PART EIGHT

"Where the hell's Nathan?" Standing at Ezra's desk, where he'd taken Josiah's call, Chris scanned the office.

Buck called back an answer that he knew the team leader would not be happy with. "Left about fifteen minutes ago to grab some lunch and run some errands." The look he received was all too clear. "Shoot, Chris, it was just supposed to be an intro meeting for JD. Nobody knew we were gonna be going live."

"Anybody call him?" Chris asked, tersely.

"Already tried." Buck pointed to the phone lying on Nathan's desk, plugged in and charging.

"Great." Chris exhaled his frustration and ran a hand through his hair. "Well… write him a damn note. And leave word with lobby security—as soon as he steps foot in the building he's to call us. Everybody else is getting suited up. We gotta go."

…

JD spoke louder and repeated himself. "I said north. We just got on North 76….What? Josiah? You still there?... Say that again… No, we don't think anybody else will be there. Just Vargas, Arthur, and the two bodyguards… Say again... Yeah, that's them—Aaron Janquist and the other guy's name is Timothy, no last name on him…What? I'm losing you. Josiah? You there? Damn it!"

He stared at the display on Ezra's cell. "Oh, come on! No signal? How can there be no fucking signal? I was just talking to him. Hikers stuck on mountains never have trouble finding a damn signal!"

"JD!" Ezra's sharp snap instantly caught the young agent's attention. He softened his voice to a calming drawl. "Son, you need to relax. Just keep your eye on the phone; when you get a signal again, you call him back."

"Right."

…

To anyone driving by, it appeared to be two small delivery trucks sitting on the shoulder of the freeway in front of two larger trucks marked as Qwest Communications service vehicles. Inside told a different story. FBI agents made up the majority of the group, then DEA and finally ATF.

In one of the latter trucks, Chris sat sweating under the layers of tactical gear, flanked by FBI SWAT officers. He had been cautious to keep his alpha attitude in check after Tyler had scrambled men from the local FBI office. And he was thankful when he noticed the Senior Agent allowing him to take point on how the inter-agency group should progress. The man bore none of the bravado carried by many of the FBI agents-in-charge with whom Chris had dealt with in the past. He seemed to understand that when it came to the safety of your agents, you followed whoever was the most qualified.

Chris adjusted the position of the narrow band around his neck. It had been awhile since he had worn a throat microphone headset. With a compact ear piece, the design lent itself well for use with a gas mask. Chris, however, had no desire to see this operation end in a situation that required that. He keyed the small push-to-talk device secured to his heavy, black vest and answered the driver of the other Qwest truck.

"I don't like it either, Buck, but it's not going to do anybody any good if we just keep driving and then have to back track once they can get a hold of us again. We've got the BOLOs out. We just have to… give it ten minutes."

Chris did not think the Be On The Lookout notice to the regional state police would turn up anything but he had to cover all the bases. He realized this was the second time in as many days that they had managed to "lose" Ezra. It was definitely not a pattern he wanted to see develop. Somebody was going to owe him a bottle of whiskey for this case. He didn't know who, but somebody owed him.

…

JD glanced again at the display on Ezra's cell. "We turned off the freeway twenty minutes ago. Don't you think we should have picked up a signal by now?"

"Maybe they'll have a phone."

Something in Ezra's tone made JD look up. He followed his friend's gaze to the left. A long dirt road split off from the rural route they'd been traveling on. A small hangar sat amongst grassy flatland, which spread for a half-mile in all directions around the structure. The dirt road circled around the back of the building and butted up against the blacktop of the runway.

Ezra followed the black Cadillac Escalade down the gravel road, parking a few meters from it. He could sense JD's nervous energy but admired the boy for doing his best to keep it in check.

"What are we gonna do?" JD asked.

"What any businessmen would do. Use their phone to call our people and then inspect the merchandise. You'll transfer fake funds from our fake account to his very real one and in a few hours Mackie and his boss are buyin' us drinks at the saloon."

The confidence radiating off Ezra helped calm JD. The youth bobbed his head with an agreeable nod and wrapped his fingers around the door handle. He glanced back at his partner.

"Hey… um… do you–?"

The southerner shifted his right leg and raised the cuff of his trousers while flashing a grin. JD knew the .38 strapped to Ezra's ankle wasn't much but it made him feel a little less vulnerable.

A thought struck him. "You brought a handgun to lunch at one of the nicest places in town?"

"Force of habit. It comes in handy when mother and I do brunch; this way I'm prepared if I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to kill either her or myself."

JD welcomed the levity and smiled. "Hate to tell you this, Ez, but I half-believe you." He stripped off the jacket and tie he'd been required to wear at the restaurant. "Let's ride."

They walked toward the hangar, watching Vargas and his men pass through a narrow door and disappear into the building.

JD muttered a warning to his friend. "You better not leave me alone with him again. Those couple of minutes at the table were bad enough. I felt like I needed to take a shower. That guy is weird. Is this what women feel like around a creepy guy?"

Ezra answered quietly as he pulled open a small door to the hangar. "I pray, my dear boy, I never know."

The space was divided into the main hangar to the left and, to the right, two offices along the wall, with a hallway that disappeared to the back of the building. Another office was straight back, opposite the front door.

The sight they focused on, however, was more impressive than they had imagined. The amount of stacked, sealed crates made Ezra happy this was the FBI's party. Let them deal with the laborious chore of logging in the evidence. Vargas's jovial voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Arthur, open a box so Ezra can see what he'll be bringing home. John, why don't you follow me and I'll set you up on-line in the office."

JD shot a glance at Ezra and the southerner responded immediately. "I believe the first order of business is to find a workin' phone. I'm afraid we lost contact with my people before I could give them full instructions to where we were headed."

Vargas nodded in understanding. "No signal? I should have warned you. There's an enormous pocket of dead airspace in this entire area. I could never live here. Denver is far too primitive for me. Come in the office, there's one there."

They followed him to the office opposite the front door, with Aaron on their heels. JD settled in quickly at the laptop on the desk and Ezra just as eagerly focused on the phone. With the receiver to his ear he glanced at Vargas.

"Isn't there supposed to be a dial tone?" Ezra felt a small measure of relief upon seeing Vargas's honest look of confusion.

Vargas caught Aaron's eye and the bodyguard flipped him a tiny nod before leaving the room. "Timothy!" Vargas called. He finished typing in a password for JD before taking the handset from Ezra to test it for himself. Timothy appeared in the doorway and Vargas waved the handset at him. "Why isn't this working?"

"It was fine on Sunday, sir."

"Never mind. Show Mr. Simpson to the one upstairs. JD... how are you at cleaning?"

The young agent knew he was being asked about his skill with passing funds through several accounts in order to make them difficult to trace. "Do you have your own accounts you want to wash through, or do you need me to pass them through some corporate ones? Screw the Banking Secrecy Act. No CTR's or CMIR's needed at the Bank of JD. "

Ezra tried to suppress a grin. Mentioning the currency transaction reports was a nice touch. He would have to remember to pass kudos on to the young man. As he followed Timothy out of the room he heard Vargas laugh. "Could I get you something to drink, John? There's a soda machine in the hangar."

Ezra realized that he would not be surprised if JD received a job offer before the hour was up. Five minutes later he followed Timothy back to the office where the bodyguard updated his boss.

"Sir, the upstairs line isn't working either. I checked the wiring in the hangar but nothing seems to be wrong there."

JD's brain began troubleshooting immediately. "I have 'net access, so the problem can't be that line."

Ezra caught his partner's eye and JD understood. He'd hold off on giving Vargas any account assistance until they made contact with the team. Aaron stepped up behind Ezra and addressed his boss in a serious tone. "Sir, there's a vehicle parked behind the building."

"That would be ours!"

Ezra recognized the voice thanks to close-quarters experience, while JD identified it from the audio surveillance he had recorded just two days earlier. Everyone in the office turned to see two men, pistols drawn, a few meters beyond the doorway. Detective Dorison stood with Hilliard. Their Denver Police Department badges hung by ballchains around their necks and were set off by the dark background of black bulletproof vests.

Hilliard covered Arthur, who stood wide-eyed by the crates of weapons and ammunition. The handguns they pointed encouraged everyone to comply with the orders that Dorison called out.

"Hands on your heads! Move slowly! Now let's have everybody sit down nice and quiet-like right here in the middle of the floor."

He smiled at Arthur, "You too, Arty. Sorry about this, but ya know, Carl and I figured we'd be able to live out the rest of our days in exile a helluva lot more comfortably if we had not only what you were going to give us, but what you were going to take too."

The men wordlessly obeyed, moving out of the office and seating themselves on the cement with legs outstretched—Vargas, JD, Timothy, Ezra, Aaron, and Arthur.

"Anybody even twitch and I will shoot you." Dorison looked at Vargas. "Can you believe Arty actually told us where this place was when we asked him? We barely had time to get here and kill the phones. Sorry about the phones, by the way…aw fuck it, no I'm not. But I do hope nobody's allergic to plastic 'cause my partner is now fitting everybody with bracelets of the Flexi-cuff variety." Dorison glanced at JD. "Oh, 'cept you. You must be Ezra's friend, Arty told us about you. We're gonna need you for a little electronic banking. But you just stay sitting for now."

He shifted focus to the southerner. "Hi-ya Ezra. Man, how unlucky can one guy be to get busted by us twice in one week. You're the worst fuckin' criminal I've ever met. Carl, make sure you pat down Mr. Clown Car real well. He ain't got nothing up his sleeve but I'd check that right pant leg if I was you."

With Arthur, Aaron and Ezra bound in Flexi-cuffs, Hilliard apparently decided that Dorison's gun was enough motivation to keep the unbound prisoners from attempting anything. He moved from behind the men on the floor to pull the Taurus from the soft nylon holster strapped to Ezra's ankle, while trying to stay out of kicking distance.

The southerner thought of how satisfying it would be to introduce one of his size 9 Brioni's to Hilliard's face. That, however, would do precious little toward getting them out of their predicament, and would most likely further someone getting injured or killed.

Unfortunately, Timothy wasn't so conscientious. Just as Hilliard bent over and pocketed Ezra's .38, the toe of the bodyguard's steel-toed boot caught the detective under the chin, snapping his head back. In the same motion, Timothy pulled a Heckler & Koch USP .40 from the shoulder holster hidden under his jacket and with frightening speed and accuracy shot the police officer twice in the head.

The instant Dorison saw the bodyguard's foot come off the ground he shouted at his partner to move. Hilliard's position, however, was directly between Timothy and Dorison. No opportunity for a clear shot presented itself until Carl Hilliard's body, with its bullet-shattered face, dropped to the cold cement of the hangar.

Dorison froze for an instant as he watched his partner fall. It was one of the last things he saw. Four rounds struck him squarely in the chest, knocking him backwards. The Spectra Shield vest did its job and protected his torso. Yet, as he lay on his back, reeling from the concussion of the shots, he realized there was nothing that could protect his life.

He saw an emotionless face appear above him and he closed his eyes against the rounds that penetrated his skull.

JD shouted as he saw Timothy go after the police officer lying on the ground. The first killing had happened so fast, JD's only reaction had been to flinch against the explosion of gunfire. But the young agent had been unhampered by the Flexi-cuffs that secured Ezra's wrists and when he saw the bodyguard rise JD knew what was about to happen. So did Ezra.

He knew JD would be unable to stop the second murder and he struggled to his feet, desperate to prevent his partner from becoming a third victim.

JD had only made it halfway to Timothy when he heard the two loud pops and saw the downed detective's body jerk from the violent attack. Suddenly Ezra was in front of him, yelling his name.

"JD! NO!"

With his hands bound behind his back, Ezra could only use his chest and shoulders to block JD's forward motion. The young man's wild eyes barely registered the face that appeared before him. His focus swept across Ezra and went straight to the bodyguard who had casually holstered his weapon and pulled a Leatherman tool from a small sheath on his belt before moving to free Aaron.

JD screamed over Ezra's shoulder. "You didn't have to kill him! What the fuck was that?! You didn't have to kill him!"

Ezra in turn, shouted at JD, struggling to get his attention even though their faces were only inches apart. "JD! STOP IT!"

Hazel eyes met green ones and JD's face was cut with shock and anger, his voice strained with emotion. "Christ, Ez, they were cops! They were cops!"

Ezra knew what JD meant. At that moment it didn't matter that the two detectives had turned They had been good once and nothing changed the fact that, just like Larabee's team, there had been countless times they had put their lives on the line because they had believed they could make a difference.

Ezra yelled at his partner, working to get through to the young man. "It's over! They're gone!" He spoke louder than he had meant. With his left ear still ringing from the shots that killed Hilliard, he found it difficult to hear himself. He took half a step back, reining himself in while trying to slow his breathing.

"They're gone," Ezra stated. He stared at his friend with a hard expression. "I need ya to be smart, JD, ya hear me?" His voice was strained but firm. "I need you right here."

JD noticed, for the first time, the spattering of blood across the southerner's chin, left cheek and shirt collar—droplets of red that sprayed when Detective Hilliard had been shot in the face at point-blank range. Ezra had seen the pistol come up and instinctively closed his eyes and turned his face away. It was all he could do.

With one hand, JD roughly brushed his long bangs back out of his eyes. He focused a deadly glare at Timothy. "This is fucked!"

The bodyguard was quick to reply. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, Donovan. It's not like it's any big deal. Shit, Mr. Vargas has done Feds. Nothing's gonna come of this. We should just dump 'em in the trash."

Timothy had no time to defend himself from the attack. JD pushed past Ezra and tackled the bodyguard hard, sending them both to the floor. The youth landed two solid punches to the big man's face before Aaron's strong arms wrapped under JD's and yanked him back into a standing Full Nelson.

Ezra again rushed to intervene. This time however, he faced Timothy. He worked against the size and weight difference, trying to keep the man from going after JD, but he knew full well he wouldn't be able to do anything while his wrists were still hampered by the Flexi-cuffs.

"It's alright, he'll calm down! Let me talk to him, I just need to talk to him. Let's everybody just calm down."

Timothy was cradling his nose in one hand and blinking past watering eyes as he shouted at JD. "You stupid little fuck!"

JD struggled against the hold he was still locked into. "Stupid? I'm not the one who just murdered two cops!"

Vargas's icy voice cut through the din. "Gentlemen! TIMOTHY! I do not pay you to be a brawling street thug. You will not act like one."

JD was still breathing hard but he stopped resisting and Aaron cautiously released him. Ezra wasn't ready to turn his back on Timothy just yet, but he backed up enough to put a polite distance between the two of them.

Vargas spoke in a soothing tone. "JD, Ezra… This has no bearing on our business."

JD was stunned by what he was hearing. "No bearing?" He shook his head and the perversity of the situation forced a bitter laugh from him. "They were…." The young agent stopped himself. He needed to think like JD Donovan. "You don't just kill cops and walk away from it. They find you. I'm a wire man. I'm not goin' down for cop killing. I'm not going to prison because of him!" He stabbed a finger toward Timothy. "What were they doing here?! How did they know we were here?"

Vargas fixed Arthur with a look of suppressed fury. "I'm sure someone has answers."

Arthur didn't register the gaze or the accusatory remark. He was still sitting on the floor, hands bound behind his back, staring with a shocked expression at the two dead bodies lying within feet of him.

Timothy wiped his nose with the back of his hand to check for bleeding and stared at JD. "Well, since you're so attached to them, kid, maybe I could cut 'em up and gift wrap them for you so you can take them home."

JD kept his voice level but spat an insult right back. "Being a butcher is about all you have the IQ for. You think Denver PD isn't gonna be after every person in this room? It's obvious you can't think five seconds into the future."

"JD." Ezra drawled out his partner's name in a warning tone.

Timothy stepped towards his antagonizer and showed a humorless smile. "I only need one second, and that's to pull the trigger."

"That's funny, I didn't think the reflexes of a trained monkey would be that good." JD turned to walk away, desperate for some fresh air.

"Oh, I got reflexes…." The sudden fire that lit the bodyguard's eyes made his intent clear to Ezra. Timothy reached for his HK and Ezra reacted instinctively to protect his partner. He couldn't use his hands and he knew he was too close to lash out with an effective kick, so street-fighting tactics took over. He swung his knee high, slamming it into the large man's stomach.

Timothy doubled over, his weapon forgotten. However, his adrenaline-fed anger only took an instant to shift targets. He forced himself upright and reflexively went on the attack, smashing his shoulder and forearm into Ezra's chest with a lineman's tackle.

The southerner took the hit hard. Tossed off his feet, he was thrown backwards and, unable to catch himself, landed awkwardly on his side. His head struck the concrete floor and he lay for a few seconds, dazed from the impact.

JD had turned when he had heard Timothy's last comment. His training and experience locked his focus onto the motion the bodyguard made toward his pistol, but Ezra was already responding. A second later JD watched the southerner hit the floor, but the young agent didn't trust that Timothy would have the presence of mind to stop the attack against Ezra simply because he was down.

JD shouted and made a move toward Timothy, only to have Aaron smoothly intervene. The situation had exploded out of control and Aaron considered it his duty to remedy that. He stepped in, securing JD in a tight chokehold. He expected a counterattack and was ready when it came.

The elbow to his stomach met with a twisting torso and tightened muscles and he sidestepped JD's heel, which aimed for the top of his foot. Aaron expertly increased the pressure on the young man's carotid artery until he felt the body slump into unconsciousness.

…

Author's notes: Hopefully, that delivered some good tension. If so, treat yourself to a sweet, humorous piece called "A Tangled Web" under Tidia's account. It's one I kinda helped co-author and, upon reading it again the other day, find pretty darn funny.