezra whirled. Ezra saw another man, dressed the same as the one JD had seen off to the left. Sam spotted one near the back.
"I see three." Sam said, trying not to notice Bartlett's form as he rose up the steps onto the podium. "We need to get a warning to Butterfield NOW."
"How do you suggest we get to him?" Vin queried. "He's on the podium with Bartlett. If you can slip past these Secret Service and everyone else without being seen them I'm all for it, but I don't expect that to happen any time soon. Besides the fact that we don't even know if and or how these guys are going after him."
"A bomb," Sam provided. "Like I said before, there aren't a lot of places for snipers to hide. A bomb could have been set in place hours ago. And maybe they won't go after him, but can we take that chance?" Vin frowned. She was right.
"I think I may have a solution," Ezra interjected. "We need to create a diversion. One that will inevitably lead to the dispersing of this crowd and the immediate removal of Bartlett from this general vicinity." Ezra reached down and removed a small, silver plated, snub nosed .38 from an ankle holster.
Vin groaned. Sam covered her eyes. "I don't even want to know how you got that past airport security."
"Fine," he shrugged, "I won't tell you."
"Ezra that's suicide." Vin scolded. "The minute those agents see you with a weapon you're a dead man."
"I highly doubt that. As you can see we are in a high density area of the crowd and I have serious doubts to the Secret Service's ability to even see me in this crowd let alone shoot me. Now I suggest that you all remove yourselves from this area post haste."
Vin growled at the undercover agent, but gestured for Sam and JD to disperse into the crowd. Bartlett stepped up to the mike and the crowd hushed itself. The President opened his mouth. "In this day and age of..." he never got to finish. The sound of a shot rang through the air. A woman in the crowd screamed.
Secret Service swarmed around Bartlett and quickly yanked him off the scaffolding and toward the limos. The mass of people were now thoroughly panicked. The pressed at the iron railings while Secret Service tried to usher them back. Other agents in SWAT gear assaulted the crowd. Amidst the confusion, Vin, Sam, and JD made their moves. Each nimbly leapt the fencing and clambered up to the stage.
Vin and Sam checked the top while JD rushed underneath. People ran around them like frightened cattle, but they ignored them. It was Vin who found the bomb. The sharpshooter ripped the wooden paneling from the front of the lectern. A bundle of electronics and a timer stared up at him through clear plastic casing. "Sam! JD get up here."
Sam kneeled next to him. "Holy mother. Is that...?"
Vin nodded gravely. "Nitro. Yup."
"Can you disarm it?"
"Do I look like a member of the bomb squad? What about you Walters?"
Sam held up her hands. "Bombs are definitely not my thing. Does that say two minutes, because that's what it looks like to me."
"That's what it says. JD! We need to get everyone out of here Sam, and quick." JD slid down on the other side of Vin.
Sam stood, brushing dirt from her jeans. She had to think. People were starting to calm down. They weren't running away any more. That would simply not do. Sam pulled the mike to her. Then, mustering all the hysteria she could into her voice she screamed. "It's a bomb!" Pandemonium ensued, but at least people were moving away from the stage. Vin shot her a withering look. "What, it got them to leave."
"Well JD? Can you disarm it?"
"Sure." Vin's face lit up. "With tools and like half an hour."
Sam grabbed Vin's jacket. "You mean to tell me that not one of you has any experience with bombs?"
"Chris does, but I reckon he's still lookin for a place to park."
"That's perfect Vin, just perfect!"
"Thirty seconds. What do you think?"
Sam sighed, cocking her head to one side before nodding tightly. "Run."
"What?" JD yelled.
Vin grabbed JD's collar and nearly dragged him to his feet. "You heard the lady JD. Move!" The three took a running leap off the side of the platform. Vin rolled and got to his feet. JD was just in front of him, and he saw Sam land in a dead run to his left. He sprinted away as fast as he could. They were perhaps fifty yards from the stage when it exploded in a ball of flames.
Vin felt the shock wave pick him off the ground and toss hi in the air like a rag doll. He flipped end over end until he landed in the grass five yards or so farther on. Sam and JD met a similar fate.
Vin rolled onto his stomach and covered his head while flaming pieces of the podium rained around them. A few moments later Vin heard something above him click. He rolled onto his back, hands open and up by his head. A very angry Secret Service agent pointed his rifle directly between the sharpshooter's eyes. Vin managed a weak grin. "It's all right pard. I give up."
--
A few hours after the debacle at the Washington Monument, Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborne were walking down the bland concrete corridor of the Pentagon. Seaborne ran his hands through his hair nervously. Josh looked over at him. "Geez Sam relax."
"How can I relax? One of the lunatic, psychotic killers asked for me by name. By name Josh, do you realize what that could mean?"
"That maybe these terrorists have watched the news before and have heard your name read as the speechwriter. That they could have seen you on any one of your countless appearances on Capitol Beat?"
"Are you saying that I try to grab the limelight? Because if you do, you can just tell me."
"That's not what I'm saying. Oh. Maybe this guy wants to pummel you to a pulp for something you wrote. In which case there is no problem because you have me here with you." Josh began to air box.
Sam chuckled. "That really isn't comforting. And how can you be so calm when you know what happened today? There was a terrorist attack against the president and this doesn't bother you?"
"Of course it bothers me, but think about it like this. The president is fine, no one got hurt and I didn't end up shot. All in all I'd count that as a pretty good day, and what do you mean having me along isn't a comfort. If I were you I'd see my presence as a comfort."
"Josh, you got beat up by Suzie Moorehouse, the mousy girl with the glasses in the ninth grade. You are not a boxer."
The two White House staffers met up with Ron Butterfield outside a closed room. "Well?" Butterfield asked.
Josh talked. "We've already seen the other three suspects. Can't say as they seem like your typical white supremacists or terrorists for that matter. That one guy that had the gun seems to be having fun giving Dwyer the run around. He keeps talking in these weird backward phrases. We had Dwyer send for Ainsley Hayes. She speaks southerner. The other two are just silent."
"I think this one you're going to find interesting. Asked for you by name Seaborne. Sounded like they knew you. You ready?"
Sam nodded, but his stomach was rolling. He didn't like terrorists. Butterfield unlocked the door and led the way. Inside, a woman with long coppery hair sat with one hand cuffed to a metal desk. A Secret Service agent was bent down yelling at her.
The woman yawned and shifted so she could see the door. Her eyes lit up. Sam stopped dead in his tracks causing Josh to run into him. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. "Hunter?"
End Chapter 2
Okay that was my first attempt at WW style dialogue. Love to hear what you thought. Forgive my butchering any spelling of character names. Chap 3 coming soon.
The Seven from the ATF are on their way to DC to stop a presidential assassination. I own none of them except Sam, Walters, not Seaborne.
Spoilers: I bet there are plenty, but I couldn't name them. Thanks to those who came up with the name of Ezra's horse.
~~
"They're going after Bartlett," Ezra muttered, shaking his head. "If that's not cocky I don't know what is."
"If they're gunning for the most highly protected man in the country than they know something we don't," Vin's blue eyes were somber.
"I've met Butterfield," Chris told them. "He's an honest agent, but I think he has a mole he doesn't know about. I'm calling upstairs. We need to start this ball rolling."
"No!" Samantha Walters cried. She lunged across the table, knocking the receiver from Chris's grasp. Her eyes were wild. "You can't call upstairs, you can't call anyone. I told you, the government has been having problems with security lately. My contact in the CIA told me not to discuss the mission with anyone. He'd have my hide if he knew I let you in on it. It's us, working this alone, or me without any of you."
Nathan was not fond of ducking regulation. He liked to be by the book whenever possible, not that it was possible much with Team 7. "So what do you suggest we do? We can't just sit here."
"I'm not suggesting that we do. I think the first thing to do would be to interview our terrorist friend at the hospital. Chris, how soon can you get time off?"
"Tomorrow at the earliest, but it can't be all of us. The brass will get suspicious if we all up and head to DC on zero notice. But we all have time coming, so I think I'll manage. Take Vin and Ez and go interview our suspect. We'll expect you back at six."
They all nodded and headed for the elevator. "One car or two?" Sam asked the two agents.
"Considering the fact that Mr. Tanner's vehicle is the only one equipped to handle three passengers, and I refuse to set foot in it, I'd say two." Ezra's emerald eyes met Vin's blue ones over the top of Sam's head. He mouthed, 'go with her.' Vin nodded. If Ezra was not yet ready to trust Sam, than neither was he.
Sam hopped into her front seat. Vin rapped on the window with his knuckles. If she was surprised to have him with her she didn't show it. "Do you know where we're going?"
Vin nodded. "Avista Medical in Superior. I'll give you directions."
"Fasten your seat belt." Vin barely had time to comply before they were squealing out of their spot and down to the road. Soon, they were speeding along I-25 towards Westminster and Boulder. Sam slipped a CD into the car's stereo. She glanced at the long haired man over her sunglasses. "You don't listen to country and western do you?"
"Not often."
"Good, cause all I got is rock and roll." Hendrix filtered out over the speaker's to Vin's ears. Sam's head bobbed along with the music. Her eyes were transfixed on the road, but her mind was focused in on the music. The pounding base beat overpowered the throbbing in her head.
They arrived at Avista less than an hour later. Ezra's Jag pulled in beside them. They walked three abreast into the hospital. It smelled of antiseptic and sickness all at once. The sweet smell wafted through the hallways. Vin shuddered. He hated hospitals.
They reminded him of everything he wanted to forget. Hospitals reminded him of the dangers of his job. They reminded him of people's frailty and how easily they can be hurt. He'd sat in chairs often enough to know that people don't always come back all right. He never wanted to be there to hear that one of his surrogate family had departed. The men he worked with were more than his colleagues or even his friends; they were his brothers.
Vin shook the depressing thoughts from his head. He had a job to do. The two agents and Sam entered the elevator. "What floor?" he asked Ezra.
"A nurse on the phone informed me that he is out of surgery and conscious. The contemptuous villain resides on the fourth floor. We can talk to him for fifteen minutes, but no more."
Vin punched the button with his thumb. "You coulda just said four, ya know."
Ezra grinned slyly. "True, but where would be the fun in that?" The elevator lurched into motion. Sam envisioned a peaceful end to the day. She could get information for her contact in the CIA and be done with it. No more being a double agent, no more going undercover. She would finally have her normal life. All she had to do was interview one more suspect.
Ezra and Vin were still mincing word when the elevator reached four. The doors slid open and the two men walked out. Sam trailed on their heels, eyes cast on the floor. She didn't see the man until it was too late. "Ooph! Hey sorry about that. I really need to watch where I'm...hello?" The man she had bumped into shouldered his way past without responding. Sam glowered. "I said sorry!" She glared at his receding back.
His shirt hung lopsided off one shoulder. A black trench coat rested in the crook of his elbow. Peeking out from under his collar was a tattoo. A vicious looking Cobra wound around a sword stared back at her. The cobra's blood red eyes seemed to stare at her. The tattoo was, in a word, creepy. She turned and trotted after Vin and Ezra.
They rounded a corner of the hall and walked straight into pandemonium. Doctors and nurses were running everywhere. One nurse wheeled a crash cart into a room. Vin broke into a run. He skidded to a stop by the window looking into the ICU. A man on a portable bed was thrashing wildly about. The covers of the bed were strewn about the floor.
Ezra and Sam skidded to a stop next to the sharpshooter. "That's our guy!" Sam exclaimed.
"It seems that we might be a little late for our interview," Ezra muttered. "he is looking less than well at the moment."
Sam groaned and let her head flop against the window. She blinked tiredly, and then she saw it. It took a moment for the figure to register in her mind. Around the convulsing man's left wrist was a cobra with blood red eyes, wrapped around a sword.
"It's him!"
"It's who?"
"The guy, the elevator!" She didn't stick around to explain, but rather rushed back down the hall. Vin and Ezra looked at each other in puzzlement. By mutual, unspoken agreement, Ezra stayed, and Vin followed.
Ezra caught the arm of a passing nurse. "What happened to this man? Last I heard he was stable."
The harried looking nurse shrugged. "Bad reaction to some medication. He's had a seizure and his heart stopped. The doctor is trying to restart his heart. Now excuse me." She dashed into the room.
Ezra frowned. He hated coincidence, in fact he didn't believe in it. He ran a hand through his hair as the doctor shocked the man's heart again. He watched quietly as the heart monitor jumped once, then leveled out into a flat line.
--
Sam reached the elevator and pushed the down button repeatedly. When it didn't come right away she gave up and burst through the door to the service stairs. She cursed herself as she ran down each flight, taking the steps two, even three at a time. She should have noticed the tattoo. She should have seen it on the suspect, but she didn't and now he was dying and the man responsible was getting away.
She jumped down the final flight, taking all seven steps in one leap. Her left knee gave out when she landed, but she pushed herself up and moved on. She sprinted down the hall and out the door into the sunlight. She looked frantically from left to right. She spotted him, head down, striding quickly into a line of cars.
"Hey you, stop!" The man hunched lower and broke into a run. He disappeared behind a string of SUVs. She dashed into the parking lot, peering at cars. An engine a few cars away roared to life. She spun in the direction of the sound. She stopped, but the world kept spinning. The scene in front of her blatantly refused to still. She swayed. The car pulled from the parking spot. She couldn't tell if it was on her right, on her left, or coming straight at her. One of the three cars coming at her was real, but she had no idea which one. She just knew it was coming, but dared not move from her rooted position.
The engine grew louder. A sense of panic welled in her throat. Her head screamed for her to move, bit her legs refused to obey. Suddenly, something crashed into her, sending her flying onto a grass median. She felt the air rippled as the sedan flew by.
She and her 'something' landed in a heap in the grass, a tangled mass of arms and legs. Sam blinked and the figure came into focus. Vin looked somewhere between annoyed and concerned. "Get off me Tanner," she growled. "My ribs are killing me."
Vin complied, rolling off to the side and jumping nimbly to his feet. Sam propped herself on an elbow, content to stay down a moment longer. "What was that Walters?" He barked, doing a rather remarkable impression of the voice she had heard Chris use when angry.
"I felt like playing chicken," she replied flippantly. Frankly she didn't know what had happened, but she didn't want to discuss it.
"With a car that could have made you into road kill?"
"I like to live life on the edge. You gonna give me a hand or not?" Vin's lips thinned into a stern line, but he offered his hand nonetheless. Sam took it and used the leverage to get to her feet.
"Come on. Ez is inside. Explain on the way up to our John Doe's room."
"Our newly deceased John Doe."
"What makes you say that?"
"It wasn't a heart attack or anything like that. The guy that we passed on the elevator had a tattoo on his shoulder by his neck. Our guy has the same one on his wrist. My guess is that these guys don't like to leave loose ends. I'd give you odds that the guy on the elevator was in the same terrorist group as Doe."
Vin nodded as she explained her theory. Finally he told her, "I wouldn't bet against that if you gave me odds of 100 to one. Let's grab Ezra and report back to Chris."
"What's the deal with Standish anyway? He seems very, aloof." It was a blatant attempt to change the subject, but it worked just the same.
"Ezra don't like to let anyone too close. I suppose I can understand that. You don't get close you don't get hurt. Seems like the man is closer to Chaucer, his horse, than he is to any of us."
Sam wrinkled her nose. "He named his horse after the author of the Canterbury Tales?"
Vin gave her a strange look. "Huh?"
Sam closed her eyes. "Never mind."
They met Standish halfway. Ezra was coming through the lobby, a sour expression on his face. "Scratch one source of potential information. It seems our man had an adverse reaction to some penicillin. Never had a chance. So, what's next?"
"I'd say we head to DC."
--
"I don't like it."
"Buck," Chris told his oldest friend with more patience than he felt, "we've already been over this. You all decided to draw straws to see who would come. You lost, JD won, now get over it. He'll be fine."
Buck shifted from foot to foot, his eyes locked on the raven haired agent slinging his bag over his shoulder. JD looked so young to him, the newspaper boy cap slightly askew on his head. His eyes were bright at the thought of visiting DC and possibly even meeting the president. JD was like a little brother to the sweet talking ladies man. They teased each other relentlessly, lived in the same apartment, and shared a love of anything ridiculous and annoying. Especially if it annoyed Chris.
Ezra, Vin JD and Chris were the members of Team 7 who had won their spots on the plane to DC. Sam was coming too, not that any of the ATF agents could have stopped her if they tried. Samantha was almost as stubborn as Chris and just as devious as Ezra. One way or another, Chris knew she would be on that plane to DC.
The flight attendant at the gate gave the last call for boarding. Buck tried once more, "Give me your ticket." He pleaded. "Better yet, give me Sam's."
Chris couldn't help himself, he laughed. Buck was the most unbearable mother hen when it came to JD. "I think you'd have to wrestle her for it."
"What? You don't think I could take her?" His voice was dead serious.
"Go home Buck. Keep up appearances in the office. JD will be fine. We'll be back in a week or two, maybe less. I want a stack of finished reports on my desk when I get back." Chris shot a last smile at his friend before jogging to the gate. The attendant waved him inside. Buck watched Chris's receding form until the door closed. Then he watched the flight taxi to the runway.
Chris took his seat in business class next to Vin and two seats down from JD. Ezra and Sam were seated together a few rows back. Larabee smirked at the thought of the reticent southerner and the feisty, he could think of no better word, woman seated together for the better part of three and a half hours. 'At least', he thought 'they'll entertain each other.'
"Mr. Larabee is attempting to punish me. I'm sure of it." Ezra mumbled as the plane lifted off.
"Punish you for what?"
Ezra shrugged. "I have angered our leader innumerable times and am sure this is ample retaliation for one I can't think of at the moment."
"I'm no that bad," Sam told him huffily.
"Try saying that from the position I now sit. You might very well change your tune."
Ezra's head snapped in Sam's direction when he felt her cuff the back of his head. Sam, wide innocent eyes staring back at him merely shrugged. "I slipped. You're no picnic yourself Standish. You're mouthy and obstinate and, and, and" Her voice trailed off.
Sam shut her mouth, but her mind continued with her rant. 'You're stubborn, but God you're cute. You and Vin. Whoa, where did that come from? I really do need my head checked.'
Ezra followed along the same line as Sam. "Point being? You are irritating and stubborn and require more looking after than Mr. Dunne." 'And you remind me far too much of myself. Whoa, that was odd.'
Samantha glared at the undercover agent, her hazel eyes blazing. "Why do I require more looking after than JD? What, is it because I'm female and somehow that makes me frail and weak? Oh yes, I remember this. I'm a single independent woman so I'm bound to be raped, murdered, kidnapped, pillaged. I'm back in the days of the fucking Vikings, pillaged!" A few people near them turned to stare. Sam blushed.
Ezra blinked. "You know," his voice was velvety calm. "I'm not really sure your use of the word pillage adequately supports you train of thought. Perhaps mugged would suit the phrase better."
"Shut up Standish." Samantha shifted so that she wasn't directly facing him anymore and pulled out a set of headphones and CD case. Her eyes twinkled, amused by her conversation. Ezra picked up the book he'd been reading the last few days. He held the book higher than usual, making sure Sam did not see the grin that threatened to slip over his stony façade. They didn't speak again the entire flight, but let the amiable silence fill the space between them as the country drifted by beneath the plane.
--
The four agents and Sam rented a large four by four at Dulles International Airport. While Chris and Vin went to pick up the vehicle, Ezra, Sam and JD got a chance to look around and plan their next move.
JD bought a newspaper and began to shuffle through it. His eyes trickled over the pages until they spotted something of interest. He folded back the paper and brought it over to Ezra. Ezra took the paper and began to read. Sam peered over JD's shoulder. On the third page back, there was an article about Bartlett.
Ezra read aloud. "President Josiah Bartlett is attending an open forum today near the Washington Monument in DC. Mr. Bartlett is to give a speech after an introduction by press secretary CJ Craig. Bartlett is expected to confront the issues of teen violence, education and gun control during his speech. After he is finished, the members of the audience will be allowed time to ask the president questions on any topic of their choosing. The forum will begin at one thirty Eastern Standard."
Sam glanced at her watch. "That gives us just over three hours."
JD looked at Sam in surprise. "What makes you think they're going after him today? How can you know?"
"I don't Bright Boy, but I can guess. Think about it. Open forum, the middle of the day, and it's not like there are a lot of places around the Washington monument to put snipers. Bartlett is going to be pretty much in open air. He'll have tons of security, to be sure, but without an eagle eye position it'll be difficult to spot anything, especially with a good crowd."
"The press is expecting a formidable sized turnout. This forum is unique and a lot of people want to ask Bartlett questions. I agree with you Miss Walters, that this forum would provide ample opportunity to assassinate the president."
A few people nearby gave Ezra odd looks, and some even visibly backed away from him. Standish appeared unfazed and, seeing Chris and Vin waiting by the curb, promptly left the terminal.
A blast of muggy air washed over them as the doors slid open. Ezra was unperturbed, the humidity reminiscent of his days growing up South of the Mason Dixon line. Even though technically Virginia was still the south there were a few important differences. First of all, virtually no one North of Richmond said ya'll. Secondly, asking for tea in Virginia meant you got it hot with a bag, rather than iced and chock full of sugar. Fond memories of childhood few and far between made Ezra reminisce for less than a minute. He jumped into the seat behind Chris.
Sam remembered the heat, the humidity, but it was all like some pleasant faraway dream. A dream she couldn't quite touch. Beads of sweat began to roll down her neck the moment she stepped outside. Chris too looked uncomfortable, not surprising considering his black shirt and black jeans. Only Vin, the Texan, felt at home in the sweltering sauna.
Despite the heavy midday traffic, the agents made decent time into DC, at least, better than they had expected. Dulles was only fifteen or twenty miles from the city, but Bartlett's speech and the fast approaching weekend made traffic a nightmare. They were inside the city limits in just over an hour and a half.
Of course, that was just into the city. Bumper to bumper traffic on the Beltway, not unlike midtown Manhattan, slowed their progress to little more than a crawl.
It was one o'clock before the Washington monument became anything more than a speck on the horizon. Vin felt an unexplained felling of apprehension wash over his body. Glancing around he realized that the others felt it too. JD was staring fixedly at the monument, Sam chewed her lip, Ezra shuffled the stack of cards he kept in his pocket, and the vein in Chris's temple started to throb. None of them liked to be so close, yet still so far away.
It was ten minutes later and a half mile closer to the monument when Vin's patience gave way. He unbuckled his seat belt and threw open his door. With a helpful nudge from Ezra, JD and Sam followed. "Sorry cowboy, but this is gettin us nowhere fast. We're gonna hoof it the rest of the way."
Chris protested. "Wait just one damn minute! One of you park and I'll come along."
Vin took off at a ground eating jog. He craned his head back toward the car and yelled, "Hey, you insisted on driving. Now you can park."
Vin and the others soon were out of bellowing range. Chris hit the steering wheel. He would have gone after them, but he couldn't just leave the truck in the middle of the road. "Damn you Tanner."
--
"This is insane!" Sam called out, having to yell just to be heard. "There are more people here than live in this God forsaken city!" She paused briefly, making sure that Ezra and JD were still behind her. She wouldn't have been surprised if the two men had gotten lost in the throng. She was having enough trouble keeping Vin's tattered, worn, brown leather jacket in sight.
JD and the southerner were both behind her, picking their way through the crowd. Ezra, despite all his complaints had kept up with the others on their run from the car to the crowd. In fact, he barely looked winded.
Sam caught up with Vin near the front of the crowd. She'd spotted Secret Service at various times, and none looked overly concerned. 'At they're here.' "Hey Tanner." Vin turned. "What do we do now?" The sharpshooter shook his head.
A roar went up from the crowd as two limos pulled to a stop not far from a crudely constructed podium. Secret Service agents exited the stretch limos, then White House staffers like Leo McGarry, Josh Lyman, Toby Ziegler and CJ Craig followed. An entire troop of people made their way onto the podium. Several members of the press and cameras were already set up. Craig, a thin, tall woman grabbed the mike. This was a woman, Vin decided, that commanded attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen, officers of the press, I would like to thank you for being with us here today. Today the president will be speaking directly to you all on issues that concern you, the people. Today is not a day for big business and special interests. Today we hear from you, the people." She paused for applause. "Now, if you would all please welcome, The President of the United States!" People on every side burst into raucous applause.
JD wasn't paying attention. He caught sight of a lone man, eyes to the ground walking quickly away from the podium. His blonde hair was cropped short, and a black leather coat was slung over his shoulder. Sunglasses prevented the young agent from seeing his face. Then JD saw it, the tattoo on the man's upper arm. The cobra looked ready to sink its fangs into anyone who came too near. JD tugged on Vin's arm and pointed. The sharpshooter immediately caught on.
"We have a problem guys." Sam and Ezra looked at him expectantly. "They're here." Sam and Ezra whirled. Ezra saw another man, dressed the same as the one JD had seen off to the left. Sam spotted one near the back.
"I see three." Sam said, trying not to notice Bartlett's form as he rose up the steps onto the podium. "We need to get a warning to Butterfield NOW."
"How do you suggest we get to him?" Vin queried. "He's on the podium with Bartlett. If you can slip past these Secret Service and everyone else without being seen them I'm all for it, but I don't expect that to happen any time soon. Besides the fact that we don't even know if and or how these guys are going after him."
"A bomb," Sam provided. "Like I said before, there aren't a lot of places for snipers to hide. A bomb could have been set in place hours ago. And maybe they won't go after him, but can we take that chance?" Vin frowned. She was right.
"I think I may have a solution," Ezra interjected. "We need to create a diversion. One that will inevitably lead to the dispersing of this crowd and the immediate removal of Bartlett from this general vicinity." Ezra reached down and removed a small, silver plated, snub nosed .38 from an ankle holster.
Vin groaned. Sam covered her eyes. "I don't even want to know how you got that past airport security."
"Fine," he shrugged, "I won't tell you."
"Ezra that's suicide." Vin scolded. "The minute those agents see you with a weapon you're a dead man."
"I highly doubt that. As you can see we are in a high density area of the crowd and I have serious doubts to the Secret Service's ability to even see me in this crowd let alone shoot me. Now I suggest that you all remove yourselves from this area post haste."
Vin growled at the undercover agent, but gestured for Sam and JD to disperse into the crowd. Bartlett stepped up to the mike and the crowd hushed itself. The President opened his mouth. "In this day and age of..." he never got to finish. The sound of a shot rang through the air. A woman in the crowd screamed.
Secret Service swarmed around Bartlett and quickly yanked him off the scaffolding and toward the limos. The mass of people were now thoroughly panicked. The pressed at the iron railings while Secret Service tried to usher them back. Other agents in SWAT gear assaulted the crowd. Amidst the confusion, Vin, Sam, and JD made their moves. Each nimbly leapt the fencing and clambered up to the stage.
Vin and Sam checked the top while JD rushed underneath. People ran around them like frightened cattle, but they ignored them. It was Vin who found the bomb. The sharpshooter ripped the wooden paneling from the front of the lectern. A bundle of electronics and a timer stared up at him through clear plastic casing. "Sam! JD get up here."
Sam kneeled next to him. "Holy mother. Is that...?"
Vin nodded gravely. "Nitro. Yup."
"Can you disarm it?"
"Do I look like a member of the bomb squad? What about you Walters?"
Sam held up her hands. "Bombs are definitely not my thing. Does that say two minutes, because that's what it looks like to me."
"That's what it says. JD! We need to get everyone out of here Sam, and quick." JD slid down on the other side of Vin.
Sam stood, brushing dirt from her jeans. She had to think. People were starting to calm down. They weren't running away any more. That would simply not do. Sam pulled the mike to her. Then, mustering all the hysteria she could into her voice she screamed. "It's a bomb!" Pandemonium ensued, but at least people were moving away from the stage. Vin shot her a withering look. "What, it got them to leave."
"Well JD? Can you disarm it?"
"Sure." Vin's face lit up. "With tools and like half an hour."
Sam grabbed Vin's jacket. "You mean to tell me that not one of you has any experience with bombs?"
"Chris does, but I reckon he's still lookin for a place to park."
"That's perfect Vin, just perfect!"
"Thirty seconds. What do you think?"
Sam sighed, cocking her head to one side before nodding tightly. "Run."
"What?" JD yelled.
Vin grabbed JD's collar and nearly dragged him to his feet. "You heard the lady JD. Move!" The three took a running leap off the side of the platform. Vin rolled and got to his feet. JD was just in front of him, and he saw Sam land in a dead run to his left. He sprinted away as fast as he could. They were perhaps fifty yards from the stage when it exploded in a ball of flames.
Vin felt the shock wave pick him off the ground and toss hi in the air like a rag doll. He flipped end over end until he landed in the grass five yards or so farther on. Sam and JD met a similar fate.
Vin rolled onto his stomach and covered his head while flaming pieces of the podium rained around them. A few moments later Vin heard something above him click. He rolled onto his back, hands open and up by his head. A very angry Secret Service agent pointed his rifle directly between the sharpshooter's eyes. Vin managed a weak grin. "It's all right pard. I give up."
--
A few hours after the debacle at the Washington Monument, Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborne were walking down the bland concrete corridor of the Pentagon. Seaborne ran his hands through his hair nervously. Josh looked over at him. "Geez Sam relax."
"How can I relax? One of the lunatic, psychotic killers asked for me by name. By name Josh, do you realize what that could mean?"
"That maybe these terrorists have watched the news before and have heard your name read as the speechwriter. That they could have seen you on any one of your countless appearances on Capitol Beat?"
"Are you saying that I try to grab the limelight? Because if you do, you can just tell me."
"That's not what I'm saying. Oh. Maybe this guy wants to pummel you to a pulp for something you wrote. In which case there is no problem because you have me here with you." Josh began to air box.
Sam chuckled. "That really isn't comforting. And how can you be so calm when you know what happened today? There was a terrorist attack against the president and this doesn't bother you?"
"Of course it bothers me, but think about it like this. The president is fine, no one got hurt and I didn't end up shot. All in all I'd count that as a pretty good day, and what do you mean having me along isn't a comfort. If I were you I'd see my presence as a comfort."
"Josh, you got beat up by Suzie Moorehouse, the mousy girl with the glasses in the ninth grade. You are not a boxer."
The two White House staffers met up with Ron Butterfield outside a closed room. "Well?" Butterfield asked.
Josh talked. "We've already seen the other three suspects. Can't say as they seem like your typical white supremacists or terrorists for that matter. That one guy that had the gun seems to be having fun giving Dwyer the run around. He keeps talking in these weird backward phrases. We had Dwyer send for Ainsley Hayes. She speaks southerner. The other two are just silent."
"I think this one you're going to find interesting. Asked for you by name Seaborne. Sounded like they knew you. You ready?"
Sam nodded, but his stomach was rolling. He didn't like terrorists. Butterfield unlocked the door and led the way. Inside, a woman with long coppery hair sat with one hand cuffed to a metal desk. A Secret Service agent was bent down yelling at her.
The woman yawned and shifted so she could see the door. Her eyes lit up. Sam stopped dead in his tracks causing Josh to run into him. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. "Hunter?"
End Chapter 2
Okay that was my first attempt at WW style dialogue. Love to hear what you thought. Forgive my butchering any spelling of character names. Chap 3 coming soon.