Title: Warnings (ATF)
Author: Heather F.
Disclaimers: No mine, no money made etc.
Acknowledgements: May Challenge…write a story but not a horror story where a supernatural element plays a role…or something to that effect.
Thanks: MOG ATF is her sand box…
Warnings: The usual…grammar and spelling challenged.
Spoilers: Nope
Feedback: flah7@smgazette.com
Written 5/6/02
Part 1
Chris Larabee strode down the corridor fighting the urge to punch something. His boot heels tolled with a muted intensity matched only by a twin set of heels that shadowed his pace. The aseptic smell of stringent cleaners and the clean but worn look of tiled floors were all too familiar to him. The noise level never seemed to decrease in these places except during late nights or early mornings and even then the occasion disruption would occur. He ignored the cautious looks people tossed at him while they backed out of his way. If pushed, it was the odor that disturbed him the most, sterile but knowing that certain 'bugs' could resist even ones best efforts to disinfect. Privacy and dignity certainly did not stand up in these places.
Larabee hated hospitals.
Vin Tanner had to agree.
"Of all the Gawd damn things to happen," Chris spoke to himself , but his voice and the frustration that laden it, traveled to his walking companion.
"Ain't his fault Chris," Tanner spoke quietly keeping his tone carefully neutral trying not to spark any arguments. Chris was right. The timing on this was terrible.
"I know, I know," Larabee knew but it did nothing to ease the disquiet and tired unrest that settled on his shoulders. They had too much going on right now to have to deal with something like this….and Why now of all times for something like this to happen?
Nurses and orderlies watched the two men stride past. Each one thankful that the duo continued walking and not stop to question or speak to them. Of the seven, Mr. Larabee proved the most volatile. Though, each of the Seven had their moments, Mr. Larabee was the most predictable in his unpredictableness. Mr. Wilmington was genial, and fun loving, but that tended to slip by the wayside when the young Mr. Dunne found himself sequestered away within the confines of these hallowed halls. Mr. Jackson was by far the most understanding but even his benevolent patience ran thin if he felt he was getting the run around or if full disclosure was not being met with any alacrity. Mr. Tanner, though quiet, was found to be intimidating in his silence and piercing gaze. Mr. Standish, when he, like Mr. Tanner or Mr. Dunne for that matter, found themselves as the waitee and not the waited on, could be as determined and bull headed as his fellow ATF agent. The genteel Southern attitude slipped down to abrasive if he found his time wasted with foolish condolences or half truths. Mr. Sanchez floundered in the dangerous blue of the eye of the storm…The man could twist in any direction like opposing winds of a hurricane. The worst by far, however, lay with Mr. Christopher Larabee.
It was with great relief that the nurses and orderlies watch the two leading members of Team Seven by pass them and head for the elevator.
Tammy at the reception desk had greeted them with a tight smile and a simple number…. "Room 528…second bank of elevators down the hall and to the right." Tanner had managed a tight 'thank you' smile. Larabee merely changed the direction of his stride.
Amongst those not involved with the new admittance, rumor had it, one of the Seven had fallen sick.
People backed away from the elevator as the doors chimed open. They would let these two predators ride alone and await the next set of cars.
Tanner leaned against the far wall of the elevator watching the floors tick by in the lighted lazy fashion of most elevators found in middle aged buildings around the country.
Floor Five.
Vin had never really visited this floor on purpose, certainly not to see one of the others. Normally they were relegated to floors six, eight or seven, trauma, surgery or unfortunately the ICUs…never floor five though.
At least it was something new. Change could be good…
The elevator dinged its arrival before it actually stopped. The car lifted slightly before settling heavily in its cable. The wide doors grudgingly started to peel apart.
Larabee slid sideways through the doors before they finished moving. He got his bearings and headed left down the hall.
Tanner sighed, floor 5 looked the same as all the others, even the same smell. So much for new, though the prints on the walls were different. Floor Five seemed to run the theme of water fowl. Floor six herald horses, while floor seven had safari animals and eight birds of prey. Five had ducks. Vin felt a twinge of disappointment. Water fowl didn't exactly instill him with any great emotion or wonder.
Tanner trailed behind Larabee until they reached room 528. The late afternoon sun, leaked through shuttered blinds on the end window of the hall. The weak natural light muted the artificial light that struggled to add some kind of comfort in a rather sparsely decorated hall. A picture of a Canada Goose hung by the last window caste in dimmed shadows. Not inspirational at all.
Chris stared at the number…528… for a moment, shook his head just before he shoved the door open. Gawd damn why did this have to happen now?
Josiah Sanchez looked up toward the door when he heard it push open. The man on the bed reacted to the noise and intrusion with a low moan and slowly shifted his legs. Sunken red eyes did not open. Sanchez dropped a comforting hand on the dirty dark hair hoping to convey some reassurance or comfort. The action failed and only resulted in the curled man to move away from the touch.
"What's going on Josiah?" Chris entered the room with out preamble or wasted breath on greetings. He wanted the score and needed to know how to adjust their plans to accommodate the wrench that had found its way into their gears.
His eyes never wandered to the Profiler. Instead, he focused on the undercover agent that now rolled onto his side and curl into a ball. Larabee took in the flush cheeks under pale skin, the drawn features and the chapped lips. The bed had been elevated slightly but Standish had managed to slip further down avoiding the incline. An IV fed the back of his right hand and had been taped in securely. Someone had been paying attention. The IV line was secured partially to Standish's forearm before the line veered off through disrupted blankets, over the raised rail and toward the clear IV bag. No orange tag graced the bag.
Larabee recognized that his undercover agent was only receiving fluids IV.
"Drs. Aren't sure just yet," Sanchez met his boss's gaze and then that of Tanner's. Concern graced the older man's features. He had not expected to spend his afternoon in the emergency Department and certainly not up here on the Fifth floor…and its Ducks.
The tracker nodded a brief 'Hello' but held his tongue. Josiah leaned forward in his chair at the bedside, unconsciously offering his mere presence as a form of protection and comfort. Standish shivered as another chill gripped his body. The undercover agent curled tighter into himself. The thin blanket slipped from his shoulders.
"Spinal Tap came back clean, his temp 's climbing still and their running blood tests and plan on doing a CT depending on what they get back with the other stuff." Sanchez pulled the white hospital blanket up over Ezra's shoulder's, doing his best to cover the partially exposed back. The hospital gown did little to offer security or warmth to its patients.
Chris nodded in silent understanding. Understanding that he would get no answers this afternoon, understanding that his undercover agent would not be able to participate in the warrants that were to be served at 3am, in another ten hours. He understood quite clearly that one of the key figures in helping bringing them to this point would be unable to see the conclusion of all their hard work.
Damn.
Larabee approached the bed, from the opposite side of Sanchez. Chris shook his head in disappointment. Disappointment not addressed to his stricken man but at the circumstances that brought them here. The leader of Team Seven reached out and laid a practiced hand on his undercover agent's forehead. Standish slept restlessly with his back to Sanchez. An unconscious attempt to block out the world, to hide from those that might help or hinder him while he was down.
Untrusting SOB.
Larabee felt the heat. Gawd Damn.
Standish moved away from the hand and burrowed his chin tighter to his chest. He apparently found no comfort in a touch. He trembled again as chills rocked his body.
"Temp was up to 105.2 when I brought him in," Josiah remarked. He closed his eyes and settled down in the hard plastic chair. He had decided to drop in on Standish at lunch time. See how their undercover agent had been faring. Standish had called Larabee at home that morning, taking the day off, a cold….Feeling a little under the weather but had assured his boss that he would be ready for the warrants. Three months of hard work would not be ignored. Ezra, like the rest of the team, had given up twelve weeks of their lives to nail these calculating individuals.
Josiah had had an unsettled feeling all morning. It had magnified when Larabee strolled into the office without a word until JD had asked when Ezra would be in…wires had to be adjusted….At lunch, Josiah could no longer ignore the sense of dread that had plagued him all morning. He had listened to that little voice that hammered in the back of his mind and had driven out to Ezra's Condo.
Thank God he had.
Forty-five minutes later Josiah was in the Emergency Department helping hold the Southerner still, in a fetal position, while a Doctor did a Lumbar puncture.
The undercover agent fluctuated between a restless slumber ,incoherency, and delirium. Josiah had called Larabee from the E.D.
Now, a few hours later, with plans for 'tonight's' warrant made, Larabee skipped from the office with his sharpshooter, to check on the progress of his undercover agent.
"Go home Josiah," Chris directed with quiet authority. He stalled any arguments that were sure to follow his command, "Buck's on his way over with JD and Nathan, we'll stay till they get here." Larabee then pulled his eyes from his downed agent to Sanchez, "I need you to be up to snuff for tonight." The cool look in the hazel eyes were not without sympathy but Chris would be damned if he were back in this damnable hospital because someone got hurt tonight because they were unprepared.
Tanner waited patiently behind the profiler ready to take the responsibility that Josiah had assumed.
Sanchez stood and stretched. Brother Chris made good sense. The ex-anthropologist let his arms drop to his side as he caught Chris's eye, "sometimes he thinks he's under…and sometimes he thinks his cover 's been blown…."
Larabee nodded in understanding. Damn fevers.
Josiah made to turn and head for the door but stopped before he actually took a single step. "Oh and he keeps going on about a boat capsizing and JD and Buck getting crushed," Josiah stood beside the bed and watched as Standish once again started struggling with unseen demons. "Not sure where that 's coming from," Sanchez looked back to Chris hoping he would have some insight as to what the other man's words were about.
Chris shook his head slowly. He had no idea.
Tanner leaned forward in the chair as Standish's movements became more frantic, heated. Ezra rolled over onto his other side now facing Vin. The sharpshooter watched as Standish's mouth moved, his words indiscernible. The undercover agent struggled weakly with the white sheets and blankets that covered him. The IV line, that fed his right forearm, swayed and jerked, threatening to hang up on the blanket. Tanner simply untangled the line as he watched eyeballs rove back and forth behind closed lids.
"Easy Ez," Vin raised a hand to rest on the side of Standish's head but stalled the movement. This wasn't Buck or JD, nor was it Nathan. It was Standish, where a touch could be misinterpreted as a threat more easily than anything else.
All three men were taken back when green eyes snapped open.
"Ezra?" Chris moved closer to the bed trying to get a better look at the wild expression on the Southerner's face.
Josiah stood still, watching, waiting. Where was he now? Did he know he was safe surrounded by friends? Or did he think that he lay in the clutches of an arms dealer or the such?
"Chris?" The words were hoarse, panicked, the southern accent thick.
"Ya alright Ezra," Larabee gripped the bed rail frustrated he could do no more to ease the fight that raged behind fevered eyes. He knew he spoke to himself, Standish never acknowledged him.
"Chris!" Ezra's sudden holler had the leader of Team Seven pulling back slightly before actually reaching for his undercover agent. Standish thrashed violently, left and right.
Josiah slid closer to the bed with Tanner. The three of them started speaking, "Easy Ezra."
"Wake up Brother,"
"Ya'll right Ez,"
Standish's eyes rove wildly between faces. His breathing became harsh as he pushed himself deeper into the pillow. Sanchez reached out a hand to comfort the younger man.
Standish shied as he screamed out, "Chris!" Veins and tendons strained under the tense strap muscles of the flushed neck. The undercover agent tried to kick his feet free of the entangling bed sheets.
His outburst brought people exploding through the door across the room.
The added commotion had the Southerner burying himself further into the mattress, swinging his head left and right. Injected green eyes were open in terror but apparently unseeing or uncomprehending of things immediately around him.
"What the hell is going on?" Buck's voice had Chris and the others turning to face him, JD and Nathan.
"Get'em away from the boat!" Standish shouted out again, this time his legs bent as he tried to sit up. Three sets of hands pushed him down. He waved his arms trying to fight the forces that shoved him back.
"Easy Ezra," Chris intoned softly, feeling his own heart hammer in his chest. What the hell is going on?
"No!" Ezra wrestled and squirmed under the hands that held him pinned, "Its gonna capsize!" He fought trying to swing at the shadowy faces that kept him from helping the others.
"Buck! JD!" Standish wrestled to sit up again. He rolled and twisted his hips left and right trying to gain leverage, trying to break free, to get away and help the trapped men.
"Gawd Damnit," Larabee hissed out, "JD, get a doctor."
Dunne stared wide eyed at the commotion over at the bed. He paused until Buck laid a hand on his shoulder, "Go." The soft spoken command had the youngest sprinting out the door.
"Easy Ez," Tanner spoke softly, "ain't no boat here, JD and Buck are fine."
Ezra turned his face and seemed to focus on Tanner, "No…no…it capsized, it crushed JD…I can't see Buck…Buck's under it…you got to help them…." His panicked words tumbled over one another. "please you've got to let me help them." His voice cracked as if he were reliving the event. His sudden burst of strength waned.
"Buck git in there and talk to him," Nathan pushed Wilmington forward. The ex-paramedic slid in beside Larabee. Jackson could feel the fever before he even touched the patient.
" 'Ey pard'," Buck smiled reassuringly down at Standish's too wide eyes, "I'm right here, so's JD…we're fine pard'…see right here," Wilmington reached out and laid a hand on Standish's blanketed chest.
"No," Ezra whispered out his eyes staring at Wilmington for only a moment before swinging to Josiah and back to Vin, " No…Lilith…saw it…tell'em!" His eyes swung to the corner of the room below the TV that hung from the ceiling. The others followed his gaze to the empty space.
Buck and Chris shared a look that was not lost on Tanner.
"Ezra, there isn't any one there," Jackson pointed out with reassurance. An uneasy feeling crawled up his spine.
Standish seemingly forgot the others and spoke to the corner, "Tell'em, show'em…" his pleading voice lost its stamina and slowly dwindled to a whisper.
"You've got to tell them…." He sagged against the pillow and his eyes rolled. He struggled briefly, re-opened his eyes and found Larabee, "Chris…" stark fear tinged his plaintive call. He gripped Larabee's wrist in a desperate measure hoping to convey his urgency. Then his eyes rolled again and Ezra settled heavily back into the bed either unconscious.
Chris watched his struggling agent and realized Ezra had truly looked at him, saw him, recognized him and pleaded….for something.
"What the Hell?" Larabee shot out as he straightened. He searched the faces of each of his men. The others mirrored his worried and unnerved expression. Chris had yet to relinquish the returned grip on the Southerner's wrist. A lifeline of sorts.
Just then the door to the room burst open. A Doctor and nurse stormed through with JD leading the way.
The men backed away from the bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
A gale force wind howled out side the hospital window. It rattled window panes and whistled down narrow side streets. Paper was lifted and blown into the air, hats were clutched to heads, and coats billowed and pulled from bodies. Everted umbrellas would vex and embarrass disgruntled users for the night.
A storm raged in the mountains. The city of Denver caught the backlash of gale intensity winds and sporadic whipping rain.
Buck and Vin sat on either side of the hospital bed. The TV flashed bluish hues of light in the darkened room. The CT scan had shown nothing. The blood tests had either come back normal or revealed that Standish was fighting an infection of some kind.
No joke. Maybe the Duck floor was the appropriate place.
Chris had left with Josiah and JD to get the profiler up to speed on tonight. Nathan skirted through the halls of the hospital for a while and finally had to leave to help Team 8 get things ready.
Wilmington checked his watch again. Midnight. A few more hours and this case would be done…maybe not over, but out of their hands. It had been a long ugly haul.
Buck was pulled from his reverie when Standish started moving again. The movements were jerky and irritable. He fought the blankets as well as unseen enemies.
"Here we go again," Tanner sat up in his chair and watched as the fight escalated. In a few seconds, Standish would be wide eyed and shouting about something, maybe the boat again. Or perhaps Lilith.
Buck nodded edging himself closer to the side of the bed. Hoping the subject of Lilith would not come up again.
As if on cue, Standish's eyes snapped open.
" 'Ey Pard'," Buck spoke with gentle caring, trying hard not to spook Standish any further. "Hoss, you in there?"
Both Buck and Vin shared a look as Ezra stared wide eyed at the same corner under the raised Television.
Here we go again…
"No," Ezra whispered and shook his head as if trying to deny an exposed truth only he could see.
"Shit," Vin muttered softly to himself. He checked the IV line, to make sure it was not already snagged on something when Ezra started fighting them again.
"Ezra," Buck called again softening his voice to a subdued whisper, "come on pard' look at me…Ole Buck…"
Standish did not respond…Instead, he continued to stare at the far corner, "No…." He shook his head more vigorously, "No!" He voice raised with his fighting determination.
"No!…Get away from the Boat!…." He tried to bolt up right.
"Shit," Tanner spit out again and jumped to his feet pushing Standish back into the bed, "Ez, there ain't no boat." How many times had they gone through this?
"Buck! Get away from the Boat…JD!" Standish struggled against the hands that pinned him down.
Wilmington, in an act of desperation, grabbed Ezra's chin, "Look at me hoss," Buck tried to make eye contact, but Standish swung his eyes to the corner of the room. "Ezra, look at me."
"No…" Standish pleaded, his voice breaking, "Lilith…tell'em…warn them."
"Ezra, ain't no one here but Buck 'n me," Tanner answered through clenched teeth.
"No…please," Standish's voice softened. His breath hitched as if fighting for air.
"Ezra," Buck again tried to catch the Southerner's eye. He succeeded this time. Buck smiled reassuringly, "that's it pard'…now listen… JD 'n me are fine…ain't no boat out here in the middle of Denver…sure as Hell ain't gonna capsize on us…"
Standish's eyes began to pool, "Stay away from the boat…JD… It crushed JD and buried you… Lilith…Lilith showed me…"
Buck smiled sadly at the tears that ran down from the corner of Standish's eye, "Ezra, JD 'n me are just fine." The big man used his thumb to wipe away a lone tear from the side of Standish's head before it ran into his ear.
"What's Lilith look like Ez?" Tanner asked hoping to divert Standish from his morbid 'dream'. He watched as the undercover agent closed his eyes and opened them slowly, fighting to focus maybe, "she's right there…." Ezra struggled to raise an impossibly heavy hand off the bed to point to the corner under the TV.
"She's not there Ez," Buck pointed out quietly, gently, trying to ease an old familiar pain. Gawd how many times had he wished for to still be there for him?
Vin eyed Wilmington for a brief second before focusing back on the undercover agent.
"Blue eyes, like cobalt. Laugh lines… an inch or two shorter than Buck…" Standish paused his voice raw and hesitant, "she saw the boat," he started becoming agitated again.
Wilmington tightened his grip, as he squinted, trying to see something, anything in the dark corner across the room.
"Ain't no boat pard'," Vin spoke up trying to keep the undercover agent grounded with them. A little help here, Buck…
"Yes…there is…" Ezra stared at Vin. For the first time since visiting the hospital that day, Tanner had the sense that Standish was actually looking right at him. "They're crushed…JD's crushed….Can't find Buck…" panicked desperation, a hint of anger, laced his words. He fought to keep his eyes open, to make them believe to understand what he saw.
"What's she wearing Ez?" Buck kept his hand on Standish's bicep, no longer holding him still but offering comfort.
"Blue jeans, Pacer's sweat shirt," He paused as if fighting something, " Cardinal's hat, soft ball glove on her right hand…the boat…she showed…oh Gawd JD….Buck" The words tapered off, the anguish faded and Standish once again faded back to a restless sleep.
Buck sat heavily in his chair. His face drained of color.
"Buck?"
"Nuthin' pard'…nuthin'" Wilmington never took his eyes from the shadowy spot in the corner. Tanner followed his gaze and saw nothing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~'
Chris once again ran a check through his men. Each one responded with an affirmative. The wind constantly beat at their backs, sucking coats to bodies like shrink wrap. Hats were pulled tight over brows or left in vehicles all together.
"Winds gonna be a bitch Larabee," Tanner's remark had the other sharpshooters nodding their consent from their unseen perches.
"Don't give me excuses ladies, just results," Larabee hoped Tanner understood his remark... give an excuse and someone might take it and use it. They couldn't afford it.
Tanner chuckled over his head set. It brought a smile to Larabee's face. Tanner knew.
Despite the lateness or earliness of the hour, the men sounded ready, awake.
Kelly Ryan checked with his team as SWAT ran through their numbers. It was time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
Ezra shouted and reached out, screaming for Buck and JD to stay away from the Boat. He pleaded with anyone who would listen.
The darkened room remained empty, except for himself and the shadow under the flickering blue hue of the Television.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
"Ok, we're movin'," Larabee spoke into his mike and slowly started making his way to the warehouse entrance.
The large empty spaces between buildings whistled with wind and danced with tossed paper.
A team of men scurried toward the warehouse. Out of sight, a team of sharpshooters lay hidden. In plain view, but invisible to the undiscerning eye, sat an ordinary, nondescript, van. Unexceptional, except for the men and equipment that sat within it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
Evie Travis left the room of an old time friend. Tears sparkled her eyes. She hugged her folded coat to her chest as she headed down the corridor to the bank of elevators that would take her away from floor 5 and her slowly dying friend.
The nurses gave her small sympathetic smiles, offering silent condolences for her pain. Her husband, who normally made these visits, was away on business. Had he been there with her this evening, he would have insisted that she had left earlier. The Judge was not a cold man, not at all, he loved his wife dearly and it was that devotion that had spurred him in protecting her.
With him out of town, she walked down the corridor with tears brimming her eyes. Her friend did not have much longer.
Then she heard it. The beseeching "No!" that rang down the corridor. It made her pause.
"Its ok, Mrs. Travis," The young night nurse answered the worried frown, "Mr. Standish is running a pretty high Temperature…the doctor's on his way up."
Evie Travis turned and stared at the nurse, "Ezra Standish?"
The young RN flipped through her clip board, "Yes, ma'am." When the young nurse looked up, Mrs. Travis was already heading for room 528.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
"Gawd damn," Tanner's whisper had the converging teams pausing.
"What is it Vin?" The other leaders of the respective teams gave Larabee a mixture of impatient and worried looks.
"It's a boat Chris," The awe in Tanner's voice had some of the teams guffawing.
"What?" Chris cupped his ear piece trying to block out the sound of the wind. A sudden unease flashed up his spine.
"Its fuckin' huge…what the Hell is it doing in Denver?" Vin watched as the semi pulling an ocean faring yacht, stopped beside the surveillance van.
"Oh shits," rang around the area as a DPD cruiser pulled in with its lights running.
A Fine time for tickets…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
"You got to let me help them," Standish cried out trying to break free.
"Mr. Standish…Ezra, honey," Evie tried again to break through the fevered haze, "they're fine…they're going to be fine."
"No," He retorted, his voice harsh and his anger stunning in its subdued tones, "let me go…I've got to help them."
Evie Travis dodged and parried every move the undercover agent tried. She kept looking to the door hoping for reinforcements.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'
"Shit, its parking next to surveillance," The sharpshooters observation had Josiah and Nathan shooting panicked looks to Larabee.
"Someone get on the horn and get that Son of a Bitch to shut his lights off." Larabee hissed with venom.
Before anyone could move, the Warehouse suddenly exploded with gunfire. ATF and SWAT alike dove for cover and started exchanging gunfire.
Vin focused down his rifle scope picking targets and squeezing the trigger. His aim did not suffer in the brutal wind.
A flapping yellow strap grabbed his attention, then a second and then a third…the tethers holding the oversized boat to the Low Boy started snapping under the vicious beating of the devastating wind.
Another perp took aim at one of the pinned down members of the ATF. Tanner swung his gaze back down his scope. He found his target and squeezed the trigger.
The boat rolled under the tremendous torment that beat its Starboard side. The braces snapped. The boat wavered like a giant, trying to recapture its balance. Then slowly but with increasing speed, the boat 'capsized'. The abrasive sound of crunching metal and fiberglass shot through the area. Glass shattered and rained down bouncing across pavement. Metal screeched and buckled under the massive weight that smothered it. The surveillance van was crushed from sight…
The sharpshooter ignored the destruction and continued protecting the exposed men near the warehouse. He did his job, though, his heart lodged in his throat…He did his job…with Ezra's words taunting him in haunting clarity.
Buck and JD…