|
|
|
|
Buck / OFC
Chapter 1
When he saw her again it all came rushing back, slamming into him, washing over and drowning him in painful memories. The horrific sounds of rending metal, the bright explosion of glass like twinkling stars falling to earth. The nauseating smells of water steaming on hot engines mixed with the smell of gasoline and the sickening, sweet smell of blood. They all assault him and suddenly he is back ...eighteen years before.
He's on his knees in the pouring rain, blood blinding him as he crawls along the hard pavement groping for the bright patch of color on the rain soaked street. Pain is ripping through him where a jagged piece of metal has torn through his chest, puncturing his lung. Breathing is unbearable but he has to get to the little bit of color before it’s too late.
Car doors slam around him as others begin to stop but he can't hear them. The horrendous bang of the impact still rings in his ears. The bright pink splotch of color grows dim and shaking his head he wipes the blood from his eyes to clear his vision and crawls the few remaining feet. His shaking hands reach out to clutch the bundle to his chest, the pink fabric turning red with his blood. Pink is her favorite color.
From the beginning he knew his baby would be a girl. As far back as the first time he laid his hands on his wife's abdomen and felt the faint flutter. After that he never bought anything that wasn't pink; pink booties, pink nighties, pink overalls with bright flowers and hot pink sneakers as she grew older and started to walk and, just the day before, a little pink baseball cap to cover her crown of golden curls.
As he kneels on the wet ground he smoothes back those curls from her forehead and knows that his wife will kill him for letting her get so wet. He holds his daughter tighter to him and tears begin to run down his face.
Sirens scream around them and two paramedics rush up to him in the downpour. They try to see to his head wound, try to take her from his arms but he hits out at them to keep them at bay. He knows that if he holds her tight enough, long enough, she'll be okay.
After a while the two of them are loaded into an ambulance and taken to a nearby hospital and still he holds her gently but not as tightly as his strength ebbs. They try to take her again just as his wife rushes in through the automatic doors, uniform soaked through from the rain. A second police officer, her partner and his best friend, is right behind her.
A doctor hurries up to her and her face is as still as death as she listens. Her knees start to buckle and her partner steadies her until she composes herself again. Turning to him, her facade professional, unreadable, she starts across the tiled floor to the small curtained off area where he sits. Coming up to him she smiles sadly and reaches out for their daughter.
"It's all right," she says softly, "I'm just going to take her home... put her to bed. They'll stitch up your head and then you come home, too."
He knows she's safe now, her mama will take care of her now, and as his wife takes the child gently from his strong, protective arms, she brushes bloodied dark hair from his forehead then turns to go.
"Oh, my God!" An emergency room nurse sees the blood still seeping from his chest wound, bubbling where his breath leaks out. He sees his wife's face as she turns back to look at him, as she hugs the toddler to her breast. Tears course down her cheeks and her beautiful face is so full of pain that he actually feels his heart turn painfully and darkness closes in on him.
A day doesn't go by that he still doesn’t think about them both, his ex-wife's face ravaged by unspeakable suffering as she held their baby girl, his child’s eyes closed as if in sleep; dead just days before her second birthday.
Their marriage, like their only child, had not survived. He hadn't been able to cope with the loss, the pain and most especially the guilt. The speeding driver, who had actually been at fault, had died at the scene and he was left to shoulder the burden of guilt alone.
After emergency surgery and weeks of recovery and therapy, he'd recovered fully from his injuries and was deemed fit to return to duty. Instead, he left the Miami Dade Police Department and started to drink in earnest because when he was drunk he could forget for a while and the wound would start to heal over. But as soon as he sobered up again he felt the need to pick at the scab and to let his soul bleed once more and to grieve anew.
It was a vicious circle, so much so that he was unable to comfort his grieving wife although she had needed him desperately. He never stopped loving her but he couldn't reach out to her. She, in turn, hadn't stopped loving him and more importantly hadn't blamed him but she couldn't save him either. Finally, out of desperation, his wife had turned to another man and, as unfair as it was, he could finally blame her for something.
He had walked away from everything; his wife, his career and a cemetery where a shiny, colorful pinwheel planted in the earth near a small marker spun in the warm breeze and reflected the bright Florida sun. A pinwheel he never saw.
"Buck, are you all right, man?" J.D. Dunne's voice cut through the darkness to bring him back into the light before he was stuck there forever.
It had taken him years to move on from that dark place and to suddenly be thrown back there shook him to his core. He absently rubbed the faded scars under his shirt. The gash in his scalp only hurt on particularly bad days...like this one.
As the woman who had triggered his sudden emotional meltdown stood shoulder to shoulder with Chris Larabee, he saw that she was even more beautiful than the day he'd first met her. Her glorious thick blonde hair was tucked behind her ears as she bent over the paperwork on Chris’ desk and only a few wrinkles; tiny laugh lines really, creased the corners of her eye. He was thankful she'd been able to laugh through the years.
Buck willed his own tears back down deep inside and continued on to his desk, a look of melancholy on his face.
Nathan Jackson looked to Josiah Sanchez who just shrugged in return. The office Romeo was definitely off his game and they had watched as he stared at the DEA agent in Chris' office for some time, a gamut of emotions running across his face, none of which was the bright eyed leer reserved for any female brave enough to enter Team Seven's bullpen, Buck Wilmington's private game reserve.
"He sick?" Josiah asked J.D. nodding and his head toward the man in question.
"He was okay when we got here." J.D. assured the two of them and wondered briefly himself what had gotten into his friend, "Who's that with Chris?"
Josiah leaned back in his chair, placed his large hands behind his head and told them, "DEA SAC outta Florida. Gonna work with us breaking up some Mexican connection that's been runnin' skag from Mexico to Miami via Colorado."
"Colorado is a little out of the way, is it not, Mr. Sanchez?" Ezra asked as he sat down behind his desk and sipped his Starbuck's coffee.
"That’s precisely why they're running the stuff through here," Josiah replied.
Vin Tanner checked his watch, stood up and started to make his way to the large conference room for the meeting Chris had called for zero nine hundred sharp. Nathan, Josiah, Ezra and J.D. followed suite each grabbing up notebooks, pens and coffee cups as did.
Only Buck remained at his desk staring at his computer screen rereading the same email over and over, never comprehending a single word, his mind a million miles away.
"Bucklin!" J.D. said sharply and slapped the desktop. "Meetin'!" and the lanky agent just nodded mechanically and got up to follow.
Chapter 2
The woman in Chris’ office recognized him by the lazy way he walked, thumb hooked in his belt. His face had changed over the years and not for the worse. Gone were the smooth skin and rounded cheeks of the twenty three year old she had last seen, his face now all hard planes with a strong, firm jaw. He was even more handsome, sexier now with a mustache and few days' growth of beard on his guileless face. His thick hair was still a deep, rich brown, worn shorter now but still in need of a cut. Only his eyes were the same after all the years... dark blue and deeply haunted.
The other men who made up Denver's Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives Team Seven all looked toward him when he finally came into the room and sat, their eyes questioning. He was suddenly different to them and their concern and confusion showed. She knew that he had recognized her and the shock had changed his demeanor completely from the man his teammates knew and were comfortable with to a somber stranger.
The room was quiet, no slams, no filthy jokes or roughhousing, standard operating procedure in most Team Seven meetings, even with a female present, and Chris Larabee stood at the table his mouth a grim line. The dynamics of his team had suddenly changed and he didn't have a clue as to why, nor had he any idea why the sight of Buck Wilmington left the DEA agent's face pale and her hands trembling.
Larabee quickly offered her a chair and sitting she began to go through her files keeping her eyes glued to the pages all the while. Why hadn't she bothered to get information on the other five men who made up Team Seven? She had only requested jackets on the team leader and the licensed pilot, Josiah Sanchez. Of course she would have recognized Buck's name immediately and would have been more prepared...as if one could really prepare for a meeting with a former husband for the first time in over twenty years.
She decided to not beat herself up on the fact. She would gather her wits about her and conduct her meeting because the sooner the op was done, the sooner she would be on her way back to Miami.
"Gentlemen," Chris' voice was like a shot through the silence of the room and even the SAC was startled, "This is Special Agent in Charge Carolyn Sims."
The woman, dressed in a white shirt, black power suit with regulation bad ass aviator shades in the breast pocket, nodded to most of the group. Agent Sims avoided looking directly at Buck and suddenly he couldn't take his eyes off of her.
He realized the from her reaction she couldn't have known he would be there and, if the pain of her memories equaled his, all he wanted to do was to hold her close and protect her from the past. But he'd blown his chance to protect and comfort her when she had needed him the most and he doubted very much that she would even let him get close enough to talk to her let alone to take her in his arms. Besides what would he say? What could he ever say to make it right?
Sims was her maiden name. After he left Florida he hadn't heard whether she had married her partner or not and the fear of the pain it might cause him to find out kept his morbid curiosity at bay. He had instead put as many guilty miles and years between them as he could and he'd never heard another word about her. But his cowardice had worked to a fault. It had kept him totally in the dark about her job as a Special Agent out of the Miami office of the DEA and about her trip to Colorado.
Buck continued to listen, barely, as Chris went on. "We've been asked by DEA to facilitate in the hijacking, as it were, of a jet purported to be loaded with hundreds of kilos of Mexican heroin," he said and promptly turned the meeting over to Sims.
"That's right, gentlemen, but this plane is not just filled with heroin, it's loaded to the flight attendant call lights with pure unadulterated Black Tar heroin, otherwise known as Pigment, Piedra Negro, Chiva, nut job, capital B, Black Clown and, my personal favorite, Cheesums. As you probably already know Mexican drug smugglers are peddling this form of ultra-potent shit for as little as a dime a G-pack and it's so pure it can kill unsuspecting users so fast that the needle's usually still in their arms when we find them."
Agent Sims stopped to take a breath and a sip of coffee before she continued.
"The target aircraft, a Learjet 60, is a two pilot, ten-passenger business class jet with a range of 2,409 nautical miles. The interior has most likely been gutted to make room for as much product as possible and this pig will be so weighted down that it'll use enough fuel to warrant the stopover in Colorado."
She quickly looked over her audience to see if she'd lost anyone. All but one person's eyes were either on her or perusing the files she'd handed out but under the circumstance it was understandable.
"In order to complete the drop the jet needs to refuel, most likely in some small out of the way airstrip close to an aviation fuel supply. It's usually a cash deal but in this instance the seller wants product instead. When the plane lands, the cartel's courier will get the jet refueled, hand over an agreed upon amount of product and when the transaction's complete, give the pilots the final destination. They'll fly him on to an airstrip we're pretty sure is in the Florida swamps where he'll unload the shipment, pick up payment and return to Mexico. In a few weeks they'll do it all over again but with different routes and destinations. We need to waylay this jet here, gentlemen, and find out the exact location of the final drop and get the bird back in the air ASAP to make the final rendezvous. That's where you come in agent Sanchez."
"Josiah, please," the big man insisted with a smile, "I've always wanted to fly one of these."
"In addition to myself, I'll need one other agent on board. I'll leave the assignment up to Agent Larabee and as soon as our CI with the cartel relays the information I'll let you know the specifics on the landing strip and the ETA." And with a sideways glance at Buck, who looked longing at the door, she ended the meeting.
Chapter 3
Buck Wilmington sat in a small dark booth in a tiny, hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant, six shots of Patron lined up like soldiers in front him. Four empty shot glasses were stacked neatly on the table alongside four equally dead soldiers in Anheuser Bush's vast army.
She would have been twenty this year, his baby girl, the light of his life. She would have looked like a younger version of Carrie with her golden hair and flawless skin but with his eyes and his sense of devilment. A true blue eyed blonde, something special indeed. Buck threw back the next shot, started in on the next soldier and, with any luck, would have at least a full squad laid out dead in front of him before the night was over.
Literally running out after that morning's meeting, he had headed up Capitol Hill on foot to the seedier part of town, never even stopping to shut off his computer. After a few hours someone would finally realize he wasn't coming back and the kid would shut her down and he had had the foresight to toss the keys to the Chevy on the front seat so J.D. would have a way home. He would just get a room at one of the many cheap motels lining East Colfax and sleep off his military conflict.
God, it hurt so much, the pain he'd kept locked so deep inside of him for so long. It had broken free a few years back when Sarah and Adam Larabee had died and for fear that it might be mistaken for a funeral cliché, he never told Chris that he "knew what he was going through" even though he could have said it without batting an eye for he had truly "been there, done that".
Loosing Adam was, in it's own way, almost as bad as loosing Hanna. He couldn't have loved the boy any more than if he had been his own. He was a bright, well-behaved little boy with his parents but he was his partner in crime on those many occasions when Uncle Buck was called upon to watch Master Larabee. He'd also been looking forward to the birth of the Larabee's second child and, like Chris, had been hoping for a girl.
Chris' children could never replace his loss but being with Adam and being a part of Chris' family had made him genuinely happy. When they had died another big part of him had died, too, and his overwhelming grief and the memories of his own child's death had threatened to smother him once again.
During that dark time he had forced everything back inside of him for Chris. Not being enough of a man to console his own wife, something he would regret until his dying day, Buck had matured over the years and had been there for his oldest and dearest friend. He had sucked it all up and had been the rock Chris Larabee had anchored himself to by the thinnest of threads when foundered in a sea of despair, beaten soundly by fate and bloodied by guilt. And when the time was right, Chris had allowed Buck to tug ever so gently on that thread and gradually pull him to shore, their friendship weathering a fierce storm.
But Buck himself was foundering now, the old pain inside of him still too private, too selfish to allow him to tie off to anyone. He had no lifeline because his grief was something he still couldn't bring himself to share with anyone...even after all the years.
If he had shared his story and his feelings it might have explained his need for shallow and unproductive relationships, the more superficial the better, and his reluctance to even consider getting to know a woman well enough to settle down and start a family. He had married Carrie "'til death do us part" and no other woman had replaced his heart's desire just as no other child could ever replace his Hanna.
Buck had been satisfied enough living vicariously through Chris Larabee telling himself it was enough...but even that wasn't to be. Another wife and two more children buried.
Six more soldiers dead. Buck looked at the empty bottles and the tall stack of empty shot glasses in front of him. He set the nearly full beer he had in his hand down on the table, stood up drunkenly and angrily swept his arm across the tabletop sending everything crashing against the wall and covering the floor with broken glass and foaming beer.
After that, Buck hadn’t needed a motel room. A quick trip to the ER and he was a guest of the City and County of Denver.
Chapter 4
The overpowering stench of vomit brought him fully awake...that and the angry, strident voice yelling his name. His head pounded unmercifully, his eyes hurt too much to open and hair had grown on his tongue making it impossible to speak.
"Wilmington!"
Okay, that did it! Now he would have to open his eyes just to see just who he was gonna have to strangle. Through the slits he could just barely make out the angry visage of Chris Larabee.
"Oh, fuck."
"Oh, fuck's right you dumb son of a bitch," Chris said angrily.
The attending officer who stood next to the ATF Special Agent snorted and held out a clipboard to him.
Chris signed the release papers, yanked off one copy for himself and shoved the clipboard and pen back into the young officer's hands while the now former detainee sat up with a groan.
Buck's body shook uncontrollably and his head spun dizzyingly. He was still pretty much drunk and he figured his ass chewing would probably be tolerable if not outright entertaining...but first he needed to piss like the proverbial racehorse. He stood up and his boot heels slipped on the slime-covered floor just as the cell door buzzed, clicked and started to roll back. The noises knifed through his brain and he saw white spots before his eyes.
"Head," he managed to croak out in a strange congested voice and it suddenly dawned on him just how hard it was to breathe. He lifted trembling hands to his nose and felt cotton packing, not unlike the ends of two tampons, jammed up both nostrils. "What the fuck?"
Buck looked down at his hands. His knuckles were purple and swollen and his jaw smarted when he tried to wiped away some of the dried goop that cracked when he spoke. His felt his lips. They were split and puffed up, kind of like Angelina Jolie's, and he queried, "You should see the other guy?"
"Not a scratch on 'em," Chris replied.
"Them? What the hell happened?"
Chris began to read from the paperwork a litany of six different charges, all of them subsequently dropped, and a grand total of the damages due the restaurant, which he would have to pay.
A little past midnight some members of a local biker gang had stopped in for drinks and a few games of 'clock the obnoxious, loud mouthed drunk' and the bartender had probably saved Buck's life, and what was left of his bar, by calling the cops.
Buck began moving slowly toward the men's room and Chris followed. The team leader leaned against the bathroom wall, his arms crossed, while Buck urinated. It was a steady blood tinged stream which never seemed to stop.
"It might have been easier all around if you'd a just stuck your Colt in you mouth, Buck."
The seemingly chastised man moved over to the sinks and wondered if Chris had any idea just how close he'd come.
"Want to tell me about it?" his boss asked.
"Nope," the ladies' man replied. Leaning over the sink Buck pulled the ‘tampons’ from his nose, his eyes watering from the intense pain. He then splashed cold water on his face in the hopes of washing off some of the rust brown, blue-black and purple splotches that marred his face. The blood rinsed away easily but the colors of a dark and stormy night remained.
Thankfully neither of his eyes were swollen shut, just ringed like a raccoon's, and as he held the paper towels to his face for a few moments longer he was able to dry his very real tears before Chris saw them.
God, he felt terrible, looked worse and for the kicker would have to go to work and face everyone including his ex-wife. A mid-week bender was not an acceptable excuse for missing work. It was one of those unspoken macho things by which the seven of them lived or died. No matter how "ill" you were, the next day you would drag ass into work or forever be known as a pussy. Buck just hoped Chris would at least take him by his place to shower and change clothes.
Chris agreed and the ride to his home was unbearable and the silence between the two of them deafening. Never at a loss for words, Buck sat silently, his head back and his eyes closed. He had nothing to say and, even if he did, he was too far out to sea to make himself be heard. He no longer had control of his life and, as long as Carrie was there, his emotions would continue to spiral out of control.
"The others will understand if you don't come in." Chris offered an out but he didn't understand it at all. His partner was a happy drunk who usually spent all of his free bar time chasing women, not picking fights he couldn't win. This was a Buck Wilmington he'd never seen before and it bothered him greatly.
But the bruised and battered just man snorted and told him, "I'll be right out."
Buck showered until the water ran cold. He shaved without inflicting any more damage to his battered face and dressed gingerly, trying not to touch any the bruises that now tattooed his body. He made mental note to have the "KICK MY ASS, PLEASE" sign removed from his forehead and, although he would have relished the opportunity to take some perverse revenge on the perpetrators, he couldn't remember anything about the past night...except what had brought it all on.
Chapter 5
On any other day Buck Wilmington would have proudly taken a bow to acknowledge the round of applause that greeted his entrance into the bullpen but the ruckus died down quickly dampened by the look on his face as he took his seat where he promptly crossed his arms on the desktop to rest his throbbing head. The 'rule' didn't say that the unfortunate, hung over, sick as a dog son of a bitch had to do any work...just show up.
Carrie stood in the doorway of Chris' office. She had watched it all and sighed. When Buck had left Florida, left her, she had made herself stop feeling anything for him. It had been a hard won battle and thinking of him had begun to hurt less and less with each passing day until, after a few years, she only thought of from time to time and without malice. But seeing him again, especially in this state, made her realize that she had never stopped feeling everything for the man as all the old feelings came rushing back. Her emotions began to war with her common sense and she was suddenly confused, a precarious way at best to launch a very dangerous operation.
As Carrie watched him slip silently into his seat she felt sorry for him but she also wanted to kick his ass and knock some sense into that hard head of his, then hold him in her arms and kiss his cuts and bruises. She wanted to tell him that everything would be all right but she didn't know if it would. She had no idea where his head was and the best she could do for him at the moment was to leave him his pride. So she left, unseen, and returned to her hotel to await word on the jet's ETA.
Chris Larabee was another matter altogether. He came out of his office and shouted, "Wilmington!" but the man's head never moved. The team leader didn't buy into it and thought that if Buck was really asleep, too damned bad. "Buck, get your ass in my office now!"
The ladies' man acquiesced and lifted his head and it was a sorry sight indeed but one Chris could live with. He would rather see Buck at his desk, no matter how much pain he was in both physically or mentally, than to see his corpse laid out down in the morgue...which was exactly where he could end up if he didn't get his shit together and get it together pronto. None of them had any idea who they were going up against or where the drop was going to take place and he needed every man on his team with his head firmly in the game.
Buck trudged past Chris and sat down in the naughty chair, the one situated directly in front of Larabee's desk. He sighed deeply, closed his eyes and waited with a scowl on his face.
"Buck..." Chris began but the man held up a hand.
Buck was in no mood to listen to anyone about anything. He neither wanted to be cajoled into spilling his guts nor spanked for being out of line and out of control. It had been a disastrous twenty four hours so far and he now found himself to be in the position of having to explain how he had lied to his best friend for years through omission. He'd not only glossed over his life before meeting Chris Larabee he'd flat out lied to the man about certain events and certain scars on his body and now he couldn't back peddle fast enough or far enough to fix it.
His best bet was to go all hard-ass on Chris and make it clear that he didn't want to discuss it. It would piss his boss off royally but he would eventually forgive him his nasty bullheadedness. "Listen Chris, I know what I did was stupid but I had my reasons."
"It was not only stupid but it was dangerous. If those bikers had known you were a federal agent they wouldn't have bothered trying to beat you to death. They would have just shot you in the back of the head and dumped you on some well manicured lawn in Cherry Creek."
"I didn't have my ID on me, as you damn well know, or I wouldn't have had to spend the night in a fucking cell," Buck countered crossly and watched as the vain in Chris' temple started to throb, thankful that Larabee had such a short fuse that morning.
Okay, Chris thought, so this is how you want to play it. "Listen Bucklin," he said non too gently, "I don't give a rat's ass who she is or why she broke your heart or even if you spent all your hard earned cash on her before she fucked you over...just get over it and get over it now!"
"You think this is over some woman?" Buck shouted back at him jumping up and knocking the chair over backwards.
Chris just sat back in his chair with a grim smile on his face. "Well, isn't it?" he demanded.
Buck's mouth gaped open a couple of times like a dieing fish. Yeah, it was over a woman, a woman and a little baby girl. He fixed Chris with a firm stare and with a hard edge to his voice responded, "Chris, I'm sorry about last night. I know this op is important to ATF and to DEA both and I'm not gonna do anything to screw it up. I am absolutely one hundred percent a go when we get the call."
"You'd better be but right now I don't trust you to take down my grandmother. Have J.D. take you home to sleep it off," Chris said with disgust and added, "No woman's worth it."
"Yes, sir!" Buck was not contrite in the least but he was thankful for his reprieve. It seemed that God did watch out for drunks...but little children? Not so much.
Chapter 6
Agent Sims sat with the others in the hotel conference room going over the plan of attack. Buck remained silent and well out of her line of sight, his dark blue ATF ball cap pulled low over his eyes, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
"Agent Sims received intel from her man on the inside and the jet's ETA is approximately noon tomorrow," Chris told them, "I've explained to her about the severe leak within the department and, in deference to our internal plumbing problem, she's spoken to no one in regards to this information. No one outside of this room knows anything about tomorrow's operation and Agent Simms has graciously offered to cover our 'assets'. DEA will sanction this op so we go through her for everything."
Josiah smiled at Nathan. The two of them were satisfied to be working under the auspices of the DEA however temporarily. It would be like grabbing upper echelon ATF balls and twisting. Anything to get them to take the security breach that led to Ezra's kidnapping, and subsequent abuse by Cain, seriously. Vin was also relieved but disappointed that they had to circumvent their own agency while J.D. just smiled. He would get to add a rad DEA ball cap to his collection.
"And boys," Chris added, "It looks like we've all been especially good these past few months because the scumbag fairy has granted us a wish. The airfield the cartel is using, and has apparently been using all along, belongs to a Mr. Jonathan Cain."
"Sweet Jesus, Yes!" Josiah said and looked to Ezra who suddenly began to believe in divine intervention.
An almost feral smile broke out on Standish's face while J.D. turned in his chair to face the under cover agent and smiled broadly. "Yeah, sweet, Ezra, sweet ass!"
Vin was stoked for the payback to begin, to exact some measure of revenge for what the man had put his friend through; what he had put them all through. "We're finally gonna get another chance at that wired up jackrabbit."
Carrie had to smile at the exuberance of these men. She loved to see their enthusiasm at the prospect of getting the bad guys. With the revolving doors of the justice system and the apathy of the general public, too many agents became disillusioned over the years and apparently ATF was suffering from a similar malaise in the form of a serious and potentially lethal leak.
The DEA agent had pulled in a string of favors and Team Seven had been reassigned temporarily to her. The move allowed her to run the operation as she saw fit and she thought it prudent to bypass the lower ranks of the Denver office and keep Larabee's team and the op completely off the radar. They would avoid being compromised by the department malcontent, whoever he or she was.
But after offering dispensation Carrie needed to know all the pertinent details to avoid any snafus that might leave her ass swinging in the breeze. "What’s the deal on this Cain? Can we expect any trouble on that front?" she asked.
Ezra spoke up, his voice strained but forceful. "I have intimate knowledge of the man, Agent Sims, and he is a very dangerous individual. Seems to take a certain sadistic delight in harming people, especially those in our line of work."
"Well, Agent Standish, it seems he's had a long and very profitable relationship with the Torres cartel. He's allowed their jets to land at his airstrip for refueling in exchange for a percentage of the goods on board for quit awhile now. It also seems that Cain likes to personally oversee these transactions."
When she relayed the information Ezra felt a chill run down his back. Fear was his knee jerk reaction to the knowledge that Cain would be present and, as Chris caught his eye; the senior agent let a barely perceived nod pass between the two of them. Whatever it took, it said, and with that the use of lethal force was placed squarely on the table.
Carrie distributed the dossiers she held in her hand and began to speak about assignments. "Agent Wilmington, as the fuel-jockey sent out from the co-op Cain contracts with you'll have first contact with Cain and Torres’ man. It'll be your job to separate those two from anyone Cain brings along with him. A little sloppiness on your part and the explosive potential of a fully loaded fuel truck should be just the thing to keep Cain's men well away from him and the jet."
As she spoke Chris looked pointedly at his closest friend to make sure he was getting up to speed on everything and not just wool gathering. His life could depend on it. Hell, all their lives could depend on it.
Josiah nodded in Buck's direction. "Won't Cain recognize Buck from past interrogations?"
"If she were still with us, I doubt Buck's own mother would recognize him," Chris said and looked again at his agent's battered face.
"But won't they at least wonder about Mr. Wilmington's appearance and possible become suspicious?"
"No way, Ezra. They'll just think he fell in a combine," Vin deadpanned the answer quietly.
Most of the group laughed heartily except Carrie and Buck who found the cause and the effect not the least bit amusing and Chris who still searched for answers himself and never encourage laughter on principle alone.
On Carrie Sims' first day with Team Seven, the day of Buck's abrupt departure, Chris had taken her to dinner to try and find the reason for the strange dance between Wilmington and her and, while it had been a very enjoyable evening, he was not any closer to finding out what was going on between the two of them then when she'd first walked into the office.
The Special Agent in Charge had been evasive, deftly changing the subject whenever he brought up anything remotely personal, turning it back on him. She now knew most of his life story while he still knew very little of hers or of her connection to Buck. It could have just been hate at first sight but he didn't think that was the case.
"Buck's perfected the art of being innocuous when he needs to be. He'll play it so Cain will think he's just another hired hand and they won't give him a second look," Chris assured Carrie and before she could voice any concerns of her own he added, "You might want to assign Vin to the water tower where he can blow Cain's head off if it comes to that."
"Sounds like a plan," she agreed wholeheartedly. As an afterthought she had pulled the files on all the rest of Team Seven and the long-range shooter's stats truly impressed her
"I'll try an' save his sorry ass for you, Ez," Vin promised easily.
"Josiah and Nathan will be mechanics "working" on a Cessna near the Quonset hut and will neutralize the pilots after Buck blocks their view with the fuel truck. The rest of us will be out of sight until they start unloading the goods. Any questions on the op?" There were none and Carrie turned the meeting over to Chris for logistics.
"Tomorrow, Buck you're with me, Ezra and Vin in the Ram," he said, "The rest of you can follow in the Suburban with Josiah. We need to leave here at first light to get to Byers to set up. We run nothing through ATF so you'll have to supply your own firepower and ammunition. Dress is casual and a beer or feed store logo on your cap is mandatory."
Chris looked at his watch. He had to return to his office but before he left he would try making an end run around Agents Sims and Wilmington. "If there aren't any more questions, you're dismissed...with the exception of Buck. Agent Sims can you stay a minute, too."
He had spent enough time in the principle's office yesterday for fighting and couldn't imagine what Chris could say to chastise him further. Buck heaved a heavy sigh and his stomach knotted at the thought of finally facing her, even with Chris in the room with them. He had wanted to say something to her about his behavior but what could he possible say? With his bender and night in jail he had already shown her his ass without even taking his pants down.
Carrie looked uncomfortable and he couldn't blame her. Years of unresolved conflict and mountains of painful emotional baggage would make any conversation pretty dicey at best. Leaning back in his chair he waited patiently to hear the words of wisdom Chris Larabee had to impart. But he would go on waiting because the man simply walked out the door with the others and closed it behind him leaving the two of them alone.
Disappointed and hurt that Chris would put him in such an awkward position Buck lowered his eyes and remained silent.
Carrie cleared her throat and watched as Buck finally raised his battered face to look her in the eyes. She used to love the way he used to see only her, even in a crowded room, but now it only made her uncomfortable, as he remained mute and continued to stare at her. Carrie suspected that, when he looked at her now, he must see not only his ex-wife but also relive every terrible memory, hear every angry word in his mind and feel every bit of the pain in his heart. She also wondered fleetingly if he felt any shame.
But the breakdown and the breakup of their lives together hadn't been all Buck's making. Forsaking her wedding vows she had turned to another man and she couldn't blame Buck for leaving then just as she couldn't blame him if he left her now...which is just what he did.
"I'm sorry, Carrie, but I can't do this right now," he said softly and lowered his eyes again. He couldn't speak to her now or, quite possibly, ever. There was too much history between them, too much said and left unsaid all those years ago. Everything they had ever had together was dead...dead and buried along with their precious daughter and without another word Buck gathered up his meeting materials and left her alone once again.
Chapter 7
"Buck, if you need to talk..."
"Damn it, Chris! I'm just tryin' to do my effin' job so back...off!" The ladies' man pulled his ball cap down over his eyes and stalked out of the Quonset hut into the bright morning sun. He 'd picked up the loaded fuel truck earlier that morning at the fuel depot and wanted nothing more than for the op to be over. The sooner it was done the sooner Carrie would be on her way back to Miami and his world just might just stop reeling.
Ezra watched him storm out of the building and went back to checking his gun. "What's bothering Mr. Wilmington do you suppose?" He holstered his Remington 1911 R1 and made sure he had more than enough clips to take out a small army.
"I don't have a clue," Chris said truly perplexed. "But I do know it has everything to do with Carrie Sims."
Catching her name as she walked through the back door of the small Quonset hut the DEA agent walked over to the others. "A problem, Chris?" She was dressed like the others in jeans and a baggy shirt covering her vest. Her long hair was braided and tucked up under a ball cap, one with a Florida Gator on the brim and she peered at Team Seven's leader over her sunglasses.
"Nothing really. Just one of my boys off his feed."
J.D. sat with his back against the hard metal wall and checked and rechecked his Glock 17 semi-automatic. Hearing Chris' comment he spoke up. "Buck's been acting kinda' strange the last couple a days. Any other time you'd be beating him off with a stick and we'd be running interference for you."
"Agent Wilmington's a real ladies' man, huh?" Carrie asked with a wry smile.
"An understatement if I've ever head one. Brother Buck is THE ladies' man," Josiah said from the small desk as he went over his flight checklist, an almost impossible task with the final destination still a mystery.
Nathan was at the window keeping an eye out for the Lear and the continuing subdued demeanor of the normally loquacious Wilmington worried him, too.
"Where is Agent Wilmington?" Carrie wanted to know.
Vin had just come in from outside and answered, "He's checkin' out the fuel truck."
"He good to go? He'll have initial contact and we don't want to spook 'em."
Chris shoved a clip in his Colt 1991 Series Government 1911 pistol, chambered a 45 ACP round and slipped the safety on. "He'll be fine...just hasn't been himself lately."
"He seems pretty competent to me." Carrie was fishing again for information on Buck and Chris wanted to know why as his patience quickly coming to an end.
"That's just it," he huffed disgustedly, "If you knew him, you'd know he never comes off as competent. Nobody takes him seriously until it's too late. It's his gift. That's why I hired him." His words came out sharper than he wanted but he wasn't angry, just frustrated as hell.
"I do know him." With her words Chris and the others stopped what they were doing. "Or at least I knew him...a long time ago."
Vin gently set his CheyTac Intervention M310 Single Shot rifle case down on the floor of the Quonset hut and spoke to no one in particular. "I'm gonna go check out the coffee in this fine establishment," he said and headed toward the two small offices at the back of the building kicking J.D. in the sole of his sneaker as he passed by him, "You comin', kid?"
Josiah and Nathan joined the exodus and Ezra, taking his cue from the others, followed suit leaving the two senior agents alone. One, the man who had known Buck Wilmington for over twelve years and thought he was privy to everything there was to know about him and the other, the woman who was privy to that part of Buck's life he had kept hidden away from everyone else.
"I'm telling you about him, about us, to let you know that, despite the way things look right now, Buck Wilmington is the same man you've always known. The man with all the same qualities that made you choose him for your team in the first place. The same qualities that make him the loyal friend you so obviously cherish."
Chris smiled at her. Was it that apparent?
"And they're the same wonderful qualities that made me fall so hopelessly in love with him when we were just freshmen in college. A talented athlete and a regular cut-up, he gravitated toward the jocks, or should I say they gravitated toward him, and subsequently to the cheerleaders. We started dating our freshman year and we were still together when we graduated."
As she spoke the two of them moved to the back of the room where she sat down at the desks and continued.
"Being the only child of a Miami beat cop, I chose to go to the police academy and Buck, being pretty much a rolling stone, went along for the ride. But he found he had a real penchant for law enforcement and graduated at the top of our class. We were married shortly thereafter with all the pomp and circumstance of a police wedding; uniforms, crossed swords, the whole shebang. I didn't know two people could be happier until we got pregnant and Hanna was born."
The stunned look that had first crossed Chris' face was replaced by one of puzzlement and a thousand questions churned in his mind but he remained silent leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching as Carrie's faced softened with each sweet memory.
"She was daddy's girl from the get go and Buck couldn't have been any closer to her. He was the perfect husband, the perfect daddy and way ahead of his time. The original Mr. Mom. We both continued to work full time, me on nights, Buck on swing. Many mornings I'd come home to find them asleep on the couch, Hanna on his chest. I think it finally got to the point where she couldn't go to sleep without the sound of his heartbeat. But how she slept through the snoring, I'll never know."
Carrie removed her ball cap and ran her hand over the top of her head smoothing her hair and steeling herself for what was to come. "Buck took Hanna everywhere with him. Even when he ran he stuck her in a backpack and they were out the door. He told me he liked taking her with him because she was a chick magnet. She was a magnet all right, a daddy magnet. You'd think I would have been jealous but he had enough love for both of the women in his life."
This time Carrie stopped just long enough to take a deep breath. "Just before Hanna's second birthday the two of them were coming back from seeing my parents. A cloudburst opened up, flooding the streets and a speeding driver hydroplaned across the median in the downpour and hit them head on. Buck was seriously injured and Hanna..." She had to stop again because even after all the years it was still so hard.
Chris squatted down beside her and took her hand in his, a very sweet jester from a man who's own ghosts made it hard for him to show much emotion. He was touched that she would share this with him and waited silently for her to continue.
"Hanna was thrown through the windshield by the impact but Buck managed to find her and hold on to her. They were rushed to the hospital. I had to trick him into letting her go and later, when he was out of surgery, I had to tell him she was gone. It was the absolute worst moment of my life. Not when they told my child was dead but when I had to tell her daddy the most precious thing in his life was gone."
Chris' own pain surfaced as he remembered the exact moment his world had come crashing down on him. His eyes sparkled briefly with unshed tears but Carrie didn't see them. She was lost in the past.
"I wish I could say that things got better with time but they got much worse. Buck was inconsolable, extremely angry and extremely volatile. He didn't go to the funeral. He never went to the cemetery, never once visited her grave. People's opinions of him changed drastically after that. The cops we worked with couldn't forgive him for abandoning me, letting me handle it all alone but he couldn't forgive himself and closed himself off completely getting drunk for days on end."
"He quit the force and became a ghost in his own home spending all his time in Hanna's room and ignoring me. I thought I would go crazy so I started staying away more and more. When I did come back Buck just stared at me. I tried to pick fights with him; anything would have been better than the silence but my husband had nothing left to give me, not even his anger, so I turned to my partner, the man who stood next to me at my daughter's funeral and later at her grave."
Carrie's fingers gripped his tightly. Her face was pale but her cheeks were flushed with emotion and he wondered if she was going to continue. He wondered if he should even let her. If the jet was on time it would be there within the hour and she'd be of no use to them if she were an emotional wreck. But she was almost finished.
"One day he was just gone. I walked around the house crying my fool head off, begging God to answer impossible questions. Why had he taken my baby? Why were we being punished? Why couldn't our love get us through Hanna's death? I still loved Buck with all my heart but it just wasn't enough and on my slow trek around the silent house, one thing struck me like a physical blow. Buck had never cried...not once."
Tears finally slipped down her cheeks and Chris rose up and pulled her into his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder for a brief moment then pulled back, swiping angrily at the tears. "Hell of a way for a tough DEA bitch to act, huh?"
Chris was having none of it. "It's okay to hurt, Carrie. God knows, Buck Wilmington taught me that when my wife and son were killed. If it hadn't been for him I don't think I would have made it." Chris thought back and closed his eyes momentarily. "It must have been hell for him, too; he was so close to my son."
Carrie looked absolutely stunned. She was thoroughly taken aback by his revelation of the deaths of his wife and child.
Pushing his own memories aside Chris sighed and continued, "I never knew any of this; he never mentioned one thing about it." Chris had thought the two of them were close and he was hurt and angry but didn't know if he could really blame Buck for his continued silence.
"I'm so sorry for your loss..." Carrie started hesitantly but finally asked, "When your son and wife died...did he cry?"
"Like a baby," he told her.
"Oh, thank God," she whispered.
Chris' emotions were now in turmoil as he turned to stare out the small window. For him the only small comfort that come out of his horrific situation was the fact that Sarah had been with their son when he had died. Adam hadn't had to leave this earth alone, Sarah had been with him to show him the way and she would be there with him forever. Buck didn't even have that small comfort. His daughter had died alone and Chris wondered if his friend ever wondered if his daughter had been frightened, crying for her mommy, for her daddy?
Chris remembered a time, just hours after Sarah and Adam's funeral, when he had overheard Buck ask Josiah what he thought heaven was. Josiah had told him that heaven was simply what he wanted it to be and that he liked to think that those who had gone before would be waiting when we crossed over and that they would appear to us as we wanted to see them. In turn, we would appear to them the way they wanted to see us.
The former preacher gave Buck an example and said that when Chris finally crossed over he might see Sarah as the beautiful bride she had once been or the radiant mother of his newborn son. She could even appear as the graceful, gray haired matron she would have become if she had lived. Chris might also see Adam as the fine young man he would most assuredly have become or the impish little scamp he knew and loved. Heaven was what you wanted it to be, he said, but most of all heaven was a place of peace, happiness and family. Buck had seemed satisfied, a little more at peace.
Chris continued to look out the small window at the fuel truck and at his friend and he was suddenly aware of the depth of the man's friendship and he was even more worried about him than before. He now knew that Buck was using self-abuse as a coping mechanism. He wasn't self-destructing because of some bimbo he was courting a death wish because of his daughter, a death wish that the memories seeing Carrie Sims had brought back to life.
Chris Larabee felt like a class A shit. He should have recognized Buck's MO as the same one he used when Sarah and Adam had died. Buck's suffering had gone on far too long and he needed to face his past and lay down his guilt, which was far too heavy and totally undeserved and mourn his daughter properly. Buck Wilmington needed to finally cry for his beloved Hanna.
"Carrie," Chris said and she turned to look at him with clear eyes, "I suggest you assign Buck to go on to Florida with you and Josiah instead of Ezra. He's more than able to handle the job. He speaks fluent Spanish and can transact the sale and bust the dirt bags on the other end."
Carrie was suddenly apprehensive. She had every faith in Buck's ability to do the job but was suddenly afraid to be alone with him in the small jet and as if reading her mind Chris then suggested, "You can ride shotgun with Josiah and Buck can cool his jets in back."
Carrie smiled weakly and nodding agreed to Chris' plan, both the spoken one and the unspoken one. The one he hoped she'd put into play once she and Buck were back in Miami.
Chris returned her smile and said, "Help him lay Hanna to rest."
Chapter 8
Sensing it was safe to return, the others ambled back into the main room and picked up waiting weapons. Vin headed outside and climbed the steps to the tiny airport tower where he set up the M310 and laid his ammo block, loaded with twelve wildcat .408 Cheyenne Tactical centerfire cartridge rounds, beside it on the window's ledge.
The clock ticked noisily in the quiet room as the others waited.
"Scum bags at twelve o'clock high!" Nathan's voice boomed in the silence as Vin's warning came through his earpiece.
Josiah pulled his mechanic's overalls on the rest of the way and tucked his gun into the pocket of the baggy garment. He and Nathan sprinted out to the Cessna as Vin watched the approaching aircraft and waved at the pair.
Buck sat in the cab of the fuel truck, radio blasting Country and Western and Nathan hit the side of the truck to give him a heads up as he passed by. Dust could be seen coming toward them on the dirt road leading to the airfield but there was no limousine for Cain. He rode in the back of a Humvee with a “soldier” driving and another riding shotgun.
The jet touched down and made its way slowly toward the Quonset hut. Buck started up the fuel truck and pulled his cap down lower over his eyes and when the jet finished its taxi he drove up beside the door and stopped. Hopping out he unrolled the long hose and clumsily sprayed some of the fuel on the tarmac before connecting fully to the aircraft. The Hummer made a wide loop and parked fairly far away from the jet.
Ezra, his heart hammering in his chest, watched through the window as Cain got out of the vehicle, a metal briefcase in his hand, and swaggered up to the jet and waited for the cartel's man to come down the stairs in the forefront of the plane with a duct taped bundle about the size of a brick.
Taking a proffered bundle Cain started in on the process of testing a sample. The kit was laid out in plain sight on the fuel truck's hood and as Buck continued to refuel the plane he surreptitiously watched the duo.
Satisfied with the purity of the drugs Cain turned to call his men over and Buck pulled the slide back on his weapon and smiled. Both men stopped. Cain’s had a look of disbelief on his face while a look of pure anger distorted the features of Torres’ courier who shouted in Spanish about being set up and the different ways Cain was going to be tortured by his bosses when they finally caught up with them all.
"You think we're workin' for this asshole?" Buck asked in perfect Spanish and pointed his gun at Cain, "We're DEA, now raise 'em high, you fuck sticks."
Josiah walked to the pilot's window, tapped on it with his weapon and winked. The pilot shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands. He was only paid to fly and wasn't about to try anything heroic.
Nathan hurried past Buck and ducked inside the cabin, stuck a gun into the cockpit whereupon the co-pilot raised his hands, too.
"Watch those two morons," Ezra said and pointed to Cain's two men. Anticipating every move the two were going to make he stepped silently out of the Quonset hut and came up behind them as they climbed out of the Humvee.
"We'll gentlemen, we meet again."
Both men turned with their guns drawn and Ezra fired, hitting one in his reaching arm while Chris pulled up on the other who immediately dropped his gun to the ground and said, "The position, dirtbags."
Buck heard the gunshot but kept his weapon trained on the two men. "Now Mr. Cain and whoever you are, down on the ground or I'm gonna signal agent Tanner. You do remember agent Tanner don'tcha Cain? Well, he's up in that tower just itchin' to blow your brains all over this tarmac so I suggest you both eat concrete."
Both men complied, the Mexican glaring at Cain as Ezra walked up, cuffs in hand.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Fucking Upright Citizen Cain." Ezra's drawl was more pronounced as he pulled Cain's hand roughly behind him and cuffed him. "That affidavit you gave Judge Travis was pure fiction and I can not wait to hear what you could possible come up with to negate this situation."
"I could tell 'em all about a smart mouthed ATF agent who's just one fix away from bein' the cryin', pukin', slobberin' piece a crap he was six months ago."
"I suppose you could at that," Ezra said, “But that won’t make a bit of distance to the DA...or to Torres.” and stepping over the prone man to cuff the Mexican, the ATF agent landed a powerful kick to Cain’s rib cage...after which he apologized profusely.
Chapter 9
When the pilots and courier, as well as Cain and his men, were safely handcuffed and sowed away in the Quonset hut under the watchful eyes of Vin and Nathan, Buck finished refueling the jet and leaned back against the fender of his truck to watch Josiah climbed aboard followed by Carrie who, for all intents and purposes, was walking out of his life as calmly and professionally as she had walked into it.
She had spoken briefly to Chris Larabee then simply passed him by with out so much as a goodbye or even a "fuck you, asshole" and Buck found that her apparent indifference to him cut him to the quick. But could he really blame her? He'd made it perfectly clear that he didn't want to talk to her and possibly bring up a past that was chock full of transgressions on both their parts and he thought he was content to let sleeping dogs lie... until she disappeared from view and Buck knew he'd lost his one and only chance to maybe make amends to the mother of his only child.
Clamping his teeth shut tight enough to make his jaw ache, Buck Wilmington refused to let the tears that clouded his eyes fall, not in front of Chris and the others and certainly not in front of Carrie if she suddenly realized she'd made a terrible mistake by not saying goodbye and came running back down the plane's steps. As quickly as the scenario played out in his head he forced it out of his mind. It was better for everyone involved if she just left.
Turning his head to furtively wipe away an errant tear, Buck spotted Ezra and Chris making their way toward the jet. But instead of passing him by, Ezra handed off his weapon to the confused agent. Buck attempted to hand it back to the southerner but Ezra simply stepped back out of the way to let Chris explain.
"Ezra doesn't feel comfortable literally sitting on stacks of herion so I'm sending you in his place." Chris took no pleasure in delivering the obviously troubling news to his suddenly clearly agitated friend but he would not take no for an answer and, before Buck could even open his mouth to vehemently protest, added, "That's an order, Buck."
"I suggest you get on board quickly because if this jet is more than fifteen minutes overdue the mierda could very well hit the ventilador," Ezra warned him.
"Every thing you need will be waiting for you in Miami," Chris added and literally pushed Buck toward the jet as Josiah started the engines.
Buck climbed aboard just as the Lear began to taxi securing the door behind him. He stared briefly at the staggering amount of narcotics that was secured in the cabin then took the only available seat; the jump seat attached to the cockpit wall directly behind the co-pilot's seat and belted himself in.
Fifteen minutes into the flight Buck wondered what in the hell he was doing aboard the Lear on his way back to a city he vowed he'd never return to. His job, he told himself with a sigh then said aloud, "God damn it, Carrie."
"It wasn't my idea," came a disembodied voice from the other side of the wall.
Shocked that she had even heard him he threw caution to the wind and demanded, "What did you tell him?"
"That there was a good reason for him questioning your abilities."
"I would have told him...eventually."
"Yeah, right," Carrie snorted.
"Did you tell him..." Buck started to ask but quickly changed his mind
"That once upon a time you had a wife and a child?" Carrie asked for him.
Josiah tried to not eavesdrop but it was difficult even with his earphones on and her bombshell took him completely by surprise. But what Josiah didn't know was that SAC Carrie Sims was Buck’s ex-wife and that his child was long dead.
"Yeah, I did,” she told him testily clearly irritated with him “I think he deserved at least that much of an explanation."
"Jesus Christ, Carrie!" Buck thought angrily. He knew his relationship with Chris had probably taken a major hit. He had wanted to tell him and the others but as time passed and other tragic events unfolded he began to feel like a liar simply through omission. To his mind there was never going to be a "right" time to rip open old wounds but Carrie evidently though differently.
"You've been acting like a crazy man ever since I got here," she continued, "I knew why but your boss didn't have a clue."
Buck closed his eyes and dragged his hands down his face. How could he bring up a subject that was still so excruciating that even now he felt as if his heart would break from the pain...as would his back from the burden of his guilt. "So you thought you'd give him a heads up?"
"This is my operation and I'm not about to stand by and let it go sideways."
"Then why'd you let me on board?" Buck asked petulantly.
Carrie smiled to herself and told him truthfully, "Because I wanted the best."
Chapter 10
Carrie's operation didn't exactly go sideways. It went as crooked as a dog's hind leg when the Lear touched down and bullets sprayed the cockpit. Carrie and Josiah had both undone their lap belts long before the well hidden, makeshift airstrip had come into view and he dove for cover but not before yanking Carrie from her seat and pulling her into the fuselage and out of the line of further fire.
Buck was out of his seat the moment the first shot pierced the nose of the plane and hit Carrie. He heard her cry out as the bullet lodged in her thigh somewhere north of her knee and south of her pelvis. So much for a flack jacket if you're literally a sitting duck Buck thought angrily as he dragged her further back into the cabin while Josiah pulled a SIG SG 550 assault rifle clipped into a makeshift rack beside Buck's jump seat.
The three of them barely fit into the cabin and Buck reached between Josiah’s feet to drag the first aid kit to him as the big man started to toss bundles of illicit drugs into the cockpit.
"Be careful none of those split open. The dust’ll make it volatile in here," Buck warned him.
Josiah stopped what he was doing and smiled, "Yeah, and if it does it'll only be a matter of time before we don't give a shit. It's probably the only reason they haven’t shot up the fuselage."
Carrie groaned and Buck saw the dark stain spreading out over her pant leg. He stuck his fingers into the bullet hole and pulled with all his might until her jeans split open like a ripe blood filled melon. He wiped away the copious amount of blood with his hand and could see the entrance wound right above her kneecap for a split second before a jet of blood covered it and her leg again. He shushed her then stuck his hand under her rear end and felt around for an exit wound. His hand came back relatively unbloodied and he knew the bullet was still in her.
"I remember the first time you grabbed my ass." Carrie said through gritted teeth, "You got me drunk on Tequila."
As he opened the well stocked med kit and started to pull out various items, Buck smiled at the recollection, "Indeed I do...and you loved it."
Carrie inhaled deeply, let her breath out through clenched teeth to try and keep the pain at bay and said, "I wish I had a bottle right now."
"So do I darlin'," Buck told her, "but this is the next best thing." He held up a morphine syrette and jabbed it into her thigh and hoped to hell it would take effect before she went into shock.
"How does it look?" she asked seconds before her eyes started to roll.
"You gonna be just fine, Sims" he told her as he watched blood again spurt from the bullet hole and thought to himself, "as soon as I clamp down that artery," as he pushed the scene in Blackhawk Down where Cpl. Jamie Smith bled out from a severed femoral artery from his mind. Judging from the amount of blood and the force of the discharge the bullet had only nicked Carrie's and a tourniquet would do until help finally came...if indeed it was on the way.
Cell phone reception was nil but the Lear's ELT (emergency locator transmitter) that he had activated before he crawled over the center consol instruments was busily sending out a distress signal for all the world to hear. They just needed to sit tight until the cavalry arrived but looking down at Carrie Sim's face, her features drawn and her skin pale, Josiah wondered if she wound make it until then.
"We need to get outta here, man," Buck said stating the obvious as Carrie grabbed his pant leg. He squatted and brushed her sweat damp hair from her forehead.
She released her hold on his pants and took his hand in hers instead. "If this doesn't end well..."
"You're gonna...," Buck started to interrupt and she cursed at him.
"Goddamn it! I'm pretty shot up and I'm pretty fucked up but I want you to promise me one thing,” she demanded, “That you'll go to the cemetery."
Buck opened his mouth to placate her again and she jumped his shit.
"Bucklin, promise me!" she practically shouted and he cupped her cheeks in his big hands. She closed her eyes for a moment and felt the soft kiss of his tears as he bent low over her, his face just above hers, and swallowed hard.
"I promise, Carrie," he whispered, "but can you ever forgive me?"
"There's nothing to forgive, my love," she whispered back.
Josiah moved the curtain covering one of the windows and spotted a large delivery truck, a Mercedes Benz and four men, three dressed in jeans and one dressed in a business suit. All of them carried AK 47s and wore flack jackets.
"There's four of ‘em heavily armed and presumably waiting for us to make the next move," Josiah told him as Buck dashed the tears from his eyes and stood up.
"Then let's give 'em what they want," Buck told him and unzipped his coveralls to reveal a flack jacket and a white tee shirt beneath it. Removing the Kevlar he pulled the tee shirt over his head and put the vest back on. He stripped down to just his jeans but not before pulling a M84 stun grenade from his pocket.
Walking over to the door he lowered it and waved his "white flag". When it wasn't shot from his hand he stepped out onto the first step to find their guns directly at him. They circled the car and started forward until one spotted the grenade Buck held in one hand and the kilo he had split open, little wisps of brown powder wafting on the wind to make his point, and they came to a complete stop.
"This is the DEA and you're under arrest," Buck said purely as a formality and heard Josiah snort behind him.
When the man in the suit translated the others simply stared at Buck as if he were mad then burst out laughing.
Buck smiled in return and continued in Spanish to cut out the middleman. "You're right, this is purely comical. My friend inside has a SG 550 assault rifle pointed at you all so what we have here is what I like to call a Mexican standoff. This plane is chock full of powder, thanks to the hard landing, and no matter who shoots this contraband will be off the streets and my people will all get medals...posthumously of course but medals none the less."
"You'd blow yourselves up just for the job?" the dealer asked with a sneer.
"That's right, amigo and if the blast doesn't kill you, your boss Torres will."
The man knew the DEA agent was right. If the plane was destroyed all of them and their family would be under a death sentence and sweat began to gather over his top lip, more from fear than the sweltering day in the swamps.
Buck heard Carrie moan again. Her breathing had sped up and toxins were building up in her leg even as he spoke, "I've got a wounded agent in here so I'm prepared to let you have what you came for."
"What do you want in return?"
"She and my partner leave here right now in that fancy car of yours. I stay behind in the plane, my hand wrapped around this M84 with its magnesium-based pyrotechnic charge until I'm sure they're safe, then you can have it all."
"And when you surrender why wouldn't I just shoot you?"
"Oh, I have no doubt that you will." Buck Wilmington had made his deal with the devil and it was time to pay up.
A few minutes later Josiah and Carrie were well on their way to the hospital and safety. His partner and friend had balked hard until Buck had turned Ezra's gun on him and ordered him from the plane, an act that was sure to bring swift and sure retribution.
Sweat poured from under Buck's vest and slid down the crack of his ass but he didn't dare so much as move to scratch himself. It was time to pay the piper and all guns were now trained on him as the four men moved forward. He walked down the steps of the jet and stooped to place the pistol, the heroin and the grenade gently on the ground in front of him. The M84 rolled once, then twice, then went off with a flash and a bang...just as advertised.
Chapter 11
As Buck had suspected there wasn't enough powder of any type in the muggy, damp Florida air to ignite anything let alone a Learjet. What the flash and subsequent concussion did was give time enough for him to roll under the jet, dive through the weeds and take off into the swamp where he waited until he was waterlogged, leech infested, bug bitten and finally rescued.
The drug crew scrambled to load the truck while the Coast Guard, finally triangulated in on the Leer's beacon, hovered overhead taking sporadic gunfire from below. The helo’s crew simply disabled the truck, further disabled the jet and then gained enough altitude to be out of range as they waited for the police and DEA to arrive.
Buck continued to lay low until he heard sirens and, when he deemed it was relatively safe, he slogged back out of the swamp like the creature from the black lagoon, covered in gunk with his hands held high in the air. So many guns were instantaneously trained on him that he wouldn't have moved a muscle if the alligator he was sure had been sizing him up while he was out in the water came ashore next to him.
It took several long minutes face down in the dirt with his hands cuffed behind him to finally establish his credentials. Something Josiah could have done right away but the big man kept his peace right up until they were about to load Buck into the van with the drug dealers. He would think twice before pulling a gun on Josiah Sanchez again.
When all was said and done Buck ended up at the same hospital where Carrie had undergone surgery to save her leg. DEA agents as well as Miami Dade police officers lined the halls to pay their respect while Buck watch covertly from the end of the hall. Except for dehydration, a multitude of bug bites and skin pocked with the remnants of the dozens of leeches that had found their way into almost ever nook and cranny, he had been released but couldn't quite make himself leave.
As he stood in the hallway scratching his lesions two young tow headed boys ran down the hallway followed by another cop, a high ranker with lots of gold on his uniform, and the others suddenly closed ranks as the three of them entered Carrie's room. Buck hadn't recognized any of the others but he definitely recognized the police captain who happened to look in his direction before entering the room. His face was one Buck would never forget.
While Josiah waited at the hotel Buck hung around for another hour hoping against hope that the flow of traffic in and out of Carrie's room would finally cease. But even as visiting hours ended, shifts changed in the various law enforcement departments all over the city and her room was never really empty.
"Are you one of the family?" a nurse asked solicitously placing her hand on his arm.
A sad smile crossed Buck's face as he straightened up, ready to give up his vigil, "I used to be," he said softly and turned to go. As he walked toward the elevator he felt a tug on his sleeve and he stopped and turned.
"My mom says you saved her life," the elder of the two boys said brushing away a tear.
"Yeah, well your mom's a pretty special lady. I figured you'd want to have her around for a while to keep you and your brother in line."
"Yeah, she is kind of bossy," the boy said wrinkling his nose, "She ordered me to tell you something,"
Buck wondered what parting shot Carrie Sims had to deliver and when he heard her salvo he smiled.
"She said to tell you that she's gonna be fine and for you to not forget about your promise to go to the cemetery." The boy knew of only one cemetery, one that they visited often, the one where his mother cried and tried not to let them see, the one where his sister was buried. Scrutinizing Buck's face seriously, the boy surmised correctly and said, "You're my sister Hanna's dad, aren't you?"
Buck had not been called Hanna's dad for over twenty years and the words, said so innocently by the young boy, sliced right through him and his lips started to tremble.
Carrie's son Finn had always known his mom had had a baby who died before he and his brother Conner were born and that his mom had been married before, too, to a bad-ass cop named Buck Wilmington. Finn had recognized him form the pictures his mom kept "from the olden days" and when he told her he had seen Hanna's dad out in the hallway his mom had actually started to cry a little. She then told him to deliver the message.
"My folks have got pictures of you...only you don't have the caterpillar on your face," he said mischievously. Buck laughed aloud and the boy added, "Go in the daytime. The pinwheels are awesome!" and, with his duty discharged, the boy ran back into the room.
Buck turned and walked until he found the stairwell to the parking garage. He descended half a flight and stopped and turned his face to the wall, his hands grasping the banister in a white knuckled grip. He took in a cleansing breath, let it out and leaned his forehead against the cinderblock wall as his thoughts raced.
Despite her maiden name, Carrie had married his best friend after all and although he should have been hurt, or at least jealous, he found that he wasn't. His best friend had been Carrie's partner and a stand up guy and had only stepped in as a last resort when Buck had stopped being her husband and he was thankful. While he had chosen to keep life at arm's length she had chosen to move on and embraced it with open arms and now she had a beautiful family, of which he was sorely jealous, and, judging by the boy's comments, he had been a part of it all along.
Chapter 12
After taking a cab from the hospital to the hotel, Buck Wilmington spent a restless night tossing and turning as he listened to Josiah Sanchez snore, scratched himself raw and mulled over his life in general. There had been a brief rekindling of hope when Carrie had called him "my love" as she lay bleeding in the jet but seeing her family had put everything back into perspective, that and the fact that she had been high as a kite when she'd said it.
He also knew it was true. He would always love her as she would him. One never forgets their first love, it was just a fact of life and he would rather live apart from her in that love than try to force her to choose...again. Beside Mick O'Fallon, former Miami-Dade Boxing team champion, still looked pretty damned fit in his Captain's uniform.
Buck had just nodded off when he heard Josiah's deep baritone as he sang in the shower and the ladies’ man finally gave up the ghost on getting any sleep. He got up and poured two packets of coffee into a tiny coffeemaker and sat back down on his bed to savor the hot cup of just plain nastiness.
Josiah walked out of the bathroom wrapped in only a towel and Buck begged God to strike him blind when the big man dropped it and started to dress. "We gotta be at the airport at nine...unless you got some more business here in town."
Buck yawned mightily and then started to cough. Mornings were usually rough for him but this one was a bitch. "I just need to make a quick stop," he told him then headed into the bathroom to shower and shave.
Thankfully Josiah was completely dressed when he emerged from the hot, moisture clouded room, his bumps and lesions clearly visible on all the parts of his body not covered by a towel.
"This stop..." Josiah started then trailed off waiting for Buck to offer up some more information.
"The cemetery," he said casually although he was feeling anything but.
Josiah stared at him dumbly. "I thought you said she was gonna be okay."
"Carrie's fine. Came through with flying colors," Buck said and left it at that.
Josiah sat, eyes averted, as Buck quickly dressed and the silence stretched out before them driving him crazy. "Listen, I couldn't help but overhear..."
"Yeah?" Buck replied scratching his arms.
"You know, Carrie's comment about her telling Chris that you had a wife and a kid. Are we ever gonna meet 'em?"
Buck stood up and shoved his wallet into his freshly laundered jeans and smoothed back his wet hair. "You've just had the pleasure of working for my ex-wife," he said then added stoically, "and I'm goin' to see my baby girl right now."
He left the room and Josiah just stared after him his mouth agape as one of the puzzle pieces fell into place.
It was barely light out and Buck was in the middle of Our Lady of Mercy Cemetery near the children's area. The wind had kicked up off the ocean and he heard a disquieting noise as he walked... kind of like a metallic purring.
His daughter's grave was further in than he realized. Life had gone on and many, many more children had slipped their earthly bonds after Hanna had died but he knew he was close. He could feel it.
In the dawn's early light the cemetery was oppressive as hell. The wind gusted again and the purring grew louder and he was tempted to not only leave but to run away as fast as he could but Buck Wilmington had made a promise and as he knelt down in front of a small stone the sun broke over the horizon and the gravestones and monuments began to take shape all around him.
Hanna's was fairly plain and simply read:
When she was born, the hardest thing was to hear her crying.
When she began to crawl, the hardest thing was to corral her creeping.
When she stood up and walked, the hardest thing was to see her leaving.
When she learned how to run, the hardest thing was to watch her falling.
When she skinned her knees, the hardest thing was to hear her weeping.
And when she died, the hardest thing was to give her up
into Heaven's keeping.
Hanna Dowd Wilmington
Daddy's Girl
March 22, 1989 - March 16, 1991
As he knelt by her grave and the tears rolled unchecked down his cheeks, the breeze picked up again and to Buck Wilmington the purring now sounded like children's laughter as dozens and dozens of pinwheels spun wildly and sparkled radiantly in the bright morning sun.
FIN
As always I appreciate all of the hits and the reviews. They help me forge ahead when writer's block becomes almost painful.
Hanna's middle name is actually my daughter's middle name. She is named for my father who was in the Air Force and died when I was a kid on March 16th, one of the hardest things for me.