****************************************************************************
*********
Ezra felt . . . dreadful. His mouth tasted as though something had crawled inside and died, and his head throbbed like that terrible music JD liked to listen to. Not to mention there was a spot on his chest that ached terribly. He wasn't sure how he'd come to be in this deplorable state, but somebody was going to pay. He suspected that somebody might be Buck and his liquor cabinet.
Now, what were his options this morning? He could get up, but that didn't sound particularly appealing right now. He could stay in bed - ah, the perfect choice. Sleep would cure the headache and that foul taste in his mouth.
Although now that he thought about it, his bed wasn't usually this hard. Or cold. And there most definitely shouldn't be the sweet, coppery scent of blood in his bedroom.
This meant something bad had happened.
Ezra lay still and thought back. He remembered the stakeout - Chris telling him and JD to leave - why? Oh, yes - their cover had been blown. Somehow the dealer and supplier had known they were there.
How odd. He was perfectly calm as he thought about what had probably caused his friends' deaths. Perhaps that was the cause for all the incongruities - perhaps one or more of the Seven had been killed, and he had gotten completely plastered and passed out in his living room, hitting his head as he fell. That would explain the hardness and chill, his headache and the scent of blood.
No, the taste in his mouth wasn't the taste that accompanied a hangover. It was decidedly medicinal. And the ache in his shoulder was still unaccounted for.
Was that it? Had he been injured during the bungled stakeout?
No, that was also wrong. Hospital beds might not be entirely comfortable, but they were infinitely more comfortable than this.
He turned his thoughts to what he could hear, feel and smell, not really wanting to open his eyes at the moment. Very well - what could he smell?
Dust. The musty smell that came from water on concrete. Sweat. Blood.
So, he was not at his home. There was no way he would let his place get so dusty. Next, what could he feel?
Not a lot, it turned out. His feet were as far removed from his body as the moon for all he could tell, and his hands were very nearly the same, save for a slight ache in his left hand. He could feel the cool concrete against his cheek as he lay there on his back, his head tilted to one side. A line of roughness on his neck, though he couldn't for the life of him decide what it was. If he weren't the type to wear silk ties instead of cheaper ones, he'd think that perhaps his tie was too tight, but silk didn't feel that rough.
That left what he could hear.
His own breathing, and heartbeat. That was a relief, he thought sardonically. Next - a far-off drip of water. That would explain the musty smell of water on concrete. There was something else - breathing. Not his own. He strained his ears, and made out two separate breathing patterns. Two people, then.
An amused chuckle met his ears.
"Have you quite finished, Mr. Standish?"
Ezra opened his eyes and sat up at the sound of his name. Attempted to sit up, at any rate. A sharp tug at his neck stopped him. He was suddenly aware that his hands were bound in front of him.
"I wouldn't advise moving too quickly, Mr. Standish, unless you have contrived a way to breathe without the benefit of a windpipe."
Ezra's sight was slightly blurred, but he could make out a dark shape seated not too far away. He blinked rapidly, and his vision began to clear. Enough for him to recognise the man as Jake Samuels, the supplier. A man who manufactured more weapons than any man should ever see in his life.
Samuels, a small-boned, almost delicate man with pale hair and cool grey eyes, was seated on a roughly-hewn wooden stool, dressed in casual dark grey slacks and a black shirt. He was leaning forward slightly, looking at Ezra with attentive eyes. There was something else reflected in those eyes - a shape not far from Ezra . . . the shape of another supine man.
Ezra turned his head slightly to peer beside him. A dark-haired form lay not a metre from him, hands bound together in front of him with duct tape, a rope snug around his neck and tied to a large metal ring set in the concrete floor.
Ezra's heart sank. JD.
He turned back to Samuels, taking care not to move his head enough to jerk the noose around his own neck. The grey-eyed man was watching him impassively.
"I assume there is a purpose to this?" Ezra asked, forcing his voice to stay calm. Samuels smiled.
"Of course, Mr. Standish. My colleague and I are playing a game with your associates. You and Mr. Dunne are the bait."
"You can't possibly think that my associates will be taken in by such a flimsy ruse, or allow you to dictate their actions, even under duress."
"On the contrary, Mr. Standish, I know that they will play this game, because if they don't they are going to be receiving pieces of yourself and Mr. Dunne in the post for several weeks. Accompanying these packages will be videotapes, so that your associates will know that the two of you are being kept alive and can feel every bit of agony as I remove another body part to send to them. After a few such packages, I am sure they will reconsider their stand."
Ezra swallowed, forcing the gory images from his mind. Samuels seemed amused by his reaction.
"However, I'm sure it won't have to come to that. Ashley is providing the first clue as we speak, and I will soon find out whether your friends are willing to play. Until I'm sure, you and Mr. Dunne will have to remain here. I apologise for the lack of comfort, but . . ." he spread his hands in a gesture of mock sympathy and helplessness. Then he stood, brushing off his hands. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Standish, I have plans to execute. I'll return when it's time for me to contact your friends."
Ezra watched him stride out, unnerved by the man's use of the word execute. The heavy click as the door closed told the Southerner that it was locked - not that he was in the position to escape anyhow. He turned his head again to look at JD, and noticed for the first time a white bandage around the young man's upper arm. He called JD's name, but received no response save JD's regular, even breathing. That was something, at least; he seemed to have merely been knocked out, not unconscious from blood loss or drugs.
With a sigh, Ezra turned his attention to the tape binding his hands.
**************************************************************************** *********
It had been four hours since Ezra and JD had been taken. Vin had bullied Chris into letting the doctors give his knee a proper examination, and their leader was now sitting on the edge of a bed with a bulky bandage around his knee, glowering at Vin. The sharpshooter met his gaze calmly.
"You know I was right to make you see a doctor, Chris. You can't help Ezra an' JD with a dislocated knee. Now stop glarin' at me an' -"
A nurse, entering the room, interrupted him. "Mr. Larabee, someone called the front desk asking for you. Do you want me to transfer the call here?"
Chris looked startled but nodded. The nurse smiled and returned to the front desk, pressing a button on the telephone. Chris picked up the phone in the room and snapped, "Larabee."
"Hello, Mr. Larabee. I hope your knee is feeling better," a male voice said. "I'm afraid Ashley was rather . . . impulsive, this morning. I understand Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Jackson have yet to wake up. My condolences. I know what it is to be at risk of losing a colleague."
"Enough small talk," Chris snapped. "Where are JD and Ezra?"
"My, you are focused. A videotape will be arriving in approximately ten minutes. Watch it. It will give you your instructions."
"Wait! Damn it . . ."
A dial tone filled Chris's ears. He slammed the phone down and looked at Vin and Josiah.
"That was the bastard who has JD and Ezra. He's sent us a videotape with our 'instructions' on it. Says it'll be here in ten minutes."
Josiah immediately left in search of a TV and VCR. Vin asked urgently, "Did he say anythin' about JD an' Ezra?"
"No. Nothing."
Josiah returned a few minutes later with a TV on wheels, having cajoled the nurse into letting him borrow it. He spent the next several minutes hooking up the various cords and fiddling at the back, refusing to make eye contact with either Chris or Vin. They could hear him praying quietly.
Chris got off the bed and began to pace, limping due to the stiffness and pain in his knee. His progress was halted by Vin's hand on his chest. He looked up and raised his eyebrows.
"You want something, Vin?"
"Yeah," Vin said firmly, "Sit. Now."
Chris did so, complaining, "I'm supposed to be the one doing that, Vin. God knows I've done it to you and . . . JD . . . often enough."
"You don't like being on the receivin' end, maybe you shouldn't be so quick to try an' keep us in bed," Vin shot back, ignoring Chris's hesitation at speaking JD's name. He was as worried about JD and Ezra as Chris was, but he recognised that until the man who held them captive sent instructions, there was little they could do to help their friends. Keeping Chris from flying off the handle and injuring himself further was important, since he'd be no help at all if he was stuck in a hospital room.
A few minutes passed before a youth dressed in a courier's uniform knocked on the open door. "'Scuse me. Nurse says there's a Mr. Larabee in here?"
Chris nodded and the boy moved forward with his clipboard, a brown paper package tucked under his arm. "Sign here, please."
Vin studied the boy, wondering if he was a part of the whole mess. He looked young - seventeen or eighteen, perhaps; a few years younger than JD - and innocent; but then wasn't that what JD was always complaining about? That he looked so young that nobody would take him seriously as an ATF agent? This boy was different, though, Vin decided; he moved naturally, showing no sign that he knew what he was delivering. He no doubt had no connections to the man holding Ezra and JD, and was just doing what he was paid for.
Chris scribbled his signature on the clipboard and took the package from the courier. The boy smiled and chirped, "Have a nice day!" before leaving the hospital room, nodding politely to the nurses on duty.
God, he reminded Vin of JD. Which just made the sharpshooter want to track down his missing friends all the sooner.
Chris tore open the paper, shoved the unlabeled video into the VCR and pressed 'play'. Josiah had the foresight to close the door to their room, so that they could view the tape uninterrupted. They had no idea what they would see, and had no desire to upset the nurses or doctors. Chris sat on the edge of the bed, looking as though he was about to explode into action. Josiah took one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, while Vin paced behind them both, his eyes fixed on the screen.
The screen was blank for an unbearably long moment before flickering to life. Jake Samuels, the supplier, sat on a wooden stool, a strange smile on his face. They could see the man operating the camera reflected in his eyes, but no details were clear. When he spoke, Chris said tightly, "He's the one who called."
"Good . . ." he checked his watch, "morning, gentlemen. Although it's evening while you're watching this, isn't it? By now I'm sure Mr. Larabee has informed you as to the situation involving Mr. Dunne and Mr. Standish. Naturally you're concerned about their wellbeing, so allow me to put your fears to rest."
The camera panned across a featureless room - concrete floor, whitewashed walls, a faint dripping noise. Vin stopped pacing and canted his upper body slightly forward, as though imprinting every detail in his mind. As the camera stopped, Josiah let out a low moan and Chris thanked God that Buck wasn't here to see this.
Ezra and JD were both lying on their backs on the concrete floor, their hands duct-taped in front of them. JD's upper arm was bandaged and a bruise discoloured his right temple. A lopsided circle of blood stained Ezra's shirt near the shoulder. Both men had rope nooses around their necks, attached to a large metal ring embedded in the floor, and both were clearly unconscious. Ezra's jacket had been removed, and neither agent wore shoes or socks.
Samuels continued, "As you can see, Mr. Dunne and Mr. Standish are relatively unharmed, aside from injuries received while we were accosting them. That can - and will - change if you decide to ignore what I tell you and attempt to locate your associates on your own. If you disobey my instructions, you will be receiving parts of Mr. Standish and Mr. Dunne for the next several weeks. And I will keep them alive until the time I send you their heads."
Chris swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to imagine the sounds of Ezra and JD screaming as Samuels hacked off parts of them. The man on the video chuckled, as though he could see Chris's reaction.
"I'm sure that has convinced you to cooperate with me. Now, these are your first instructions. There is a certain man living in this city that I wish to get in contact with. His name is Jason Cummerford. You have until midnight tonight - which, I believe, is six hours away - to locate him. A telephone number, an address, an email, I don't care what. You will find a way for me to contact Jason Cummerford. At precisely midnight, you will be at Mr. Tanner's apartment. I will contact you there, to take the information and to give you further instructions."
The camera panned back to the still-unconscious forms of Ezra and JD as Samuels added, "And gentlemen, don't even think of trying to find us. You may notify the proper authorities, if it makes you happy, but they will be unable to find me either. The only way you will know that your friends will continue to be in one piece is if you obey my orders perfectly. And do take care of Mr. Jackson and Mr. Wilmington. If you violate my instructions, you will need them to prevent your team being named the Three Musketeers."
**************************************************************************** *********
Ezra struggled with the tape around his wrists until his skin was raw and bleeding. Samuels had been gone for the better half of the day - Ezra had kept track of the passing time, since Samuels hadn't thought to take his watch - but try as he might, he couldn't budge the tape wrapped around tightly his wrists. Even his teeth hadn't been able to rip the tape, though he suspected his orthodontist would be rather angry with him at his next appointment.
When he stopped fighting the tape, he noticed JD watching him with tired eyes. "What're you doing, Ezra?"
"I am attempting to facilitate our escape," Ezra replied, letting his hands fall back down. His arms were sore, and his efforts had caused the rope around his neck to chafe his skin. He could feel a slow, warm trickle of blood down the side of his neck, and the abraded skin beneath the rope burned.
"How'd we get caught?" JD asked. The note of confusion in his voice alarmed Ezra. He glanced sharply at JD and was concerned to see the slight glaze of his eyes, the dilated pupils.
"Judging from the ache in my shoulder and the blood on my shirt, I seem to have been neutralised though the utilization of a tranquiliser dart. Do you recall how you were captured?" Ezra asked, keeping the concern from his voice. It wouldn't do JD any good to know that Ezra was worried about him.
"I heard a noise behind me," JD replied slowly. "I guess they must have hit me with something . . . my head kinda hurts."
"What happened to your arm?"
JD turned his head far enough to see his arm, wincing at the scrape of the rough rope over his skin. He seemed surprised at the bandage.
"Not sure. I guess I got shot . . . can't feel it, though. I think they might've given me something."
"A local anaesthetic, actually, Mr. Dunne."
Ezra and JD started at the unexpected voice, coming from behind them. Samuels strode into view, followed by the dealer - Ashley Caine - and one large man who was probably Samuels's remaining bodyguard. Caine was a taller, stronger-looking person than Samuels, though she seemed somehow less dangerous. That is, until Ezra saw her eyes.
A shudder ran through the Southerner. Caine's eyes were the eyes of a madwoman.
Samuels hooked the stool with his leg and smoothly sat down, gesturing for Caine to do the same. The dealer shook her head, pacing the width of the room, moving in and out of Ezra's sight. It made Ezra nervous, not being able to keep his eyes on the mad-eyed woman.
Samuels smiled. "It's nearly midnight, gentlemen. Soon I'll be contacting your friends to make sure they've procured the information they've been spending the past six hours running around like chickens with their heads cut off to get for me. I'd hate for that to have been a show, as it means I'll be forced to show them what happens when they disobey my orders. I'll be giving them their new instructions, and if they've done as I asked, they'll be allowed to speak to you. Before you get any ideas, Ashley is going to be here the entire time, and she does so love to use that gun of hers."
Ezra felt the noose around his neck tighten and he tensed apprehensively. Miraculously, the rope loosened and went slack. Samuels added, "You and Mr. Dunne have been lying here on a cold concrete floor for the better part of ten hours. Thought we'd let you stretch your legs - and take care of some business. I'm sure you know what I mean. Mikhail here will take you to the bathroom one at a time."
Hands on his shoulders hauled Ezra to his feet, and the noose tightened once again. He turned his head slightly and saw the end of the rope in the guard's hands, reminding him uncomfortably of a dog's leash. The muzzle of a gun pressed into the base of his neck, urging him forward. He glanced at JD, still lying flat on his back, and the younger man forced a smile. The guard nudged Ezra with the gun again, and the Southerner took a step towards the door that Samuels had indicated. The concrete was freezing against the soles of his feet - it explained why he couldn't feel his feet earlier. The chill had sunk bone-deep, making his steps awkward.
The guard removed his gun from Ezra's neck when they reached the door. He pushed Ezra forward and said, "You've got five minutes."
Ezra seized what he hoped was an opportunity to get free, holding up his hands. "This is going to be awkward with my hands bound like this."
The guard looked bored. "You'll manage. Go. Now."
Sighing, Ezra entered the small room and kicked the door closed behind him. They afforded him that much privacy, at least. The room was utilitarian; a shower in one corner, the toilet in another, a sink between them. He was grateful for the opportunity to make use of the bathroom, however; ten hours was a long time for any man to resist the call of nature.
Unzipping his pants was difficult with his hands bound, even though they were at least in front of him. Washing his hands was even more difficult, especially since the soap was extremely slippery and threatened to escape several times. He eventually managed to turn the taps back off and dry his hands on his thighs before knocking on the door. The guard pulled it open and took hold of the rope again, jerking Ezra back to the larger room.
The new perspective of the room didn't give Ezra any inspiration as to how they could escape. Windowless, it could have been below the ground or ten floors up for all he knew. He didn't have long to scrutinise his surroundings before the guard took him to one wall, where more metal rings were embedded in the plaster. He jerked the gun at Ezra and said, "Sit."
Ezra obeyed, seeing no other option. The man tied the end of Ezra's 'leash' to one of the rings, checking the knot carefully before moving to where JD was and untying the younger man. JD received the same treatment as Ezra - escorted to the bathroom at gunpoint and given five minutes' privacy - before he, too, was brought to the wall and tied in a sitting position. It was infinitely better than being forced to lie prone, but neither man could move far without the noose around his neck jerking him up short.
Samuels hadn't moved in the short time Ezra was out of the room, but Caine was still prowling the room. Now that he could see more of the room, Ezra could see a table with a new-looking phone sitting on it. Samuels looked at his watch and said, "Well, I'd say it's time."
He dialed a number and sat back to wait. The phone was answered on the first ring, and a familiar voice snapped, "Larabee."
"Mr. Larabee. Good to see that you can follow instructions. I trust Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Jackson are still with us?"
"Cut the crap, Samuels. Where are my men?"
Samuels laughed. "All in good time, Mr. Larabee. Did you get my information?"
"Yes." Ezra could hear Chris's frustration and anger in that single word. "Now let me talk to my agents."
"Very well." Samuels looked at JD. "Say hello to your friends, Mr. Dunne."
"JD? You okay?"
JD licked his lips and answered, "I'm okay, Chris. Got a headache, and my feet are kinda cold, but nothing bad."
"They haven't hurt you or Ez?" Chris pressed.
"We're okay," JD repeated. "You're gonna give yourself a heart attack, Chris."
Samuels turned his gaze to Ezra. "And now Mr. Standish."
"Ezra. You all right?" Ezra could hear a thousand questions in that one query, not the least of which was 'where are you and how can I get you out?' Unfortunately, he had no idea how to answer the unspoken queries and instead answered the spoken one.
"I am as well as can be expected, Mr. Larabee, as is Mr. Dunne. Circumstances have conspired to make our situation somewhat less than comfortable, but I am confident that you and our other friends will presently be rectifying that situation."
Vin muttered in the background, "Geez, Ezra, you couldn't just say 'I'm okay, get us out of here'?"
Ezra's mind was only half on what he could hear through the telephone; he was also watching Caine, who was steadily coming closer during her pacing. She was tapping a knife against her thigh as she walked, and her eyes were fixed on the two captives.
Samuels had turned back to the phone, turning his back on the captives. "Now, Mr. Larabee, you have obtained the information I require. Your next exercise is as follows. There is a park downtown, with a fountain in the middle. Young men and women enjoy congregating there," he said, sounding far older than his twenty-odd years. "Tomorrow at nine a.m., Mr. Tanner will take the information to this park, alone. If either you or Mr. Sanchez leaves the apartment, I will take it as a violation of my instructions and act in kind."
Ezra eyed Caine nervously. The woman was barely ten steps away from them. Samuels continued, "Mr. Tanner will see a young man sitting by the fountain. Undoubtedly he will be the only person his age awake at the time, so Mr. Tanner should have no problems locating him. He will have blonde hair, and will be wearing jeans and a leather jacket. Mr. Tanner will give the information to him, receive an envelope in return and go back to the apartment. Within the envelope will be your next set of instructions."
Caine knelt beside JD and raised the knife. She ran the blade down JD's jaw. JD shuddered and pulled away from Caine, but the woman grabbed JD's chin in her free hand and pressed the knife deeper. Droplets of blood formed around the sharp blade, eliciting a whimper from JD. Ezra hissed, "Leave him alone, Caine!"
The weapons dealer turned to Ezra, her eyes dangerously hard.
"Dogs shouldn't bark at their owner," she snapped, moving with lightning speed and striking the Southerner hard. Ezra couldn't help the exclamation of pain that escaped his lips as he was sent sprawling and jerked up short by the rope around his neck. Through the ringing in his ears, he vaguely heard JD cry out in alarm, and Chris's furious voice across the line.
"What the hell are you doing to them, Samuels?"
The rope, pulled tight by Ezra's momentum, made it hard to breathe. He gasped for breath, shocked by the harshness of the choking sounds that escaped his throat, and clawed at the rope with his bound hands. Caine loomed over him, knife in hand, and aimed a kick at his chest, snapping, "Some beasts just have to be taught how to behave."
Unable to do much to defend himself, Ezra raised his hands to protect his head and tried to avoid the worst blows, still struggling to breathe as the rope dug into his flesh, feeling as though it was ripping right through his throat.
**************************************************************************** *********
Ezra felt . . . dreadful. His mouth tasted as though something had crawled inside and died, and his head throbbed like that terrible music JD liked to listen to. Not to mention there was a spot on his chest that ached terribly. He wasn't sure how he'd come to be in this deplorable state, but somebody was going to pay. He suspected that somebody might be Buck and his liquor cabinet.
Now, what were his options this morning? He could get up, but that didn't sound particularly appealing right now. He could stay in bed - ah, the perfect choice. Sleep would cure the headache and that foul taste in his mouth.
Although now that he thought about it, his bed wasn't usually this hard. Or cold. And there most definitely shouldn't be the sweet, coppery scent of blood in his bedroom.
This meant something bad had happened.
Ezra lay still and thought back. He remembered the stakeout - Chris telling him and JD to leave - why? Oh, yes - their cover had been blown. Somehow the dealer and supplier had known they were there.
How odd. He was perfectly calm as he thought about what had probably caused his friends' deaths. Perhaps that was the cause for all the incongruities - perhaps one or more of the Seven had been killed, and he had gotten completely plastered and passed out in his living room, hitting his head as he fell. That would explain the hardness and chill, his headache and the scent of blood.
No, the taste in his mouth wasn't the taste that accompanied a hangover. It was decidedly medicinal. And the ache in his shoulder was still unaccounted for.
Was that it? Had he been injured during the bungled stakeout?
No, that was also wrong. Hospital beds might not be entirely comfortable, but they were infinitely more comfortable than this.
He turned his thoughts to what he could hear, feel and smell, not really wanting to open his eyes at the moment. Very well - what could he smell?
Dust. The musty smell that came from water on concrete. Sweat. Blood.
So, he was not at his home. There was no way he would let his place get so dusty. Next, what could he feel?
Not a lot, it turned out. His feet were as far removed from his body as the moon for all he could tell, and his hands were very nearly the same, save for a slight ache in his left hand. He could feel the cool concrete against his cheek as he lay there on his back, his head tilted to one side. A line of roughness on his neck, though he couldn't for the life of him decide what it was. If he weren't the type to wear silk ties instead of cheaper ones, he'd think that perhaps his tie was too tight, but silk didn't feel that rough.
That left what he could hear.
His own breathing, and heartbeat. That was a relief, he thought sardonically. Next - a far-off drip of water. That would explain the musty smell of water on concrete. There was something else - breathing. Not his own. He strained his ears, and made out two separate breathing patterns. Two people, then.
An amused chuckle met his ears.
"Have you quite finished, Mr. Standish?"
Ezra opened his eyes and sat up at the sound of his name. Attempted to sit up, at any rate. A sharp tug at his neck stopped him. He was suddenly aware that his hands were bound in front of him.
"I wouldn't advise moving too quickly, Mr. Standish, unless you have contrived a way to breathe without the benefit of a windpipe."
Ezra's sight was slightly blurred, but he could make out a dark shape seated not too far away. He blinked rapidly, and his vision began to clear. Enough for him to recognise the man as Jake Samuels, the supplier. A man who manufactured more weapons than any man should ever see in his life.
Samuels, a small-boned, almost delicate man with pale hair and cool grey eyes, was seated on a roughly-hewn wooden stool, dressed in casual dark grey slacks and a black shirt. He was leaning forward slightly, looking at Ezra with attentive eyes. There was something else reflected in those eyes - a shape not far from Ezra . . . the shape of another supine man.
Ezra turned his head slightly to peer beside him. A dark-haired form lay not a metre from him, hands bound together in front of him with duct tape, a rope snug around his neck and tied to a large metal ring set in the concrete floor.
Ezra's heart sank. JD.
He turned back to Samuels, taking care not to move his head enough to jerk the noose around his own neck. The grey-eyed man was watching him impassively.
"I assume there is a purpose to this?" Ezra asked, forcing his voice to stay calm. Samuels smiled.
"Of course, Mr. Standish. My colleague and I are playing a game with your associates. You and Mr. Dunne are the bait."
"You can't possibly think that my associates will be taken in by such a flimsy ruse, or allow you to dictate their actions, even under duress."
"On the contrary, Mr. Standish, I know that they will play this game, because if they don't they are going to be receiving pieces of yourself and Mr. Dunne in the post for several weeks. Accompanying these packages will be videotapes, so that your associates will know that the two of you are being kept alive and can feel every bit of agony as I remove another body part to send to them. After a few such packages, I am sure they will reconsider their stand."
Ezra swallowed, forcing the gory images from his mind. Samuels seemed amused by his reaction.
"However, I'm sure it won't have to come to that. Ashley is providing the first clue as we speak, and I will soon find out whether your friends are willing to play. Until I'm sure, you and Mr. Dunne will have to remain here. I apologise for the lack of comfort, but . . ." he spread his hands in a gesture of mock sympathy and helplessness. Then he stood, brushing off his hands. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Standish, I have plans to execute. I'll return when it's time for me to contact your friends."
Ezra watched him stride out, unnerved by the man's use of the word execute. The heavy click as the door closed told the Southerner that it was locked - not that he was in the position to escape anyhow. He turned his head again to look at JD, and noticed for the first time a white bandage around the young man's upper arm. He called JD's name, but received no response save JD's regular, even breathing. That was something, at least; he seemed to have merely been knocked out, not unconscious from blood loss or drugs.
With a sigh, Ezra turned his attention to the tape binding his hands.
**************************************************************************** *********
It had been four hours since Ezra and JD had been taken. Vin had bullied Chris into letting the doctors give his knee a proper examination, and their leader was now sitting on the edge of a bed with a bulky bandage around his knee, glowering at Vin. The sharpshooter met his gaze calmly.
"You know I was right to make you see a doctor, Chris. You can't help Ezra an' JD with a dislocated knee. Now stop glarin' at me an' -"
A nurse, entering the room, interrupted him. "Mr. Larabee, someone called the front desk asking for you. Do you want me to transfer the call here?"
Chris looked startled but nodded. The nurse smiled and returned to the front desk, pressing a button on the telephone. Chris picked up the phone in the room and snapped, "Larabee."
"Hello, Mr. Larabee. I hope your knee is feeling better," a male voice said. "I'm afraid Ashley was rather . . . impulsive, this morning. I understand Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Jackson have yet to wake up. My condolences. I know what it is to be at risk of losing a colleague."
"Enough small talk," Chris snapped. "Where are JD and Ezra?"
"My, you are focused. A videotape will be arriving in approximately ten minutes. Watch it. It will give you your instructions."
"Wait! Damn it . . ."
A dial tone filled Chris's ears. He slammed the phone down and looked at Vin and Josiah.
"That was the bastard who has JD and Ezra. He's sent us a videotape with our 'instructions' on it. Says it'll be here in ten minutes."
Josiah immediately left in search of a TV and VCR. Vin asked urgently, "Did he say anythin' about JD an' Ezra?"
"No. Nothing."
Josiah returned a few minutes later with a TV on wheels, having cajoled the nurse into letting him borrow it. He spent the next several minutes hooking up the various cords and fiddling at the back, refusing to make eye contact with either Chris or Vin. They could hear him praying quietly.
Chris got off the bed and began to pace, limping due to the stiffness and pain in his knee. His progress was halted by Vin's hand on his chest. He looked up and raised his eyebrows.
"You want something, Vin?"
"Yeah," Vin said firmly, "Sit. Now."
Chris did so, complaining, "I'm supposed to be the one doing that, Vin. God knows I've done it to you and . . . JD . . . often enough."
"You don't like being on the receivin' end, maybe you shouldn't be so quick to try an' keep us in bed," Vin shot back, ignoring Chris's hesitation at speaking JD's name. He was as worried about JD and Ezra as Chris was, but he recognised that until the man who held them captive sent instructions, there was little they could do to help their friends. Keeping Chris from flying off the handle and injuring himself further was important, since he'd be no help at all if he was stuck in a hospital room.
A few minutes passed before a youth dressed in a courier's uniform knocked on the open door. "'Scuse me. Nurse says there's a Mr. Larabee in here?"
Chris nodded and the boy moved forward with his clipboard, a brown paper package tucked under his arm. "Sign here, please."
Vin studied the boy, wondering if he was a part of the whole mess. He looked young - seventeen or eighteen, perhaps; a few years younger than JD - and innocent; but then wasn't that what JD was always complaining about? That he looked so young that nobody would take him seriously as an ATF agent? This boy was different, though, Vin decided; he moved naturally, showing no sign that he knew what he was delivering. He no doubt had no connections to the man holding Ezra and JD, and was just doing what he was paid for.
Chris scribbled his signature on the clipboard and took the package from the courier. The boy smiled and chirped, "Have a nice day!" before leaving the hospital room, nodding politely to the nurses on duty.
God, he reminded Vin of JD. Which just made the sharpshooter want to track down his missing friends all the sooner.
Chris tore open the paper, shoved the unlabeled video into the VCR and pressed 'play'. Josiah had the foresight to close the door to their room, so that they could view the tape uninterrupted. They had no idea what they would see, and had no desire to upset the nurses or doctors. Chris sat on the edge of the bed, looking as though he was about to explode into action. Josiah took one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, while Vin paced behind them both, his eyes fixed on the screen.
The screen was blank for an unbearably long moment before flickering to life. Jake Samuels, the supplier, sat on a wooden stool, a strange smile on his face. They could see the man operating the camera reflected in his eyes, but no details were clear. When he spoke, Chris said tightly, "He's the one who called."
"Good . . ." he checked his watch, "morning, gentlemen. Although it's evening while you're watching this, isn't it? By now I'm sure Mr. Larabee has informed you as to the situation involving Mr. Dunne and Mr. Standish. Naturally you're concerned about their wellbeing, so allow me to put your fears to rest."
The camera panned across a featureless room - concrete floor, whitewashed walls, a faint dripping noise. Vin stopped pacing and canted his upper body slightly forward, as though imprinting every detail in his mind. As the camera stopped, Josiah let out a low moan and Chris thanked God that Buck wasn't here to see this.
Ezra and JD were both lying on their backs on the concrete floor, their hands duct-taped in front of them. JD's upper arm was bandaged and a bruise discoloured his right temple. A lopsided circle of blood stained Ezra's shirt near the shoulder. Both men had rope nooses around their necks, attached to a large metal ring embedded in the floor, and both were clearly unconscious. Ezra's jacket had been removed, and neither agent wore shoes or socks.
Samuels continued, "As you can see, Mr. Dunne and Mr. Standish are relatively unharmed, aside from injuries received while we were accosting them. That can - and will - change if you decide to ignore what I tell you and attempt to locate your associates on your own. If you disobey my instructions, you will be receiving parts of Mr. Standish and Mr. Dunne for the next several weeks. And I will keep them alive until the time I send you their heads."
Chris swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying not to imagine the sounds of Ezra and JD screaming as Samuels hacked off parts of them. The man on the video chuckled, as though he could see Chris's reaction.
"I'm sure that has convinced you to cooperate with me. Now, these are your first instructions. There is a certain man living in this city that I wish to get in contact with. His name is Jason Cummerford. You have until midnight tonight - which, I believe, is six hours away - to locate him. A telephone number, an address, an email, I don't care what. You will find a way for me to contact Jason Cummerford. At precisely midnight, you will be at Mr. Tanner's apartment. I will contact you there, to take the information and to give you further instructions."
The camera panned back to the still-unconscious forms of Ezra and JD as Samuels added, "And gentlemen, don't even think of trying to find us. You may notify the proper authorities, if it makes you happy, but they will be unable to find me either. The only way you will know that your friends will continue to be in one piece is if you obey my orders perfectly. And do take care of Mr. Jackson and Mr. Wilmington. If you violate my instructions, you will need them to prevent your team being named the Three Musketeers."
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Ezra struggled with the tape around his wrists until his skin was raw and bleeding. Samuels had been gone for the better half of the day - Ezra had kept track of the passing time, since Samuels hadn't thought to take his watch - but try as he might, he couldn't budge the tape wrapped around tightly his wrists. Even his teeth hadn't been able to rip the tape, though he suspected his orthodontist would be rather angry with him at his next appointment.
When he stopped fighting the tape, he noticed JD watching him with tired eyes. "What're you doing, Ezra?"
"I am attempting to facilitate our escape," Ezra replied, letting his hands fall back down. His arms were sore, and his efforts had caused the rope around his neck to chafe his skin. He could feel a slow, warm trickle of blood down the side of his neck, and the abraded skin beneath the rope burned.
"How'd we get caught?" JD asked. The note of confusion in his voice alarmed Ezra. He glanced sharply at JD and was concerned to see the slight glaze of his eyes, the dilated pupils.
"Judging from the ache in my shoulder and the blood on my shirt, I seem to have been neutralised though the utilization of a tranquiliser dart. Do you recall how you were captured?" Ezra asked, keeping the concern from his voice. It wouldn't do JD any good to know that Ezra was worried about him.
"I heard a noise behind me," JD replied slowly. "I guess they must have hit me with something . . . my head kinda hurts."
"What happened to your arm?"
JD turned his head far enough to see his arm, wincing at the scrape of the rough rope over his skin. He seemed surprised at the bandage.
"Not sure. I guess I got shot . . . can't feel it, though. I think they might've given me something."
"A local anaesthetic, actually, Mr. Dunne."
Ezra and JD started at the unexpected voice, coming from behind them. Samuels strode into view, followed by the dealer - Ashley Caine - and one large man who was probably Samuels's remaining bodyguard. Caine was a taller, stronger-looking person than Samuels, though she seemed somehow less dangerous. That is, until Ezra saw her eyes.
A shudder ran through the Southerner. Caine's eyes were the eyes of a madwoman.
Samuels hooked the stool with his leg and smoothly sat down, gesturing for Caine to do the same. The dealer shook her head, pacing the width of the room, moving in and out of Ezra's sight. It made Ezra nervous, not being able to keep his eyes on the mad-eyed woman.
Samuels smiled. "It's nearly midnight, gentlemen. Soon I'll be contacting your friends to make sure they've procured the information they've been spending the past six hours running around like chickens with their heads cut off to get for me. I'd hate for that to have been a show, as it means I'll be forced to show them what happens when they disobey my orders. I'll be giving them their new instructions, and if they've done as I asked, they'll be allowed to speak to you. Before you get any ideas, Ashley is going to be here the entire time, and she does so love to use that gun of hers."
Ezra felt the noose around his neck tighten and he tensed apprehensively. Miraculously, the rope loosened and went slack. Samuels added, "You and Mr. Dunne have been lying here on a cold concrete floor for the better part of ten hours. Thought we'd let you stretch your legs - and take care of some business. I'm sure you know what I mean. Mikhail here will take you to the bathroom one at a time."
Hands on his shoulders hauled Ezra to his feet, and the noose tightened once again. He turned his head slightly and saw the end of the rope in the guard's hands, reminding him uncomfortably of a dog's leash. The muzzle of a gun pressed into the base of his neck, urging him forward. He glanced at JD, still lying flat on his back, and the younger man forced a smile. The guard nudged Ezra with the gun again, and the Southerner took a step towards the door that Samuels had indicated. The concrete was freezing against the soles of his feet - it explained why he couldn't feel his feet earlier. The chill had sunk bone-deep, making his steps awkward.
The guard removed his gun from Ezra's neck when they reached the door. He pushed Ezra forward and said, "You've got five minutes."
Ezra seized what he hoped was an opportunity to get free, holding up his hands. "This is going to be awkward with my hands bound like this."
The guard looked bored. "You'll manage. Go. Now."
Sighing, Ezra entered the small room and kicked the door closed behind him. They afforded him that much privacy, at least. The room was utilitarian; a shower in one corner, the toilet in another, a sink between them. He was grateful for the opportunity to make use of the bathroom, however; ten hours was a long time for any man to resist the call of nature.
Unzipping his pants was difficult with his hands bound, even though they were at least in front of him. Washing his hands was even more difficult, especially since the soap was extremely slippery and threatened to escape several times. He eventually managed to turn the taps back off and dry his hands on his thighs before knocking on the door. The guard pulled it open and took hold of the rope again, jerking Ezra back to the larger room.
The new perspective of the room didn't give Ezra any inspiration as to how they could escape. Windowless, it could have been below the ground or ten floors up for all he knew. He didn't have long to scrutinise his surroundings before the guard took him to one wall, where more metal rings were embedded in the plaster. He jerked the gun at Ezra and said, "Sit."
Ezra obeyed, seeing no other option. The man tied the end of Ezra's 'leash' to one of the rings, checking the knot carefully before moving to where JD was and untying the younger man. JD received the same treatment as Ezra - escorted to the bathroom at gunpoint and given five minutes' privacy - before he, too, was brought to the wall and tied in a sitting position. It was infinitely better than being forced to lie prone, but neither man could move far without the noose around his neck jerking him up short.
Samuels hadn't moved in the short time Ezra was out of the room, but Caine was still prowling the room. Now that he could see more of the room, Ezra could see a table with a new-looking phone sitting on it. Samuels looked at his watch and said, "Well, I'd say it's time."
He dialed a number and sat back to wait. The phone was answered on the first ring, and a familiar voice snapped, "Larabee."
"Mr. Larabee. Good to see that you can follow instructions. I trust Mr. Wilmington and Mr. Jackson are still with us?"
"Cut the crap, Samuels. Where are my men?"
Samuels laughed. "All in good time, Mr. Larabee. Did you get my information?"
"Yes." Ezra could hear Chris's frustration and anger in that single word. "Now let me talk to my agents."
"Very well." Samuels looked at JD. "Say hello to your friends, Mr. Dunne."
"JD? You okay?"
JD licked his lips and answered, "I'm okay, Chris. Got a headache, and my feet are kinda cold, but nothing bad."
"They haven't hurt you or Ez?" Chris pressed.
"We're okay," JD repeated. "You're gonna give yourself a heart attack, Chris."
Samuels turned his gaze to Ezra. "And now Mr. Standish."
"Ezra. You all right?" Ezra could hear a thousand questions in that one query, not the least of which was 'where are you and how can I get you out?' Unfortunately, he had no idea how to answer the unspoken queries and instead answered the spoken one.
"I am as well as can be expected, Mr. Larabee, as is Mr. Dunne. Circumstances have conspired to make our situation somewhat less than comfortable, but I am confident that you and our other friends will presently be rectifying that situation."
Vin muttered in the background, "Geez, Ezra, you couldn't just say 'I'm okay, get us out of here'?"
Ezra's mind was only half on what he could hear through the telephone; he was also watching Caine, who was steadily coming closer during her pacing. She was tapping a knife against her thigh as she walked, and her eyes were fixed on the two captives.
Samuels had turned back to the phone, turning his back on the captives. "Now, Mr. Larabee, you have obtained the information I require. Your next exercise is as follows. There is a park downtown, with a fountain in the middle. Young men and women enjoy congregating there," he said, sounding far older than his twenty-odd years. "Tomorrow at nine a.m., Mr. Tanner will take the information to this park, alone. If either you or Mr. Sanchez leaves the apartment, I will take it as a violation of my instructions and act in kind."
Ezra eyed Caine nervously. The woman was barely ten steps away from them. Samuels continued, "Mr. Tanner will see a young man sitting by the fountain. Undoubtedly he will be the only person his age awake at the time, so Mr. Tanner should have no problems locating him. He will have blonde hair, and will be wearing jeans and a leather jacket. Mr. Tanner will give the information to him, receive an envelope in return and go back to the apartment. Within the envelope will be your next set of instructions."
Caine knelt beside JD and raised the knife. She ran the blade down JD's jaw. JD shuddered and pulled away from Caine, but the woman grabbed JD's chin in her free hand and pressed the knife deeper. Droplets of blood formed around the sharp blade, eliciting a whimper from JD. Ezra hissed, "Leave him alone, Caine!"
The weapons dealer turned to Ezra, her eyes dangerously hard.
"Dogs shouldn't bark at their owner," she snapped, moving with lightning speed and striking the Southerner hard. Ezra couldn't help the exclamation of pain that escaped his lips as he was sent sprawling and jerked up short by the rope around his neck. Through the ringing in his ears, he vaguely heard JD cry out in alarm, and Chris's furious voice across the line.
"What the hell are you doing to them, Samuels?"
The rope, pulled tight by Ezra's momentum, made it hard to breathe. He gasped for breath, shocked by the harshness of the choking sounds that escaped his throat, and clawed at the rope with his bound hands. Caine loomed over him, knife in hand, and aimed a kick at his chest, snapping, "Some beasts just have to be taught how to behave."
Unable to do much to defend himself, Ezra raised his hands to protect his head and tried to avoid the worst blows, still struggling to breathe as the rope dug into his flesh, feeling as though it was ripping right through his throat.
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