Part 1
"Federal Agents!" A muffled shout echoed from behind the closed door. The old, heavily painted wooden door offered little resistance to the battering ram that careened through it's center.
The door swung open splintering from it's hinges and frame. White chipped paint cracked and peeled revealing a lime green that had at one time adorned the door. If one were to dig a little deeper, a bone yellow would lay beneath that…and below that, lay a dark red. The bowed and broken door had withstood the trials of time and upheld under the scalding tastes of past generations.
It crumbled and shattered under the brutal force of the ATF.
Jean clad men wearing navy blue windbreakers with the block yellow letters, ATF, stormed into the house. They poured through the door, immediately breaking into teams of two. The Dynamic entry was not favored by the ATF. It put speed above safety. They were supposed to use the "snake", stay together and clear the building in a coordinated, if rapid march. But the snake took too long. The extra, added seven seconds was too long when they were looking for one of their own. A few seconds could be a life time…Too much could happen in seven seconds and Chris Larabee had an agent missing.
Guns were held at ready. Clipped voices snapped directions and "all clears" over tiny head sets.
Hearts raced and tensions climbed steadily higher. With practiced diligence and potentially fatal precision, they dissected their way through the house.
The six members of Team Seven had not bothered waiting for back up…they had not followed protocol. Once again, Supervising agent Chris Larabee proved nothing would keep him and his team from protecting one of their own.
Six men wove through the small house with deadly intent. Curtained windows blocked out natural sunlight. Empty light fixtures and dangling wires hung from cracked water marked plaster ceilings. Linoleum rolled and heaved under years of abuse and disuse.
Buck and JD infiltrated the 'living room', while Josiah and Nathan took the garage.
Larabee swept through the kitchen, his boots peeling from the floor with each step. Vin Tanner, a measured safe distance, watched his back.
Dirty dishes long forgotten lay broken in an over flowing sink. Rusty water pooled on the sunken section of floor before the counter. The click of tiny insect legs scattered at the moment of intrusion. Small rectangular pellets coated the unbalanced collapsible kitchen table. Partially eaten food lay scavenged on every flat surface.
Larabee led his sharpshooter thought the kitchen down a narrow corridor to a closed door.
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Jeff Finn half sat, half stood in his small metal folding chair. He cast a furtive glance at the form laying bound and blindfolded on the small rumpled bed. The 'Guest' of Michael Schwans had not moved much for the past few hours. Even before then. In fact, when he did move or mutter, Finn had been forced to act. Jeff was no fool, not entirely. There were degrees to foolishness, stupidity and common sense. Though his common sense indicated what he did was dangerously wrong, his inability to see a solution to his dilemma prevented him from acting in a manner that would save him from a different and more immediate danger. Jeffery Finn had never been able to discern a foolish move simply because he himself was smothered in stupidity. Common sense never had a chance.
The small bedroom door exploded inward. Finn paused.
Two fast moving bodies charged the room, assessing its occupants and level of threat.
Jeffery Finn suddenly went from a moment of partial freedom to complete captivity.
Before he could move, finish sitting or standing, a man rushed him brandishing a gun, yelling incoherently and threw him to the floor.
Finn's cheek bounced off the unpadded carpet. Stringy red curly hair hung over sunken eyes.
Voices screamed while hands shoved him and pinned him to the orange shag rug. Before he could take a breath or even make a sound, his arms were wrenched behind his back. Without time to form a protest, handcuffs quickly and succinctly snapped around his wrist.
Jeff tried to move, tried to peer at the faceless, nondescript man that had suddenly turned his world upside down.
The simple movement earned him a heavy stationary knee between his shoulder blades and a screamed command not to move.
Terror seized Jeffery Finn and for a moment he wondered if this was how his charge had felt a few days ago when taken from the front of his apartment building.
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"We got him…We got'im…" rang through head sets. The other four did not stop their own searches. They continued to move through the small house with clipped precise movements. The search continued.
"Nathan git in here…" the command had the team Paramedic feeding through the garage into a mud room and down a small corridor. He never relinquished or relaxed the grip on his sig.
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Nathan Jackson stepped into the dingy room. He walked through an invisible wall of unwashed breath and body odor. The ex-chemist ignored the handcuffed 'No Person' on the floor and kept his attention on the bound and blindfolded person on the bed. He noticed the captive on the bed lay dressed but no shoes or socks. Silver duct tape secured partially covered ankles. The toes had good color. The tape was not too tight.
Nathan quickly stepped to the right side of the small rumpled bed. No blankets or sheets covered the buttoned striped mattress or its occupant. The finger tips were pink and slightly curled. The duct tape around the wrists thankfully did not impede circulation either. Someone either knew what they were doing or they had just gotten damn lucky.
Nathan nudged the handcuffed man on the floor out of his way. Vin, in a rush to ease Nathan's path, dragged the prisoner by his shirt collar a few inches from the side of the bed.
"What's wrong with'im Nathan?" Vin's Texan drawl took on an un-charactistically sharp edge.
Larabee stepped away from his men toward the foot of the bed, "What have you got Buck?" Though his immediate area was secured, it by no means lessened the tension he felt about other men he had still searching the house. In fact, it heightened his anxiety.
Wilmington and Dunne entered the kitchen and threaded their way down the corridor toward their boss. Josiah fell in step behind them.
"All Clear…nothing," Buck pushed passed Larabee and entered the stagnant over crowded small room. With a jut of his chin, Wilmington swung his eyes to Larabee, "How is he?"
The group watched as Jackson pulled the blind fold up off the closed eyes. The unwashed hair folded around the black material and dropped heavily over it's rounded edge.
"Ezra?" Nathan raised an unresponsive eyelid. The iris and pupil were not visible. Injected sclera met his scrutiny. "Ezra?" Jackson spoke with more authority, commanding a response and tapping a slack cheek.
Nothing.
Tanner and Wilmington recognized the signs simultaneously. The two agents hauled Finn to his feet.
"What the hell did you give him?!" Buck's bellow rattled the aged glassed window. The light tan curtains billowed slightly for the first time in days. The thick air moved reluctantly.
"Nuthin'…." Wild brown eyes refused to raise their gaze from the worn shag rug.
"What the hell did you do to him?" Wilmington ensnared the hole dotted t-shirt within his fists.
"Nuthin'….I swear," Jeff began to wonder if his level of common sense suffered and slipped over the last few days.
Without a word, Tanner ripped Finn from Wilmington's grasp and threw the man into the small circular end table. The ceramic lamp fell to the floor shattering without notice.
In a smooth singular motion, the sharpshooter had the handcuffs undone and Finn's right hand forced spread on the end table.
Wilmington followed Tanner's lead.
Larabee stepped to the side as Sanchez barreled into the room. Chris continued his conversation to the converging ATF teams that had yet to storm the property. An ambulance had been called.
JD ignored the commotion by the end table and kept his gaze on Jackson.
The medic ran his hands over the undercover agent's body. It was as if Nathan were seeing with his hands, reading his own type of Braille.
Standish lay curled on his side with arms pinned behind his back un-protesting and unmoving.
A plea from the end table garnered JD's attention.
"You can't do this….You're Federal agents!!!" Panic and hysterics laced the words. Tears ran down an unwashed face in twin rivulets.
The three ATF agents at the table ignored their captive.
Josiah reached under Jackson's windbreaker and slid a knife from its sheath. The large steel blade caught the muted light through dust laden curtains and reflected it with little brilliance. Nathan ignored the disappearance of one of his prize knives.
"Buck maybe you and JD should go outside and meet the others," Josiah's tone held a frightening conviction as he raised the blade and placed it over the spread trapped hand on the table.
"Its ok Josiah," JD piped up. Dunne had maneuvered himself to the far side of the bed. He would help Nathan where he could. Besides it seemed as if he needed to be close to Ezra. They had been searching for Standish for the last two days and feared the worst. Now that they had found him, JD did not want to lose sight of him. "I ain't squeamish."
"Not worried about that kid," Wilmington explained, "need someone to show the EMT's which way to come….and slow down the Fibbees…don't want them busting in on our little chat." Wilmington tightened his grip on Finn to punctuate his point. Finn squealed.
"Oh Ok." JD brushed his bangs out of his face and looked to Nathan to make sure his help wasn't needed. Jackson nodded his consent.
The youngest agent on the team, left the room as cries of protest bubbled into a wail. JD considered calling for a second ambulance….but shook his head. He would wait on it.
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"He's been drugged," Nathan pulled down the collar of Standish's partially unbuttoned shirt. He exposed the trapezius and triceps areas with some difficulty. The bruising and small pin pricks were unmistakable. The ex-paramedic gazed up at Larabee.
Larabee saw the marks and snapped his attention to the prisoner caught in Buck and Vin's grip. "What'd you give him?" His growl froze the room.
"Nuthin'….I…swear…nuthin'….it weren't me," Jeff's watering eyes couldn't find an ally.
"Josiah don't use that knife." Nathan spoke up again as he checked Standish's slow pulse. "They'll know its mine…git one from the sink out front… The kitchen oughta have something useable…shouldn't be a problem." Jackson never peered over his shoulder, never saw the horrified expression that flashed and froze on the Finn's face.
Sanchez slid the knife into the backward, outstretched hand of Jackson. Buck quickly disappeared down the hallway. The sound of water splashing on the floor and the hollow ring of aluminum pans filtered down to the room. Finn began to shake. Wilmington returned a few short moments later, brandishing a large serrated discolored knife. The blade extended a good six inches from the handle, its cutting edge rounded and blunted from years of harsh use.
"This'll have to do," Buck wiped the blade on Finn's shirt removing some tenacious rodent droppings as well as drying the blade. Jeff tried to shy away but found himself held snuggly.
Tanner leaned close to the captive's ear and quietly whispered, "Help us out and you'll keep your fingers."
"I didn't do anythin'…" Finn cried helplessly in response to Tanner's words and the sight of the rusted kitchen knife in Buck's grip.
"Here let me Brother Buck," Josiah held out a massive callused hand, "I'm closer to retirement anyhow."
Wilmington grudgingly conceded and handed over the kitchen blade.
"No, please….no..no….please don't do this," Jeffery Finn began to fear for his life. Not his life though, if he were pushed into explaining himself. It was not his life that felt threatened. The thought of losing parts of himself, physically watching parts of his body sawed from himself terrified him, as well as it should have, because Jeffery Finn was not a completely stupid man.
Images of severed fingers laying on the floor frightened him beyond reason, shocked him into silence.
Nathan's deep voice spoke again as he sliced through the tape that bound Standish. Chris worked to remove the duct tape from Standish's slack wrists. Adhered skin tented and ripped seeping blood onto a once white pristine collared shirt.
Larabee swore silently to himself and promised retribution to those that fell such harm to his team. He was so focused and single mindedly driven in his thoughts to terrorize the persons who choreographed this fiasco that he did not listen to nor hear Jackson's instructions to the other agents in the room.
"Ya might want to tourniquet his arm at the bicep….cut down on the amount of blood, less mess, less cleanup…." Jackson, for the first time since entering the paint peeling room, gazed over his shoulder to the hapless warden turned captive, "unless you want to tell us what you gave him?"
Nathan paused only for a moment before returning his attention to the one time missing agent. "A shoe string tied tightly just above the elbow should work." The lack of concern and emotion in his voice pushed Jeff Finn into extreme tachycardia.
Nathan and Larabee slowly eased Standish onto his back. The ex-paramedic opened the undercover agent's shirt and peeled back the halves, exposing old bruising on the midsection and torso. He unbuckled the smooth leather belt and slipped it through the loops of high dollar finely woven wool blended slacks. The leg creases and starched folded cuffs at the ankle had lost their hold days ago and lay slack and formless.
Ezra would be appalled at the state of his clothing.
Larabee bit back his anger. How did the bastards know where Standish lived?…how could they grab him from in front of his apartment at five forty five pm and not have any witnesses? Chris ground his teeth wanting answers.
A yelp and a string of pleading 'No's,' fired off from somewhere behind Jackson. The medic ignored it concentrating instead on studying the slack features of Standish.
"Where the hell is the ambulance?" Larabee stood sharply rocking the small bed causing the metal spring frame to squeak. He headed for the door more than willing to leave the wailing prisoner in the capable hands of his men. With a tense hand to his ear, Chris Larabee, left the room at a clipped pace, hissing orders over his tiny mic to the unseen agents that converged on the house.
Dunne would need back up keeping the others at bay. Kelly would be out there helping the kid out but Larabee wanted an excuse to pick a fight. Maybe someone would be stupid enough to try to bully Dunne. JD could handle himself just fine, but Chris needed to excise some frustrations.
No one would be allowed into the room until the EMT's arrived or Jeffery Finn talked.
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Josiah held the knife over the little finger. He leaned the blade on the inner edge of the pinky and applied only minute pressure. Force enough, perhaps, to sink a scalpel blade through skin, enough to send nerve endings firing to a panicked brain. Sanchez applied adequate pressure to the lone little finger to send information screaming to a hyper sensitive, off balanced, unthinking, mind. Convincing it, that an appendage was about to be sliced from the whole, like a carrot bud from the carrot itself.
Jeffery Finn screamed. He tried to rip his head and neck loose from the choke hold created by Vin Tanner. Finn tried to pull his arm back from the vice that kept his wrist trapped to the marred heavily shellacked end table. He squeezed his eyes closed and fought without truly moving or gaining any freedom.
"Sedated 'im!," Finn's words gurgled over spittle and tears, "Oh God….I was told to jist sedate'im….Oh God please…don't do this…don't do this…." His words tapered off lost in quiet terror.
Nathan swung around on the bed. Finally.
Vin, Buck and Josiah shared quick glances and then turned their attention to Jackson. Standish lay deathly still. Damn man hadn't moved a muscle….Unnatural. Hadn't uttered a word about his apparel or appearance, unheard of….
The three looked to Jackson for direction. Was that enough information?
"What and how much?" Jackson's biting questions sparked across the room.
Finn once again slid back down the scales of Common sense and intelligence. The grip around his neck cinched tighter. The blade against his finger made itself known.
"Mornin' n' night …around noon sometimes….dinner time…" Finn's voice squeaked mid sentence, "he only got dosed twice today." The pressure around his hand lessened. Finn suddenly harbored an unconscious understanding of the reward system. "Wasn't suppose to let'im wake up….they said keep the blind fold on'im jist in case."
Josiah nodded in silent agreement. Finn's bosses didn't trust their lackey to perform his duties with any alacrity. Good help was definitely hard to find.
Nathan checked his watch. Five PM. Damn. He laid a practiced hand against the Southerner's neck.
"What'd ya give'im?" Tanner's soft Texas drawl had the bite of an Artic Express. The response did not come quick enough and once again grips tightened mercilessly with the promise of harmful intent.
"I…I don't know….it's in draw…"
Wilmington shuffled back a step and opened the draw in the night stand. A bottle rolled toward the back but stopped prematurely by a syringe with a needle attached. They sat in a sterile plastic and paper wrap. Empty needle packages littered the inside of the little drawer. The ATF agent pulled out the bottle and read the label. Buck handed it to the only person in the room that understood the meaning behind the active ingredient and concentration.
Jackson held the small vial in his hand and twisted it on his finger tips. He read the label and quietly whispered, "Thank God."
The room relaxed only slightly.
"He gonna be ok Brother?" Josiah kept his gaze on the wild eyes of Finn as he spoke to Jackson.
"How much?" Jackson ignored Sanchez and studied the syringe Buck handed over. He found the black crude line someone drew to mark the dose.
He lifted his gaze to the man enveloped by Tanner and Wilmington. Stupid Bastard.
"Up to the line….they said up to the line…whenever he moved or spoke…give him up to the line." Finn began to wonder where his parents went wrong in raising him.
Jackson tilted the bottle gauging the amount left in the bottle and the number of puncture wounds in Standish's upper arm. The small but heavy area of bruising spread over and between the triceps. Damn fools nearly overdosed him. Jackson checked the other arm and shoulder and found no other punctures. "Where'd you giv'im the shots?"
"Jist his shoulder….they said use 'is shoulder," Finn peered over the shoulder of the man with the knife to his potential savoir.
"Who?" Buck wrenched Finn's head by a fistful of hair. Wilmington seethed with unspent anger that mingled with a taste of relief.
"They'll kill me…" Jeffery Finn, in his soft plea for understanding, failed to witness the immediate danger he faced. The scales for common sense tipped dangerously low.
Tanner once again whispered in his ears, "You'd be lucky….Cuz I'll make ya eat yer own fingers first."
The paling of Finn's face and the soft sound of water trickling on the carpet had Sanchez wondering, for more than a life time, as to what Tanner had said.
EMT's bustled into the room as if on cue. They had been relieved to get away from the seething blond in the pot marked driveway. Their elation fizzled when they entered the small room. It took them only four minutes to reach the scene….four minutes had translated into a life time for Jeff Finn.
"Nathan," The old balding EMT nodded toward Jackson. His partner slid silently up the far side of the bed putting distance and obstacles between himself and the four men at the end table. The as medic knelt on the bed, the springs complained.
"What've we got?….Standish?…again?" Harold Murphy just shook his head. He figured it would have been either Tanner or Standish seeing Dunne and Larabee in the yard. Should have known…should have known its always one of those four. The veteran EMT spoke to his old time friend Nathan Jackson and dove straight to work. Jackson filled him in on the details.
Vin dragged Finn out of the room. Buck and Josiah stayed melting into the background like shadows.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Outside the small house, in a weed engorged, patchy dirt, yard Larabee directed and orchestrated people with a controlled madness.
They would officially take this case away from him before the hour was out. Larabee wouldn't balk but he refused to lose control. Ryan Kelly shadowed Chris accepting the case that would soon be dropped in his lap.