Author's Note: For those interested in the season 3 virtual season of DM, try this URL: www.dmvs3.tvheaven.com
Part Two: The Takedown
Mark gazed out of the deck windows as the sun began its descent. His son was out there someplace, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was in grave danger regardless of the measures that Ron had taken to ensure his protection. Mark began to wish that the agent had never shown up to ask if Steve was willing to do the job in the first place. The stakes in this deadly game seemed far too high.
"You are vorried about him, yes?" A quiet voice spoke from behind him, startling him slightly from his ruminations.
Mark turned and faced the man who, in passing, looked like Steve. It was odd having him in the house, pretending that he wasn't a complete stranger. It had almost felt like sacrilege when they had gone out on the deck earlier as if they were father and son enjoying a few minutes together. He understood that the purpose of the exercise was to give the neighbors the impression that Steve was there, but acting as if he was only made the worry in his heart all the more deeper. It was a constant reminder that his son could at any moment be at the mercy of ruthless killers.
He recalled that he himself had suggested the beach house as a safe haven for the Russian ex-patriot, arguing that whomever was after Jener would never expect to find him with a Malibu resident. While Mark believed that was true, his deeper reasoning behind the offer was so that he could be close to the operation, and thus closer to Steve. He knew that otherwise he would have been completely shut out until the trial was over.
"Yes, I am worried about him," Mark replied to Mikhail's question. He moved to sit in one of the armchairs, and gestured that the other man should sit as well.
"You have a great care for him. That is good."
There was no way that he could explain the anxiety that had only seemed to increase as he had helped Steve prepare for this assignment, or the knot that seemed to have lodged itself permanently in his stomach. It wouldn't be fair to make the other man feel responsible for his fears. So he simply smiled and nodded.
"He has dangerous work. You let him do. I thank you for that."
Mark had to chuckle. Obviously Mikhail Jener did not know about his son's deep sense of duty. "It's not so much what I let him do. Steve is his own man. He would have taken this assignment no matter what I may have said."
A confused wrinkle appeared in Mikhail's brow. "I do not know your Steven. But, I tell you how I hear stories of how you vork with him and with police. He has a great care for you, too. I think if you say no, he not do this."
It was Mark's turn to frown as he recalled a quick conversation that he and Steve had shortly after Ron had approached him. He'd asked Mark what he thought of Ron's plan. He remembered that at the time he'd shrugged, and responded that he thought it was a good one, although he wished it didn't include Steve at its center. But then, he had gone on to say that he knew that Steve was a good cop, and that he'd look on protecting Mikhail as his duty.
It had never occurred to him that Steve might be asking if he was too uncomfortable with the assignment. Or even if he was asking Mark whether he should turn it down. In that light, Mark's own responses could have been seen as encouragement to go ahead with the dangerous mission. He couldn't have misinterpreted something like that, could he?
He was dragged from his thoughts by the doorbell. The all clear echoed from one of the guest bedrooms where surveillance equipment had been set up to create a mini command center. Cameras had been installed around the outside of his home during the course of the past week while Steve was working with the linguist. The system had been brought fully online earlier in the day and the onsite and technical teams were in place. He moved past an armed agent to open the door. Ron, Amanda and Jesse stood there as previously planned. All carried cartoons emblazoned with the BBQ Bob's logo. Smoky aromas wafted into the house ahead of them.
The maneuver was designed so that an outsider might think that friends were simply gathering for a pleasant dinner together. But Mark's first thoughts were with Steve. He had to know about the success of the first leg of the plan.
Ron entered the house right behind Amanda, answering without Mark having to voice the question. "He's all settled in, complaining about how bored he is. And pretty soon, he's going to be having dinner, just like us."
"Thanks, Ron." Mark grinned sheepishly at his transparency. But the news did allow him to relax somewhat. As far as he was concerned, boredom was good. It meant that things were going smoothly and as planned.
Jesse was the last one through the door and gestured toward his bag. "Hey Mark! I brought some of that new potato salad we've been telling you about. You're going to love it, it's incredible."
Mark's smile broadened at the younger man's energy. Things almost seemed normal. Then he caught sight of one of the agents stationed half between his and Steve's unit, and remembered that they weren't. With a half sigh, he followed the group into the dining room where the food was being set out.
"What's incredible?" Amanda asked, picking up on Jesse's enthusiastically spoken statement.
"The potato salad. The recipe belongs to one of the new cooks. It's to die for!" Jesse began rummaging through the bags in search of the side dishes. He then opened one of the plastic containers and flipped the top for all to see. "Yum, huh?"
"I will have to take your word for it," Mikhail spoke up. "I am allergic to the eggs. But, I am looking forward to your ribs. I have only seen them in the commercials."
"You are in for a treat, then," Jesse insisted and proceeded to make certain that Mikhail had the opportunity to try every variety of barbecued meat that had been packed in the bag. The young doctor beamed when Mikhail declared the ribs the best American food that he had ever tasted.
~*~*~*~*~*
Steve had been surprised to find that the safe house was a rental property about five miles up the coast highway from his dad's place. The suspicion that had been in the back of his mind resolved into certainty, but he wasn't at liberty to ask the question with the two other agents in attendance. He had simply allowed himself to be led into the house, introduced to Agents Raymond, Seymour and Cotouri, before being shown into a bedroom where he was expected to "rest".
Alone in the room, he quietly voiced his opinions. "At the beach, in a house. Funny thing this FBI." He knew that Ron could hear him as he was wearing the receiving end of the communications system.
Moving about the room, he sorted through the stack of video tapes and books. "All these books and movies. In Russian. I must remember to thank the thoughtful American agent." He allowed a hint of dryness to slip into his tone as he muttered, "If I don't go bug-eyed nuts first."
Steve sighed heavily, running a hand through the hair that he wasn't used to having in his face. He settled down on the bed and looked around at the depressing array of 'nothing to do'. There wasn't even a window that he could look out of. Unless things changed very soon, Mikhail Jener was going to gain one heck of a reputation for mumbling to himself.
He almost sang out with relief when there was a tap on the door. One of the agents poked his head in and told him that dinner was ready. The man led him into the kitchen and gestured toward a paper bag bearing the BBQ Bob's logo. Just the smells emanating from the bag were making Steve's mouth water. He decided then and there that he might have to forgive Ron for a few of the more boring aspects of this decoy detail.
He was left alone at the small table to enjoy his meal, which he did with gusto. The delicious smells and flavors gave some familiarity to this otherwise alien surroundings, and he enjoyed every morsel, especially the new potato salad. Ingrid had out done herself. He was going to have to get with Ingrid and Jesse to see what they could do about making it a permanent menu item.
~*~*~*~*~*
"There is a problem."
"Of what sort?"
"It is not him. It is a decoy."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Will he lead us to the other?"
"I am not sure."
"Abort the previous plan. Find out what he knows."
~*~*~*~*~*
Steve, having just completed brushing his teeth before going to bed, paused to check his disguise in the bathroom mirror. He rubbed at the gray near his temples, wondering if he would ever get used to it. He had to chuckle when he tried to imagine himself as gray as his dad.
Dismissing such a possibility, he readjusted the leg of the baggy stripped cotton pants that he was wearing. There was just the hint of a dark bulge low on his left calf. He was forced to admit that a few weeks ago, wearing an ankle holster with a pair of pajamas had seemed unlikely as well. Never mind the fact that he would be growing a beard and a mustache.
"You're going to owe me big time, Wagner," he said softly, before sliding the glasses back on and taking another look at the stranger in the mirror. Then, turning away, he reached for the knob of the door that would lead him back into the bedroom. Suddenly the lights blinked out. Before his retinas could adjust to the abrupt change, he felt the hard edge of the door slam into him.
Completely thrown off balance, he slipped on the rug that had been placed in front of the bathtub. In the pitch darkness, he had no chance to catch himself and went down with a crash onto the tiled floor. In the next instant, a pair of hands grabbed him roughly about the collar of his pajama shirt and pulled him upward into a semi-sitting position. Pain exploded in the side of his head as something slammed into him, sending the glasses clattering against porcelain. Another impact caused him to collapse out of his assailant's grasp to collide painfully into the side of the bathtub. He was grabbed up ruthlessly for a third punch, which took him under.