Part 3
JD pushed himself as far back into the corner as possible. He stood amongst Larabee's clothes and work books. They were scarce and did not offer much cover. Dunne knew he would be caught. At least Ezra was safe, for the moment, but that was all that mattered.
Dunne listened for the footfalls.
A distant snarl and then a human yelp, a panicked, "Son of a Bitchin' dog!" and then a kiya. Diablo.
JD held his breath. A second yelp and a door slammed closed. JD stared blankly at the wall trying to figure out what the sounds meant.
Something rushed an unseen door hitting it hard. Then scratching, intense scratching of nails on wood and more growling.
JD listened, furrowing his brow. Then it dawned on them. Diablo was shut in the bathroom. Least the bastards didn't shoot him.
"Kid couldn't have gotten far...not dragging Standish with him....he'll head for the truck....check the kitchen."
JD didn't recognize the voice, but they knew what they were talking about. If JD were going to make a run for the truck he would have to go through the front door, the living room side door or the kitchen door. At least two people tracked them. JD caught his breath and slowly released it when the boots headed away from the bedroom and toward the kitchen.
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Larabee ripped his phone from his coat pocket. Kelly had better have something to report.
"Better be good Kelly," Chris was in no mood for excuses. It had been six hours since they found Ezra at the rundown house, three since dropping him and JD at the ranch. In that time, no concrete leads had materialized.
"They're here Chris," JD's soft whisper cut through the line.
"JD?.....What's going on?" Larabee suddenly threw his arm up waving the others over but turning his ear away from them as he listened to the hushed voice on the other line.
"There's at least two of them....and one'em gut a gun...a gloc.. from the sounds of it. They're in the kitchen."
Larabee motioned furiously at his men, "JD's in trouble." The simple statement managed to stop all the commotion and electrify the air.
"How many?" Buck's question sparked tension. Chris held up two fingers. Cell phones were flipped open and numbers dialed. Larabee ignored the commotion around him. He heard Buck call Kelly sending him to the house, Tanner had Josiah and Nathan on the line back at the office. Any one of them were a good thirty minutes away. Wilmington headed away from Tanner and Larabee, barking orders of his own, across the digital phone. The big man disappeared from sight. Larabee let him go, Buck had his own way of gathering reinforcements.
"JD, who's there?"
"Don't know," JD gathered control of his breath. Just being able to speak to Chris stabilized his situation, the sound of a familiar supporting voice suddenly made the current captivity escapable, manageable. The futility of his predicament slowly faded with each cool question Larabee snapped off. JD could hear the others moving in the background, heard truck doors closed and a diesel turn over.....The Calvary was coming.
"Ezra?"
"I stashed'im.....they got Diablo locked in the bathroom...I think," JD tried to gather the pertinent facts Chris might need.
Larabee clenched his jaw, it wasn't that he did not care for Diablo, in fact he did, a great deal, but somehow it seemed foolish for JD to be wasting time over the dog when his and Ezra's safety lay on the line.
"I'm gonna try and skirt around, try'n lead them away from Ezra," Dunne closed his eyes willing his heart to slow down some. It was only a matter of time before they checked the house top to bottom, only a matter of time before they found the crawl space and then Standish.
"JD you keep your ass still," Larabee's acidic voice shot fiercely across the phone. Dunne could hear the sounds of car doors shutting and engines turning over.
"Chris, you're not gonna git here in time," Dunne felt his pulse quicken. As if merely speaking the words herald the truth and undeniablity of them.
The line fell silent. They both knew it. A one level log house had only so many places to hide.
"Don't do it JD....I'm ordering you to stay with Standish," Chris managed to shout into the phone without raising his voice.
Vin snapped his head around and faced Chris at the last part of the conversation. Tanner sat against the passenger door checking his weapons. Two Kevlar vests sat on the seat between them.
With blue dashboard light wailing, Larabee wove his way through heavy Denver traffic. Tanner checked his watch and then his side mirror. He saw Josiah and Nathan in Jackson's truck and Buck screaming up the road in a DPD cruiser. It had to be Buck, who else would thread the needle through traffic with such hairpin precision.
Wilmington hands down was the best driver behind a steering wheel. Handle bars were another matter.
Tanner swiveled his eyes toward his boss when Larabee cursed and threw his phone against the windshield in anger. The battery snapped off the tiny digital phone and skittered down the dashboard before rebounding off the windshield and onto the floorboards.
Tanner let it lay.
If they were lucky, JD would not heed Chris's advice. If they were lucky, Dunne would impress everyone with his untapped abilities at hide and seek and lead their hunters away from the house.
So far Fortune had refused to show them any kindness.
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JD eased out of the darkened closest. He searched the room with his eyes, left and right. Diablo could still be heard down the hall scratching to get out.
Time to play Hide -N- Seek.
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Peter Montague held the back door open and searched the lighted side yard. The barn and corrals sat to his right just off the driveway. The paddocks stretched from the yard for a few acres before reaching a thick stand of forest. Damn kid could be anywhere.
"You see anything?" The heavy voice behind him had Montague closing his eyes. Schwans should have known better than to put someone like Cook in charge. Robby Cook couldn't find his ass with both hands and a compass, nor could his lackeys. The idiots proved their ineffectualness with the raid this afternoon. How the hell did they let Standish's location slip? Fools, all of them were fools. Schwans's money could have bought better help, could have purchased a higher degree of intelligence. The eldest son, however, did not have his father's brains and it showed through now.
"Kid ain't out there," Montague stepped back and let the storm door slam shut. The Kid was in the house somewhere. Had to be. There was no way he would have been able to haul Standish any great distances. The one thing Finn had done right was keep the Son of a Bitch heavily sedated. The stuff was safe and cheap but it had a long half life in the body. No way Standish knew where his feet were just yet. "He's got to be close by…has to be," Peter pivoted his six-one frame around with an elegance and grace that should not be found in such large men. He moved with a fluid athleticism matched only in hunting serpents. He carried a handgun but most times he used his brains to get himself out of trouble. If he needed discretion and a low profile take down, his hands did just fine.
"How can ya be so sure?" Robby Cook hated Montague. The guy was a dinosaur. Believed ya needed a college education to get anywhere, damn fool didn't see times were changing…that daddy Schwans wasn't gonna be running the show much longer. Even if they did get this Standish guy, it wouldn't matter, the old man was on his way out. Mike Jr. was stepping up to the plate and he was bringing his own 'boys' along.
Montague ignored the question, "You better think about a back up plan," Peter lit a cigarette cupping the match behind the palm of his hand protecting the flame, "Dunne contacted Larabee, you can be sure of that," Montague smiled around his Marlboro, "he's going to be on you like a fly on dog shit." Rain started pelting the house. Montague closed his eyes briefly and shook his head…figures.
"Fuck you."
Montague chuckled puffing out a circle of blue smoke. Didn't matter to him either way. When they had Standish, he would keep the ATF agent close and kill off Cook and his dumb ass lackeys outside. Michael Schwans understood his son yearned to take his place at the head of the family but this fiasco had proven just how unprepared he was for the job. The father had every intention of sending the kid to an MBA program back East…perhaps Ivy Leagues or something. Peter thought it a waste. Should just beat the kid silly and drop him in a river. Still it was his boss's son so he had to protect him.
JD paused at the side of the house. He watched as one man left the barn and headed back to the house.
A cold rain sliced the night.
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Ezra lay curled in a ball trying to retain some body heat. He tucked his bare feet inside the legs of the sweat pants. He did not know how long he drifted in and out. Was not quite sure where he was or why. A heavy lethargy had all but consumed him. He lay shivering in the dark.
Frustration tingled at the edges of his mind. It fought to gain some purchase in the malaise that had kept him down for an unknown amount of time.
His downed shoulder and hip complained about being forced against the cold ground. His head ached and his stomach bubbled.
With no clear direction or desire, not quite sure what he wanted to do, the undercover agent pushed himself into a sitting position. He smacked his head against a padded pipe with a resounding thud. The pipe moved enough to shift a metal joint somewhere else under the house. The screech of metal tore at his ears. Standish cursed as he shot his hand up to his head, he smashed his fist into the low ceiling above him. "Son of a Bitch!" Flew from his mouth with more feeling than he had felt in days. The dam had been breached and ungentlemanly phrases flew from his mouth in a colorful swath of description.
He curled back down in the frozen mud clutching his head with his good hand and tucking the sore knuckles of the other hand under his arm. To hell with the rest of the world…he'd stay put for now.
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Montague sat up at the sudden thud under his feet. Robby Cook even raised an eyebrow.
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JD waited until the man was nearly to the back door when he made his break. The young ATF agent sprinted across the yard. His sneakers sunk and splashed through puddles and kicked through small heaves of snow.
He did not try to hide, he just needed a little distance before the others saw him.
He almost made it.
"Shit! there they are!" The man at the back step turned just in time to see Dunne disappear behind the barn.
Two men sprinted from the stoop. The kitchen door slammed shut. Montague sat in an empty kitchen shaking his head.
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JD rounded the far corner of the barn and slammed into a body that had no right being there.
"Gotcha!" The low menacing growl matched the massive hand that snagged his coat.
JD tried to bring his gun up but a balled fist smashed into his face sending him sprawling into the mud. Dunne scrambled to regain his feet even though stars sparkled and blinked within his vision. A second blow sent him reeling back to the ground short circuiting the nerves that communicated with the rest of his body.
Dunne felt himself get picked up, knew he got slung over someone's shoulder like a sack of feed…and could do nothing about it. He let Ezra down, failed Standish when the southerner needed him most. Chris should have had Josiah here or Buck or Nathan someone but himself. JD had never truly failed anything and now the bitter taste of defeat engulfed him.
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Chris Larabee pressed the accelerator flush to the floor boards. The Dodge turbo Diesel gave all it could. The truck was made for one percenters. It could haul payloads that would make most engines cough and die. It could pull heavily loaded trailers and cargos up treacherous inclines and still accelerate. The truck, however, was not made for high speed highway driving. Under the expert tutelage of Larabee's hand and foot the truck did a commendable job. It raced down the high way fast enough that Vin couldn't count the white lines. They wove in an out of traffic without once touching the brakes. They never lost speed. The truck tilted and swayed but all four wheels continued to spin, never losing traction with the pavement.
Buck Wilmington passed them as if they were standing still.
"Go git'em Buck," Vin shucked out of his coat reaching for the Kevlar vest beside him.
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JD moaned out a, "Go to Hell," when an unintelligible question was thrown his way. His right eye refused to open. His left eye refused to focus. Funny but he could smell that he was in Chris's kitchen. Not that Chris's house smelled bad, it didn't, well maybe it did after Josiah ate his own chili, but besides that….
JD chuckled to himself. This earned him a slap to the head. "Think this's funny kid?" Cook slapped the dark haired agent once more just for good measure, to prove his point. He ran this operation. He grinned at the two men holding Dunne in the chair.
JD kept his eyes closed and his mouth shut. Chris and the others would be here…only a matter of time. He just needed to tough it out a little longer. Backup was just around the corner. The guys had never let him down before, never let him face wolves alone. He could handle it…just a while longer.
Montague crushed out his cigarette and stared at the dazed kid hunched over in the kitchen chair. Fool kid had more brains than any of the other three in the room. Himself, excluded, of course. Dunne wouldn't talk, certainly wouldn't give in because some idiot punched him around some. Cook was an imbecile. Damn fool didn't understand the price or the pain some types of loyalty could muster. ATF team 7 was reputed to be family. Gung-ho bastards that tightened ranks like a combat unit. A couple of broken bones wouldn't get this kid to talk, maybe someone like Cook but not Dunne. Montague knew this because Montague would not give in either. Besides the kid was just stalling. Larabee would be here in a short time with guns blazing. The man and his team was a damn nuisance, if not a little obsessive.
That was why Schwans had wanted Standish just sedated, not hurt, or killed or maimed. Hell, if that had happened, Schwans would have the whole Federal law enforcement community on his head….worse he would have Chris Larabee and his pack of rabid wolves hounding his heels. Those fools wouldn't quit. The other departments might get tired, they might get weary of the hunt after a few months or a few years, but not Larabee and his men. It was a well known fact that if you took down one of his men and you paid a hefty price.
The old bosses knew this and respected it. Larabee played hardball, but he played clean. He followed the rule book for the most part, unless you hurt one of his…and then all bets were off. It was understood he would cross the line to avenge one of his own.
The man was driven by fierce, unpredictable loyalty and hellish demons. One never knew who on the team the leader would leave to fend for themselves and who he would stand beside. It was this reckless abandonment in which Larabee embraced and sometimes shoved his team that had most underworld bosses guessing. The man was a loose cannon. He held a razor to Wilmington's throat for speaking out of turn, he stood beside Tanner for a supposed crime, left Sanchez to face I.A., yet saved Jackson from a riotous mob. Even the kid had faced harsh scrutiny from outside the team only to have his boss watch with a distant eye. It was no secret Larabee threatened to put a bullet in Standish a time or two, hell he even makes it public. Yet these men follow him, faithfully. He demanded trust, took trust but at times did no deliver it himself when outsiders would deem it necessary. Larabee was a rabid dog in his own right. No one wanted him on their trail.
Standish wasn't to be hurt, or busted up in any way. He was just not to be present for trial as an eye witness. Keep him out of the game long enough that his testimony became suspect. Schwans sure as Hell didn't want this….
Busting up the Kid may or may not anger Larabee but Wilmington would kill. Montague had seen it. The profiles he had read on Team 7 clearly depicted the brother like relation between the two men. Wilmington was steadfast in his devotion to his team mates but maniacal in his protection of Dunne.
Cook was a dead man.
Montague lit another cigarette watching Robby. The damn fool.
"Leave the kid be, he ain't gonna talk," The big man shook the match out dropping it into the light blue wastebasket with daisies. Larabee didn't strike him as a Daisy kind of guy.
"I'll git'im to talk," Cook pulled Dunne's head back by the long dark bangs, "ain't that right kid?" Robby reached over to the knife stand and removed a large cutting blade.
Terror ran through JD. Suddenly he understood how Jeffery Finn felt when Buck and the others had him. This wasn't the same…it never was…. Ezra was counting on JD to keep him safe…keep him out of these guys' hands. Ezra might not know it at the time, but all he had for the moment was JD and Dunne had no intentions of failing him.
JD tried to think what Chris would do in a situation like this….The young ATF agent stared up at his immediate captive, ignoring the knife and merely smiled showing blood tinged teeth.
Cook became in raged. Dunne almost laughed out loud. Chris could piss off the nastiest person with just a look. Maybe there was something to this flippant attitude. Never really worked for Ezra though.
Montague bit back a chuckle. Damn kid had more balls than brains. "We don't have time for this shit Cook…Larabee's gonna be here any minute and he's going to have Wilmington with him…." The big man shook his head in disappointment when Robby scowled at him in confusion. Montague dismissed his man and turned his attention to the agent.
"Listen kid, we ain't gonna hurt'im none," Montague leaned on the table and stared into the angry deviant glare of Dunne, "just got to keep him out of the picture for a bit, keep him quiet," Montague rolled his cigarette to the other side of his mouth and smiled, "Hell, kid, I'll even call you personally and tell you where you can pick him up when the Not Guilty verdict comes down." Montague leaned back creating distance, giving the kid time to think, "Shoot if ya like, I could even drop'im off at a hospital when everything comes down the pike so you know he's ok." Pete watched the kid's expression. Dunne wouldn't budge. The big man had to say he would have been disappointed if Dunne did give up his team mate.
JD sighed and closed his eyes. Chris and the others should be close.
Cook pressed the blade against JD's middle finger. Dunne tensed squeezing his eyes shut. Over and over he repeated to himself, Got nine others….Do overs….Buck calls them do-overs…got nine others…it don't matter…Ezra, got to protect Ezra.
A thud under their feet had Cook pausing and Montague frowning. Everything hesitated waiting for a follow up sound. Nothing. The two men holding Dunne shared a worried glance, "Ahh Cook, maybe we should hurry this up…Pete's right… Larabee's gonna be here in a few…."
"We got time, shut up," Cook ignored his two men and turned his attention on Dunne.
Montague headed for the swinging door that led from the kitchen to the living room. The noise under the floor had his curiosity. Standish had to still be in the house.
Pete paused at the doors and stared at Cook. Robby gazed up and met the big man's eye. Though Cook was officially running this show, he knew Montague would snap his neck if something flew foul. The big man at the door shook his head.
Leave the kid his fingers.
Cook paused holding the knife, creasing the finger enough to get a string of blood.
Montague cocked his head, twisting his face into a cruel knowing smile. He'd remove more than Cook's fingers if the young ATF agent lost any body parts.
Seeing his silent demands understood, the large man exited the kitchen and headed for the master bedroom. The one room they had not fully checked.
"Brad, follow that bastard," Cook turned his anger on one of his childhood friends. Brad Kennedy scurried from the room.
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Chris shot down the interstate. The flashing lights of Buck's patrol car winked in the distance. Over the scanner they could hear the call for more backup. Kelly had called for a chopper and SWAT.
Larabee furrowed his brow. Kelly sounded down right pissed. Good.
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Ezra squinted when a sudden flash of light filled the small space. He tucked his eyes behind his shoulder and tried to skitter back away from the light.
"Well, well, looky what we have down here," Brad reached an arm through the hole searching blindly with his hand until he grabbed a fistful of sweat shirt.
Montague stood leaning on the closest door frame. Not a bad hiding spot kid….not bad at all. The damn fools he worked with would've tried to stash one another under the bed. The Idiots.
Ezra felt someone latch onto his shoulder. They knotted the sweatshirt material in a clenched fist and started dragging him bodily toward the light. He panicked…..
And then he snapped.
Montague raised an eyebrow when Brad Kennedy started screaming and trying to pull back from the hole. The large enforcer smirked and shook his head with amusement when Kennedy lurched to his knees hollering and struggling against something unseen. He kicked his legs in a panicked fashion, twisting himself around and around the edge of the trap door. Suddenly a hand shot out of the floor and latched onto his neck. Kennedy's head disappeared down into the hole. His cries for help became muffled and garbled. Kennedy tried to push himself back from the terror that mauled him under the closet floor but could not gain any purchase.
Montague sighed, they really did not have time for this.
The big man finally took pity on his young counterpart and stepped forward to help.