Pretty Pictures (ATF)

by Brandgwen

Disclaimer: The guys belong to Mirisch, etc., the universe belongs to Mog, "Addicted to Bass" belongs to Daemion/Abrahams (copyright 1998 Prozaac Recordings) and "Last Ditch Cabaret" belongs to Mark Seymour (copyright 1997 Mushroom Records). Ezra's past is the sum of previous fanfics, but the rest comes purely from my head, so don't hold me to any facts. I'm not making money, I'm not worth suing.
Author's Note: This fanfic is the first in the Deep Cover series.

Conners

The first photograph was of a tall, distinguished looking man aged in his late fifties. The CEO of the company, Francis Conners was clothed in a very expensive suit and his grooming was impeccable. He had an air about him that both commanded respect and exuded respectability. Ezra had been concerned about getting past Conners; not that he didn't believe that he could fool him, Ezra just didn't think the man would trust anyone. Not quickly, anyway.

Ezra's contact, a weaselly person named Curtis, fidgeted nervously, as Conners inspected the undercover.

"He's perfect, Boss, I promise. A real expert," he half assured, half pleaded. Ezra hoped Curtis did not blow his cover. Fear was evident in the man's every action and expression.

Evidently, Conners was accustomed to such fear and took little notice. He addressed Ezra directly. "Why should I hire you? What do I know about you, other than what this snivelling sycophant tells me?"

Ezra smiled, wondering if Conners expected him to be intimidated by ten dollar words. He relpied in a confident and well-practised Northern accent, "Mr Conners, I'm sure you can and will check my background for yourself. A man doesn't reach your position without a reliable information network. Dig around, I'm in no hurry - you're the one without a security expert."

Conners' eyes narrowed. This one was almost too confident. Arrogance, however, seemed to be requisite in a good bodyguard - only men who believed themselves invincible would take such a job. "Believe me when I say I will be checking you out. I'll be in touch."

Ezra watched the businessman stride away. He was certain the background Larabee had set up for him would withstand the scrutiny. Larabee was nothing if not thorough. Everything was going to plan. Ezra nodded to Curtis and walked back to his car.

Conners called within three hours. Ezra was impressed by the speed at which the man had done his research. The undercover would have to keep that in mind, should he be forced to deviate from his original story. A meeting was set up in Conners' office, 9 am the following morning.

"Good morning, Mr Mitchell," the greeting was cordial, if not welcoming.

"Mr Conners," Ezra replied with a nod, not intimidated.

The CEO motioned for Ezra to sit, then got right down to business. "I've checked your information, Mr. Mitchell. You've been a busy boy. Arms trafficking in South America, drugs in Europe. How did you find the time?"

"When dealing in arms and drugs, Mr Conners, it is usually wise to keep moving. If you stay in one job too long, the authorities tend to catch up. As it is, no one can prove I was ever in either of those places."

"How long do you intend to stay in this occupation? I have no need for a security expert who will desert me in a month."

Ezra smiled. "A legitimate position like this one? I would be a fool to leave it."

This Mitchell was no fool, you could see that plain as day. Conners found himself wishing he could trust him; if loyal, the man would undoubtedly be an asset. But one could not go putting faith in people they had only just met. "I'm afraid you are unsuitable for my purposes, Mr Mitchell. One of my security people will see you out."

Ezra groaned, inwardly. Realistically, he had known that getting inside the operation would not be so easy, but Conners scheduling a meeting did seem promising. As he as shown out of the building, be took in every detail he could, unsure if he would see the inside again.

The small red light reflecting off the linoleum floor tiles could have been anything. It was, in fact, coming from a timed detonator, attached to an explosive device, taped under a table. Apparently, the company had enemies other than the ATF. No one had even noticed it, but Ezra's expert eye detected it in an instant. Standish approached the table, reaching his hand underneath.

"Hey, Mitchell, I was told to see you out, not give you a guided tour," the security guard was both annoyed and nervous.

"One moment," Ezra pulled the bomb out from under the table and quickly disconnected a series of wires, disarming it. "Shouldn't one of you boys have picked up on this?"

The guard's eyes grew wide and he quickly marched to an internal telephone. He spoke briefly and in a matter of minutes the building was swarming with guards, sweeping for additional explosives. He then lead the smug Standish back up to Conners' office.

"Mitchell, I hear you've saved me a bit of trouble," this one act of good faith was all the excuse Conners needed to take a chance on this new man, "perhaps I was hasty in dismissing you. Start tomorrow, early. There will be a meeting in the boardroom, 9 am. I expect you to see the room cleared of listening devices... and explosives." With that, Conners turned his attention to a folder on his desk; a silent dismissal.

Ezra exited the building, this time without escort. He could barely keep a grin from creeping across his face. The boardroom would be free of explosives. The only listening devices would belong to the ATF.