"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
