Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: Big thanks, no HUGE thanks to Julie, for her invaluable, generous and wonderful medical assistance.
Twice the driver's eyes shifted to the man riding beside him. Although the face was pensive, the machine behind the pale green eyes was working overtime.
"So," the preacher asked, "What's the plan?"
"What makes you think I have a plan?"
"'cause those wheels you're spinning need oil."
Ezra allowed a brief smile and brushed a small fleck of lint from his cashmere coat. "I think it's time my alter ego pays a little visit to that reptile Bates."
"How long you and your 'alter ego' been in business?" Josiah inquired of 'Etienne Auberge' the New Orleans resident that Ezra used in many of his undercover assignments. He'd established himself so well in the role over the years, he was known on site at many of the town's finer restaurants as "Mister Auberge." From his early days with the F.B.I., through his years with Interpol and now with the ATF, he'd added to that background, creating a solid cover.
"It started as a ruse in college, to separate myself from my mother. I created Etienne and established bank accounts, stocks, real estate, attained a driver's license and even registered to vote."
"I didn't think you voted half the time," Sanchez teased.
"Don't tell Etienne that," the conman grinned, "He's a staunch Democrat and contributes heavily to all the right causes."
"Democrat?" the gray-haired man wrinkled his brow, "Damn, that had to hurt!"
"A trial of fire wouldn't have been more painful," the confirmed Republican replied, tapping his chest. "I still check for blood."
"Where to?"
"Royal Street."
Josiah's eyebrows went up, knowing it was an expensive neighborhood. But he wasn't prepared for the beautiful, two story white home in the heart of the French Quarter. He could see hints of the rooftop garden and flowers that graced the lace-like iron grid work of the wraparound porch on the second level. It was on the corner and went well nested in the 'prime real estate' zone.
"Nice little shack," he managed, keeping a straight face. "That's a lot of zeros," he added, figuring the worth to exceed a million dollars.
"Yes, it was a tidy little investment fifteen years ago. It needed a lot of restoration work and I had just come into a nice return on some stock. It was built in 1851 and I've tried to retain that era within."
"I'll bet," the driver nodded, knowing how Ezra loved to shop for antiques.
"The chandeliers in the entryway and dining room are Tiffany and were imported by the original owner. I also acquired his writing desk, his silver service, some first edition books and gun collection. The rest of the furnishings are close to that timeframe or created to give that impression."
"I know you've got dough, Ezra, but this has got to set you back some." He pulled the carin across the street.
"Since it's on the National Register of Historic Homes, I allow tours when I'm not here. You'd be surprised at the large volume of tourists that haul their eager bodies through my humble abode."
"Damn, Brother, I can see dollar signs in those eyes of yours," Sanchez laughed. "Humble, yeah, that's you, Ezra!"
"Would you like the grand tour?"
"I don't think I can afford it," Josiah said somberly.
"It's on the house."
"That's a first," the ex-vet muttered, pulling his large body from the small car.
"What was that?" Ezra turned, not hearing the words.
"Does this tour include feeding the hungry tourists?"
"I think the kitchen might be open," Ezra unlocked the door, flipped the light on and smiled smugly at the inhalation of astonishment.
"Buck wasn't kidding when he said this place made the Taj Mahal look like a sandbox."
"You'd be surprised at how easily that womanizer slid into the good life," he noted. More than a few times, when they went undercover, Buck was his partner. He'd stayed in the home on several occasions and enjoyed every bit of the ruse. Ezra smiled despite himself, recalling the sight of Buck sleeping soundly in one of the bedrooms with two of the most notable 'blue blood's in the area.
The smokey eyes traveled around the pale blue walls of the foyer and widened at the sparkling, antique light overhead. "I can't count that high..." He followed Ezra through a series of rooms, each done in pastels, with ivory woodwork and antique furnishings. Priceless paintings adorned the walls. A den, a living room and impressive kitchen were complimented by a huge dining room, with French doors that lead into a gorgeous garden. Upstairs were three bedrooms, all with fireplaces and a study.
"Mighty impressive," he eased his body into a large wingchair. "but it's not home."
"Hah," Standish's green eyes twinkled, seeing a mental image of the 'rustic' cabin the eldest lived in outside town. "If you're referring to that collection of wood you huddle in, " he paused and handed the other man a snifter of imported brandy. "It's amazing that you haven't contracted a disease."
"Every man's castle is his own," Josiah raised the glass to his host. "Much obliged." He listened while the smaller man contacted a local restaurant and effortlessly ordered something in French. "That was an awful lot of words for hamburgers."
"Perish the thought," the gambler shuddered. "In order of appearance, Shrimp Bisque, Marinated Duck Salad with with Baby Greens, Crawfish and Gouda Bundles, Crabcakes Bearnaise, Filet of Tenderloin Marsala with Mushroom Stuffing, Wild Rice with Pecans, Chicken stuffed with Andouille, Asparagus with Lemon Glaze and Chocolate Tureen for dessert."
"What no French fries?" the grinning preacher teased.
There were no adequate words that he could think of, that would describe that assault on his mouth. It went far beyond delicious and nearly was orgasmic. Food prepared with such precision and skill was a thing of beauty. The wine was perfect too, compliments of the 'Auberge Wine Cellar'. The sated preacher sat back, patting his full stomach as he saluted his host.
"You know, I could get used to this," Josiah smiled, lifted an antique Waterford wine glass and grinned . "Maybe when I retire, I'll move in, become the long lost Lord Auberge from just outside Paris."
"Maybe not," Ezra shot back, cutting into his food, "After we dine, you return to the hotel. I'm going to shower and change. I'll arrive later, seeking out Bates' services. I have made a generous inquiry and have full confidence he'll reply. "
"For what?"
"To retain his unique talents to dissuade a rather nasty business associate."
"Okay, I'll snoop around, see if I can find out anything from the staff. See if you can lift his prints, Ezra."
"Do I look 'green' to you?" Standish scoffed, insulted.
"No, but in candlelight," he winked, eyeing the flickering flames, "You sure look pretty." That did get a laugh and the host nodded, raising his glass.
There was that noise again. Under closed lids, he made a face at the intrusion. It was cold and the musty smell invaded his airway uninvited. His limbs were numb; collection of pins and needles dancing in his muscle walls. There was that noise again. Irritated, he pulled his heavy eyes open, only to discover it was his moaning, coupled with harsh coughing over a set of chattering teeth. Despite the dampness, the skin pressed to his chest was warm. He didn't need light in the inky blackness to see that his friend was developing a fever. His leaden, tingling hand moved, shifting their bodies. He eased his slim torso from under the unconscious leader's and rolled sideways. He tried to stifle the cry of pain and failed. It exploded everywhere, combating the lost circulation for territorial rights. The lower back pain was the worst, it felt like there were glowing hot branding irons shoved in his back. Tears sprung in his eyes and he moved again, causing his head to explode in pain. He managed to sit up and began the painful process of rubbing his limbs. Finally, he managed to get on his knees, then pulled himself up. Both soles of his tender feet rebelled, screaming at him and causing him to cry out. The pain nearly crippled him, but he held fast, walking gingerly. His goal, his only goal, was to get Chris Larabee to safety.
"Who's there?" Chris rasped, hearing a sharp cry in the dark. He clenched his teeth as his bone-shaking chills went into overdrive. "Christ, it's cold in here."
"...could be worse..."
"I don't see how," Larabee grunted, relieved to hear his best friend's voice. "We're beat to hell, bleeding and half-naked, lost in... in... I don't know where the hell we are."
"...still alive..."
"Don't go singing 'Kay Sera Sera' yet, Tanner," he seethed, forgetting his wounded arm, he tried to use it to get up and felt as if a spear went through the arm. "Shit... shit... where the hell are we?"
"Don't know."
"How long we been here?"
"Don't know."
"How we gonna get out?"
"Don't know."
"Well, what the hell do you know!" the irritated, injured, concussed blond asked, his voice hot and his stomach ready to revolt.
Vin paused in the dark, knowing this man well enough to realize his frustration had long passed the boiling point. He thought for a few seconds and shuffled closer, finally feeling some blood running through his cramped muscles.
"I got a cute lil' Tanner ass," he croaked, thinking on the now infamous line that his friends teased him mercilessly about. He heard a snort than turned into a chuckle and as his eyes adjusted to the dim shadows, he saw a wet head move.
"Than how about hauling it over here and getting me up?" Chris raised his arm in the dark, knowing Vin would be there. The first attempt ended with the younger man sprawled on top of him. "Goddammit, Vin!"
"Shut the hell up," the long-haired man sniper shot back, "and get yer elbow outta m'crotch."
The second attempt was worse, Vin got Chris up and then fell, slipping back into the cold water. By the time Chris got him out, both seriously injured men were spent. Lying side by side, in the dark on the damp ground, their panting breath mingled in the cavern.
"... like the blind leading the fucking blind... " Chris managed , "Come on, Vin, there's air coming from that tunnel."
"G'head... I'm right behind ya."
For several minutes, the ragged breathing pattern melded into a surreal concert. Each man felt the Herculean force of gravity sitting on their chest. Limbs ached, skulls throbbed, flesh seared and bones screamed. Finally, fear of losing consciousness again, became the driving force of the injured ATF leader. He bit his lip bloody, rolling over and sitting upright. He snaked a hand out to the darkened, prone image beside him and gave it a shake.
"...heard... y... you... were... some... kinda... tracker..."
"...heard a few things 'bout yer sorry ass too..." Vin confessed, "...come as a real surprise t'me when I found out ya had folks."
Chris grinned at the veiled reference to being a 'bastard'. The smile faded when the other man didn't move. Time, precious and few, was slipping away. Sucking in his breath, he snaked his good arm out and got Vin behind the neck. In one solid move, he pulled him into a sitting position. He ignored the cry of pain and continued his mission in silence.
"...Chris... I don't think..."
"Then don't," the sharp reply came, "I'll think for you, let's go." He gripped the Texan's forearm and felt a slight movement. He heard the grunts of pain and exasperation, as the fallen man tried to stand.
"I can't..." Vin begged off, dizzy as he fought off waves of pain.
"Remember that sign over Nathan's desk?"
"Sign?"
"Together Everyone Achieves More," Larabee used the motto as an order.
"TEAM, " Vin nodded, "Okay... okay... here... goes..." He took in a long breath and vaulted his body up. "Aw, shit..." the whole cave was spinning around and every muscle in both feet were pulsating. "Chris!!!!"
"I gotcha."
The words hit him harder than the arm that supported him. How true those two words were and how much they'd come to mean. He held on for a few minutes, then felt the world stop moving. Nodding, he righted himself and eyed the area. He tilted his head, lifted his nose and paused, then began shuffling. He heard the footfall behind him, as his partner follwed without question. Twice he went down and Chris got him up. When Chris fell, he hauled him up. Then, Chris left his free hand on Vin's waist and Vin snaked the injured arm over his shoulders, using his other hand to secure Chris's belt loop.
"T... t... t... e... a... m...." he coughed, feeling the older man's weight painfully.
"...none... be...tter..." Larabee replied.
Staggering and shifting, they plodded on, their uneven gait troubling at times. With every faltering step and cry of pain, they inched closer to what they hoped was freedom. Neither spoke of it, but each wondered individually about the two captors who were lurking in the dark as well.
It was nearly midnight in the city that never sleeps. Josiah Sanchez sat in the lounge of the Sauville House and sipped an Irish coffee. He eyed the notes he'd taken, having spoken with the house staff and gardner. He was drawing up a list of followups, when his cell phone rang.
"How'd you do?" Buck asked, hearing the deep voice. He was at the Saloon, having a nightcap. The dark Irishman went upstairs, returning briefly to tell him all was well, the family, including Cait, were fast asleep. They agreed to meet at dawn, he'd bring Josiah and Ezra with him. The bar was crowded and noisy, causing the agent to cup one ear.
"Got a couple possibles," the older man replied, "Our Mister Bates has a checkered past."
"Why am I not surprised," Buck stated, "Me and Ryan met up with a snitch of Trent's gone bad. He said he's got a place outside town where he takes suspects to question them."
"Where?" Josiah asked, sitting up and taking notice.
"On River Road, but he thinks not too far. Some old pirate's hideout. Ryan thinks Caitlin might be able to help, she's a local historian or something. What'd you get?"
"Well," he chuckled, thinking on the house staff's warm reception, "our boy Vin's endeared himself to every female that works here. They were happy to help. Plus Bates isn't too well liked... seems he's got a shady past. One of the maids told me he's suspected of several disappearances in this areas and he's wanted in Haiti."
"Nice." Buck sighed, "Is he there?"
"No, I made the cops right off, they moved down the street a little."
"He won't show," Wilmington thought aloud, ordering a pint of Guiness. "He's gotta know we're hunting Chris and Vin."
"Oh, you'd be surprised how influencial our friend Etienne can be..."
"What's he up too?"
"We had dinner at that house of his, if you can call it that."
"Hell, I was half-tempted to marry him, just to get a piece of it," Buck mused.
"You talkin' about Ezra's tail or the house?" Josiah asked, then smiled as Buck's much needed laughter filled the phone.
"What's his game?" Buck recovered.
"He's gonna try to hire him out to, and I quote, 'dissuade a nasty business associate'. He's gotta a call into him. I'm sure all those zero's will move our mysterious voodoo priest to come back. I'm waiting for him now."
"Okay, I'm gonna finish my beer and then ride around. Maybe that prick will turn up."
"Buck, this isn't the kind of town to go prowling around in along after dark." Sanchez warned. "I'm in the lounge, get back here. Maybe by the time you get here, Ezra will have news for us."
"Yeah, okay," Buck hung up and felt a small hand on his backside. "Sorry, Darlin," he apologized to the pretty blonde who was pressing up to him with inviting eyes. "not tonight." He kissed her hand and smiled reluctantly. Draining his pint, he turned his collar up against the cold night air. His eyes raked the sky as he walked to his car. Were Vin and Chris still alive? Images of their mutilated bodies at he hands of that sadist haunted him.
He watched her sleeping, wondering about the powerful effect that the simple act of breathing had on him. He sat next to the bed, drinking in every feature on her face. His fingers burned to rake through those unruly curls and his lips thirsted to taste that mouth again. He brushed the hair from her forehead and she sighed, rolling on her side. He drew lazy circles on the back of her neck and traced a line along her jaw. He bent lower, kissing her cheek and groaning softly into that mass of silky hair.
"Uhmmm..." Caitlin moaned, pressing her face into the large hand. She inhaled the wonderful mix of Polo, Irish Whiskey and wet leather. She knew before she opened her eyes. She turned, snaked a hand around the strong neck and pulled him down. Unlike the first kiss, this one was hot and greedy. Their tongues did the dance of the devil, sparring and warring in a hot duel. She moaned when that large hand slipped beneath her shirt and caressed her breast. Then just as suddenly, he moved away.
"I'm sorry," Ryan hissed, balling up his fists, "I shouldn't have done that."
"Why, am I that repulsive?"
"No!" He reared back, but not fast enough. She was on her feet, pulling him against her and put every bit of talent she possessed in one mighty kiss that made his knees weak.
"You move me, McKenna," she said huskily, nibbling his lower lip and caressing his back under his shirt and jacket.
"I'm a little moved myself," he grunted painfully, stirring against the restrictive denim pants. He winced as the pressure formed into hurricane force.
"Stay..." she whispered in his ear, biting the soft flesh under his ear.
"Are you sure?" He worried, even as the small hands had worked his jacket and belt off. "Caitlin?" he whispered over the roar in his ears, as the skilled hands got his zipper down and the pants fell.
"Does this answer your question?" she looked up at him and untied the clasps of the short gown she wore, letting it fall. He shucked his boots off, and his shirt followed.
He paused, breathing heavily and marveling at the perfect vision of love that was presented to him. He cupped her face and kissed each eyelid, the tip of her nose and then tenderly brushed her lips. He pulled her ripe body against him, wondering at the perfect fit.
"It's like Adam..." He noted of the first male and discovering the power of woman.
His hot breath sent shivers through her as the strong hands roamed over her body. She smiled up at him and arched an eyebrow. "I'm no Eve," she purred, moving her hand, "I'm good at taming snakes." His groan was lost in the kiss she delivered, as they fell onto the bed.
It was a magical moment in time, preserved forever in the new lover's hearts and seared into their souls. Later, as they cuddled, her back was pressed against his strong chest. His arm encircled her waist, drawing her close. Those wonderous curls were tickling his face and he nuzzled her temple.
"I love you Caitlin," he offered with all his heart, "From the first moment I saw you..." He broke off the thought as she turned, cupping his face in both hands.
"Oh, Ryan." Her heart went out, realizing for the first time, just how strong he was. That she was the cause of the pain she'd so often seen in those magnificent blue eyes and mistook. She used her fingers to trace his face, rubbing her thumbs over his lips. She shivered, when he captured one, suckling it gently. "How could I have been so blind? I love you, too... I hope you can forgive me."
"Now and Forever?" he rasped, picking up the locket that was around her neck. Her tears of joy gave him his reply. They became lost again, letting the brash moon cast a silver light on their rapture.
"I'm on my way."
"Where?" Josiah eyed the approaching hour of one a.m. Buck wasn't back yet and if that was enough to worry about, now he had Ezra running loose.
"I'm meeting Bates at the old woman's shop. Mister Wilmington is providing cover. He's already established himself in a room across the street."
"Nice of him to update me!" Sanchez growled.
"Sorry, 'Dad'," Buck's voice, courtesy of Ezra's three way calling, broke into the line. "You can ground me and take away the car."
"Okay, Ezra, be careful!" Josiah ignored the mustached agent.
"Moi? Live on the edge?"
"Hey, Pard, did you update your will? Be a damn shame to let that house of yours fall into the wrong hands. I could do wonders by it... "
"Hah!" The conman scoffed at the rogue, whose voice always brought a smile. "I'd come back and haunt you. I have visions of signs emblazoned with 'Live Nudes' and dancing harlots on the second story porch." He shuddered.
"That house needs a master's touch," Buck whispered in the open line. "It suits me!"
"Like the plague," Standish drolled, "As sterling as this conversation is, I bid you adieu!"
As he rose out of the car, he gave a short shift of his eyes, catching Buck's shadow in the window. He made his way to the door and knocked once, paused, then three more, a pre-arranged signal. After a few moments, the click of the lock granted him entry. A dozen candles lit a small altar and the man before him bore no resemblence to one he'd seen in the video. He was draped in a long cloak, mostly black with a green and gold snake emblazoned on the back. He nodded once, indicating a pair of chairs near a small stone table. The pugnant trace of incence clung heavily in the air and the whisper of chimes sauntered about the room.
"I finally meet the elusive Etienne Auberge." Nigel said, watching the other man's face carefully. The eyes locked on his with vague interest.
"Elusive is befitting my lifestyle," Ezra returned, "I spent most of my time overseas."
"Yes, I know about the jetsetting and your international business transactions," the priest revealed, settling into a chair. "I make it my business to research a client thoroughly, before agreeing to a meeting. No further discussion of your lifestyle is necessary. The less I know, the better you'll fare."
"As you wish," the conman nodded, feeling a little unnerved. It wasn't often that anyone made him nervous. But being a avid reader, he was more than familiar with dark religious practices and powers this man held. He felt the dark eyes nearly burning into his flesh. "I trust the amount offered is to your satisfaction?" He coughed and shifted in the chair.
"More than enough," he noted of the large sum, nearly triple what he charged. "I have a variety of methods, I'll present and explain them. You may choose the one that best suits you. Do you wish this person to disappear forever, suffer mental collapse or physical impairment?"
"How did you come to be... that is, and forgive my ignorance, so well schooled in these arts? Is that something that's inherited or is it training?" He coughed again, several times.
"Both," Bates replied, "I enhanced that which came with my blood, by years of study out of this country. Shall we continue? Ritual, Spell or Potion? I'll explain each method and the expected results. You will bring me half of the money the same time tomorrow night, along with the name of the victim."
As the powerful priest went into sordid detail, providing photos of previous 'client's, Ezra began to feel strange. The combination of the candles, bitter incense and chimes were distracting. What started as a ruse to get the other man out of the room, had turned into genuine throat distress.
"Are you ill?" Bates eyed the watery eyes of the other man.
"No, but would you have Perrier?" He waited, while the other man moved out of the room. He stood and moved, stretching his back and heading for the window. As he slipped the small window up, to gain some air, his eyes fell on a piece of splitering wood. He mentally replayed his entrance and saw the dark-skinned hand of the priest grip that jagged edge. He tapped it, slipping it into a handkerchief and into his pocket. He continued to suck the air in, until the other man returned. He examined the bottle carefully, glad it was glass and sealed. It was cold and refreshing, but he yearned for the warm burn of liquor. Finally, it was done and he left, moving quickly to his car. He was two blocks away, before he pulled over. He shot out of the car and into an all night coffee house. So shaken was he by the dark man, he didn't realize Buck was by his side. He jumped and spun quickly, spilling his coffee when the hand touched his shoulder.
"What the hell was that?" the rogue barked, "You scared the hell out of me. Christ, between you coughing, them chimes, his voice and his damn candles flickering... then you tore off like a bat out of hell." He paused, pressing damp napkins to the area on Ezra's hand where the hot coffee hit. He'd worked with this man for a long time, in dire straights and dodging bullets. He'd never seen his friend so shaken. The jade eyes were wide and tinged with fear and the hands trembled. "Come on, Josiah's waiting in the room. You need something stronger than coffee."
"I'm fine," Ezra snapped, pulling his hand away. "Stopping fawning over me, I'm not a helpless old crone." He tried to convince himself, but didn't shove the hand off his shoulder. Actually, he was relieved to see Buck. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that."
"Yeah you did!" the other man laughed, patting the expensive coat. "Now that's the Ezra I know and love. Speaking of which, is this Etienne a switch hitter?"
"What?" Ezra turned at the doorway, "Certainly not!"
"Don't be so closed minded," Buck winked saucily."I got an idea for you to think over before our next assignment. I could move in... be your house boy! On paper only, of course. I'm telling you, Ezra, me and that house are like a hand in glove. You okay, there?" He eyed the coughing, sputtering smaller man, whose eyes were tearing. "Hey, maybe you caught the creeping crud from the Kid."
"Don't touch me," Ezra backed away. "In my worst fit of delirium I'd never stoop to such standards. You're methods are hardly invisible. As least Mister Tanner had the common decencyto wait for me to depart this world, before 'shackn' up with m'grievin' widda' he mimicked the Texan's voice. Both men fell silent and then it was Ezra's turn to wince. Under the lamplight, he saw every feature on the taller man's face freeze and dissolve into anguish. Both large fists curled up and the dark head dropped. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to rub salt in that wound..."
Buck took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to dissolve the churning acid in his gut. "I can't help thinking... what that bastard's doin' to him... and Chris. What if..."
"If for one moment you believed that, you'd not be fighting sleep and risking your health," he noted sharply of Wilmington's empty question of their friends being alive. "I think we both need that drink."
"Yeah," Buck sighed, toying with the keys in his hands. "Hey, maybe when you kick off and Vin and your widow move in, I could woo her away from that rascal. Hell, she'd have to be blind to pick that scrawny ass of his over this piece of prime beef. Me and her could live the good life down here in the Big Easy."
"As the Stomach Turns," the southerner rolled his eyes of the continuing saga of Buck Wilmington's love life. He was still smiling when he drove off.
The darkness gave way to a murky, gray world, full of strange night sounds and smells. Creatures of air and land skittered about, not hiding their displeasure. As the intruders, they were looked at from eyes hidden in the thick overgrowth. They were both beyond the point of pain, well into the numbing zone. To stop and give in would mean death. So they trudged onward, supporting each other and ignoring the agony of every faltering step.
Chris never questioned where Vin was taking them. He trusted this man's innate knowledge of land and marveled at how his used all five of his senses to gage distance, time and heading. He didn't argue when Vin sat them both down on a large, fallen tree. Blue crept into the dark sky, forewarning of Dawn's upcoming debut.
Vin saw the blond's eyes drooping and elbowed him. The face screwed up and he could see the glaze of fever in the green eyes. He had to keep Chris awake, before the infection from his wound rendered him unconscious. He knew they had a little ways to go yet, he had a good idea where the access road to the main highway was. He craned his neck, taking in the bayou around them. Too weary to wage war with the bugs that attacked, he ignored the bites to his tender skin. That he was able to walk, was a miracle. Between his head, feet and back, he felt crippling pain. As of yet, neither Fowler or Trent had picked up their trail. Then he saw something several yards away and felt a small respite. He staggered, fell and ending up crawling. He picked several of the plants, recognizing them from the eyes of his grandfather, who'd taught him about medicinal herbs. He clutched the 'fireweed' and stumbled back to the clearing, where the blond head had fallen. He dropped to his side, laying his precious cargo at this feet. He quickly tore into the plants, chewing the inner roots of the stems. While he worked, he ripped a section of his sweat pants and laid it across his knee. Finally, he had a mouthful of poultice. It would help combat Chris's infection. He pressed the sticky mess onto the wound on the leader's left arm and wrapped it with the cloth he'd ripped.
"Hey?" he slapped the bare chest, annoyed at the growing warmth.
"Huh?"
"Get them eyes open," He ordered, "...give me that glare that kilt that gator."
"Huh?"
"Hell, ya claim I'm short on talk," he rolled his eyes. "Back there... I seen ya... one minute he was ready to eat ya... Damn, talk about indigestion... next thing, he's on his back, deader than Bucklin's love life."
"...not dead... knocked out... small brain... cold blood... flip over... blood rushes to brain... out cold... Billy Tremain... college roommate... family business...."
"Well," Vin said, putting the cryptic clues together and hauling his friend up."Reckon when yer ass is t'old to hunt felons, ya can open a Gator Wrestlin' business. Give that fella on the cable show a run fer his money. Come on, Gatorboy, let's make tracks."
"...tracks..." Chris coughed, blinking at the unfamiliar terrain. "...fuck are we?" He saw Vin limping, then staggering and nearly falling over. "...some tracker... can't walk straight..."
"Shut the hell up," Vin hissed, when the ache in his back exploded. "I'll leave yer sorry ass here. Ain't like any gator'd get that desperate... end up dyin' of indigestion." He pulled Chris up, not able to bite back the cry of pain.
Chris flinched when Vin's sharp release hit his ear. He tried to pull back, not wanting to add any more misery to his best friend's plight. Instead, he sent a mental prayer of thanks to the man upstairs. Anybody else, and they'd be dead by now. Vin's natural gift for trail blazing had saved their lives. He sucked his breath in and stood up, eyes widening as the dense brush flew past him.
"Come on, Gil Favor, let's get movin'," he tapped Vin's damp head. The younger man was bent over, sucking air through clenched teeth.
"Who?" Vin's face screwed up as he straightened up and moved to catch the outflung arm.
"Rawhide... Gil Favor, trail boss... keep... them... dog...gies... movin'..."
"Yer fever-addled, Larabee."
"Clint... East...wood... Rowdy Yates... Tele...vi...sion... great... show..."
"...black and white..."
"...some..."
"before m'time... I barely recall that Michael... Landon..show..."
"Bonanza?" Chris's voice rose, "...not... possible... on... every fuckin'... cable channel... twelve... times... day..."
"...no..." Vin staggered, nearly fell and cried out again. He felt Chris try to help, by moving on his own. He ended that decision by firmly tugging the arm back on his neck. "...other... one... with Merlin Olsen..."
"Prarie?" Chris chuckled. "...chick show..."
"...I's little... I didn't know... .different..."
"...wuss..."
"...geezer..."
They fell into a disturbing silence, each supporting the other in a gravity defying journey. Vin felt Chris's weight increasing as the blond grew weaker. He held onto the sagging body, quickening his steps. The wounded man was fading fast. They moved on, he welcomed the warmth of the new sun, peeking shyly over the dense area. He was fully supporting his friend now, and the dead weight crippled him. His muscles were on fire and his head pounded so hard he couldn't see. Then he saw it... a slip of trail. Hauling the unconscious man up, he inched his way forward, crying out in pain. He lowered Chris onto a cluster of fallen trees, tapped the wet face but got no reply. He collapsed then, overcome by blinding pain. Then he heard a horn and jerked his head. Sweat ran a crooked river down his body, stinging his swollen eyes. His pounding heart nearly drowned out the roar in this ears. Truckers. They'd be taken their haul on a main road. He narrowed his eyes and saw a slip of black at the end of the trail. A highway!!! His energy spent, his bleeding feet and broken body could no longer support dual weight. He couldn't even stand. But he had to move, to get to that road and those trucks. He laid a hand against the pale throat of his best friend and made a vow.
"I won't let ya die... I'm gettin' help... ya hang on..." With a last gentle tap to the bruised cheek, he turned away.
He crawled, hand over hand, keeping his heavy eyes trained on the road ahead. Twice he collapsed, nearly passing out. By the time he got to the blacktop of the highway, he was paralyzed. He rolled his fevered, bleeding and battered body onto the edge of the road. The light blue sky was swirling in circles, making his stomach churn. His head was exploding and his back on fire. His feet felt like he'd stepped on razors and then rubbing alchohol. He was drifting when a hand rolled him over. Through swollen eyes, he blinked at the blurry figure.
"Help... need..." he coughed, wincing as the demon gripping his lower back, belched loudly. Seeing the blurry figure bending, he reached a trembling hand up. "Thank God..." his wavering voice was full of hope.
"Easy, my friend, I'll deliver you." He took the lower part of the arm of the battered, barely recognizable figure and squeezed hard. He locked onto the fevered eyes and deep within, then shook his head in dismay.
Vin screamed as the 'helping' hand snapped his left wrist, breaking it. He curled up in pain, clasping it to his chest.. In shock and disoriented, he blinked at the blurry dark face and then his blood ran cold. Suddenly the features formed a name and it struck cold fear and defeat in his heart. The pain in his wrist paled by comparison. Not only was his fate sealed, but he'd left his best friend to die. Alone and unconscious, Chris Larabee was helpless prey to snakes or other wild creatures. "No..." he fought weakly, until the strong hand touched his neck and applied pressure. His eyes bulged and watered, his mouth voicing a silent protest punctuated by red-streaked saliva.
"...sorry..." he whispered to the smiling image of his best friend, which hovered in his mind's eye. "...busted... word..."
Then his body went slack, with one lingering sigh, which escaped from his bloodied lips. He didn't feel the strong arms gather him up and place him in the trunk of the car. He didn't hear the hood slam, entombing him. He didn't hear the sick laughter as the driver pulled out, glancing at the red lights of the highway patrol in the rearview.
He drove slowly, until the offensive car was not in sight. Then he pulled over and took his cell phone out.
"Hello?" Geoff Trent barked into the phone. He and Fowler had been up all night, trying to find the needle, or two in this case, in the haystack. The thick folliage around the cabin was difficult to manuever in. They didn't know which of the many tunnels the escapees took and they'd been forced to split up. He was at a roadside dive, getting a greasy sandwich for breakfast.
"I believe I have something you lost," Nigel Bates oozed, thinking of his prisoner.
"Bates?" Trent winced, "I'm not in the mood for any of your fucking games. Get to the point."
"I wasn't able to return home last night, the police are parked outside and my staff has been quizzed by some of Larabee's men."
"Bates, I'm warning you!"
"...I was traveling to my ancestral home, to formulate an escape plan." he spoke of the family's cabin buried deep in Bayou. "and I happened upon a hitchhiker. I'm afraid he's not well at all. But more curious, how on earth did Vin Tanner get loose?"
"What!" Trent was wide awake now, staring at the phone. "If you're bullshiting me..."
"I am not the 'joking' kind." The powerful priest creased his brows, "You should have done your work better, he knows nothing. Where do you want him? How did he escape?"
"It's a long story? Was he alone?"
"Yes, why? Don't tell me... you lost them both! You'stupid fool!"
"Ask him where Larabee is! He knows too much."
"Tanner is unable to speak in his current condition. Perhaps later, your silver-handed friend can extract that information."
"Just take him to the cabin, I may need him as leverage. If not, I'll let Fowler have him. Maybe they split up... I haven't heard from Fowler in a couple hours. Maybe he got the other one. Chain him like a dog..."
"Very well, but I'll expect a bonus."
"Yeah... yeah..." He hung up, quickly dialing Fowler. "Did you get Larabee?"
"No, we need another plan and we need to move fast. If they get picked up..."
"One of them did, Bates found Tanner on the highway. He's taking him back to the hole. Get back there and watch him."
"Just Tanner? Where's Larabee?" Fowler spit into the swamp he was standing next to.
"I don't know... maybe they split up... hell, maybe Larabee never made it out of the tunnel alive."
"Where you going?" Fowler walked back through the thickness.
"To initiate Plan B," he growled, getting behind the wheel.
"B?" Fowler frowned, "The kid? You're gonna pinch that little girl for money? That big fellow won't let you near her."
"Then I'll kill him," He said of Ryan McKenna. "...and Cait will pay anything to get that brat back."
Pete Bosiak whistled as he moved his large body down the path. He winced as the bladder pressure built up. He made a mental note to drink less Big Gulps on his long trips. The trucker nearly groaned in relief, when he let the warm stream out. He zipped up and was turning, when he saw a patch of blond peeking through the bushes. Jogging over, he found a body. A filthy, half-naked, bloodied figure with dirty yellow hair was huddled on the earth.
"Jesus, Pal, what the hell happened to you?" He eyed the blood, bruises and near naked state with shocked eyes. He snaked a hand down to the throat, shocked to find him alive. With little effort, he lifted the injured man. "Don't worry, I'll have them bears here in a flash," he noted of the state troopers. "You're gonna be okay." He moved quickly back to his truck, easing the injured man on the side of the large vehicle and picking up his radio.
Through the hot mud that was sizzling in his head, he heard buzzing sounds. He crossed his brows and tried to move, but felt his body restrained. He felt hands moving all over him. poking and probing his tender flesh. A sting on his arm brought his eyes open. His blurry gaze saw the clear plastic fluid in an IV. His gaze drifted to two unfamiliar faces bending over him. Behind them, he saw khaki pants with dark stripes. Stripes... cops? His inner alarm sounded, he needed to tell them something , but what? The buzzing died out and voices blended in.
"Easy, now, yuh gonna be fine," Derrick Malone's thick accent only caused the patient to jerk back. It was obvious that he alarm in the seagreen eyes was rising rapidly. He followed the line of vision, to where the state troopers were talking to the truck driver. "Hey, Carl, go get that cop..."
"Okay," the junior medic trotted off, leaving his partner to complete the assessment.
Chris was panicked now. His heart was pounding and his breathing was becoming more difficult . The closer they got to leaving... leaving where?... he couldn't recall... the more frantic he became. His brain was screaming at him, to tell them. Tell them what? His head moved again, to the trees and other markers on the terrain. Then he remembered and he opened his mouth, as the gurney began to move.
"No! Vin!"
"What?" the dark-skinned veteran medic asked, upon hearing the strained, weak voice. He felt the injured man's hand move, reaching to the edge of his vision. "Are yuh lookin' for someone?"
"V...v...v...in...."
"Wasn't nobody near yuh when that trucker stumbled on yuh. The cops checked, didn't find anyone else."
"Not... good... 'nuf... get... asses... back... find... Now..." He struggled, trying to rise.
"Now hold on!" Malone roared, "I just got that IV line in a rolling vein and yuh ain't gonna disrupt it. Yuh'r in shock, yuh got a slug in yuh'r arm and yuh'r goin' to the hospital."
"What's up?" Sargeant Dave Brewster squatted over the injured man.
"...Lara...bee... ATF... Denver... partner... missing... Tanner... there!" he gasped, pointing his hand to the wooded area. "...find... hurt... bad... please..."
"Tanner?" The cop frowned, scratched his chin and eyed the area. "I combed that area where that guy found you, you were alone."
"No!" Chris was losing the battle now, his heavy eyes were falling under the pressure of a demon fever. "Buck? there?... find... Vin... hurry... Trent... kill him..."
"Trent?" Billy Barton came up behind his partner, "Hey Dave, that's the guy!"
"Who?"
"Him!" He ripped out a paper from his clipboard. "From roll call, there were two of them, missing Fed's from Colorado. See?"
"I'll be damned," Brewster looked at the drawing. "Where the hell did they come from? There's nothing out there..." He sighed, "Okay, call this Captain Novelli," he read the written report. "Tell him we found Larabee. I'll get on the horn to the Captain, he'll need to call the F.B.I. and comb those woods. Poor bastard, " he noted of the missing man. "if he's as bad off as that one," he nodded to the departing ambulance, "he won't last the day in there... let's move."
The food looked good, smelled better but had no taste, still Buck managed to chew. The coffee was strong, laced with chicory and went down easy. Josiah and Ezra flanked him, with Ryan and Caitlin on the other side of the table. Ezra just finished filling them in on his encounter with the mysterious Mister Bates, when the phone rang.
"Buck, that's yours... Buck?" Josiah nudged his dazed friend. The soul-suffering agent looked like ten miles of bad road. The dark circles around his eyes bespoke the little rest he'd gotten His features seemed numb, a result of the pain he carried inside.
"Huh?" Wilmington blinked, "Oh, yeah... sorry..." he reached for his cell phone, "Probably Novelli, with something on the prints Ezra lifted. Hello?" He sighed, "Yeah, Captain, we're all here... " he rubbed his aching eyes, then his hand dropped as if touching molten lava. He jerked back in the chair and stood quickly. "What? When? How bad is he hurt?" He winced as the other man complained about the decibel level of his voice. "Sorry... where? LSU Trauma Center?" He looked at Ryan who nodded to Cait. The pretty woman rose and moved to the telephone on the wall, then waited. "Where? What about Vin? How bad's he... What do you mean you didn't find him Goddammit!" He threw the phone and walked outside, into the garden. Ezra retrieved the phone. "Hello, Captain Novelli, it's Ezra Standish." He waited several minutes, nodding and writing notes and motioning for Josiah. "Yes, I understand. I appreciate the help. You'll ensure that nobody without proper credentials gets near that room? We'll be right there."
"Well?" Ryan asked hopefully.
"A truck driver found Chris unconscious in a section of the bayou off River Road about twenty miles north of here. He's been wounded and is suffering from a number of minor injuries. He's in surgery and is in guarded condition."
"He was alone?" Josiah sighed, "He'd never leave Vin..."
"Maybe he wasn't with him," Ryan added. "Could be Bates dumped him somewhere else... Maybe they weren't together." He paused as Cait hung the phone up. "
Brie's on her way over there, she'll meet us. What about Grace?"
"I'll call Novelli on the way over," Josiah rose and nudged Ezra, "Get him in here..." he said of brooding man outside. "I'm sure under the circumstances, he'll provide protection for all of you."
"I'll stay," Ryan decided.
"No, I'll stay," Caitlin moved over, massaging his neck.
"I think Brie's gonna need you," The Irishman countered, "She's already shook up about Vin, now this..."
"Okay, but I won't be long." She kissed him and followed the tall preacher outside.
"Buck?" Ezra waited, eyeing the small swingset in the yard. "Chris will be able to answer that..." he noted of the mental-anguished mystery painted on the rogue's face.
"He's dead."
"Maybe," the conman agreed, weighing the odds.
"Chris would never leave him... he'd have stayed with... his body... if..."
"I know," the southerner moved closer, "but maybe he had no choice. Whatever transpired, he'll be able to fill in the gaps. In the meantime, we now know a general sector, the F.B.I. is combing that area and that's more than we had a hour ago. We'll find him..." He broke his words when the dark head came up and the dark blue eyes were full of simmering rage.
"Trent and that fuckin' metal-handed maniac he hired better pray that those Feds find them first," he vowed, moving towards the gate that led to the alley. "Because if I find them first, they're won't be enough left of them to fill a shotglass."
"That went well," Ezra sighed, as the gate slammed shut. He followed his tormented teammate, trying to dispell the sinking feeling in his stomach. "Where are you, my friend?" he hushed, thinking of the soft smile the Texan so easily used to manuever into his heart.
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