PART THREE

Author's notes: Good length for the chapters? Too long? Character voices accurate? Feel free to let me know. Also love to hear if anyone has favorite lines (I always wonder if readers like the same lines that the writers like.)

…

In the ATF surveillance van nearly two blocks from the import/export company, Special Agent In Charge Larabee was, like the rest of his team, wondering what the hell was going on. Nathan had been about to get the second van, while expecting Ezra's call, when something happened that was not in the game plan.

"Denver PD?" spat Chris. "What the fuck?"

JD's headset was overloaded with edgy voices as both Josiah and Vin echoed Chris's confusion.

"Who are these guys?"

"What the hell's goin' on?"

JD silenced them. "SHUT UP! Everybody, quiet! I can't hear anything!"

The young agent anticipated his leader's needs and questions and barked directions via his headset mic. "Josiah… what do you see? Gimme something."

A deep voice flowed into the van through the surveillance equipment's audio system. "I'm just seeing two. Plain clothes. One with Ezra on the west side of the van, the other with our seller on the south side, directly behind the van."

Chris was out of the passenger seat in half a second and leaning over JD's shoulder. "Josiah, tell me you're-"

"I'm getting it, Chris."

From his vantage point, Josiah snapped frame after frame, documenting what was going on inside. He winced as the police officer standing over Ezra hauled the undercover agent to his feet and slammed him face-first against the side of the van.

JD, the only one in the Econoline utilizing headphones, instantly got an earful of loud disturbance and static as the mic was smashed between Ezra's chest and the metal body of the vehicle in the warehouse. "Jeez! What the hell was that!"

Josiah elaborated vaguely. "These boys take the term 'Police Force' a bit too seriously."

Every member of Team Seven knew what he meant. Buck thought Chris was going to stop to the operation right then. The senior agent wasn't above using a little force on a suspect, but when someone played rough with his agent they had better hope like hell they were not within striking distance of the team leader.

JD pressed the left side of his earphones tighter against his ear. "Uh-oh."

From the driver seat, Buck glanced at his roommate. "What's up?"

"I'm still getting static; I may be losing the feed. That mic isn't meant for hard wear-and-tear. Ezra's usually more careful."

Buck answered quietly. "I'm thinking it ain't up to him, kid."

…

Ezra was furious. The warm ache spreading across his left cheekbone clarified his suspicion that a bruise would be visible within the hour. He didn't know who these two clueless rubes were but he planned on bringing every bit of Federal supremacy down on the local idiots as soon as the opportunity arose.

The officer that Ezra now knew as Dorison spun him around, backed up and pointed a finger at the southerner while barking an order. "Siddown! Don't even fuckin' think about moving."

With his wrists painfully cuffed behind his back, Ezra slid down the side of the van and maneuvered into a sitting position on the cold concrete floor. He waited until the detective joined the other officer before whispering sharply to his teammates via the tie clip microphone. Although he couldn't hear them, he answered the questions he knew they were asking. He could at least give them information he had glimpsed from the flashed ID.

"One is named Dorison. No – I don't know what's goin' on, but we are holdin'... is that understood?! If I still have a shot at gettin' to Vargas I'm not goin' to lose it. Is that clear? I am not losin' this connection."

…

In response to the nearly unintelligible order from Ezra over the sketchy feed, Chris slammed out his frustrations with a palm to the van's metal wall. He was still leaning over JD's shoulder and the young man started at the unexpected action. The cramped quarters did nothing to alleviate the tension and Buck could tell Chris was about two seconds away from overriding Ezra's request.

Buck offered a voice of reason. "Chris, he's in there. Trust him to make the call."

…

A moment later Ezra fixed a cold stare on the detective looking down at him. Dorison addressed the southerner in a sarcastic tone. "Ya'll don't sound like you're from around here."

Ezra maintained his hard look as Dorison leaned over and patted the front of his prisoner's suit jacket until he located what he sought. Pulling a thin leather wallet from the left inside pocket he flipped it open. "Where're you from?"

"Chicago," Ezra drawled, adding with acerbic venom. "The south side."

"Ezra Simpson." Dorison's brow wrinkled as he glanced over the driver's license in the billfold. "What the hell kind of name is Ezra?"

His partner called from the far corner of the van where he stood with his own prisoner. "You know, Mike, like Ezra Brooks, the whiskey."

"Oh yeah, I've had that stuff before." Dorison roughly stuffed the wallet back into the pocket he had confiscated it from. He also used the opportunity to grab two fistfuls of Ezra's suit jacket and drag him to his feet. "Well, Ezra, what's say you and me take a ride. You got this end of things, Carl?"

"No problem, man. See ya in a bit."

Mike Dorison guided his prisoner outside to an unmarked, gray Ford Police Interceptor and secured him in the back seat.

…

"What is goin' on?" muttered Nathan from his back corner of the surveillance van. "Have these guys done anything by the book yet?"

Vin's voice updated the team on what he observed with binoculars from his high vantage point. "Gray, police-issue Ford, plate number 68457Charlie, headin' west on Fourteenth. Seller's van now exitin' the buildin' and followin'."

JD copied down the tag numbers as Vin read them off, but the young man's focus was divided as he worked the receiver board in an attempt to maintain an audio lock on Ezra. "I'm gonna lose him," he said.

Buck was now crouched behind JD and patted his friend on the back. "It's alright, kid-"

Chris interrupted. "Nate, get the other van! Follow us."

Nathan opened the Econoline's back doors to comply as their leader slid into the empty driver's seat. When his hand did not find the keys in the ignition, he looked over his shoulder and barked out another demand. "Buck, where are the keys?"

"Now just hold up a minute, stud-"

"Buck!"

"Damn it, Chris, I mean it!" Buck met his friend's hard stare. "We go tearin' after them right now and between their car, Pentilide's van, our two vehicles and one of us in Ezra's Jag we're gonna look like the goddamn Macy's Parade."

Softening his voice, Buck continued. "Give JD ten minutes, he'll find out what district these guys are out of. We'll go see their CO and get this straightened out. He's just being arrested. He can handle it." But he wasn't sure Chris was convinced so he continued. "A couple of gung-ho assholes fucked up. It ain't the first time in history."

Buck knew his friend's anger stemmed from concern for their teammate. "Ezra's fine. Prob'ly madder than a bald dog, but he's fine." He showed a hint of a grin. "Hell, he'll most likely have himself talked out of this by the time we get there and still won't have blown his cover." He slid open the Econoline's side door and nodded toward the quiet street. "Go cool your heels… go on. Back in ten, JD will have something for ya."

Chris radiated fury but said nothing and acquiesced to Buck's order. After Chris stepped from the van JD looked up from his computer and addressed his roommate. "Bald dog?"

Buck attempted a sagely expression and, as he exited the vehicle himself, answered the younger agent. "You're from Boston, kid, you wouldn't understand."

From the direction of the warehouse, Vin jogged at a solid pace to meet them, soft-sided rifle case over one shoulder. Chris's body language tensed. The team leader's anger sought an outlet, and as Vin approached, it found a target.

"Where were ya, cowboy?" Chris questioned.

Vin was just as infuriated with himself for not seeing the detectives' vehicle approach the warehouse when Ezra was inside. "I missed 'em rollin' up," he confessed angrily. "I know."

"You 'missed them'? A shitload of good that does Ezra."

The sharpshooter bit back. "Well 'scuse me for not expectin' anybody else."

"That's one of the reasonsyou were up there!"

"I was in the middle of the fuckin' roof just a little focused on what was goin' on inside! 'Sides, what could we a' done, Chris?" Vin retorted. "Busted in and asked 'em real nice not to arrest our undercover agent?"

The two men briefly stared at each other before Vin exhaled and shook his head. With a hand, he swept back strands of hair that had escaped from his ponytail and looked again at Chris. He felt the same fear and frustration as his leader; they were just taking it out on one another. Wordlessly, they each acknowledged apology and acceptance.

Chris walked past Vin and briefly rested a hand on his shoulder before heading out for the breather Buck had pushed him towards.

…

"There aren't any police stations in this direction." Ezra's tone was laced with suspicion. Seated in the back of the unmarked car, he had watched the scenery of the neighborhood go by in the ten minutes since he and Dorison left the warehouse. The detective offered no reply other than to glance at him in the rearview mirror with just a hint of a derisive smile.

Ezra maintained a casual, indifferent expression but went through a myriad of thoughts while he tried to calm his beating heart. "My God, they're with Vargas. I'm a dead man...Then why the fake bust? Arthur picked the location. They could have just come in and taken what they wanted—a good old-fashioned robbery... Maybe they knew the team was out there… Wise up, Standish, they wouldn't have pulled this ludicrous stunt if they'd known the team was there."

Dorison anticipated the other man's thoughts. "Relax, there, Ezra." The detective put hard emphasis on his prisoner's name. "This isn't one of those 'long trip off a short pier' kind of rides. Today is deal-making day for you. Your friend Artie wants your help and he asked us to set up a little interruption this morning to find out how you'd feel about a side project."

"So you're not arresting me?"

"Oh, I can if you're not interested in helping. I can tuck some blow in your pocket right now and bring you down to the station. But I don't think either of us want that hassle."

Ezra was taken aback by how casually the detective offered to frame him. "I'm listenin'."

"Good. See, a few months ago we caught ol' Artie doing something he wasn't supposed to, but he made it worth our while not to bust his sad ass. He told us about a pretty smart plan to get a helluva lot of money away from his boss; we just needed a third party."

Dorison focused his attention again on Ezra via the mirror. "And it looks like you're the lucky contestant. How 'bout that, Ezra? What do you think about making the deal of a lifetime?"

The southerner made a show of shifting against the awkward pain of the handcuffs securing his wrists behind his back. "I'm suspectin' it may be more like an offer I can't refuse. Exactly what role would I be playin' if I take part in this 'pretty smart plan'?"

"You're already playing it. Our buddy Arthur said his boss is looking for a high stakes player for a major shipment. His boss is getting a little desperate 'cuz that payload is coming within the next five days and the buyer he had on the line backed out."

Ezra wondered how the FBI missed the information about the other buyer. Vargas really does run fast and tight.

"Arthur's boss can't afford to be stuck with that much inventory so he's eager to find somebody who can handle it." The detective glanced over his shoulder. "This morning you showed you could be just that man."

Ezra stared impassively at Dorison. "Funny, I thought this mornin' I'd been screwed over by a greedy underling and his lackeys." The impertinence didn't seem to disturb Dorison, he just smiled in reaction to the accusation. Ezra continued. "And what exactly constitutes a 'major shipment'?"

Dorison hesitated, as if he wasn't sure how wise it was to offer up information to someone who had yet to buy into his deal. "2,000 AK-47s, fully automatic, with about 4,000 thirty to forty-round mags of ammo. Straight off the Empress Phoenix from the PRC."

Ezra's poker face served him well. He revealed nothing as he silently calculated the figures and came to the conclusion that the shipment from the People's Republic of China would have an approximate street value of over four million dollars. Arching his brows, he replied to the detective. "Even if that was somethin' I was interested in, what's the catch?"

An avaricious smile played at the corner of Dorison's mouth. "That's the beauty part; all you need to do is bring the funds and buy the guns. You walk away."

Ezra breathed a dry laugh. "And let me guess, shortly thereafter you, your partner and Mr. Pentilide benefit from a considerable donation from his boss's estate." The undercover agent casually pressed for more information. "Though I can't help but wonder if it's to be a donation or an inheritance."

Dorison seemed to know what the other man was fishing for. He paused a few seconds before answering. "Just because Vargas will be forever outta the picture after the deal goes down doesn't mean you can go getting all cocky."

The detective fixed his eyes on the road and allowed his prisoner a moment to consider the option he had been given. Ezra felt like he had fallen into a pit only to discover buried treasure. He silently added busting two dirty cops onto his list of Team Seven accomplishments for the month. He addressed Dorison once more.

"And what insurance, exactly, would I have that you and your partner would not again interfere in any of my future business dealin's?"

Dorison laughed. "Well, Ezra, there isn't any, except for maybe the distance between here and the Cayman Islands."

Ezra immediately picked up on the detective's meaning. "I have always believed that not enough people retire early." They drove in silence for a moment before Ezra continued. "And all I have to do is conduct business-as-usual with Arthur?"

"He'll talk you up to his boss. You'll be contacted." Dorison glanced at his prisoner in the rearview mirror. "But don't be bullshitting me, Simpson, this isn't some fifty-cent pussy deal. You probably have less than a week. You can lay your hands on the money?"

Ezra showed a wily smile. "I'm a businessman, Detective; it's my job to raise capital."

…

The team waited in silence for Chris to return, each lost in their own thoughts. Nathan had brought around the van they had planned to use to transport the weapons after Ezra completed his deal with Arthur. He sat in the driver's seat with the door open and his long legs stretched toward the pavement.

Vin paced a vague triangular pattern while his fingers nervously fiddled with the Jaguar's spare keys. After an unfortunate incident with a suspect's pet pot-bellied pig, Ezra insisted on keeping a spare alarm fob and valet key in any surveillance vehicle the team used when he was undercover.

Buck wore a broad smile as the Team Seven leader approached. "We got 'em, Chris. They're out of the Sixth District. JD already put a call in to their CO."

JD finished his roommate's thought and consulted the names scribbled on the piece of paper in his hand. "Detectives Michael Dorison and Carl Hilliard."

…

Ezra's left shoulder protested even as the handcuffs that bound his wrists behind his back were unlocked. Dorison had pulled over in the gravel parking lot of a construction site, released his prisoner and even returned the southerner's handguns, albeit, sans ammunition. Withdrawing Ezra's cell phone from his pocket, Dorison handed it over along with a small padlock key attached to a dull orange plastic tag.

"The address of the storage unit place is on the tag. Your… purchases from this morning will be there."

Ezra glanced around at his empty surroundings. "Door-to-abandoned lot service?" he drawled sarcastically.

The other man got into his car, answering as he pulled the door closed. "You got a phone… call yourself a cab."

The Interceptor's door slammed shut and Ezra muttered a promise as he watched the vehicle drive away. "And a few days from now you'll be callin' yourself a lawyer, you ill-bred boar."

He pressed the power button of his phone but cursed softly at the lack of lighted display. Turning it over he noted the large, visible crack across the battery case that made it apparent it wasn't healthy for cell phones to be tossed across cement floors.

Dropping the phone and padlock key into the pocket of his suit jacket, he pointed himself westward and prayed he'd see a cab sometime before he reached the Federal Building.