ATF Universe
RESCUED
Contest Rules

by Death Sprite

Summary: Some hobbies involve a little more attention to detail than others...

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"Geezus, just look at this!" JD exclaimed in hushed awe, looking at the sight in front of him. The massive convention hall was cordoned off, one half filled with booths with informational fliers, stacks of boxes, displays, and dioramas, all pertaining to the sight taking up the other half of the room -- models. Plastic models of planes, ships, boats, cars, planes, dinosaurs, planes, space ships, boats, and more planes.

Buck whistled lowly. He had become less eager for the assignment when he realized what exactly Travis had meant by 'models,' but he was still impressed. "There's gotta be hundreds of these things."

"Thousands," Ezra corrected from behind them. They whirled around, startled.

"Ezra, what're you doing out here? Aren't you supposed to be getting ready to meet Francesci?" Buck looked him over quickly. Ezra was dressed in the same casual style as the rest of them, wearing khakis and a shirt that proclaimed 'IPMS 2004' in large red letters on a pale yellow background. "And where's your hat?" The hat had been the crowning piece of the costume, filled with pins from previous conventions and other tacky icons. No one had even dared ask where he'd gotten it.

"Apparently I'm not suited enough for the job," he muttered, and threw his hands up in the air. "I mean really, what are the differences between a Messerschmitt BF 109 E and a Focke-Wulf FW-190? I know the one was 1/36th scale and the other was 1/48th, but what the hell does articulated wing frames have to do with it?!" Ezra looked genuinely confused, and more than a little annoyed. Buck and JD just stared at him blankly.

"Ezra, I have no idea what you just said."

"Well, more than usual," JD added, and Buck cuffed him quickly.

Ezra shook his head impatiently. "I have been researching Francesci for two months now, calling in ties and making deals. And now I finally get to meet him, and I can't make the deal myself."

"Well who is?" Buck asked, serious again.

"Chris." Ezra blinked, surprise showing in the bluntness of the statement.

"Chris?!" Buck exclaimed. "You're kidding!"

Ezra shook his head. "He's got Josiah and Vin with him. I know he can pull off the cover. But --" he blinked again quickly, and spread his arms, looking a bit shell-shocked. "He decided my knowledge wasn't adequate enough." He gestured out towards the contest display tables. "Then he started saying something about the differences in weathering techniques between the Jagdtiger and the Panzer II." He paused. "I think those are both tanks." He looked at his two friends, who were staring at him blankly. "I know they're German, at least." He shrugged.

JD opened his mouth, reconsidered, then closed it again.

"Wait, wait," Buck interrupted. "How does Chris know all this stuff? I didn't think he was a World War II buff or anything."

Ezra glared. "Mr. Wilmington, if it was just information on World War II, I would be more than adequate for the job." He spoke the words with a sneer.

They were surrounded by a sea of tables, decked with blue ribbons, and loaded to overflow with models, in a crazy sort of jigsaw, wings overlapping and bases set back to back, some craft set on mirrors, others set next to detailed construction and informational sheets, or notes asking for permission to photograph. Most of the models were small, though they had enough detail that tiny dials and readouts were legible, and burn marks that looked like they had been earned in actual combat. Here and there, however, a more massive model stuck out of the crowd, like the seven-aircraft diorama on the far end, or the larger sailing ships a couple tables up. On the other side of the room, people were selling boxes of models, specialized decals, paints, imports from Japan, and all sorts of special gadgets to help build a better model. And throughout it all were hundreds of people -- mostly men, and a good deal of them old, or considerably out of shape -- but all of them nondescript.

It was the perfect cover for a drug deal. Of course, it didn't hurt that Albert Francesci, a small-time dealer in Denver, was an avid model builder himself. He had traveled out of the state for the convention, arranging to have this initial meeting there, believing that the Denver-based ATF wouldn't be able to do anything to him in Phoenix.

He was wrong. While Team 7 couldn't arrest him here, they could still use it as evidence in a longer string of deals. The initial meet was taking place in 20 minutes, in one of the smaller rooms that was holding a seminar on historical accuracy in spacecraft models. JD would be wearing a wire, and trailing Chris and his 'bodyguards.' Of course, they were all dressed in casual clothes, JD's cover being enhanced by the Star Trek t-shirt he was wearing, and a large camera case.

There was still a good twenty minutes before the meet, so they continued to canvass the aisles of the contest room, stopping occasionally to look at some incredible detail or amusing diorama. Ezra kept muttering things about "single prop, single turbo engines," and "armor and reinforced treads." He felt like a highschooler, trying to memorize lines of Hamlet -- he had no clue why half of the category details were important. Buck and JD stopped to snigger at a more humorous display, and Ezra thanked the heavens for providing him with Rule 5, which prevented more ... juvenile displays of humor. Lord, these people could be crass. He supposed it came from -- his train of thought was derailed as something on one of the construction sheets caught his attention.

"Buck." No reply. Without taking his eyes off the paper, he reached behind him to nudge the other man. "Buck. Look at this."

"What is it, Ezra, someone come up with another pickup-convertible to offend your sensibilities?" Buck finally turned around, ignoring the fact that they were in the middle of the 106's -- airplanes. Ezra ignored him, and just pointed to the line on the paper.

"...based off the resin kit and construction details provided by Chris Larabee, who used the actual construction guidelines and parts models of the original aircraft in creating this work. The belt straps were also added by hand, woven from melted sprue..."

"Chris? Our Chris?" JD asked, reading over Buck's shoulder.

Buck shook his head. "I had no idea he was into this. I mean, I know he knows a lot about planes, but I thought he was just a buff -- he can fly a couple smaller civilian aircraft, too. But geez construction details? Hell, this thing looks like if you put a little guy in there, he could take off." It was indeed a very good model, an early jet plane of some type -- Ezra was still annoyed at the fact that he didn't recognize it without looking at the sheet -- and there were several requests for photographs, and one requesting additional details for a magazine article.

Before they could discuss it further, JD's watch alarm beeped, signifying it was time to get into their places for the first part of the buy. Ezra and JD headed off to the seminar room, and Buck continued his surveillance of the larger room, this time heading over to the dealer's side of the room. The tables were an absolute maze, some of them being stacked so high that they were taller than a person. There was plenty of room to hide. He decided to start out by the imports table, which had a life-size Robbie the Robot, and several good posters from old TV shows, like Star Trek, The Man from UNCLE, and Time Trax.

---

A couple hours after the seminar, Team 7 had finally all met back up in their hotel room control center, across from the hotel. Normally the ATF wouldn't have sprung for such nice rooms, but not only was there a discount for the convention, but the distance from here to the convention center was small enough that they could base their surveillance here, and still be in range. Plus they could monitor Francesci at the hotel.

Vin was sprawled over one of the beds, propped up slightly by the headboard. Josiah and Nathan had each commandeered the slightly overstuffed, tastefully matching armchairs. They only looked slightly more curious -- but a sight more impatient -- than Buck, JD, and Ezra. Buck and JD snagged the other bed, and Ezra retreated to the bureau. Chris entered last, and almost immediately he was assaulted with questions, most of them not really related to the case.

"Chris, I know you can't have seen a De Havilland in action, but --"

"What was that whole ten-minute conversation about Shermans and --"

"Damn, Chris, how do you know all this stuff? You holding out on us, Cowboy?" Vin's voice broke through the loudest of the intelligible questions, and the clamor ceased.

Chris shrugged lightly from where he'd stopped just inside the door, one hand tapping slightly against the surveillance equipment stacked in the closet.

"Not much to it, really. My dad got me into it as a kid, and I kept up the hobby, on and off. More off than on, lately. Though I'd keep up with the news articles, if nothing else. I kept meaning to pick it up again, but things just kept piling up. And doing work like this takes a lot of time. It's always better to do a piece in one straight shot."

They stayed silent. Each of them could think of more than a few things that might keep Chris from concentrating on a hobby like this, especially in the time they had known him.

Finally, Ezra broke the silence. "I have to say, I am impressed, Chris." Then he scowled. "Though I'm still not quite sure why the hell the Messerschmitt's in a different category than the Focke-Wulf."

The End