Since it's my birthday today, I thought I'd celebrate by giving you guys the present—the next chapter!  Hopefully, updates will come quickly from here on out, as I've finally gotten to my favorite part of the story, but we'll see how school goes, first.  Anyway, enjoy this, and like always, I'd love to hear what you think (in other words—please, please, please review!)

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CHAPTER 18

           "Awe, s**t!" Buck exclaimed as he sat back against the couch cushions and ran a weary hand down his face.

           "'S**t' is right," Josiah agreed.  He turned back to Chris.  "Is he headed for Bartinol?"

           "I don't know," Chris sighed.  "But we'll have to work under the assumption that he will. And he has a thirty minute head start on us. Johnson is assembling his men right now.  Josiah, get on the phone to Kelly.  Tell him what happened and that there's been a change in plans.  Have him and his boys meet us at the mansion.  Nathan, get a-hold of Pauley, send him and his team to the warehouse.  JD, call Reed, have him get the nearest troopers headed for that warehouse now.  Tell them that I want them at their respective places as of yesterday!  If we're lucky, maybe we can salvage this bust before it all goes completely to h**l.  Now let's get moving!" he barked.

           He turned to the sharpshooter.  "Vin, give a heads up to the guards outside.  Let them know what's going on and have them act accordingly."

           Vin nodded and disappeared out into the night.  The others scrambled around, quickly getting dressed and assembling their weapons, and within minutes were heading out the door. Chris paused when he saw Ezra grabbing his jacket and revolver.  "You're staying here, Ez," he stated firmly.

           "The h**l I am!" the Ezra argued back, anger flashing in his eyes, turning them to deep forest green.  "I am the one with the most invested in this case, and I will see it through to its conclusion!"

           Chris stood rigidly and favored his agent with a glare that clearly left no room for question.  "I realize that," he said in a tightly controlled tone of voice.  "But I am not taking a chance on you getting your fool head blown off by some lucky shot. There's too big a risk that you'll get separated from us in the confusion.  You're staying here and that's final."  He turned to his long-time friend.  "Buck, stay here with him.  Make sure he stays put."

           Buck tipped his head in agreement and stepped back into the room, holding the front door open for the others. 

Ezra met his glare with an icy stare of his own for a moment before finally averting his eyes and nodding, indicating his compliance.  He didn't like it, but he would abide by his leader's orders.

           For now.

           "That's going to be spreading your forces mighty thin, brother," Josiah pointed out, snapping a full clip into his gun and sliding it into his shoulder holster.

           "It can't be helped," Chris shook his head as he pulled on his duster and headed for the door.  "If Bartinol and Randolph manage to escape the net, they'll more than likely head for the nearest border, but I'm not going to gamble on it, and I'm not leaving the safety of one of my men in the hands of the feds outside alone, no matter how good they are," he declared with a hand on the door knob and a quick glance toward Ezra.  He nodded at his long-time friend. "I want Buck here as the last line of defense in case the unlikely does happen.  As for being short-handed, Kelly's boys will be there to back us up." A quick smirk crossed his lips.  "They might not be as good as Buck and Ezra, but they'll do in a pinch."

           Buck laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.  "And you be sure to tell them that, Hoss."

           Chris's only reply was a quick, devilish grin before he pushed out the door into the night and headed for the Ram.

* * * * * * *

           Paul Randolph awoke quickly to a pounding on his bedroom door.  He glanced at the clock on the nightstand and cursed under his breath.  5:15 a.m.—whoever this was, they had better have a good explanation.  His wife mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over, but he paid her no mind as he slipped out of bed and headed for the door, the small pearl-handled revolver from the drawer of the nightstand clutched firmly in his hand.  He pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall to come face-to-face with Tony Vitalis.  "What is it?" he growled as he quietly closed the door.

           Vitalis danced around a bit, knowing that his employer was not going to like what he was about to say.  "The feds are onto us," he reluctantly explained.

           "What!" Randolph roared, fury flooding his senses.  A voice from behind him answered his question.

           "I just received a call from an informant of mine warning that we are about to be visited by the local federal agents, led by a Mr. Christopher Larabee."  Randolph turned to face the man who had stepped from the shadows.  The distinguishing gray streaks in the  man's dark hair flashed in the overhead light and his cold, obsidian eyes glittered with intelligence and authority, making it clear that he was not a man to trifle with.  "It seems we have a common enemy, Mr. Randolph," he commented casually.

           "Larabee?" Randolph spun around to face his right-hand man, his expression dark with his anger.  He slowly advanced, his body tense but controlled, his voice menacingly cool and contained as he backed Vitalis against the wall.  "If Larabee is on his way here, that means Standish must have made contact with him, something you assured me you would not allow to occur.  You've obviously failed, Tony, and quite miserably."  He firmly pressed the barrel of the small, lethal weapon against Vitalis's chest right above his heart and stared into the man's eyes with icy determination and barely controlled fury.  "Care to explain how you allowed this to happen before I end your miserable existence?"

           "I'm afraid an explanation will have to wait until later, if you would prefer to avoid a rather lengthy prison term," his house guest interrupted with a cough.  "We must leave now.  I have men working to neutralize the surveillance and to provide us a window of escape.  I suggest we utilize the opportunity, gentlemen."

           Randolph paused a moment, his hard gazed boring a hole into Vitalis's soul before he finally lifted the small gun and released the trigger.  "You are quite right, Mr. Bartinol," he agreed without turning around.  "We will finish this discussion later, Tony.  Go prepare transportation, and quickly, man!"  Randolph backed up and turned to enter the bedroom as Tony rushed down the hall, pulling a cell phone from his pocket as he went.  He looked back at the crime lord.  "I apologize, Mr. Bartinol.  This is indeed unforeseen and unfortunate.  I promise you however, that it will be dealt with efficiently and expediently, and I will personally see to it that none of this matter reflects onto you in anyway."

           Bartinol focused a piercing stare on the other man, his slightly accented voice deceptively calm.  "Yes, it is unfortunate, but it should not have been unforeseen.  I would have expected a man of your stature to have prepared for this eventuality and am quite disappointed in you and your men.  It seems I had been led to believe that you were much more efficient than I should have given you credit for.  However, now is not the time or the place to discuss this.  Once we are well away from harm's path, I will take the time to consider the implications of this incident."  He turned to proceed down the hall but paused, his eyes growing positively chilling, his features hard and unforgiving as he pinned the other man in place with only a look.  "And I can assure you that I will see to it that this does not reflect upon myself.  What that bodes for you, however, remains to be seen."

           A chill run down Randolph's spine and he nodded once before pushing through the door as the other man continued on his way back to the guest roomo.

           Ten minutes later, both men were hastily descending the stairs side by side, briefcases in hand and coats slung over their arms as they strode purposely toward the side entrance where Vitalis and three other men, two of which were Bartinol's personal guard, waited patiently with the cars. Bartinol and Randolph slid into the back seat as one of Bartinol's men climbed into the front along with Randolph's driver.  "What of your wife?" Bartinol asked casually, raising an eyebrow as he settled more comfortably in the plush leather interior.

"What of her?" Randolph replied coldly.  "She was merely part of an illusion.  As I have found myself exposed, I am no longer in need of her.  She knew nothing of my true agenda and is of no consequence to me.  Let Larabee and his dogs have her."

 Vitalis and the remaining two men started the front car and lead the group through a small gate at the back of the estate, passing an unmarked car not far from the gate with two figures slumped ominously over inside.  They drove down a small, dirt road through the forested lands behind the mansion for several minutes before passing through a fairly concealed entrance and pulling onto a small highway.  Just as they turned the first curve in the road, spot lights flashed in the distance in the rearview mirrors as helicopters and other federal vehicles swarmed the mansion.  Both vehicles sped away into the night, headed toward freedom, leaving the chaos behind them.

* * * * * * *

           The two vehicles entered the parking lot of the abandoned store just as the dawn was cresting the eastern horizon. A small car waited for them across the cracked surface near the building, a figure pacing nervously in front.  The man looked up as the two larger vehicles approached and the men exited the cars amid slamming doors, and he met them at the entrance to the structure.  "I see you did manage to evade Johnson and Larabee, then?"

           Bartinol smiled and put his arm around the man's shoulder.  "Yes, Eddie, we did, thanks to you."

           Vitalis quickly rounded them and broke the lock off the door then stepped back to allow them to enter.  "You have done excellent work, my friend, and will be fitly compensated," Bartinol continued as they stepped inside the cold, barren room.  "I have men on their way now as we speak to escort us to a private airstrip.  Within the hour we will be well away from Mr. Larabee, Mr. Johnson, and the fear of prosecution."  One of his guards dusted off a corner of the old desk that sat along the back wall and he settled there, crossing his arms and facing the smaller man.  "I must say, though, that I was surprised to find you and Johnson in Denver.  Mind telling me who tipped you off to my presence?"

           "But first, will you explain just who you are and what ties you have to Larabee?" Randolph broke in.  Bartinol frowned at the man, but nodded for Thomas to continue.

           "My name is Edward Thomas, agent for the FBI and Interpol," Eddie started.  "I just met Mr. Larabee the other day when he contacted Agent Johnson in regards to an operation to bring down your smuggling business.  It seems one of Mr. Larabee's men, an Agent Standish, had infiltrated your organization and had obtained records exposing your company and Mr. Vitalis over there," he nodded to Tony.  "Standish also knew of the meeting this morning with Mr. Bartinol.  That's one of the reasons Agent Johnson and myself were brought in."

           Randolph shot a poisonous look toward Tony before returning his attention to the nervous, rumpled man before him.  "One of the reasons?" he asked mildly.

            "Mr. Standish had help escaping from that hangar the other night—a street kid, right?" Eddie asked.

           Randolph's eyes narrowed.  "Yes."

           Eddie looked toward Bartinol and swallowed hard.  "That kid was Alexandria Sanders."

           Bartinol took in a sharp breath.   "The daughter of Allen Sanders?" he asked harshly.

           Eddie closed his eyes and nodded.  Bartinol cursed, and Randolph looked at him in confusion.  "Who is she?" he asked.

           Bartinol stood up and paced in front of the desk in agitation.  "She is the daughter of an old nemesis of mine, one that I liquidated some years ago.  She had disappeared and was presumed dead."

           Randolph raised an eyebrow.  "It seems that was exaggerated," he commented.

           "Yes, it appears so."  Bartinol stopped his movements and turned to Eddie.  "Where is she?" he demanded coldly.

"In protective custody along with Standish at Larabee's ranch west of here, where he and Johnson have set up their base of operations," Eddie answered.

Randolph again glared at Vitalis.  "And just how did you manage to miss that?" he hissed.

Tony swallowed hard.  "I sent men out there early in the week, sir.  There was no sign of Larabee there."

"And it did not occur to you to post a watch?"  Randolph was positively livid.

Tony shook his head.  "We were short-handed, sir, what with the disaster at the hangar and preparing for this meet.  I assigned men to search the city for Standish and to watch the federal building and the homes of the agents in town, but simply did not have the man power to watch the ranch.   And since Larabee and his men were remaining in the city, I assumed that Standish would also stay within the city,"

"You are an idiot, Tony," Randolph growled.  "Standish was too much of a danger to make assumptions such as that!  Do you realize what your mistake has cost me?"

Bartinol raised a hand to interrupt.  "Deal with that later!" he commanded sharply.  "We have more important matters to handle."  He turned back to Eddie.  "Did you speak to her?  Does she still have the key?"

           Eddie licked his lips and shook his head. "No sir, she doesn't have the key.  She has the disks."

           Bartinol's eyes widened in surprise.  "She has the disks?!"

           "Yes, sir.  And she has turned them over to Johnson," Eddie answered then flinched away as the older man exploded into what he assumed was a litany of curses in some other language and ran a hand through his hair in distraction before viciously kicking a crate out of his way in fury and stalking a few paces away from the group.

           Randolph paused in his own anger to watch in amusement as his house guest finally lost his calm, cool, and collected composure.  The other man had been infuriatingly unruffled by the forced retreat into the night, and it irked him that he had to depend on that man for that escape, especially since it made him appear weak in the eyes of a potential business partner.

           And if there was one thing that Paul Randolph was not, it was weak.

           Of course, the entire blame for this debacle rested on Tony Vitalis's shoulders.  He turned his icy blue eyes coolly toward the man in question.  Tony had allowed Standish to infiltrate the organization, Tony had allowed him to escape with incriminating evidence, and Tony had failed to eliminate the agent before he placed said evidence in the hands of the proper authorities.  Though Tony had performed admirably over the years, recent events had made it clear that the man had become slipshod and careless. 

Perhaps it was time to find a new right hand man.

He looked at the double agent thoughtfully, crossing his arms over his chest.  "You said that they made Larabee's ranch their headquarters?" he asked mildly, interrupting Bartinol in mid-rant.

"Y-yes, sir," Eddie quickly answered, glancing at Bartinol out of the corner of his eye.  In all the years he had known the man, he had never once saw him lose his temper, and he was wondering what the fallout would be.

Randolph tapped his chin as he worked through the details of a hazy plan that was forming at the fringes of in mind.  "Therefore, they kept all paperwork concerning this case there?"

Eddie nodded, not liking where this conversation was headed.  He just wanted to get out of Denver and the US as fast as possible.  "Yes, sir.  It was against normal procedure not to file any evidence gathered with the appropriate departments, but because of the sensitivity of this case and the fact that they did not want to tip you or Mr. Bartinol off, the higher ups granted permission to keep everything at the ranch house.  Larabee and Johnson showed just enough of what they had to the authorities to gain the proper back up and get the arrest warrants, but kept the rest to themselves.  Johnson was trying to stop history from repeating itself."

Randolph raised a questioning eyebrow at the last comment.

"Eddie here was the partner of Agent Sanders and provided me with valuable information as to his activities," Bartinol explained.  He frowned.  "Agent Sanders was able to gather considerable evidence against me, but Eddie intercepted that evidence before it was able to cause any harm to myself.  However, one copy remains in play."

"Ah, the disks," Randolph nodded in understanding.  "And I can assume that evidence would be quite damaging to you if it should remain in the hands of the authorities?"

Bartinol settled back on the desk corner, his shrewd eyes narrowing as he began to see where Randolph was going with this. "It is six years out of date and would not harm my more recent ventures, but yes, it would still cause serious havoc to my enterprises."

Randolph smiled and spread his arms in a friendly gesture.  "Then sir, I do believe that you and I are in the same boat, so to speak.  You see, Mr. Standish has obtained certain documents concerning my own organization that can cause substantial damage to myself and has indeed led to our current circumstances.  While retrieval of said documents would not be able to halt the investigation into myself, it would provide enough of a delay for me to make an escape to a healthier clime and somewhat contain the wreckage.  May I presume that the same can be said of the disks in your case?"

Bartinol crossed his own arms and rubbed his chin.  "Diverting to the ranch would be quite a risk," he mused.

"But it would also be the last action they would expect us to take.  And should we succeed, the benefit would be enormous," Randolph pushed.  "I don't see where we have any choice."

Bartinol considered the idea before finally nodding in agreement.  "You are right.  I must make sure that those disks and any copies created be completely destroyed."  He turned to the nearest guard.  "Call the plane, let them know of the change in plans," he commanded.  The lackey immediately headed for the door, pulling a cell phone out as he went.  Bartinol focused a piercing gaze on Eddie.  "You know the location of the guards surrounding the ranch?"

Eddie nodded slowly and Bartinol smiled before looking back up at the gun smuggler.  "Then I suggest that we plot a course of action."

Five minutes later they were headed back out to the cars with Eddie leading the way.  As Tony held the door open for his employer, Randolph paused to give him a scathing glare.  "This is your final opportunity to correct your mistakes, Tony," he growled.  "I expect Standish to be eliminated as a possible threat to me in the future, or you will suffer in his place.  Do I make myself clear?"  His expression left no room for doubt that failure of any kind would not bode well for the younger man.

"Yes, sir," Tony answered quietly.  "Standish won't leave that ranch unless it's in the back of a hearse."

Randolph didn't comment as he settled back into his seat.  Tony closed the door and climbed into the front, instructing the driver to follow the small escort that Eddie had managed to appropriate when he escaped.

Bartinol leaned over as the car pulled back out onto the highway.  "And I want you to understand, Mr. Randolph," he said, keeping his voice low so as not to alert the men in the front, "that the same can be said for you.  I will hold you responsible should this not go according to plan."  His eyes glittered with promise, causing a cold chill to race up Randolph's spine.

Randolph swallowed and nodded and the crime master sat back in his seat and turned his attention to the scenery that was beginning to take shape in the rapidly approaching dawn.

* * * * * * *

           Chris Larabee slammed the front doors of the mansion open and strode purposely into the two-story foyer, the tails of his black duster billowing behind him, combining with the dark and foreboding expression on his face to give him the appearance of a wraith from the darkest corner of hell.  He looked up to see his sharpshooter descend the curving staircase, his rifle held firmly in his hand.  Vin caught his team leader's eye and shook his head negatively, and Chris uttered a sharp curse before lifting the radio to his lips.  "Any sign of them?" he growled into the receiver.

           There was a burst of static before Ryan Kelly's voice come across the airwaves.  "None out back."  Another voice mumbled something in the background accompanied with a brief pause before Kelly came back on air, his tone somber.  "Chris?  You'd better come see this."

           Chaos was everywhere on the grounds of the mansion as Chris and Vin made their way to the wall at the back of the property, a sense of foreboding quickening their pace.  Kelly met them there, his face grim as he led them through a small wrought iron gate and down the dirt road beyond a short ways until they reached a small clearing, still within sight of the house.  He motioned toward a dark car sitting silently just to the side of the road where Douglas Stone and Josiah Sanchez were bent over something on the ground.  "Stone and Sanchez found those two missing FBI agents who were on surveillance," he explained gravely.

           Chris stepped closer to the two men and grimaced when he saw the two bodies they were kneeling over.  Josiah looked up at his leader and shook his head.  "Dead.  Throats slit," he replied to the questioning gaze.

           Vin moved further down the road and squatted to get a closer look at something at his feet.  "Two cars came through here recently," he announced.  The others turned their attention to him as he motioned toward the tire tracks left in the mud as he stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans.  "I'd say no more than thirty minutes ago, tops."

           Chris cursed bitterly and spun around to stomp back toward the car, his hands balled into fists. "Thomas must have warned them," he stated angrily.  "Kelly?  Have one of your men let the feds know what happened and get a clean up crew down here." 

           The leader of team eight nodded and jogged back up to the gate as he changed the frequency on his radio and spoke commands into it.  Chris looked down at Stone.  "Find out where this road goes to.  It'll give us a place to start."  He turned to Josiah.  "Contact Reed and have his men start setting up road blocks on every route out of the city. Have Johnson alert train stations, bus stations, and every dirt strip that calls itself an airfield within fifty miles of the city. If we're lucky, we'll be able to cut them off before they can get very far."

           The two men quickly headed off to perform their assigned tasks as Vin stepped up beside the team leader.  "You really think they're headed out of town?" he asked mildly, worry showing from the blue depths of his eyes.

           Chris ran a hand through his hair.  "It would be expected."

           Vin snorted. "Since when do the criminals we deal with ever do what we expect them to?"

           Chris gave him a side-long glance.  "You're right.  Call Buck and give him a heads up, just in case."

* * * * * * *

           The sun was peaking over the trees as Ally stepped into the living room carrying two steaming coffee mugs and quietly set one down on the end table where Buck was pacing, the telephone receiver glued to his ear.  He mouthed a thank-you without taking his attention from the conversation.  "Okay, Junior.  Things have been pretty quiet here, but we'll be on the lookout….Yeah.  You guys watch your backs."  Buck hung up the phone and turned to face Ezra and Alex.  He ran a hand down his face.  "That was Vin," he explained, reaching for the mug.

           "I can assume that Randolph and Bartinol have evaded capture, then," Ezra commented from the couch.  He looked up and nodded his thanks as Ally handed him the other mug before moving to perch on the arm of the recliner.

           Buck grimaced.  "Yeah.  Guess Thomas got to them."  He took a sip from his mug then raised his eyebrows as he took another larger one.  This was definitely not the regular brew Chris kept.  Must have been that imported stuff Ezra insisted on getting.  Whatever it was, it was dang good!

He had to hand it to Ez—the man sure knew his coffee!

           "So what are they doing now?" Alex asked.  Though her expression was carefully guarded, her eyes betrayed her worry.

"Vin says he don't think they had more than an hour's head start," Buck answered her, "and the first three miles of that was down an old dirt track behind the mansion before they finally came out on a small two-lane in the middle of  nowhere.  They couldn't have gotten far in that time.  And Chris and the feds are sewing this city up tighter than a drum.  Don't you worry—they'll get them," he assured her.

           The girl just shook her head, not convinced.  She knew Bartinol too well.

           Buck set a hip on the back of the couch and crossed his arms while finishing his coffee.  "The good news is that the troopers and team three have the warehouse locked down, and Johnson's men have found a truck load of stuff at the company.  They also arrested the other board members involved.  If nothing else, Randolph's gun smuggling and drug running operations are over."

           "But that is simply capturing the minnows while the larger fish get away," Ezra shook his head.  "We may have dealt a serious blow to Mr. Randolph's enterprises, but he will just rebuild his network from another locale.  We must capture the head man himself if we want to put a permanent end to all this.  The same can be said for Bartinol."

           "Hey, have a little faith, Pard," Buck protested.  "We've got 'em on run now.  It'll only be a matter of time—we'll catch 'em."

           "I hope so, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra muttered, glancing over at Ally, who sat gazing at her hands, her mind a million miles and several years away.

           She felt his gaze and, looking up to meet his eyes, gave a weak smile and a shrug that seemed to say she'd be all right.  Ezra returned the gesture with a smile of his own as he sipped at the cup in his hand.  Alex looked over at Buck.  "Do you think there's a chance Randolph and Bartinol will head our way?" she asked.

           "Nah, not really," Buck shook his head.  "Shoot, they're probably headed for the nearest—" the sound of a barking dog outside cut him off and he glanced toward the window. 

The sound was abruptly silenced, and he exchanged an uneasy glance with Ezra before rising to his feet and pulling his gun out of his shoulder holster.  He inched toward the front door, gun raised high as he motioned for Ezra and Ally to move back.  Ezra stood up and made to move around the coffee table, reaching for his gun and intent on getting to Ally—

The front door flew open with a crash.  Buck let out a yell and turn to face the threat when a shot sounded from the kitchen doorway.  A cry of pain occurred behind him, and Ezra whirled around just in time to see Buck's head jerk back toward his shoulder, a spray of crimson splattering his shirt as he crash back against the wall and slid slowly to the floor. 

"Buck!" Ezra yelled, his heart jumping into his throat as he spun around, lifting his firearm toward the newest threat—and froze as he recognized the smiling features of Tony Vitalis.

The man aimed his gun right between the agent's eyes.  "Drop it, Standish," he commanded coldly.

"Ezra!"

He looked toward the hallway entrance to see another gunman with a firm grasp on Ally's arm, the barrel of his weapon pressed firmly to the side of her head.  Ally's eyes were wide with fear, not for herself, but for the man before her.  "Ezra, please—drop the gun," she requested quietly.

"I would suggest you do as she says." 

Ezra looked beyond Ally and the gunman to watch a tall, distinguished figure that until now he had only seen in photos enter the room through the hallway with Eddie Thomas trailing sedately behind him.  Sean Bartinol came to a stop beside Ally and her captor.  "I would so hate to have to order my man to kill her."  His glittering black eyes left no doubt that he would not hesitate to do so.

Ezra licked his lips and glanced back to Buck's still body lying along the wall and the gunman standing over it before meeting Alex's eyes once more.  Finally, he nodded and tossed the gun toward Vitalis before raising his hands into the air. 

Alex closed her eyes in relief. 

Two other gunmen entered through the front door and stopped beside the first, their guns all aimed at him and Ally.  Vitalis gave him a triumphant grin as he bent over and picked the gun up, sliding it into the waist band of his pants and moving further into the room.  Paul Randolph stepped through the kitchen doorway behind him, his long gray coat flapping at his legs and his hands in his pockets.  He cocked his head at Ezra and smiled wickedly, his blue eyes shining with malice.  "Agent Standish.  Our last conversation was so rudely interrupted.  Perhaps we can now have a chance to conclude it?"