Summary: Danny Taylor has been working undercover for months. Now he's missing and the operation is about to reach its culmination. For his team, however, the most important thing is to find their friend.
Disclaimer: I lay no claim whatsoever to these characters (although, if CBS are mad enough to cancel the show, as has been rumoured, I'll definitely have them)
Note: So sorry it's been so long since I last updated – work, life, you know!
Bit of a change in style here – no changes in place or time (well not much) and no Danny captivity scenes – he's not seeing, hearing or feeling anything right now, so nothing to describe!
CHAPTER 7
MANHATTAN DOCKSIDE AREA
WEDNESDAY – 06.00 AM
Conversation had died inside the van within ten minutes of initial greetings. The grey cold and the early hour was enough to dampen any further desire for communication. The mugginess of shared breaths added to the heavy oppression inside.
Martin shifted slightly in an attempt to relieve the numbness that had set into his legs. Settling his aching body back to stillness, his mind raced on with memories of so many other stake outs. So many dingy darkened vehicles. So many discarded coffee cups littering their floors. So many hours spent watching and waiting. So many of them spent with Danny.
Danny always hated the waiting. Hated having to be still and quiet – it went against his nature. Danny was all about noise and movement and life.
Martin smiled to himself as he remembered the number of times he had snapped at his partner to stop fidgeting; to quit humming; to please not tear every single cardboard food container into little bits just to keep his hands busy. The inside of their car had looked like confetti after that job in Queens last year ...man, you really get to know a guy after eight hours camped in a car waiting for a missing husband to return to an old haunt.
He smiled again at the memory of the tall tales Danny had told from his childhood to pass the time. The comic narration he'd given to the everyday happenings on the street they watched. The filthy jokes he'd recounted, taking pleasure in trying to get a rise out of Martin beyond a bored snort.
Hours on a stake-out can wear down even the best friendships but Martin marvelled at how Danny always seemed to bounce out of whatever crappy car they were using. All that pent up energy spilled out of him when others were left grey and grumpy from hours of immobility. He was like that in the office too, a whirlwind of upbeat good nature, noticeable by his absence.
That was just Danny.
Martin glanced up at Sam, huddled opposite him in her dark FBI padded jacket, hands stuffed into the pockets, blond hair piled up under a black knitted hat. With a kevlar vest underneath she looked twice her normal size. She felt his gaze and gave a tight smile.
"I've never been on a long undercover job." Her voice was quiet, husky from the early hour and purposely kept low.
The van was parked on a street in the industrial area that spread out from the southside docks. A buffer between the business of the port and the business of the city. Small units and larger warehouses strung out around them. Despite the riot of signs and ads that hung about them, it was bleak. Piles of rubbish, parked up vehicles, free-standing rusting shipping containers. A place only for trade. No residences here. No shops and no pedestrians to overhear voices from inside a nondescript scruffy looking van that could well have been abandoned.
Still, nobody ever spoke in their normal tone when shut up, waiting for the off.
"Longest I've ever done is a couple of weeks," Sam added quietly. "It must be really hard not to have your friends around you."
Martin nodded but it was Jack's voice that rumbled back. "Plenty of people can't do it – just can't take not having the support they're used to." He was turned away from the others, never taking his eyes from the binoculars he had trained on the large warehouse unit that made the corner of the block.
"I wish we'd known where he was all this time."
That made Jack turn. Martin had a feeling he knew what Sam was talking about even before she continued.
"It just feels wrong that he was here, going through…this...dealing with these people, when we were, y'know, carrying on as normal." Sam shrugged, her eyes reflecting her concern.
Martin's mind turned back to Christmas. Just as with the previous year, there had been no holiday break for the MPU. Something about the jollity of the festivities brought out peoples' desire to disappear. Martin could relate to that.
Last year it had been a young mother who had done every bit of preparation for her family – bought the children's presents, decorated the tree, stuffed the turkey – then was gone, without a trace. For a while it had seemed like an abduction. They'd looked at her husband's former wife as a jealous possibility. Then came a break – Danny's flirting with a shop assistant paid off when she remembered the young mother had bought some extremely provocative underwear as well as the requisite mother-in-law gift set of scented soaps. She'd paid for it in cash rather than put it on the same card as her other purchases and had seemed uncomfortable when the girl joked with her about it being a happy Christmas for her husband. So, a lover then.
Turned out to be a lover with an intention of clearing out her bank account. Case solved on Christmas Eve – not a happy time for the family but drinks were on Jack as the team celebrated a little too much. Even without any alcohol Danny was the life and soul of that party. Martin's memory was a little vague the following morning but there had definitely been dancing, some terribly out of tune karaoke and a lot of laughter.
This year, during a break in another sad case, the team had simply toasted absent friends.
God, Danny! What the hell did you get up to?
Jack huffed as he turned back to his observation. "The only way to get through this kind of thing is to have the right team to back you."
"Al Morgan's a decent guy." From their short meeting with the agent Martin recognised someone that Danny would have trusted.
"Yeah, just a shame it wasn't him with Danny to the end."
Jack's glum temper had darkened throughout the previous day as he'd watched Clive Morrison pea-cocking his way through the intimate planning minutiae of this operation. All those slick phrases to give added gloss. Granularity...huh, didn't that used to be detail....de-conflict...didn't that used to be simply solving a problem?... Jack really hated corporate-speak.
When Morrison had assigned the team to this observation point, with orders to watch and wait for his signal, Jack had looked ready to explode. Martin had watched him fight to control his emotions as he pleaded for his people to be amongst the first to go in and had noted his rigid stance as he was denied. Again.
Everyone understood that they must wait for the shipment to be confirmed. For its arrival in port to be registered. For it then to be transported to Romano's warehouse and for the players to gather.
Everyone knew that the Tactical Unit and SWAT would lead the assault. But that didn't mean Jack's team wanted to wait any longer than was necessary.
There were units placed all around the warehouse. Under cover of darkness, agents had been carefully and silently moved into prime positions for observation and access. Others were right now lying still on rooftops directing weapons, cameras and microphones towards the building and its occupants.
Morrison and his close team were holed up in a building diagonally opposite the front entrance to the warehouse. He was surrounded with all the technology needed to govern this operation. And it was killing Jack not to be there too.
Speakers in their van quietly relayed the observations of the watchers and the orders of their supervisors. The crackled comments breaking through the silent tension inside. With ears tuned to the shorthand and a thoroughly learned impression of the layout and the plan, all agents could picture the set up clearly without actually seeing it.
Martin shifted again."Shame Viv wasn't assigned to this end. Last time we waited on an operation she brought home-made cakes and soup!" The others smiled at his comment, grateful for a lifting of the mood.
Vivienne had been assigned instead to help process the arrests, to be the experienced eyes who would liaise with NYPD over exactly who went where. If numbers were as expected, it would take some doing.
Two agents from Organised Crime were sharing the van. Introductions had been minimal in light of the need for quiet. Dan Turner and Mike Wallace were there to add numbers and to oversee an operation that might so easily have been theirs. It was a fine line between what constituted "pre-emptive" crime and full-on "organised".
Oh Yeah! Martin thought, "I can see why you played things below the wire, Morrison. Refuse to involve other departments 'til this late in the game and all the glory will be yours. He felt a little sick. It could make the bastard's career.
A sudden click on the comm alerted all agents. The noise heralded important information to come.
Morrison's voice filled the quiet. "All agents, be advised....we have confirmation ...the shipment has arrived on dockside. Came in on The Atlantic Star. I repeat, the shipment has arrived on dockside." There was a hint of excitement in his words.
"Green container marked Haldon. Registration number, Echo-Tango-Tango, four-four-six-two-two... Registration is on the side. We're waiting for the pick-up. Monitoring the traffic on dockside and in the cargo office. Intel was that it would be quick so ...standby."
A moments silence followed before another comm click.
"Confirmed visuals on Romano and eight of his people on the inside." A soft laugh made Martin wince...Christ! The guy's really enjoying himself now... "They looked real nervous!" Another short silence. "Still waiting for the guests to arrive...monitoring calls ...will keep you posted."
Jack sat back into his seat and looked around at the other four agents. His eyes glinted a little in the gloom."That's Danny's intel he's talking about. According to Morrison, he said the others would be contacted once the shipment was dockside. They'll be heading here now. Keep your eyes peeled."
The atmosphere was changed now. Martin felt his heartbeat quickening and the tiredness lifting. Finally, the prospect of action.
It didn't come for a further ninety minutes but after the drag of the previous four hours the time flew.
First came confirmation that calls had been heard to two numbers. Untraceable because they were so quick. Coded. Recorded.
Next, news that the shipment was on the move. Cameras caught its collection by forklift; its removal to a distant corner of the dock; its lift onto the shiny eight wheeled low loader and its journey out through the dock gates. Some cargo distribution co-ordinator was about to wish he's never accepted the $500 to reassign and look the other way.
Within fifteen minutes the truck could be seen drawing up to the entrance to the warehouse and being swallowed within its darkness. Textbook.
Infra red cameras captured the movements of tiny hurrying red images as the container was lifted down, the driver paid off and the truck left. The assault teams knew where their targets would be.
The guests began to arrive. Slowly at first – a few drive bys from the point men, their faces pressed to the windows eyeing the nearby vehicles, the rooftops, the likely spots. Then, from different directions, two more cars arrived and were quickly admitted. A Third swept past the van and followed them in.
Eighteen heat radiating red people. So far.
A click broke the silence. "Confirmed visuals on Calderon plus two. Voice recognition on Eno ...four with him. Tati is in there alone....Standby." Morrison's voice was pitched a little high now.
Martin strained his hearing and listened to the coded manoeuvres of the tactical units slipping into their final positions with practised expertise. Their leaders watched the reds settle, listened to the advice of the communications advisors and pinpointed their action.
A click. "All units take up your positions. Wait for my signal"
The van's doors burst open and Martin found himself running across the road and twenty meters down the side walk alongside Jack to throw themselves against the eastern wall of the warehouse. Backs to the brickwork, Samantha fell in next to them to the left of a steel door, Turner and Wallace to the right.
The cold breeze coming up from the waterside came as shock to thier faces. Each was strained and pale with tension. Each held their breath as their eyes scanned the surroundings. Ears tuned to the comms caught the whispered order to the tactical teams. "Move in!"
It was like the moment between a fall and a child's scream. The instant between a drop and the crash of splintering china. Flash to bang.
A series of explosions and then the sharp retort of automatic weapons. Shouted orders over loud speakers and then the exchange of rapid gunfire, muffled behind the wall but loud enough to make the waiting agents wince at the bombardment.
Each clasped their service weapons in the double handed grip as Wallace raised the bolt cutters to the steel chain that held the door. Danny had relayed that, surprisingly, there were no further bolts on the inside and Martin found himself hoping his friend would be proved right on that, or they would never get in on this fight.
"Three hostiles down. Three heading to the east exit." Brian Tolsen's voice was clear and loud now. The agents braced themselves.
Double click. "All back-up units GO! GO! GO!"
Morrison's shouted order was ringing in their heads even as the chain fell away and the door was pulled open. Two high, three low – Martin, Sam and Jack went in first, crossing the opening and covering the others.
Adjusting to the darkness that enveloped them, they flattened again against stacked crates, flinching instinctively at the noise of gunfire from within. The remains of the gas that had been lobbed in to mask the initial assault left them all blinking back irritated tears.
Peering around the crate, Martin caught a flash of movement as a man ducked behind his own cover just a few meters ahead. Splinters flew up into his face as he heard the whiz of a bullet near his head. In a mirrored movement, he and Jack raised their own weapons and fired at the position. Three, four, five shots and the figure lifted into vision before crashing back out of sight, blood blossoming on his chest.
Wallace and Turner had left their cover to move further into the building. A nod to Samantha and Jack indicated they should do the same. Martin crabbed sideways, keeping low until a burst of automatic fire crashed into the boxes he leant against. He hurled himself to the ground, rolling to another stockpile before leaping up to a crouch and bringing his weapon into line..
The flash of gunfire was blinding and the noise deafening as he tried to find his target. Two men emerged from the gloom at a run, firing wildly, their faces grim masks of determination.
Jack raised up from his hidden position to Martin's right and bellowed a warning. "FBI! STOP! FBI!"
When Jack bellowed there was no missing it, his voice rose above the din of the shooting that was still resounding about them, but the men kept coming. They turned their weapons towards the voice and shots came from two sides as Sam, Martin and Jack took aim. The men dropped and Martin felt a surge of relief when he saw that both had taken hits only to shoulders and legs. He and Sam were on them immediately, snatching away their guns, turning them and grabbing cuffs and wrists.
As Martin pulled one of their groaning captives into a seated position, something caused him to still.
In an instant he knew someone was close. Too close. He whirled around, instinctively ducking behind the torso of his prisoner, his only cover.
"Hold your fire!" A voice floated to him through the mists of his panic. Muffled by a gas mask the shouted order came again. A SWAT officer emerged from behind a pile of stacked electronics boxes.
Martin didn't recognise the man but their eyes met through the mask and a nodded acknowledgement passed.
Jack approached the officer. "What do you need?"
The guy simply gestured a "follow me" and Martin and Jack were at his shoulder, leaving Sam to deal with the handcuffed prisoners.
They moved carefully towards the main warehouse space and Martin felt as though he'd stepped onto the set of some action movie. Smoke canisters still belched out whisps of grey mists that hung about countless stacked boxes. The huge red shipping container that had been delivered rested in the middle of the space with its steel doors hanging open. Inside Martin saw stacks of wooden crates had toppled over, or been broken into. Polysytene packaging lay about the floor like snow – the black outlines of weapons poking out like wreckage in the drifts.
"Christ! They got to the weapons!" Martin realised he'd spoken out loud when he caught Jack's eyes also taking in the scene.
Two Tactical agents, in their black body armour, crouched at the entrance to the container holding off any further attempt there might be to raid the goods.
Several bodies lay unmoving on the ground. Martin recognised the staring eyes of Emil Tati, unseeing now in his weasel face.
Agents were securing two men who were face down on the ground, arms and legs outstretched. Forved down with grinding knees into the thier backs. Two more were already being marched out of the main doors.
Shouts came from the gloom on the other side of the warehouse, followed by FBI warnings and a series of further shots. A scream of pain. Clearly it wasn't over yet. Teams were assigned to their duties, to specific areas, and all knew better than race into any possible crossfire.
Striding forwards, silhouetted against the grey brightness of the outside, Martin recognised the figure of Clive Morrison moving in for a piece of the action.
At the same moment Jack's voice brought him spinning around to follow his quick gesture.
"Martin! Romano! ...There!"
A figure was slowly moving through the darkness – edging backwards into the cover it offered.
Jack and Martin ran together to follow, splitting left and right of a car parked against the back wall. They kept low and slowed, noting each others' positions and nodding their plans for cover.
The figure was gone.
The agents stayed still, listening, raking the gloom with their eyes.
A slight sound alerted them. A slight movement focused them and they were moving again. Martin took a moment to quiet his breathing, to still his jumping nerves and crept around a metal drum. Then he froze.
Romano stood ahead with his gun raised just two meters from Martin's face. In the millisecond it took to register, Martin noted his widened eyes reflected a cold brutality. He brought his own weapon up even as he flung himself to the left but he knew then that he would be too late.
Crashing down hard onto his side he watched as Romano jerked back before him – his shoulder jolted as a bullet crashed through it. Romano's gun arm flew high in response. As he turned and fell, a crimson rosette appeared between his eyes and a black splash of brain matter hit the wall behind.
Martin felt rushing in his ears as his heart pounded and he realised he was holding his breath. It escaped in an explosive gasp that filled the moment of silence. Looking behind him from his position on the ground, Martin saw Jack turn round too.
"We needed him alive!"
Jack's voice roared and Morrison took a step back, his gun still raised at the space where Romano had stood in the instant before.
"We needed him alive!" He repeated. Jack's voice quivered with anger now as he straightened.
Morrison turned his eyes to Jack and drew himself up."I had no choice. I saved your agent's life." His voice was clipped.
"Yeah? Well, you might have lost us another." Jack gestured at the body spread-eagled behind him. "Romano could have told us where Danny Taylor is!"
He jabbed a finger towards the corpse of the gang boss.
"He's sure not going to tell us now is he!"
TBC...
I know I made you wait, but let me know if it was worth it...