Part 2
Ezra dreamed of fireworks. Red, white and blue explosions that rained nails and metal while accompanied by a full piece orchestra. He stood back and watched as the instrumentalists sat calmly attentive to their music, oblivious to the panic and chaos of a crowd of people madly trying to escape the carnage. Ezra frowned. The dream fragments were oddly familiar. The music swelled above the continuing explosions and screams, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on the arrangement. Suddenly, the dream changed to memories. Clearer pictures of actual events he knew he had witnessed in person. The red, white and blue changed into the flashing lights of emergency response vehicles. The music was the Olympic anthem.
"Atlanta." Ezra realized he was awake when he heard himself speak. "John Michael Clark." As soon as the name was spoken, all the connections he'd been struggling to make fell rapidly into place. Quickly, he jumped out of bed and pulled a pair of silk pajama pants on over his designer boxers. He ignored his slight dizziness as he easily moved down the darkened hallway and into the tiny room he'd turned into a study. A glorified closet; his desk, a bookshelf and a small filing cabinet were all that fit into the space. He flipped the light on and squinted against the sudden brightness as he sat down in the padded office chair and turned on the computer.
Long, graceful fingers skimmed through a box of computer disks until he found the one he was looking for and popped it into the PC's disk drive. Ezra drummed his fingers on the desktop anxiously, while the other hand guided the mouse, clicking the appropriate icons and pulling up the file he wanted.
"Ezra? What are you doing up?"
Ezra looked up, slightly startled, at Chris. He'd forgotten Larabee was staying in the guestroom.
Chris leaned tiredly against the doorjamb. He ran one hand through his spiked blond hair while the other adjusted the waistband of his sweatpants.
"John Michael Clark," Ezra answered simply.
"Who?" Chris looked confused.
"The case." Ezra pointed to the monitor. "The similarities I was seeing but couldn't remember. They finally came together. I think our bomber might be John Michael Clark."
"The Olympic bomber?" Chris moved into the room then, suddenly very awake considering that it was four in the morning. "They've been searching the North Carolina woods for him for years now."
Ezra nodded. "I was still in Atlanta when the bombings occurred. Not assigned to the case, of course." A hint of bitterness colored his tone. "But I kept track of things and gathered some information on my own." He indicated the screen.
"How'd you get all this?" Chris looked from the confidentially marked information to his undercover agent.
"Let's just say when they weren't making my life a living hell, no one in the FBI was paying much attention to me."
"That was stupid…" Chris grinned sardonically and skimmed the page on the screen. "Damn. His signature matches our bomber exact. Roofing nails, duct tape, directional plate, even the delayed second bomb."
Ezra sat back, thinking. "There's been no 'Army of Justice' letter claiming responsibility though."
"No, but the letters were always questioned for their validity. Lots of experts thought he was just B S'ing." Chris stood up straight. "Can you print all this out for us?"
"Of course." Ezra entered the commands.
"If we're looking for Clark, the FBI is going to step in," Chris admitted out loud.
"Southeastern Bomb Task Force," Ezra said. "Think they'll work with us?"
"They better." Chris looked at the papers printing out and picked up the top one. A black and white photo of Clark stared back at him. "What brings you out west, Clark?" His voice soft but threatening. "Why'd you come out of hiding now?"
John Michael Clark stared at his slightly blurred reflection in the hotel's warped mirror and sighed heavily. He ran a hand over his face and wondered if he'd ever recognize his image again. His beard was full now, and neatly trimmed to avoid drawing unwanted attention. His light brown hair was now almost black, leaving his normally tanned skin looking pale even on his healthiest days.
At least his eyes were familiar. He'd tried tinted contacts once, before Birmingham and the escape into the mountains, but life as a survivalist didn't lend itself to dealing regularly with rudiments of contacts. He figured his brown eyes were normal and ordinary enough to not call attention to him anymore than anything else might.
Shaking his head, John smiled and turned to the main part of the hotel room. He sank down on the edge of the double bed and checked the device one more time to assure him it was perfect. A normal fugitive would have stayed hidden he supposed. Then again, he'd never been one for normalcy. He'd spent over a year holed up in North Carolina, laughing silently as he watched the Feds bring in expert after expert to search for him. They were still looking.
Laughing out loud now, Clark packed his current creations into a simple duffel bag and cleaned up the slight mess he'd made putting them together. He knew he was tempting fate by starting his campaign again, but his name had been out of the news for too long now. He missed the rush of adrenaline that accompanied each mission. He missed the sensations he felt every time he heard his name spoken on air or saw it in print. Let the Feds theorize about his motives, let them think he was fighting in the 'Army of Justice.'
"God, they'll believe anything," he thought. Truth was, he just enjoyed the game. He loved the hunt, the thrill of knowing he was always one step ahead of the hunters, constantly changing the rules of the game.
Picking up the week old Denver paper, Clark read the headline for the hundredth time "ATF's Magnificent 7 Honored at Fund Raiser." He couldn't help but scoff as he skimmed the article he'd already committed to memory. He didn't put much stock into newspaper reports, especially since anything he'd read about himself usually still had him back east. This article, however, had piqued his curiosity. Clark wanted to see for himself how good this ATF team really was.
The picture that accompanied the article was of the team's leader accepting the mentioned honor, shaking hands with some bureaucrat. Clark studied the grainy color photo, carefully sizing up the man. Chris Larabee seemed to tower over the other man. He looked uncomfortable in front of the cameras and though he had smiled for the photographer's sake, Clark could see clearly the seriousness that drove the man. There was something behind Larabee's eyes that warned Clark and reminded him. Though the game was fun, it was real and complicated. This adversary would present a true challenge.
John Michael smiled and tossed the paper aside, wondering if his name had even come up yet in the 24-hour-old investigation. "Let's get on with the game, Agent Larabee," he said as he carefully slung his bag over his shoulder. "Time for round two."
Team Seven stood stoically behind the yellow tape and protective barrier as they watched the bomb squad secure the burned out and still smoking church building. Two men in full protective gear were slowly moving towards the area where a second bomb had been found.
"I can't believe he bombed a church," JD muttered shaking his head in disgust.
"Kind of shoots a hole in the 'religious right' theory doesn't it?" Buck looked at Josiah for an answer.
Josiah shrugged slowly. "This church was in the news this week for its controversial stand on some liberal ideas. Could have made it a target, or…"
"Or he's jerking us around," Vin filled in.
Josiah laughed lightly. "Or that."
Chris and Ezra exchanged a look that Vin noticed. "What are you two up to?" he asked.
"We have a theory on our suspect," Chris answered.
"Just a theory?" Nathan asked. His attention was focused on the bomb squad, but he was obviously listening to the conversation around him.
"Pretty strong one." Chris motioned to Ezra, who merely said the suspect's name.
"John Michael Clark."
For a moment there were only the sounds of the site around them, the five other team members all turning to stare at Chris and Ezra.
"Can you repeat that?" Buck finally asked.
Ezra obliged.
"That's what I thought you said." Buck looked from Ezra to Chris. "You're serious?"
Chris nodded. "Ezra and I have been up since 4 going over information on Clark. Only details that don't match up…" Chris motioned towards the destroyed building, "is the acceleration of the bombings and the target being a church."
"So we could be dealing with a copy cat?" Nathan asked hopefully.
Josiah shook his head. "Not likely, though anything is possible. Where'd you get info on Clark?" He looked at Ezra.
Ezra smiled innocently at first, but then turned serious. "By the time of the bombings in Atlanta, I'd pretty much been reduced to research and grunge work," he admitted heavily.
"Did you do your own profile on him?" Josiah knew how detailed Ezra tended to be when preparing his information for undercover work.
Chris held up the expandable file he'd been holding under one arm.
"Hey, they're waving us all clear," JD pointed out.
"This means the FBI will be taking over?" Vin's question was more of a statement.
Chris nodded. "We'll be asked to assist." He watched the team suppress a collective groan as they moved toward the site. He had absolute faith in his team's ability. For as diverse a collection of personalities as they had, working together they were the best, but for as good as they could be… Chris knew, his team did not fall back and 'assist' well.
Ezra muttered to himself about filth and looked at his gloved hand with a frown. He was pathetically filthy, his head was pounding and unfortunately he was tired of searching the charred ground for bomb remains. The blast, like the others, had been concentrated on the church's entryway. With Team Four pulled off the case, that left Team Seven with more of the menial labor than normal. Ezra grimaced, thinking of Clark laying in wait for the church secretary and her husband to show up before he detonated the bomb. If there was anything to be thankful for, it was that it wasn't Sunday morning. Carefully, he finished bagging another twisted nail and labeled the bag, looking up in time to see Nathan heading towards him.
"Ezra." Nathan called out as he approached.
"Have you come to relieve me of this distasteful task, Mr. Jackson?" Ezra stretched and forced himself not to rub his aching temple.
Nathan smiled genuinely and nodded. "We need to meet, the FBI arrived."
"Joy."
Nathan chuckled at the sarcasm, knowing Ezra's history with the rival organization was filled with more disappointments and betrayals than Ezra would ever admit. Together the men headed towards the area that'd been set up for meetings and breaks. Ezra turned in the latest bag of evidence and grabbed a bottle of water as he walked by the table covered with soft drinks, coffee and a few bottles of juice. Nathan watched him closely, searching for signs of how the Southerner was feeling. It was like pulling teeth to get more than 'I'm fine' from any of the men he worked with and there were days he wondered why he bothered to worry about their health since they certainly didn't. Ezra took a long drink and met Nathan's eyes over the water bottle, letting him know with a look that he was well aware of the former medic's scrutiny. Nathan merely shrugged and turned to the heated discussion already underway.
"You're the one who called us in here." An angry FBI agent was right up in Chris' face. "I want to know what makes you think YOU know Clark is involved." The agent was obviously unaware of Chris' reputation, daring even to stick a finger in Larabee's face. Chris for his part was keeping control of his anger, but his teammates could see that he was reaching the breaking point quickly.
"Back off Barnes," an authoritative voice ordered.
Agent Barnes spun around suddenly. "But of all the ludicrous ideas…" Barnes stopped abruptly when he made eye contact with his superior.
The older man smiled knowingly and shook his head to the side, directing Barnes to get out of there. Running a hand through his curly red hair, the younger man scowled back at the ATF agents and hurried toward the site. Once the belligerent agent was out of earshot, Chris looked at the new man and couldn't suppress his relieved grin.
"Need to keep your men in line there,Downing." He reached out and took the extended hand. "One of these days they're gonna tick off someone with less patience than me."
Downing burst out laughing. "There's not a snowball's chance in Hades that you have ever had any patience, Larabee. I'm just glad I got here before you let loose on the boy."
Chris feigned a look of shock then turned towards the team, watching with confused amusement. "Agent Payton Downing," he introduced quickly. "We've worked together a few times," he answered the unasked questions. " I figured they'd send in the southeast team," he told Downing.
"Oh they'll be here this afternoon. Flights are delayed by bad weather right now," Downing explained, adjusting his FBI baseball cap more firmly onto his balding head. "We're here to start the preliminaries, get the rundown and make sure you guys aren't just full of…"
"Hey," Chris cut him off with a scowl. "We've got a total of three dead now with this morning's bomb." He motioned towards the church. "We're not horsing around here."
Downing held up his hands in surrender. " I know that, Larabee, just tell me what you got."
"John Michael Clark."
Downing's eyes narrowed. "You are sure?"
"95 %," Chris answered. "We've been going through details half the night."
"Well, you best go over them again, with me now. I'm gonna need something valid to say when Southeast arrives."
Clark adjusted the focus on his binoculars and pointed them in the direction of the church. He found his target and slowly smiled. Agent Larabee was talking to a FBI man. If the FBI were moving in, it could mean that his name had come up.
Turning slightly, he watched the six men with Larabee. Obviously the so-called 'Magnificent' ones. They didn't look like much from this angle, he thought. The big man with the beard looked like he should be applying for retirement while the kid next to him looked more like he was still in high school. Beside them a taller dark haired man stood, pointing out something on a piece of paper with one hand and rubbing at his mustache with the other. From the exchange, Clark could tell immediately that the kid and the mustache were close and noted that fact. He watched the black man hand another paper to the trio and point over something of obvious importance. He wondered if they were talking about him. Shifting back to Larabee again, Clark watched the conversation with the FBI man unfold, trying to read their lips but he was too far away. There was another ATF agent next to Larabee, who looked like he was monopolizing a good portion of the conversation. The slim agent motioned confidently toward the papers spread out on the table between the agents, as if he was explaining whatever was on them. Clark frowned; the guy was definitely one of the seven, but who was he and what was he telling the FBI? He certainly didn't look very threatening. The brown haired agent was dressed in jeans and light blue button down, but carried himself like he was in a three-piece suit.
The man's demeanor unsettled Clark enough that when he focused on the seventh ATF agent he was startled to see the man's piercing blue eyes staring directly at him. Even with the knowledge that he was well out of sight, he ducked. After a moment he dared to look again. The longer haired agent's attention was back on the table and discussion like everyone else, but as if he had radar, the agent turned and Clark found himself looking straight into those blue eyes again. This time he didn't hide. He knew it was almost impossible anyone could see him, he was too far away and unless the sun reflected off the binoculars he was safe. To his advantage was the fact that the sun had yet to even make an effort to get beyond the thick clouds. Clark watched the agent squint and brush some stray hair out of his face. He held his breath, waiting for the man to point and shout or something, but someone must have said something to him, because to Clark's relief, he turned back to the others. There was a shrug and a shake of the head and then suddenly all eight men were looking in his direction. He could have sworn his heart stopped beating until gradually, one by one the men turned away. Clark wasted no time then, getting out of the area. He was unnerved more than he wanted to admit, but the intensity he'd seen in those searching faces. They had known he was there somewhere, he could tell that, even if only by premonition, they could feel his presence. A smug feeling filled him suddenly with the knowledge that he now knew each face. The Magnificent 7 were locked forever into his photographic memory.
Chris listened as Ezra pointed out to Payton the coinciding details between Atlanta's bombings and the two they were now dealing with. He was thankful that Downing was at least a fair man, not getting hung up on Standish's past with the FBI like almost every other FBI agent Team Seven encountered. He listened as Nathan directed Buck, Josiah and JD to what Ezra was talking about and wondered what Vin thought of the whole situation. Looking up, Chris was surprised to find his best friend staring off into the distance.
"Vin?" he asked, aware he was interrupting Ezra. It took Vin a moment to acknowledge him,but eventually the sharpshooter turned toward him. "Something wrong?" Chris could see the troubled look in Vin's eyes.
Vin shook his head and half shrugged, not knowing how to explain the feeling he had. It was like he could physically feel someone watching him, them, but he couldn't see anyone out there. "Not really, just a feeling." He waved Chris off.
"What kind of feeling?" Josiah asked, well aware that when it came to Vin and feelings, it was usually something important enough to pay attention to.
Vin shook his head again. "Just feel kind of like we're being watched."
Immediately everyone turned to look where Vin had just been searching. Vin tried to explain. "It was just a feeling, most likely nothing."
"Could be though." Downing peered from building to building.
"Wouldn't that be stupid though?" JD turned back to the table first. "I mean the guy wouldn't run such a huge chance at getting caught, would he?"
"I don't know, JD, wouldn't seem logical unless…" Josiah started.
"Unless he was jerking us around." Ezra, Chris and Buck echoed Vin's earlier sentiment.
Nathan chuckled lightly. "Seems to me we keep coming back to that point."
Downing frowned and scratched his clean-shaven chin. "We have a pretty tight profile on this guy, Larabee. Just because the bombs seemed to match his signature doesn't guarantee it's Clark."
Chris looked at Payton intently, his expression stony. "You want to be responsible for making that assumption, it's no sweat of my back," he told him. "You're the one in charge now, but regardless of that we still have a guy out there blowing up our city."
"Ease up now," Downing interrupted. "I know what's what here and you should know me well enough to know I'm not writing you off, but right now we're gong on little more than coincidences. Atlanta's going to be here in a few hours and I know how well your teams work together." He glanced at Ezra before continuing. "I'm not saying it's anyone's fault, I'm saying you guys hate each other, period. Your team is going to need to come up with some solid connections here or those Southeast boys are going to be in your face."
Buck snorted; about to make a comment, but a look from Chris kept him quiet. "All right, Payton, what's your plan then?"
"I want someone in contact with the labs, see if any of the test have come back with results we can track yet."
Chris pointed to Buck, "Buck, JD, you two go visit the lab and touch base with the techs. Anything new or relative to the case, no matter how insignificant, call."
"You got it,boss." Buck flashed a threatening glare at Downing as he grabbed JD by the scruff of the neck. "Let's get back to the office, Kid."
"Can't we just call?" JD asked following.
"We could, but Chris said to touch base, and in person we can lay on the charm."
JD rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Buck. Whatever."
Downing cleared his throat and continued. " I also want Tanner to check out those buildings." He pointed to where Vin had been looking earlier. Vin looked up in surprise and Downing shrugged. "Your reputation gets around. Vin Tanner gets a feeling and you act on it or end up regretting it later."
Chris motioned to Vin. " Take Nathan with you and watch your back."
"Always do." Vin looked to Nathan who nodded. "Let's go."
"And what do you have in mind for Mr. Sanchez and myself?" Ezra asked the FBI agent.
"I want you two here with Chris and I. We need to iron out a detailed profile on this bomber and on Clark and then compare and contrast."
"What about your team?" Chris asked, his eyes drifting to the FBI agents milling around the scene.
"They're in charge of the site," Downing answered. "There's still a lot of evidence to gather."
TBC...
(of course now Ezra would use a flashdrive or portable harddrive for his files but this was written back in 2000--so he still uses disks for this story!)