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: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my 'assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
NOTE 2: And thanks to Rosy for her gorgeous collage in honour of this story!
"ATF, Dunne."
"J.D.?"
"Josiah, where are you?"
"In Silver Hills, I got a call at three a.m. from Orrin. Buck got arrested and..."
"Arrested!"
The youth sat up, turned his radio down and caught Ezra's eye. "Get Nathan!" He pushed the speaker button so they all could hear. "What's he doing in New Mexico?"
"When Buck goes for a ride to think... he's not foolin' around," the preacher noted, sipping coffee from a greasy spoon on the main street of the town.
"Josiah, did you check your messages?"
"Nate?" he replied. "No, I was on a plane and drove right here. I came to bail out Buck, but he's not here."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you," the part time EMT noted. "Orrin called you at home several times and here. He got me in the car on my cell. Buck got bailed out a few hours ago."
"By who?" Sanchez noted with worry. "McClendon's group?"
"No, but they're not happy. He's really busted up."
"My heart's bleeding," Josiah said wryly. "So where's Buck?"
"Orrin wouldn't say. Just that it was way above his level and not to worry. He's gonna call us back at one p.m. He said he'll know more then."
"Above his level?" J.D. quizzed. "The head of the Justice Department? Why would he get involved?"
"You're thinking too small, J.D.," Jackson replied. "I think Orrin meant WAY above us."
"Washington? That's curious," Standish mused.
"Well, I'm gonna ask around and see if anyone here was nosy and up at that hour. The cops won't say squat. Everybody's pissed off..."
"Just make sure you're back here by one..." Nate said. "You better get on a flight."
"Taken care of," Sanchez said, flipping the phone shut.
"Who would want Buck that bad?" J.D. pushed the speaker off.
"It's gotta be tied to this Juan Xavier and the crash... somehow..." the dark-skinned agent noted.
"I agree," Ezra said. "...and no doubt someone who knew Buck when he was in the service."
"He was pretty young... what eighteen?"
"Eighteen to twenty-two," J.D. said. "Then he left the military and went civvy.joined the Feds."
"We'll find out soon enough," Ezra commented, eyeing the clock.
Dirt. Mud. Pain. Birds. Bugs.
Into the blackness where he was lost, those images forced their way inside. He frowned, moved his hand to his eyes, rubbing life into them. He tried to sit up and groaned which caused pain in his face. Fleeting images returned and his eyes pried open. He saw a centipede and other ground dwellers just inches from his face. That would account for the stinging sensations he felt on his body. He rolled over and sat up, eyeing a blue sky. Water rushed nearby giving the already hot day a brief breeze.
"Mornin', blondie."
Chris Larabee turned to view the monster looming over him. He held the other man's gaze for a moment, not hiding the hatred coursing through his aching body. Slowly, he got to his feet until he stood just inches from the beast.
"Enjoy it." He eyed the sky, nodded to the terrain and the colorful birds flying. "It's gonna be your last."
Bull laughed, cupped the grimy man's chin with one large paw and spit into the ground. He laughed when the federal agent jerked his head away in disgust.
"You got balls, blondie. I like that. I'm gonna miss that flappin' jaw of yours after I split that pretty head like a melon."
"Where are we?" Chris tossed the idle threat away and his voice showed it. He had made a vow to Vin and he intended to keep it.
"I'm not sure," Bull admitted. "I headed back the way we came, following the river."
Chris gauged the distance and time, taking account for the fact that Bull was carrying him.
"Not far enough. They'll be lookin' for us. They're gonna shoot first..." Larabee winced as his jaw reminded him of the fist that sent him into Neverland. Then he remembered that brutal fist and Maria. He turned, casting eyes so icy they sent frost showering over the other man.
"You hurt her," he warned. "...bad idea..."
"Oh..." Bull shook from head to toe in a mock gesture. He saw the look of intense hate and stoked it. He grabbed his crotch and leered. "She sure is a sweet little piece... .young and firm... she sure felt good..."
Chris knew he was lying and controlled his anger. He knew Bull wanted to get him unnerved to gain the upper hand. It wouldn't work. He calculated the time they were missing and hoped that Orrin and the F.B.I. would be searching by now. Someone had to have found the plane. If not, he'd kill Savage and get to civilization. One way or another, he was going home.
"We're wastin' time," Chris spoke quietly, turning to find what direction would be the best to take.
Angry that Larabee didn't take his bait, Savage moved too quickly. Chris wasn't ready. He tumbled to his hands and knees. Angry, he moved his leg and used both hands, jerking the chain hard. Not hard enough to topple the massive mountain of flesh, but it staggered him.
Chris stood up and jabbed an index finger in the brute's chest.
"Listen up, fuckface! In case it escaped that pinhead of yours, we're connected by this fuckin' chain. So we move together, faster and cover more ground."
Bull hated to admit it, but the Fed was right. He almost hoped one of the guards did catch up to them. That way, after killing him, he could shoot the leg iron off and then break the sharp-tongued pig right in half. His fingers itched to crush those bones and watch those green eyes pop right out of that skull. He nodded, burying his anger and concentrated instead on moving.
It was almost ten a.m. when Buck Wilmington felt the plane descending. The dull headache matched the painful ribs and his mouth was swollen and sore. One eye was discolored and shut, but it was worth it. He couldn't see where they were. There were no windows. He had a rough idea though from the identity of the phone caller earlier that morning. They were near the capital, most likely Virginia.
He waited until the motor died and unclipped his belt. Three soldiers dressed from head to toe in black stood in front of him. He ducked outside, making sure he didn't bump his already tender head on the frame. A soft hiss escaped through those swollen lips as the sun hit his eyes.
The sprawling, one story building was lost inside a heavily wooded area and past many checkpoints. Very few people were aware of its existence. The man in question whose call startled him so was in charge. He ran a tight ship and put the 'd' in discipline. But there were few men that Buck Wilmington respected more.
He paused and raised his arms, letting the first guard frisk him. His wallet was examined and another guard approached with a wand, moving it over his body to detect metal or foreign objects. He entered the first set of doors where his photo was taken and his hand scanned on an infra-red device.
Within seconds, every detail on his career was displayed. Some things he'd even forgotten about were on file in the futuristic computer.
"They're waiting, sir."
The young man returned to his duties, keying in more info, and Buck followed the three remaining men through a door. Twice they paused at heavy metal doors without knobs to punch codes. Once the digital entry was established, they continued. Finally, the third door opened to reveal a conference room of sorts.
Buck ducked inside, his weary eyes going around the wood-paneled walls. In the far corner, a 32-inch television was nestled into the ceiling with CNN on mute. Under the short side wall were two young men viewing a bank of eight monitors covering the interior of the complex, a top notch security installation.
A dozen chairs, high-backed black leather issue, sat empty around a long oval table. In front of six of those chairs rested a single manila folder. Before Buck could think on the unbelievable fact he was actually standing in this place, a deep voice hit his ears.
"Good to see you again, Lieutenant."
"Sir!"
"As you were."
Buck waited until the other two men dropped their salute and sat down. He then turned slowly and held his own salute.
"Same here, sir."
"You look like hell, Wilmington." The older man scrutinized the battered face.
"Well now, sir, that's damn near impossible." Buck smiled warmly and shook the offered hand. Then his smile died and his tone grew serious. "Thanks for bringing me onboard." He held the dark gaze for several moments, sending a silent message. The slight dip of the head and the extra twinge in the grip, gave him his reply.
"You read the brief?" The dark head nodded. "Good, then you know you were chosen for specific reasons to be an essential part of my five man team. I need that head clear. Can I count on that?"
"Yes, sir!" Buck stood straight and cast his shoulders back.
"We have a full briefing at noon at the Ramada with the press. I'm on my way to the Pentagon for a meeting. You don't have much time. You've been reactivated, so from this moment on, you're under my command, no exceptions."
"Yes, sir... uh... my team... Orrin Travis?"
"I spoke with Orrin and he'll update the men." Turning, he called out, "Major Chelsea?"
The black man who entered the room was about forty or so, lean and handsome with a body chiseled out of stone. Buck watched the two men salute and the older man beckon him over.
"This is my second in command, Robert Chelsea. The Major will be bringing you up to date in the next hour or so. You'll be fitted with gear, go over the tools and weapons and view the videos, review the new status sheets..."
"Major." Buck saluted, then shook the strong man's hand, wincing slightly at the steel grip. "Video, sir?"
"Sergeant, cue it up on five."
Buck's eyes moved to the end of the sleek console where a young man worked. A series of computers, a keyboard and a digital panel were at his disposal. A twenty-inch monitor sat in front of him.
Buck watched the young man's fingers flying and the gray screen came to life. He squinted through trees and rough mountainous terrain. It was an aerial shot of some kind. There were figures, dressed alike, scurrying like ants around a series of trucks.
"Mexico?" Buck guessed.
"Very close to our target area," the Major noted. "It was taken about ten days ago by the CIA. Take a good look." He tapped the screen with a pointer.
"Bull Savage!" Buck hissed as the kid zoomed in a bit and the 'ants' got larger. "That son-of-a-bitch is alive..." He paused. "We got word Arlee is alive too..."
"Look closer, Buck," the eldest advised.
"I can't see anything..." He squinted, eyeing the grainy image.
"Can you zoom in again, Wilson?" the CO inquired.
"Yes, sir"
"There!" he instructed and waited. He heard the hiss as the air left the younger man's lungs. The one eye that was working went wide in shock and the skin turned a pale shade of white. The picture continued to crop and then the person in question turned his face.
"Jesus!" Buck jerked back, his breath leaving his chest in a rush. He reached his trembling hand out, needing to touch the image. Then pulled it back as disbelief settled on his face. The grainy black and white picture didn't do Chris Larabee's fine features justice. But it looked sweet to the rogue. Oh, did it look sweet!
Chris was alive!
The awful weight left him, his shoulders slumped and his breathing went shallow. Buck dropped his head to his chest, feeling his eyes burning with tears. Twice he tried to gain control of his wayward emotions but failed. His breath shuddered, his hands shook and he swallowed hard.
The men in the room eyed each other in disbelief at what happened next. Most of them had served under this man for years. He was the toughest SOB walking, demanded more than humanly possible and didn't show emotion. He barked orders and they moved. No one was respected or feared anyone more than he. So when his hand went out and gripped the back of the newcomer's neck hard, they were stunned into silence. For a brief scattering of seconds, his dark eyes, nearly coal black, shimmered with emotion.
"S...s...sorry... s...s...sir..." Buck managed, finally getting his rampant emotions corralled.
"Don't be, Buck. I'm not." He met the emotive blue gaze and gave a nod of support. Men like Buck Wilmington were few and far between. He was lucky enough to have some of the best on his elite squad. That's why he never wavered in his decision to pick up Wilmington for his mission. He was far beyond qualified. And he housed several things not tangible that were needed. It started with guts and the fire he saw in those eyes.
"What's this?" Buck asked when the older man handed him a note. He stood up, brushed his eyes and scanned the letter. "DAMN! Is this confirmed?"
"I verified it through the hospital in San Pedro and spoke with the priest. Vin Tanner was alive as of a couple days ago. "
"But..." Buck supplied the unspoken word.
"It's not all good news. He has amnesia. The priest found him in the river, he was badly injured. The most serious was a bad head injury. He could have died."
"...and..." Buck narrowed his one working eye.
"...and Arlee Savage apparently convinced him that they are related. They left the hospital and we're presuming Savage stole a jeep. If he knows where the plane went down, chances are he'll head back there."
"That sick fuckin' bastard!" Buck fumed, pounding his fist on the desk. "He's usin' Vin..."
"Using?" Chelsea turned.
"Vin's got a rather unique background." Buck's tone was warm and full of admiration. "In addition to being the best sniper wearin' boots, bar none," he paused seeing a mental image of the long-haired man at work, "he can track ant piss in a snowstorm. He was a bounty hunter for a lot of years. He brought in the ones the F.B.I gave up on."
"Savage is leading him into a death trap," the General concluded, eyeing the clock.
"As soon as he finds his father, he'll kill Vin..." Wilmington's anger rose again. "You saw the video from the diner?"
"I did," the older man nodded.
"So you know..."
"That those barbarians tortured him? Yes."
"Then you better hope we get them back first." Buck paused, "If Chris busts out, there won't be anything left of Bull to arrest," Buck advised.
"I'm late for my meeting with the President." The dark eyes raked over the younger man. "I'll see you at the Ramada for the briefing."
"Sir?"
He paused at the door, his escort waiting. Buck eyed the medals decorating the uniform, thinking of the old movie title 'None But The Brave'. The general was that and so much more. So much so, Buck felt like a kid again, just after he enlisted - green to the gills.
"Wilmington?"
"I won't let you down!" Buck vowed, squared his aching body and saluted.
"Preachin' to the choir, son." The General returned the salute with a wink and a smile before leaving.
"He thinks a lot of you." Chelsea stood next to the dumbstruck newcomer.
Buck nodded, feeling weary and the effects of little sleep as the adrenaline rush wore off.
"They broke the mold," the dark-haired ATF man choked.
"Come on." Chelsea clapped his shoulder. "You can eat while I bring you up to date."
Arlee limped to the river, dropped down and used his cupped hands to draw water out. He drank greedily, then doused his face, neck and chest. It was brutally hot. His leg was throbbing and he knew he was overdoing it, but he had no choice. He was on a mission to find his father.
His pale eyes went back several yards to where Tanner was sprawled under a tree. The tracker was fading fast; the headaches were causing blackouts and vomiting. He didn't give a rat's ass if the Fed died out here, just as long as it was after he got his father back. Sighing, he moved clumsily, slowly, over to the body. He sat up him, got a hold of him under the arms and dragged him to the river. He shoved Tanner's head under the cold water and felt the body jerk to life. He hauled him up, slapping the wet, dazed face hard.
"Troy! Wake up... you with me?"
"Huh?" Vin blinked, watching the blurry twin faces above him.
"Get some water..."
"Huh?"
"Water... drink... we gotta keep moving. The soldiers are all over the place. You wanna get us caught?"
"No... caught... no..." Vin rasped, wishing he could sit up. He'd never felt so sick; it was overpowering. Between the pain and the nausea, he could barely remain upright. He turned slowly and lowered his face, drinking slowly. He paused, waited for the water to settle and tried again.
"Hurry up! Between you passin' out and pukin' we lost a lotta time... them soldiers..."
"Shut up!" Vin hollered, holding his aching head. "Ya don't like how I'm movin'... git ahead. Who the hell needs ya?" he panted, curling up and rocking, fighting against the pulsating monster inside of his skull.
Arlee kicked the dirt. Fine mess this was... he needed the tracker. He eyed the thick undergrowth and the hot sun. Maybe with some rest, the Fed would move better at night or at least after sundown. Truth be told, his leg wouldn't last too much longer. They'd been at it since 5 a.m.
"Okay... we'll rest awhile. Come on..." He helped the other man stand and got him to the bushes. Tanner melted, his legs giving way as he slid bonelessly to the ground. Arlee sighed, leaned back and saw the pain ridden eyes of the other man darting around. "You okay?"
Vin didn't hear Arlee. Something was causing his heart to jackhammer. A feeling, the intense one, returned. He felt a driving need to... to... reach Chris. He felt his brother's invisible arms around his trembling body. Where was he?
"...Chris...?"
It was as good a time as any to stoke that fire. Arlee grinned and began his tale, embellishing it carefully.
"I know, Troy. I'm sorry about that... he suffered so much. That blond bastard with the green eyes made him hurt. But he made sure you were safe... got you in the water... before..."
Vin looked up then, seeing the other man's face screwed up in pain.
"Before... what?" he whispered. Trying to talk any louder caused his delicate head to fire up. "I thought ya said ya couldn't remember what happened?" A small note of alarm went off deep inside Vin.
"I uh..." Arlee backpedaled, caught in a lie, "I didn't want to upset you. I didn't remember a lot of it, until I saw that body near the wreckage. It was Chris... then it... came... back... God... it was awful.."
Arlee 'sighed' painfully, eyeing the captive audience. Oh, this was going to be fun.
"... he was tortured... burned alive most likely... after that blond bastard with the green eyes hurt him..."
"No...no... no...." Vin gasped, rocking again as the pain descended. Not Chris... he'd rather die himself that have anyone hurt Chris. Oh, God... tortured... and burned.
"I didn't want to tell you, upset you..." Arlee rubbed the salt into the new raw wound. "But I saw his body... fingers were cut off... and other parts were too... his gut was opened up... that blond guy really made him suffer..."
"...shut up..." Vin whispered, covering his ears and rocking the pain away.
"...then to burn alive..."
Shutupshutupshutup!" Vin screamed, the images too grisly to bear. Chris... his Chris... it couldn't be.
"...suffered like that for you... you're only here cause he let that blond..."
"SHUTTHEFUCKUP!" Vin screamed just before the explosion inside his head.
"All you had to do is ask." Arlee laughed at the now unconscious body. He cupped the slack jaw and grinned. "...cousin..." He laughed harder, took his knife out and 'practiced'. He let the dull side trace over Tanner's sweat-ridden shirt. He'd start at the navel, slowly work the knife in good. He could see those blue eyes bulging. He'd stake him out, of course, so his back would arch just the right way in agony. He tipped the blade under the slack jaw and laughed again before putting it away. He leaned back and allowed himself to rest then, unaware of the danger lurking nearby.
About a dozen members of the various branches of the military along with a few members of the State Department and the Justice Department were waiting. They talked in low murmurs, each having read the brief given. They quieted down when the door to the far left front opened. There was a podium with a microphone. Six men dressed identically in black boots, fatigues, t-shirts and berets filed inside before taking an 'at ease' posture. Two men continued to the podium. The first was an African-American male, forty-something and mean looking. Beside him stood a five-star general with jet black hair and the darkest eyes any of them had ever seen. The only sign of age on the handsome face was a slight graying at the temples.
"Good morning. I'm Major Robert Chelsea of SAT," he noted of the elite military special action team. "I'm sure you've all read the briefing and are up to date on the mission at hand. Our sources inform us that Juan Xavier is planning a major coup. If successful, it could prove to be detrimental to the stability that our country shares with Mexico. He is a ruthless, bloodthirsty killer and he and his army need to be stopped. We have a solid lead and a good idea of where he is. Our mission is to eliminate him and his immediate guard."
Several hands went up and Chelsea pointed to one. "Colonel Firth."
"I know your team has an uncanny success rate, but isn't taking on a large rebel force with a half dozen men rocking the boat?"
"If you cut off the head of the snake, there is no body," the general issued from the Major's left.
"Speaking of which, General, isn't this really all a smokescreen? An elaborate cover up for a suicidal recovery mission? You can't really think that those two Fed's are still alive?" A smartass from the State Department asked, already annoyed at being detailed here.
"It's a rescue mission!" Buck jumped in, ignoring the black look from his new boss. "They're not dead..."
"Lieutenant Wilmington!"
"Sir," Buck conceded to the black eyes burning a hole in him. He resumed his position, jaw clenched and hot angry eyes on a low burn.
"Wilmington?" One of the aides in the audience asked, flipping through his notes.
"As in Buck Wilmington?" a Captain in the front row asked, suddenly very aware of two missing federal agents. "From Larabee's unit? You're kidding me?"
"Pensworth is right," a snide comment from the back shot out of the State Department Representative's assessment. "This is a cover up... and a rather expensive one. How can you possibly think we would be that naive?"
Colonel Firth stood, silencing the heated debate with one raised hand. He turned to the imposing figure on the dais. A man he'd known for all of his career, over thirty years now. A man whose reputation was unblemished... until now.
"I've known you a long time." His eyes went to the other man who was red-faced with anger. It made those dark eyes glitter like black diamonds. "Are you sure? It's not just your life you're risking. I think the objection is a fair one. This is one helluva risk... separating the man from the uniform. Can you..."
"How dare you impugn my integrity!" the General roared. "Major!" He turned over command and strode out, slamming the door and rattling windows, lights and chairs.
While Chelsea restored order to the buzzing of tongues in the briefing room, the irate commander went into the bathroom. He washed his hands and face, then dried them. He looked long and hard at his reflection. Frank Firth's question came back to haunt him.
"Can you separate the man from the uniform?"
Could he? Shaking fingers drew out a small wallet-sized photo from his breast pocket. It was taken about five years prior. His own image, without the gray, was on the left. His grandson was in the middle and next to him, his crowning achievement. His finger traced over the handsome young man's face. His son, his flesh and blood. The finest gift God saw fit to bless himself and his wife with. He took a breath, a long one, and put the photo away. He squared his shoulders, eyed the man in the mirror. The image was clear and sharp. He was 'The General' and his mission was clear. With that, General Adam Jamison Larabee left the room.
"Shh!" Vin put his hand up, halting the pair. Keen eyes went around the perimeter. His wet, shaggy head cocked and his ears tuned in. He motioned to the right, waving his hand. His cousin nodded.
"Company?" Arlee whispered.
"Yeah, alone I think," Vin returned and they split up, circling the prey.
Vin moved slowly, so dizzy it was hard to walk. He heard movement. Bushes being loudly thrust upon and several grunts before a single cry of pain. His heart hammered, he held up his knife and waited. His large eyes trained on the path where the noise ceased. Then he heard the limping gait and relaxed. Arlee emerged with a gun tucked in his belt. He had two candy bars, a lighter and some cash.
"Here," Savage handed over a candy bar. "Guess this is supper."
"Alone?"
"Yeah... dead..." Arlee paused. "He wasn't from the army. He was a rebel. He was hunting something."
"Could be a scout."
"Yeah...." Arlee sighed, shoving the larger of the two candy bars in his mouth. After the brief meal, the pair continued, keeping close to the river.
"Hold it!" Chris held his hand up. "Somebody's up there!"
"I can hear!" Bull hissed, shoving the other man hard.
Chris held up two fingers. He heard two distinct patterns of walking. Neither seemed normal and then he heard labored breathing. Sounded like one of the pair was hurt. He picked up a large piece of branch and saw Bull take a rock.
They moved towards the clearing near the river where the two were approaching. They held their breath and waited, sweat and dirt covering them. Closer... closer... closer...
Chris's nose twitched; he smelled the distinctive stench of body odor and lost fluids coming nearer. He raised his club; Bull followed suit, ready to attack... to defend. The brush parted... two figures staggered into their path, one holding a gun, the other a knife.
For a few seconds, nobody moved. Four sets of eyes locked, hearts hammered and the rush of the kill began. Four men breathing heavily, all exhausted examined the other. Then the full moon broke through the light cloud cover, casting a silver beam on the quartet.
"Pa!"
"Arlee!" Bull gushed, dropping his rock. "Sweet Jesus, boy! I thought you were dead..." He accepted his son's embrace, slapping his back and then gripping his shoulder.
Chris was shocked into silence. He stared in disbelief. His chest heaving from exhaustion now seemed to clear. The heart that had been heavy with grief now rose in exhilaration.
He was there, not three feet away. He looked like shit; the damn hair was in wet rattails clinging to his face. His eyes were dull and rimmed with pain. But he was alive! Vin Tanner was alive! Alive... alive... alive... The impossible word bounced off every chamber of his stunned mind.
Eager to be rid of the blond pest once and for all, Bull tapped the gun tucked into his son's waistband. His eyes also questioned why the other agent would be traveling so loosely with his son, the enemy. The younger man shook his head and smiled, then pointed.
"That's him, Troy... he's the one..." Arlee ground the last grain of salt into the raw, throbbing wound in Tanner's soul.
The older Savage turned, still puzzled, just as the blue-eyed tiger sprang, knife held high.
Vin didn't see Bull Savage. The only thing he saw was the 'blond-haired bastard'. The mad, heartless mercenary who had tortured and burned his beloved Chris. The roar of vengeance screamed inside his head, already riddled in agony.
"Vin! No!" Chris screamed as the body flew at him, accompanied by a high, almost inhuman cry of pain. The blue eyes he knew so well were gone, replaced by the fevered eyes of a killer. What the hell did Arlee do to him? He had no time to think or react. He saw the silver blade in the clenched fist making a lethal path - straight to his heart.
Bull Savage grunted when the impact of the flying attacker caused the iron connecting him to Larabee to tug at his ankle. He eyed the gun in his son's hand.
"How many bullets you got?"
Arlee diverted his attention for a second, checking the chamber.
"Four in here, half a box in my pocket..."
"Shoot this damn thing off!"
Larabee's normal lightning fast reaction was toned down by his injuries and weakened state. He moved deftly but not quick enough. He hissed in pain as the blade skimmed his left collarbone and shoulder. The impact had him on the ground with the leaner body on top. His arm shot out, gripping Vin Tanner's wrist. The blue eyes were glazed with a degree of fury that the blond had never seen.
"Vin!" he grunted. "What the hell are you doing? It's me... dammit, look at me!"
"Shut the Hell up, ya murderin' bastard!" Vin screamed. "I know a thing or two about cuttin' a man. I'll peel ya like a fuckin' orange fer what ya done t'Chris."
"What?" he gasped, his left arm clenched to Tanner's right wrist. The duo battled for control of the blade, each man bared teeth, panted and grunted in frustration. Sweat poured freely from each lean form, stinging cuts and abrasions on their wayward path. "Vin, it's me! I'm Chris... Whatever... shit... he ... told you... were... lies..."
"Shut up!" the raging blue-eyed inferno hollered. "Don't ya say his name. I'll carve out every fuckin' tooth in yer head... he was everythin' t'me... and yer gonna pay fer what ya done..."
The sinister laugh caused the green eyes to slide sideways. He caught Arlee's menacing face and sneered.
"You're a dead man!" he vowed while wrapping his legs around Tanner's slim waist and flipping him. He gained the upper hand, but the blade found his flesh again, glancing across his ribcage. He needed to disarm Vin; he felt his own strength waning. He felt the difference as soon as the injured sniper's head hit the ground. The eyes blinked rapidly and the wrist was weakening. Several small grunts of frustration and pain snuck out and his breathing became quick and rapid. The eyes were frantic, darting to and fro, and the slender body was losing it's adrenaline.
"Come on, cowboy..." the blond panted as defeat rose up in the blue eyes. That hurt a bit. That Vin would show such bloodlust, risk his life to avenge the death of 'Chris' ate at him. Those blue eyes were fading; the body was shutting down and the younger man felt he'd shamed his best friend. "Vin, stay with..." The body beneath him went limp; the eyes rolled once and shut. The blade started to slip. He grabbed for it but not fast enough.
The shot startled him; it took the blade from his reach. Chris moved on instinct, shielding Tanner with his own body. He flinched at the second shot but felt no pain. Then a chain wrapped around his neck. Both hands shot up, green eyes bulged as the metal tore the flesh on his throat and took his air away. He rammed his right elbow hard into the attacker's soft groin. The chain slipped and he turned, pulled it hard, sending Bull to the ground. He snarled and kicked at the offender's throat, never seeing the gun butt that sent him into the black void. His body landed half on Tanner's.
"What now?" Arlee asked. "We need Tanner. He's good at reading the land. He can get us out."
"What the hell did you do to him?" Bull gasped, still reeling from Larabee's attack.
"Nothin', just moved in," he smiled, "the plane crash did all the work. " He squatted and picked up the knife. "He thinks he's our kin... and Larabee here tortured and burned his beloved brother - Chris. He's got amnesia. We can have lots of fun with him."
"He can use the knife to play with Larabee, but I get to kill him!" Bull vowed as he eyed the ratty cast on his son's leg. "We need to rest... how's it look where you came from?"
"Crawlin' with army... they found the wreck. I'm guessing since the army is involved, they know at least one of the Fed's is alive. We need to lie low for awhile."
"There's a cave back there, set off the river. We can hide there..."
"I don't know, Pa... I think we need to cross over. How'd you bust free? Won't they be looking for you?"
"Maybe you're right," Bull agreed, watching a group of insects swarming over the bloody chest of Chris Larabee. "We'll use the cave tonight and you and Tanner scout out the river in the morning."
"Troy, Pa, he thinks his name is Troy and he thinks I'm Kevin Lincoln. You're my Pa, his uncle. Chris was his brother who Larabee here tortured and burned. He's a mercenary."
"Yeah...okay..." he nodded. "I'll take Larabee first." He eyed a vine nearby, cut a long length and rolled the unconscious man over, tying his hands. "Keep and eye on Tanner, in case his memory returns. I'll be back."
"Oh, don't worry," Arlee squatted, grinding his palm into the still healing wound on the groggy man's thigh. It brought a cry of pain that delighted him. "Me and Vinnie are good buddies..."
It was a short ride south, not quite an hour. Even at night the rolling hills and mountains had a calming influence. He never got tired of the approach, passing the white fence line, turning up the winding drive under spectacular trees to the graceful white-columned nineteenth century farm.
Built in 1828 along the banks of the Shenandoah, it withstood the changes of time and politics and served briefly as a confederate hospital during the Civil War. Next to the charming residence was a large stable with a half dozen horses. Fine animals, every one and Kathryn's pride and joy.
He smiled, still able to recall the first time he saw her over forty years past. Just turned eighteen and the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Blond hair glinting in the sun and that radiant smile over the blue ribbon. She was an award winning equestrian who rode frequently with her older sister and her sister's close friend, Jacqueline Kennedy. He was new to the Pentagon, fresh out of West Point and serving under the Secretary of Defense. He met Kathryn through the President at one of Mrs. Kennedy's charity events.
He missed this place and the peace it brought him. Waking up in her arms, watching the sun rise through the large bay window and the soft mist rolling over the fields. He sighed as they pulled into the carport on the side of the house.
"How can you leave this place?" Buck wondered aloud. "It's like living in heaven."
"It's getting harder," Adam Larabee agreed, getting out of the car. "Come on, son. The bride doesn't like to be kept waiting."
"Still the bride?" the younger man teased, knowing full well the two were still celebrating a love affair that spanned forty years.
"Always!" he touted. "The finest creature God ever created." He unlocked the kitchen door and stepped inside. The tantalizing aroma of roasting meat filled the room.
"You're late!"
Buck smiled at the warm voice then paused, letting the General embrace and kiss 'the bride'. There was no mistaking that look. The man simply adored the ground she walked on. Although Chris inherited his blond hair and green eyes from his mother, his features, every one, were all Larabee.
"I had to turn the pork down. I grated apples into the sauerkraut and there's peach cobbler warming in..."
Buck grinned and opened his arms then as the beautiful woman's smile lit up the entire, large colonial kitchen.
"Buck!"
He caught the trim, petite woman who could easily pass for forty. Her hair was the same shade as Chris's but wavy. It was cut short and framed her small face perfectly.
"Buck Wilmington! Oh my..."
"Didn't I tell you?" He winked at the General who was pouring them all a glass of Rhine wine. "All woman just melt in my arms... it's a powerful weapon."
"She's just tired..." he defended with a sly grin. Then he saw Buck's face blanch, seeing the photo of Chris on the wall. "She knows..."
"Kate, I wanted to call... but..." he paused, gripping her shoulders. "I was a mess. It was the worst pain I ever felt, like someone ripped my guts out..."
"I know," she rested one hand on the handsome man's face. "You're family, honey... and nobody hurts like you."
"I'm gonna bring him home, Kate," he vowed, taking the small hand and kissing it. "You got my word!"
"Wilmington's word is as good as done!"
"My reputation precedes me," he winked at her.
"No, I read that on the ladies room at the Country Club..."
Buck laughed and put his bag down, hearing Chris's natural sense of humor coming from his mother's lips. He was a lucky man. He was raised in a home full of love by two people who trusted and respected each other. Buck paused next to a table where an old photo of Chris was in a five x seven frame. He was about ten, sporting a short buzz cut and muddy football uniform. The tenacity in the green eyes was familiar.
"He had the glare even then..." Buck mused.
"He was born with it," his mother smiled. "He scowled at me the first day we brought him home." She motioned to the table. "Do you need to wash up?"
"No, ma'am, I'm fine. The General thought of everything." He was glad for the jeans and flannel shirt. The General really had thought of everything, even having a grunt go to Wal-Mart and pick up supplies for him.
"I hope you're hungry?" the elder Larabee inquired, sitting at the large pine table that dated back to the Civil War.
"Aw, hell," Buck patted his waist. "Did you make roasted potatoes and carrots?" He eyed the antique pottery housing steaming food. "I'm not gonna fit in my uniform."
"You finish all of that or you get no dessert!" she scolded, rubbing his back then paused to squeeze his shoulder. "It's so good to see you, honey. You don't visit enough."
"Same here, Kate. Chris's been after me to come back... but the last six months have been brutal. One case after another... now this." He swallowed a mouthful of succulent pork and sauerkraut, took some wine and paused. "I can't believe they both survived. I can't imagine the pain if one didn't..."
"His letters and phone calls are full of Vin." She smiled, thinking on how unwittingly her son showed his emotion. "It's as if God sent Vin to him, to help heal that broken heart."
"They're a pair, that's for sure," Buck smirked. "That cranky Texan can work Chris's nerves like nobody's business. Then just when his face gets red and you think he's gonna explode, Vin just flashes a smile or makes some smart-assed Texan comment and Chris loses it." His fork paused, a carrot dangling. "Vin's a good man. He sorta reminds me of them knights I read about when I was a kid."
"From what Chris tells me, Vin Tanner is quite an asset to the team," the General noted. "It would appear he has many unique abiilties..."
"Unique?" Buck smiled again, chomped his carrot and took a hunk of hot sourdough bread, slathering butter on it. "Yeah, he's that... course he also curses like a sailor, can get downright cranky and keeps the sugar industry in business."
The outstanding dinner was capped off by a wonderful dessert and strong coffee. Kate went up to bed, leaving the two men to discuss their early departure for Mexico. She slide beneath the old quilt, feeling the same tension that crept up before every mission he went on. He was so a part of her, she couldn't imagine living without Adam.
It was close to midnight when he slipped in beside her. She sighed as those strong arms encircled her, drawing her back against that broad chest. She felt him nuzzle her neck and turned to give him a soft kiss. She cupped that handsome face and stroked his cheek.
"You bring my boy home, Adam," she whispered in a mother's choked voice. He kissed her forehead, brushed the tears away with his fingers and held her close. She felt that strong heart beating against her own and fell into an uneasy sleep.
"Yes, sir, we're all here," J.D. Dunne announced and handed the telephone to the acting team leader, Josiah Sanchez. They were at Ezra's condo waiting for Travis to call.
"Orrin," he pushed the speaker button so they all could hear. "Anything new?"
"The meeting went well. General Larabee was able to join us via teleconference. Did you get the video I emailed?"
"Yes, sir," Nate exuded, puffing on a cigar. "I can't believe both of them survived. We got a real good chance..."
"We have favorable odds," the older man agreed. "Did I hear my secretary correctly? You've all been approved for annual leave?"
"Well," the preacher noted, his deep voice full of 'sincerity'. "We're all caught up and four isn't much of a team. I checked with Mike Ryan and Bennie Evans," he noted of the other two ATF teams in the area. "They don't need us."
"We thought a brief respite from the travails of our ordeal was in order," Standish added, handing Nathan a brandy.
"Yeah," J.D. nodded. "Mexico is a great place to tour this time of year."
The exasperated sigh on the other end gave each man a smile.
"It's all by the book, Orrin," Nate added. "I'm looking peaked... Rain likes me with more color..."
"Be that as it may," Travis paused amidst the chuckles. "You realize once you leave the United States, you are just ordinary citizens. You're not on duty..."
"Why, Orrin!" Josiah tapped his chest. "I'm wounded..."
"That you would question our motives," Standish agreed.
"...is highly offensive," Dunne added in an Ezra-esque voice.
"I'm just along for the tan," Nate chimed in and getting ribbed by J.D.
"Sometimes I wonder," Orrin mused of how this odd collection of manpower had melded into an exceptionally successful and highly decorated federal fighting force.
"Aren't you gonna guess where we're going?" J.D. piped up, chugging a pony bottle of Miller Lite.
"San Pedro?"
"Give the man a cigar!" Nate awarded.
"Don't call me for bail money," the elder advised, shaking his puzzled head. "I'll be in touch."
He tried to move but couldn't. He spent several moments shivering in the cold and letting his pained eyes adjust to the dimness. Cold, damp and musty, he knew the flavor. His fingers felt the walls and earth. He tilted his nose, scenting the air.
"River ain't far..."
"You hungry, Troy?" Arlee asked, kneeling by the roused man. He offered a piece of fish. "I caught some fish. It was hot before..."
"No..." Vin repelled, the scent of the water creature soured his delicate stomach. "Ya best move that thing or I'll hurl on ya..."
"Damn..." Arlee moved back as the other man sat up, rubbed his head and picked up the canteen. "How you feeling?"
"Like m'head got trampled by a buffalo." Vin began to rock, clutching his aching skull. Then he caught sight of the pale face of the prisoner, bound and blindfolded in the light from a small, dying fire near the cave entrance. He hissed, rose and attempted to move in again, fists clenched and teeth bared.
"Hold on, Cochise!" Arlee laughed, intercepting the irate, squirming body. "Plenty of time for that... you get some rest."
"He's mine!" Vin warned, his blood racing. "Ya git in m'way and I'll carve a piece outta ya!"
Arlee held up both hands in defeat and retreated, winking at his dozing father. Oh, this was going to be fun! They both watched and grinned as the lost soul examined his prey.
Vin dropped down, lifting the short blond hair harshly. He felt the other man tense up, and he leaned in, his lips curled in disgust. The stench of blood assaulted him and he eyed the new wounds, scoring red through a tattered shirt.
"Yer mine, ya maggot-eatin' dog. Ya ain't known pain yet... I'll make ya beg... "
Chris heard the voice and could imagine the fire in those blue eyes. But how could he reach Vin? He knew Arlee and Bull would kill both of them.
"Vin... listen to me..."
"Quit callin' me that!" The angry man jerked the wet head harder. Every time the blond said the name 'Vin', it felt like a knife was ripping his skull open.
"I'm just..."
"Ya look thirsty!" Vin panted, not liking the powerful and painful storm inside him. He grabbed the canteen and poured the cold river water all over the wounded man's face. The sputtering and choking didn't give him the satisfaction he sought. He shoved the body hard, kicking the soft side of the man's belly and taking his air away. The body went limp and he retreated, curling up in the corner. He rocked and clutched his throbbing skull until darkness overtook him. He moaned and twitched in his troubled sleep, slashed by vivid images of the blond man with piercing green eyes.
The man who took his beloved brother Chris from him. A mistake that would only be rectified when the earth ran red with his blood.
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