Anticipaiton
by Brandgwen
Disclaimer: Profiler is the property of NBC and Sander/Moses. The Magnificent Seven is the property of Watson/Densham and CBS. The ATF universe belongs to Mog. I'm not making any money, I'm not worth suing.
Ezra had been feeling pretty pleased with himself, when he had sent that message to Chris. It would be a major sale, an important bust, and not just anyone could have gotten an invitation, especially after only a month. He wished he could deliver the message in person. Larabee had taken a risk in signing the former FBI misfit to his group. In return, Ezra worked hard to deserve that chance. He actually enjoyed providing his boss with results; payment of a debt.
Instead, Ezra had to settle for attending the inter-agency meeting, held the evening before the bust. The ATF and FBI both wanted to be running the show. Both had contributed large amounts of information to the investiagtion and both needed convictions for the two ringleaders. Ezra had watched, silent, as representatives from both parties argued for position. DA Travis also sat in silence, as he assessed each alternative.
"Our operatives have been working on the drug ring for years. We have hundreds of thousands of man-hours invested." whined the head of the FBI investigation.
"We have just as much to lose, if you screw up the importer bust," returned Larabee. The look on his face showed he had every intention of leading this raid. Were Ezra a betting man, his money would have been on the ATF.
"The information we have on both suspects far outweighs yours. We've had eleven undercovers involved over five years!"
"Sure, but ours got in," Larabee smiled.
Ezra couldn't believe his ears. Larabee was gloating. He was actually participating in the sworded cross-agency rivalry and he was playing dirty. Well, well, you are full of surprises. Standish decided to help. "If I may draw your attention to one small detail, District Attorney Travis?" the DA nodded, "I will be participating in this production blind; while my own actions will be scrutinised thoroughly, I will have no way of monitoring the actions of my colleagues. I believe my familiarity with Agent Larabee's methods would prove advantageous, should an anomalous factor alter the pre-existing formulation."
The judge nodded, Larabee grinned and the FBI agent looked confused, as if still trying to unravel the undercover's words. Exactly what Standish had intended.
It was in Nathan Jackson's nature to worry about his friends. Having been trained as a medic in the Gulf War, he was always first to see to their bullet wounds, to tell the group how badly a team member had been hurt or translate the medical jargon thrown at them while they sat in hospital waiting rooms. In Nathan's opinion, he had every right to be overprotective - other people's injuries were hard work for him. However, listening to the southern undercover speak through the headphones made Jackson acutely aware of how far away Ezra was. Nate would not be there, should something go wrong. Ezra was on his own.
Nathan sat listening to the signal transmitted from a wire sewn into Ezra's shirt. The signal was weak and Nathan had to turn the volume up high. The background noise coming through the headphones hid a lot of the conversation. Later, he would have to dampen that down.
"Come on, Standish, just a bit closer to the action."
The undercover was as close as he could get, without drawing attention to himself. In fact, knowing Standish, he was probably a little closer than was safe. Nathan suspected Ezra got a real buzz out of undercover work. The charming agent spent his whole life manipulating those around him to suit his own purposes. Undercover, he got to put those somewhat dubious talents of his to good use. On a case, Ezra would put everything on the line to get the best approach to the suspect, the right piece of evidence. If something went wrong, Standish could always talk his way out of it. So far, this approach had not got the agent killed, but Nate was worried it was a matter of time.
Nathan Jackson did not understand his colleague at all. At the start of their relationship, his opinion of the man swung between disgust at his blatant disregard for others to admiration for his professional ability. Rationally, Nathan suspected Ezra was neither criminal nor hero; he was just another human being, living his life and doing the job as best he could. It was this human being for whom Jackson now feared.
Josiah Sanchez entered the van, baring steaming coffee and sandwiches from the nearby deli. "I miss anything?"
Jackson shook his head and took one of the cups of coffee. The two had been listening to the wire for four hours, now. Certainly not a marathon effort, but enough to warrant a caffeine hit.
Josiah picked up his set of headphones and resumed the vigil. "If you need a break, I can take care of this for a while."
Nathan shook his head, again. Although his tall frame needed a stretch and his head ached from sitting in the close, dark space, he did not want to leave his post. While he could hear the southerner talk and move, he was okay, everything was going to plan.
Josiah understood his partner's need to keep his ear of proceedings. Sanchez, too, hated being a fly-on-the-wall, unable to alter the situation he monitored. He hated that his friend was at risk, while he, himself, was safe. Ezra Standish was certainly one of a kind. Unlike Jackson, Josiah had never even tried to understand Ezra. There were too many pieces which didn't fit together. Instead, Josiah tolerated the man's bouts of self absorbtion, revelled in his acts of kindness and returned what friendship was offered, unconditionally.
As Sanchez listened, the signal became stronger. Ezra had found a way to move closer the the dealer's conversation. Josiah hoped he wasn't risking too much.