Setting: ATF Universe
Page 12
Chris used his machete to cut his way through the dense forest. The heat was unbearable, the thick humid air choked him. Sweat clung to every inch of his skin and an army of various bugs, flying and footed, crept into every crevice. He couldn't see beyond the thick folliage in front of him. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt his pulse racing. Something was wrong, an ominus cloud hovered over his wet head. He slashed through a thicket of overgrowth and stepped into a small clearing. Exhausted, he dropped to his knees and gasped for breath. Then he saw a body on the ground. The shape was all too real... he crawled forward and the figure became more defined. Long hair... lean torso... skin slick with sweat.
"Vin..." he whispered, using his last ounce of energy to haul himself over the body. The eyes were gone, the black sockets empty and accusing. A large red centipede crawled out of the vacant eye cavity, lifting it's head in defiance. The tail extended from Vin's ear, the long body housed inside his friend's brain. "Noooooo! Vin! Vin!"
"Shit!" J.D. jumped up too fast and cried out as his damaged ribcage protested. He winced and painfully sat on the bed, resting a hand on the thrashing body. "Chris! Wake up... Chris!"
"Vin!" Chris jerked his eyes open. His face was coated with sweat and there was a slight slash of color on his cheeks.
"It was a dream..." J.D. reassured, rising only when Chris's eyes focused again. He made his way to the bathroom and returned with a cold towel and a drink. Chris sat up, hissing painfully as the ribbons on his back throbbed relentlessly. The stilled leg was a dull pain, but every movement caused the dormant dragon to shoot fire. He gulped the water and J.D got him more. Finally, he sighed and looked around.
"How you doing, Kid?" Chris panted, realizing the signs of the fever building.
"I've been better..." J.D. relayed. "I'll be fine when I watch them take her body parts away in many, many small bags..."
"I hear that..." Chris agreed. "Looks like breakfast came..." He nodded to the box on the floor.
J.D. took out the twin bottles of orange juice, cupcakes and bagel sandwiches. Chris was starving and wolfed the food down, sucking the life from the orange juice. Just as they finished, the monitor came on. Both heads jerked upwards as a CNN bulletin appeared.
"Is that a live feed?" J.D. asked, eyeing the date and time. "July 3rd... twelve-ten p.m... ."
"Looks like it..." Chris bit back a cry of pain as his back flared up, trying to concentrate on the reporter's words.
"We're going back to our correspondant in Mystic Cove, Caroline North." the anchorperson said, "Carolyn... can you give us an update?" The reporter's mouth was moving, but no words came out. "We'll go back to Carolyn in a moment, let's recap the events from earlier this morning."
"That's Vin!" J.D. shouted, as the photo of Vin with the bloody knife appeared.
"Shh!" Chris growled, eyeing the photo.
"...the dead officer was not killed on the beach. His patrol car was found outside the city, along with the body of an Iranian tourist. It was at this spot that Officer Sanford first relayed he'd found the felon, Vin Tanner."
"Felon!" J.D. argued, only to be shushed by Chris. He glanced over and flinched at the smoldering anger beaming from the pale green eyes.
"The F.B.I and the local law enforment agency are working together to solve the mystery. The dead man has not been idenified yet, but he's believed to be an employee of a cabinet member. His possible connection is to the kidnappers has created a new wrinkle in this cat and mouse game. The other startling fact was that Tanner, who the Federal Agents believed to be heavily involved in the kidnapping, is infected with a form of bubonic plague. He's considered dangerous and a public health threat. Senior Agent Charles Flushing, from Denver who is spearheading the effort to find Tanner, said no chances will be taken with the safety of the public."
"Fuck!" Chris fell back as the gravity of the situation left him reeling.
"Chris? They can't fix that... can they?"
"No..." Chris's dull voice replied. "They're gonna hunt him down."
"Have they had any leads on Tanner?" the anchor asked to the reporter, as Vin's photo was shown.
"He looks scared..." J.D. hushed, seeing the wide blue eyes.
"Be a fool not to be..." Chris sighed, feeling totally helpless.
"That's what we're waiting on, Jim," she answered, as a group of men, some in suits, some in uniform approached a podium. A cacophony of questions were thrown to the puffing policeman at the microphone.
"Hold it," he hollered, waving his hands. "I've got a statement. I'm Lee Williamson, the police chief here at Mystic Cove. Vin Tanner, the renegade ATF agent in question..."
"Renegade!" J.D. protested and Chris silenced him.
"...is the leading suspect in the murder of Officer Calvin Sanford. He disappeared last night and a manhunt is underway to find him. I'm turning this over to Pete Sinclair of the Baltimore branch of the F.B.I."
"Thank you Captain," he nodded, "I have a brief update on the whereabouts of ATF Agent Tanner. Some teenagers lurking on the boardwalk last night, spotted him near a phone booth. We've sent a Hazardous Control Team to the sight and his fingerprints were confirmed. We have not ascertained yet who he contacted. He was spotted near a restroom, then he disappeared under the boards. The witnesses said he was in pretty bad shape. We've scoured the buildings, hotels, and other businesses in that area and haven't found anything. It's very possible in his weakened condition, he passed out under there and the tide carried him away."
"No... no... he can't be dead..." J.D. slumped.
"Does that mean you're calling off the search?" A reported asked.
"No, not at all. We've alerted the coast guard, in case his body washes up. We're tracking down his associates and trying to find the employer of the dead Iranian."
"Was he one of the kidnappers?"
"No, we're not sure if he is involved, or just was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The officer stopped him for speeding. It's very possible Tanner stumbed out of the overbrush and killed the pair..."
"Fuckin' idiots..." Chris spat, "Christ, that F.B.I. has their heads up their asses. He can barely walk..."
The screen went blank for a second, then the door opened. "Good afternoon, my prized pets... I hope you enjoyed the news break."
"You bitch!" J.D. lunged, managing to knock her off her feet and get a punch in, before Tony Kennedy clubbed him. J.D. crumpled in a still pile on the floor. The booted foot rose, as if to strike, but the cool voice of the prisoner, halted it.
"You touch him and I'll cut your balls off..."
"You didn't get enough whipping last night?" Jamie asked, "You watch your mouth or I'll let young Mr. Dunne taste the cane... and it won't be his back." She paused, stroking J.D.'s firm thigh. "He won't be able to pee for a month."
Chris paled and his eyes turned to green embers. He made two fists but controlled his tongue.
"Tony, take Dunne to the recreation area. Get him ready."
"Wait!" Chris said, rising painfully as J.D. was dragged out.
"All in good time... " she answered the raging face. "Enjoy your afternoon... shame about Mr. Tanner. I did hope to spend a long time on his autopsy... I guess the sharks will beat me too it."
"He's not dead," Chris said quietly, squaring his shoulders.
She wanted to reply, but something about his stance and quiet confidence, silenced her. When she left, Chris let the mask fall off and grimaced in agony. The physical pain was all too real, but the emotional trauma of losing Vin and J.D. being tortured was too much of a strain. He sat on the bunk and then jerked his head up. The phone... Vin called home... Buck most likely. That meant if they left at first light, they'd be here soon. Hope sprung in his heart and he dragged his body to the bathroom. He had to keep drinking to beat the fever.
"The party ain't over yet, Sister..." he growled.
The landing gear was barely down, when Buck was on his feet. Ezra placed his arm on the middle seat, casually blocking Wilmington's exit. He knew the older man was impatient and anxious to get to Mystic Cove. He saw the dark blue eyes narrow in annoyance at the meandering passengers in the aisle.
Josiah pulled down their bags from the overhead and moved back, allowing his two friends to exit. Buck's long strides took him out the door and down the long tunnel into the airport. He'd no sooner stepped into the arrivals area, when a trio of dark suits appeared, blocking his way.
"Wilmington?" a pasty-faced blond asked.
"Who's asking?" Buck returned and rolled his eyes when an F.B.I. badge was produced. "Is that supposed to impress me, Kid?"
The blond flushed in anger at the other agent's use of the youthful term in a derogatory manner. His two partners, both older and seasoned, stepped in and blocked his passage.
"I'm Wilson," the larger of the pair grunted, "...this is Cobbs," he tossed a thumb at a shorter, but stockier black agent. "That's Carson," he noted of the flushed rookie. "We're from the Baltimore office. We're here to take you to Mystic Cove."
"Like hell..." Buck jerked his arm free.
"Is there a problem?" Ezra asked, moving to Buck's side. Josiah flanked the other side and glared openly at the strange trio.
"Not yet," Wilson answered, giving the newcomers the once over. "As I was saying. We're from the Baltimore office." He flipped his badge. "We were sent here to bring Wilmington to the command center in Mystic Cove."
"By whose authority?" Josiah inquired.
"The head of the task force, Mitchell Flushing..."
"Aw, fuck..." Buck hissed, tossing his bag on the ground. Both hands rode on his lean hips and his face was enraged.
"Can we meet you there?" Ezra suggested, knowing the denial was coming.
"Sorry, no dice," Wilson moved in, glaring at Buck. "You're in deep shit now, don't make it any harder." He pulled his coat back and revealed a pair of handcuffs.
"That won't be necessary, " Ezra placated, turning to Buck. "Keep a cool head," he advised, moving in front of Buck and placing his back to the F.B.I. team. He made small motion of his hand over his lip. Buck nodded once, not needing the advice, he didn't intend to give Vin up.
"Yeah, okay..." Buck agreed, glancing in annoyance at the trio flanking him. "Where we headed?" he asked as they walked along.
"You got luggage? Cobb asked.
"No, just this," Buck supplied of his small duffel bag.
"Then we're headed south," he returned, "The command center is at Fourth and Sparrow. It's an Coast Guard recruiting office, they just moved. There's a Dairy Queen next store, you can't miss it."
"Take is easy, Brother," Josiah gave Buck's shoulder a firm squeeze as they parted ways in the large parking area.
"Where have you been?" Jamie screeched in the cell phone. "I've been dialing you for hours. We need to change the meeting."
"Eleven p.m. tonight," Amahl responded. "You are lucky I am giving you a second chance. Don't fuck it up again. You will not be able to contact me, I have left the area. Thanks to your inept Mr. Kennedy, I've lost my most trusted aide.
"If he wasn't speeding, that cop wouldn't have stopped him," she retorted, "...he was to blame as well."
"Still," the Iranian seethed, "...that will cost you dearly..."
"Understood," she replied. "Same place... I'll be waiting with the remaining samples, documents and the CD's."
She sighed in relief at the dialtone. She'd been shocked that he even bothered to call her. A part of her worried about retaliation, but she shrugged it off. After all, he'd been clearly impressed with her knowledge of biochemistry and toxicology. He'd even hinted that his government might want to utilize her talents again. She stepped in the recreation area, smiling at the terrified look on J.D. Dunne's face. The abandoned greenhouse was about ten miles from town and perfect for her little game. The trip had been tedious, the roadblocks made it necessary to change the route. The normally crowded roads leading to the seaside resort were doubled due to the impending holiday. This made the local policeman short-tempered, especially at taking orders from the Feds. Tony had come through again, providing a false bottom in the van, where a gagged and bound Dunne was hidden. The van was full of balloons and other red, white and blue decorations. One beguiling smile and a revealing bikini top over tight shorts had eased their journey.
"Is everything ready?" She asked and saw Tony nod. "Good," she squatted in front of the battered youth and grabbed his face. "I bet you were a boy scout, you look the type. Always be prepared, right?" she laughed and tapped his face. "Do you like my little garden? I've invited some special guests, just for you. You'll meet them very soon."
J.D.'s wide eyes quickly skirted the large, cavernous room. It was brutally warm, resembling a jungle atmosphere. The thick folliage was hard to see through and J.D. could only guess what lurked beyond his sightline. He was on his knees, hands tied behind his back. His broken ribs were burning with every labored breath he took. He thought on Chris's words and squared his shoulders, not giving her the satisfaction of fear.
"How about a little 'good luck sendoff' before your journey?" she mused, pulling out her phone. She dialed the familiar number and waited.
Ezra turned the ignition off in the aqua Toyota Camry they'd rented and left the cool interior. The hot sun and close air hit him hard, as he walked around the car. He waited with Josiah for the F.B.I. team to lead Buck from the dark sedan in front of them.
"...rough ride..." Josiah commented, eyeing Buck's disheveled appearance.
"Undoubtedly," Erza agreed. He touched Buck's arm gently as they passed. He let his concern show in his glance and saw a brief nod of thanks from the other.
The rooms inside were buzzing with activity. The largest area was a busy network with computers, phones and a large city map on the wall. Before they had time to adjust to that scene, they were shuttled into a side room. The door closed behind them, leaving the three ATF agents facing a very irate Mitchell Flushing.
"Sit down!" he ordered the trio and directed his glare at Buck Wilmington. "Start talking, Hot Dog... What possessed you to withhold evidence?"
"I didn't withhold any evidence," Buck shot back, "I didn't have time to..."
"Bullshit!" Flushing returned, moving around the table to loom over the red-faced agent. "Tanner called you last night. We've got the phone records from the booth he used..."
"Good for you," Buck snapped back. "You really live up to those initials," he directed, hearing Ezra cough. He snuck a brief glance and saw the southerner covering his smile. On the plane, Buck referred to the F.B.I. as 'Fuckin' Bunch of Idiots'.
"You got all the answers, huh Big Shot?" Flushing's index finger jabbed Buck's chest. "You're decision to hide that information may have cost him his life."
Buck paled for a moment, thinking of Vin's frail voice on the phone. Then his resolve returned and he stood up, throwing the offensive finger away.
"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?" he raged, "I'm not some flat-footed rookie who don't how you weasels work. You got no intention of bringing him in alive. He might as well have a target on his back."
"One phone call and I'll have you arrested for..." Flushing's warning was cut off by a phone ringing.
Buck blinked in surprise and pulled his cell phone from the pocket of the short-sleeved white cotton shirt he wore. "Hello..."
"Buck..." J.D. croaked, swallowing the sob in his throat. As long as he lived, he'd never forget how wonderful Buck's voice sounded at that moment.
Josiah moved with unusual grace and caught Buck as he rocked back on his heels. He tried to get the mustached agent to sit down, but was refuted. He and Ezra exchanged a worried glance, wondering if the coloring that ran swiftly from their friend's face, was the news they dreaded to hear.
"Kid?" Buck whispered, running his free hand over his damp eyes. "Are you okay? Is Chris with you?"
"We're okay, Buck. Listen, I only have a few seconds." J.D. read the index card in front on him. "Listen carefully, I'm only gonna say this once. I need you to go to this website," the youth gave the address and eyed the room, wondering where the webcams were. "I gotta go... Buck, I..."
"J.D.! J.D.!" Buck screamed, clenching his eyes closed at the dialtone. "He's okay... they're okay..."
"Hah!" Flushing grunted, "You know better than to believe a kidnapped victim's statements."
"You say one more fucking word and so help me," Buck flicked off Josiah's restraining hand. "He gave a web address. We're supposed to tune in..."
"Let's go," Flushing hissed, brushing past Buck.
They huddled around the computer and watched as a picture appeared. It looked like dense jungle. There was no audio, until the sounds of heavy breathing and footsteps were heard. Then J.D.'s profile appeared, and Buck's hand went to the screen. His fingers touched the area where the swollen, discolored flesh was. The dark hair was plastered to a sweat covered face.
"Kid..." he gasped, pulling his hand back.
J.D. couldn't breathe. Between the awful humidity and his injured chest, he was truly struggling. His legs gave out and he began to crawl. One hand after the other, trying to find a way out of the maze. The trail became narrow and the vegetation was now pressed against his skin. He swiped the river of sweat from his face and forced his aching body to move. He felt his hands hit something wet and realized that the dry dirt was moist. He felt a small breeze and saw a hint of daylight. He pressed forward, the dense air was robbing him of oxygen and he feared passing out. The path was so narrow now, he had to press his shoulders together. He thumped something hard and realized there were walls on the other side of the foliage. He saw a small bridge and inched his body over it, using the rough wood beams to guide him. His eyes were heavy and his limbs even more so. He was in the center of the crossing, when a loud crack caused his half-mast eyes to snap open. As the boards gave way, he noticed the shallow water and something else. His heart began to race and his limited air was reduced to panting fervishly. Something was moving in the water, he realized when he landed in the warm pond.
"Buck!" he screamed as his terrified eyes saw the approaching visitors. They surrounded him, slick skin shining evilly. They moved silently, but quickly found the trapped human prey. J.D. tried to get away, but he couldn't move. His limbs wouldn't work; too long his lungs were deprived of much needed air. They swarmed over him, clinging to his skin. The little bit of air he had was choked off as one encircled his neck. He felt the pain as they began their feast.
"B... Ba..." his call to his best friend was silenced.
The screen went black and Buck's skin faded to a whiter shade of pale. The room was deathly silent for a second, then Buck's phone rang again. He lifted it to his ear, but didn't say a word. His eyes were dull with pain and his body numb with shock. In the back of his foggy mind, he felt Josiah and Ezra surround him.
"The time has come, my friend, to speak of many things. At eight p.m you'll turn back the sands of time and pay homage to the murdered king. Come alone or the faces you long to see, will have a fiery end to their suffering."
Buck flinched as the dialtone came on. He let Ezra take the phone and felt Josiah's hand push him toward a seat. Someone handed him a glass of water and he drank it slowly. He lifted his eyes and gave a knowing look to Ezra, before Flushing's face appeared.
"Start talking..." the commander ordered. "We didn't get enough time to trace that..."
"They want me to meet them later tonight. They didn't say where..."
"Larabee?" Flushing pressed.
"I don't know..." Buck shrugged.
"May I suggest a brief recess?" Ezra inquired, "He's suffered a great shock and even you would be hard pressed to pursue any more questioning at this time. Reconvene at six p.m.?"
"Okay," Flushing agreed, already late for a briefing with the police. "There's a hotel up the street called The Salty Dog," he relayed, "We've taken several rooms there. Orin is expected at any time. Be back here at six and don't be late, you'll be watched."
With that he turned away, but Ezra's voice stopped him. "I conclude that you left Denver late last night."
"So?" the F.B.I. agent asked.
"Did you perchance, check your voicemail?" Ezra played his trump card. He figured when Flushing left, someone would assume his position in the Denver office. But that wouldn't have been until seven a.m.
"What?" Flushing squinted at the well dressed southerner. "No..."
"Then you accused Mr. Wilmington unjustly. The information regarding Mr. Tanner was directed to your voicemail. In the future, I would suggest you check for ammunition, before you pull the trigger," Ezra bristled, as Josiah got the shaken Buck to his feet. "Kindly step aside," he sneered, watching the red-faced senior F.B.I. agent reluctantly move.
"Let's walk," Josiah said, taking their bags from the car. "The car might have acquired ears."
They took their bags from the trunk and moved up the street.
"Thanks Ezra, you saved my ass." Buck finally felt some blood returning to his cold skin. "How'd you think of that?" He noted of the well-timed phone message.
"A moment of inspiration," Ezra deflected.
"What'd she say?" Josiah asked of the downcast agent next to him.
"...showdown at eight o'clock." Buck eyed the familiar body of Orin Travis on the balcony of the seaside resort on the corner. "...just me... alone... or else..."
Chris shuffled painfully across the floor of the cell, feeling like a man of eighty. His back throbbed relentlessly and his leg ached. He knew the unending thirst and headache, complimented the flush on his face the fever brought. He gingerly eased himself down on the bed and began to clean the wounds on J.D.'s back and arms.
He'd lost sense of the time, limping painfully around the cell trying to stay conscious. With every step, he'd wondered about J.D. and what the bitch was doing to him. Then the door opened and the brute dumped J.D. on the floor with a bag of food. It took forever for Chris to move the unconsious youth to the cot. He couldn't lift him, his back denied that. He ended up dragging him by his collar across the floor. That effort landed him no the floor next to J.D., gasping for breath and fighting through a wall of pain. Finally, he sucked it up and got the kid onto the cot.
When he found the pulse to be normal and the breathing regular, he'd slumped in relief. The dark hair clung to the youth's face, his green tee shirt was soaked with sweat. It was then he noticed the puncture marks on J.D.'s arms. He peeled the shirt off and saw more, on his chest and back. He made several trips to the bathroom, before bathing the still sleeping youth's face, neck, arms and chest. He lifted J.D's arm and examined the wound carefully. If he didn't know better, he'd swear they were snakebites. But this many? The kid would have died almost instantly. Before he could ponder on it more, two things happened. First, J.D. began to thrash and moan, flailing his limbs and then screaming.
"Easy, J.D.," Chris soothed, ducking an errant fist. "Cut it out!" He barked, realizing the gentle tone wasn't getting through. "You're fine, I gotcha..."
Somewhere deep within his slumber, that voice penetrating the thick layers of fear. His heart slowed down and he caught his breath. He knew that voice and now understood whose arms were pinning him down. He felt the cool cloth on his face and sighed.
"Cr....cr...isss..."
"Yeah, Kid, it's me. Take it easy." Chris watched the even breathing and slumped. The brief battle with a semiconscious youth left him spent. How was he going to overpower that six foot plus wall of muscle? He turned J.D. over in the cot and took his weary bones off the bed. He shuffled to the sink once again and took another bit of cloth from the pile in the water. Just as he turned back, the second thing occured. The monitor came to life. He paused and narrowed his green eyes, watching a jungle scene. By the time the short video concluded with J.D. calling for Buck, as a half dozen snakes attacked him, Chris was shaking with rage. The snakes were non-venomous, props used by her to inflict torture. He dropped by Dunne's side and used the soapy water to wash the wounds on his back. He left J.D. and picked up the paper bag by the door. He moved back to the bed and took out the contents.
Two bottles of ice tea and two sandwiches were on top. Underneath were two changes of clothes. Chris placed the piles on the floor and felt a hand clutch his arm. He turned and saw the wide terrified hazel eyes, still lost in the jungle. Carefully, he pried the fingers from his flesh and gripped the hand tightly. He laid the other hand on J.D.'s neck and gave a little tug.
"You with me, Kid?" he asked and the eyes blinked, refocusing. "They weren't venomous, she was trying to scare you."
"It worked."
Chris smiled a bit at the terse response. The kid had vinegar alright. The eyes closed again and the body flipped over, wincing slightly.
"Hurt bad?" Chris asked, and saw the head shake.
"No..." J.D. relayed, staring at the wounds on his arms, before turning his eyes back to Chris. "I talked to Buck."
"When? He's here?" Chris asked hopefully.
"I don't know..." J.D. admitted, "All I got to say a statement she wrote. Then she took the phone and it... I had to crawl through that jungle. I couldn't breathe, Chris... there was no air. It was so hot... I couldn't see. Then the damn floor caved in... snakes all over me... shit..."
The brief recapture of that horrid trip, left the youth exhausted. He rested an arm over his eyes and sighed heavily.
"I want to go home, Chris."
Chris flinched as if punched by Mike Tyson in the gut. The voice that met his ears wasn't a federal agent, or a member of his ATF team, rather it was a lost child. One far younger than the brave body on the bed before him. A boy tired of being pummeled, bruised, battered and used; someone tired of fighting brutes by day and demons by night. A tired soul aching to see the sun again. Something deep inside Chris reacted. Something he hadn't felt or used in years. He reached his hand out and slid it to the side of J.D.'s neck, so it rested against his jaw. He rode his thumb along that tense jaw and heard another voice. The words he spoke were not as a federal agent, or a team leader or even a friend. It was a father's voice, one he'd embraced in the short time he'd been gifted with it.
"I know, Son," he calmed, "and I'll get you there, I promise."
The Lobster Shack was unusually crowded. The casual eatery was usually full to capacity, but the holiday brought in extra bodies. Josiah eyed the mob and retreated, turning to his friends in the doorway.
"All full..." he sighed. Orin greeted them cooly, immediately suggesting a 'walk' in the fresh air and some dinner. More likely, he wanted to talk to his team alone. A veteran of a forty years of federal service, he was all to aware of the powers of the F.B.I. "Any ideas?"
"Maybe," Buck eyed the road and the dozens of shops, restaurants and stores. The streets were crowded, as tourists of every size, shape and color spilled over the concrete walkways. He let his mind wander back in time and saw himself in a younger man's clothes. A fresh-faced rookie undercover agent with long hair and penchant for Mexican food. "There used to be a couple good bars near the dock."
"Let's go," Orin dismissed, following the forlorn agent. "I saw the video, Buck," he noted of the footage that aired on CNN moments after the web feed. "Based on her previous actions, I'm sure it wasn't what it looked like."
"Until I get my hands on the kid and he curses at me..." Buck growled, thinking of the dark head that always ducked out of his reach. Suddenly the hazel eyes seemed so far away. He sighed painfully and walked ahead, using his quick strides to gain momentum. He didn't want them to see the tears in his eyes.
"Let 'im go, Ez..." Josiah reached the southerner's shoulder, seeing Standish's gaze shift and his feet move faster.
They saw him duck into a worn, wooden one story building with a beaten sign on the outside. The whitewashed words read "Pistol Pete's". Stepping inside, the cold air was soothing and the place was cozy and immaculate. Square tables held denim blue cloths, along with linen napkins and the usual tableware. Jimmy Buffet was playing in the background and only about ten patrons were seated in the room. They found Buck's body by a window, his pensive profile staring out over the sun setting on the water. None of the other three missed the red-rimmed eyes. The waitress appeared as they each took a seat. She set down a pitcher of beer and four mugs and waited under they scanned the menu. After ordering, Ezra spoke first, breaking the silence.
"Our fearless leader will protect him," he eyed Buck, whose head bobbed once.
"Yeah... but who's gonna protect Chris?" Buck worried, eyeing the restless water. "...and what about Vin?"
Orin sipped his beer and sighed, "I talked to the coast guard before you arrived at my door. They're still searching but hold little hope. There was a strong undertow last night and a high tide. The last sighting of Vin was shortly after you spoke with him. He headed under the boardwalk, the tide was already coming in."
They silence hung heavy as each man absorbed the words. Josiah took a long draw from his beer and eyed his watch. It was almost six o'clock. He turned to Orin and spoke quietly.
"You got the file?"
"Yes, I had a short visit with Nathan this morning. I had just enough time to make a copy of all the information inside. The original is in the safe in my office. I'm meeting with Flushing as soon as we're done. What are your plans?" he directed to Buck, still gazing at the water.
"I'm meeting her at eight. If I don't come alone, she'll kill 'em both."
"Where?" Ezra asked, and saw the grim line on the tense mouth. "You're not intending to go alone? She'll kill you, just as she planned."
"Christ, Ezra... " Buck turned with a flush, angrily confronting the man next to him. "Give me a little credit, will you? I ain't no Goddamn, stupid-ass rookie. I'm not pulling a lone ranger," he noted of the question hinting at him going in alone. "Going in without backup would be suicide. I got a plan."
He took a sip of beer and studied Travis's face. "I'm not sure you can hear this; it's not illegal and you'll get a call when it's ready to go down..." he paused, "I don't want the Flushing and his goons fuckin' this up, not with J.D. and Chris on the line. I trust them," he inched his thumb as his partners.
"Did anyone notice where the men's room was?" Orin asked innocently, which gave Josiah a smile. As the graying director left, Ezra and Josiah turned to Buck.
"It's like this..." the rogue stated, spelling out the details.
Who was that coughing? He struggled against an invisible opponent and tried to sit up. He was cold, shivering so much his teeth ached from the violent dance they did. It was dark and wet and musty. The cold air seeped through his thin clothes, gripping his bones with a solid fist. His head hurt something fierce, as if jackhammers were being shot through his tender skull. Someone coughed again and the noise stabbed his eyes. He forced his body up and peeled his eyes open. Another bout of coughing raised his eyebrows. He was alone in... in... where? Where the hell was he?
"...cave..." he answered his mind's question. He was sitting against the cold wall of a cave. His face and body were soaked with sweat and the art of swallowing was becoming difficult. He shoved a trembling hand in his pocket and drew out the bottle. He popped more penicillin into his mouth and forced them down, past his swollen glands. He rested a bit, his foggy brain adding up a group of disconnected clues. A dead cop... Buck's voice on the phone... Chris's arm lying by itself... a black, smoldering mess where J.D.'s face should be... the voice of that bitch.
"Oh God... I killed 'em..." he hushed, feeling an ax, broad and heavy, hit his chest. The force took his breath away and he felt the tears slip from his eyes. His breathing was shallowed and stuttered, as sobs snuck between the gulps for air. Suddenly, in the middle of his meloncholic spell, Buck's voice cut sharply. "...I'll find you..." he repeated, hiccuping. "Buck..." he gasped and forced his legs to work . He swayed in the middle of the cave, eyeing the blackness around him. Which way? He eyed the tunnel ahead and pushed sore feet forward. He stumbled for quite sometime, before he felt cold air kiss his face.
"...close... out..." he told himself, staggering badly. The narrow walls widened and he used his hands to guide him in the inky atomosphere. Suddenly, he was standing at the edge of a wide berth. He heard water lapping below and squinted into the semi-darkness. "Shit..." he moved swiftly, falling as his tangled limbs didn't cooperate. "Get up... " he ordered his lax legs. "...boat... fuckin' boat... phone... get up..."
He crawled, inching his way down over the cold hard surface, until it leveled out. He lifted his aching head and saw a ramp. It took forever, but then he was at the side and with a huge push of effort, he tumbled over the rail. He spilled out on the deck, his arms and legs splayed at all angles. He gulped air violently, feeling like a fish that had been caught. His eyes were wide and darting all around. Finally, he rolled over and crawled towards a door.
"Buck... Buck..." he whispered hoarsly. "...call Buck... phone... coming soon... help... Buck..." his words followed without sense, and he tumbled down the few steps into the galley. He landed on his back next to the small, woodgrain refrigerator. His arm shot out and pulled the door open. His shaky hand shot inside, his glazed eyes spotting a container of orange juice. He hitched himself up and rested his back against the bottom of the sink. He gulped the juice greedily, not caring about the overspill. It ran down his chin and onto his neck, finally settling on his heaving chest. Sated, he tossed the empty container away and burped. "Buck... call... help..." he eyed the room and then saw the room in the back. He crawled forward. There was luggage on the one berth, along with two black trunks. The other bunk was empty. There was a small desk in the corner and he used the sharp edges to pull his body up. He squinted as his eyes tried to find which blurry form he could use. He groped blindly, snatching someting small and dark. His weak legs collapsed and sent him to the floor hard. He saw red and yellow stars dancing ahead of his eyes and chased them away. His prize rested on his chest and he groped it, fingering the dials and buttons. Something clicked and voices shot forth. He panted desperately, as the man inside the box continued to speak. He strained to hear the words over his loud gasps for air.
"...large crowd is still expected along beach tonight. After dark, the sky will light up with fireworks. More on the patriotic kickoff to the Fourth of July festivities tommorow after a check on traffic. Mystic Cove newstime... seven forty-five..."
Vin's fingers fumbled with the dial until the voices went away. A radio... not a phone. He tried to stand again, but his sleeping limbs wouldn't cooperate. His arm slid off his chest and hit the floor. He thought of a lazy balloon with the air let out... slowly falling to earth. That's just what he felt like. He tried to make his mind work, but it was too hard. The tide rocked the boat gently and he sighed once, as his eyes slid shut.
"You two ready?" Buck whispered, eyeing his partners. They were crouched in the high grass about a mile from the compound. It hadn't changed much and Buck knew even if Orin stalled, the F.B.I. would be closing in by nine p.m. or so. The former warehouse was located outside town along the beach. It was a half hour in good traffic, but the roads were jammed with tourists, that would buy them some extra time, but not much. He spread the crudely drawn map on the ground beneath them. "Here's the main road into the compound. It's got a gate on three sides, that leaves the beach open. I'll be coming in the front way, and I'm sure Kennedy will be there. You two backtrack to this point," he fingered a dark spot, "it's a sting of rocks that go out over the water, follow that to Smuggler's Cove... here..." Buck pointed again, "it's a group of caves, you skirt past that and you'll see a rough stond walkway, almost like a ladder, built into the hill. You go up that and to the right. You'll see the back of the warehouse in the distance."
"We'll get there," Josiah slid his hand into his pocket and drew out a chain. He put it on Buck's neck and saw the other frown.
"What the hell is this?" Buck picked up a strangely shaped cross. "A oldtimers surfer's cross?"
"Show some respect," the eldest scorned, "that's an original. I added a little something on the back..."
"A mic?" the mustached agent stuck the cross under his shirt.
"Ez and me both have ears on... we won't be able to take to you, but we can hear you."
"Thanks Josiah..." Buck eyed his watch and stood up. "It's almost ten of eight, I gotta go. Be careful on the path to the house. The growth back there is as tall as you, there's not telling what she'd got planted out there. It could be booby trapped."
"Your concern notwithstanding," Ezra folded the map up and put it in his pocket. "I doubt that scenario will develop. She's too smart not to think you've not alerted the authorities. She's cannot use the main road. She'll you that path to exit and quickly."
"Good point," Buck agreed, "...but be careful just the same." He held out his hand palm down and the other two each covered it with one of their own, "Let's do it! It's time for that bitch to sleep with the fishes."
The pawns were in place, tied and gagged above the maze. The gatekeeper was pleased, her pale eyes glittering excitedly. Jamie stood in the doorway, her slim body encased in black. The form fitting pants and tee shirt made her skin seem unnaturally pale. She'd cut her long hair short, it now was blunt shaped, curling under her ears. The belt around her waist held her full holster and beretta, a knife, several grenades and a few smoke bombs. Everything else was already safety packed.
Buck was driving toward the main gate of the complex, when his tires were shot out. He'd been driving slowly, so he didn't struggle to bring the car to a halt. He eased from behind the wheel, holding his hands above his head. He began walking, until a familiar voice caused him to stop.
"Just like old times, Buck-o..."
Buck turned slowly and eyed Tony Kennedy, who'd added a good twenty pounds of muscle to his frame. "So's how life in the house of many doors, puta?"
"You think you're funny?" Kennedy bristled, "You won't be laughing so hard when you and them two friends of yours are in a hundred different pieces."
"Big talk from a small man..." Buck spat back as Tony forced him against the car and cuffed his hands. "I'm gonna enjoy every minute of..." Buck flinched as Tony began frisking him. "...wiping the floor with you."
"Shame about your pretty little friend Tanner," Tony pressed his hand against Buck's back and forced his head against the car. He pressed his lips close to Buck's ear, "...he was a nice piece... such a tight, sweet ass..."
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Buck growled, slamming his foot onto Tony's and elbowing him in the gut. The action as short lived as he was slammed hard in the small of his back with the gun.
"Shut up and turn around..." Tony ordered, slamming Buck against the car and forcing his legs apart with a boot.
"I'm not packing..." Buck hissed as the hands crept up his leg.
"Yeah, I can see that..." Tony commented lewdly, slamming a fist into Buck's groin. "Damn... that was you... who could have figured?"
Buck doubled over and gasped for breath, as multiple colors paraded in front of his eyes. He felt Tony shove him in the car and remained silent, waiting for the pain to pass.
"You're fucked, Buck-o..." Tony mock-sang, "You ain't getting out of here alive."
"...and you're still a fuckin', ball less wonder," Buck grunted, "Always the bridesmaid, eh Tony?"
The headlights coming up the road gave her a thrill. She saw them dim twice, Tony's signal that he'd picked up Wilmington. She glanced at her watch and pushed the side, lighting up the face. It was exacly eight o'clock. Tony walked from the car and pulled the passenger side door open. Buck climbed out and she walked towards him, eyeing the lean body in khaki shorts, a tan and navy shirt and docksiders.
"He's clean... the car too, I swept it," he noted of the electonic device in his own car.
"We don't have much time," she walked towards Buck and let her eyes rake over his body. "Hello Darling... miss me?" she pouted, pressing her body against his and running the Beretta up his thigh, pressing it hard into his groin.
"Don't flatter yourself," Buck snorted, "Your talent would fill a thimble."
"Tsk... tsk..." she brought the gun up and ran it along his lips. He jerked his head back and spit in her face. She slammed the gun against his cheek, opening a long gash. "Get him inside! It's time for the trial to start."
Chris and J.D. both lifted their heads, when a door slam drew their attention to the right side of the maze below them. The two-way glass prevented anyone from looking up and inside, but they could see out and had a clear view of the room below. Chris felt J.D. straining against his bonds, when Buck was led into the far end of the room. He had blood running down his face and was shoved hard into a chair.
"The crime you are about to be charged with, took place in this very room." She began, waving her gun to the lofts above. "Eighteen years ago, on a summer night not unlike this one. During the botched operation, to uncover a ring of criminals in this area, you planted evidence against a true hero, a man who lived for justice..."
"Justice?" Buck's voice rose, his eyes blazing. Blood dripped off his chin and he swiped it against his shirt. "He wouldn't know it if he choked on it. He was dirty for years. The evidence was..."
"Evidence?" She screeched, "There was no real evidence, he was framed..."
"That wasn't possible and you know it," Buck retorted, "His own people suspected him. They had evidence going back years. Videos, pictures, bank deposits, affadavits..."
"Shut up!" She screamed, pressing the gun to her head, "You're twisting this all around."
"Well I guess if anyone knows about being twisted, it'd be you," Buck sneered, gaining a rifle butt in his gut from Tony. He dropped his head and struggled to breath, wincing as her hand raked his hair painfully, drawing his face up.
"They found him guilty because YOU lied. You and that diego.."
"You... killed... him... Frank..." Buck gasped and saw her laughing.
"That was an accident, he was supposed to be tortured, to lure you in. Those fools were high and got carried away. But all's well that ends well..." she sang, laughing giddily.
"You're as crazy as he was..." Buck finally righted himself, "...you gonna eat your gun to? You Daddy's Little Girl? Cowards way out..."
"Enough!" She screamed, shoving the gun hard in his throat, cutting off his air. "You've been found guilty of murder, Buck Wilmington. Because of the horrendous crime you've commited, your friends will pay the price."
"Chris! Kid..." Buck screamed, jumping to his feet, only to be slammed down in the chair. He saw into a darkened room, as a curtain was drawn in front of him. Just inside on two chairs, back to back, were Dunne and Larabee. They were tied back to back, blindfolded and gagged.
"Oh that it should be that easy," She laughed. "You have two minutes to find your friends, then the 'fun' will begin." She laughed, "All in all, it should be an 'explosive' time..."
Buck's vision was cut off as a hood was shoved over his head and tied under his chin. He felt the cuffs unlocked and stood up, struggling for a moment, before pulling the mask off. He ran into the darkened room towards where he saw his friends. Instead of touching flesh, he slammed into something hard and ended up on his ass.
"What the fuck?" he hissed, then saw the illusion. "Shit..." he stood up and began to move through the maze. "Chris... J.D..." he called out, eyeing the dozens of images. He glanced at his watch as the second hand sped by. "Dammit..." he huffed, quickening his pace. Finally, he turned right and fell onto his friends. He moved to untie them, and saw the explosive device attached to their bodies. "Fuck..." he yanked off J.D.'s blindfold.
"Don't worry, Kid, I'll... Kid?" He waved a hand in front of the unblinking gaze. "What the hell?" His hand crept onto J.D.'s throat and he felt..nothing. "Dummies?" he ran quickly to the next pair and yanked off Chris's blindfold. That way, he could see which one's he'd found in the mirrors.
"Times up..."
"What?" Buck hollered, racing blindly and hitting another mirror as an explosion sounded. "No... shit..." He ran toward the tangled mess of limbs and Vin's broken voice came back. That his friend had possibly gone to a watery grave, blaming himself for their deaths. "I'm gonna fuckin' rip you to pieces, you heartless bitch!" He screamed, tossing an arm away. Where J.D. and Chris really here? Where were Josiah and Ezra? His heart froze in his chest and his body stiffened when the voice slammed into him.
"Buck! Buck! I need you... Help... Buck..."
"J.D.!" Buck screamed. He ran through the maze, his gut clenching as another explosion sounded.
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