I Still Remember (Leverage Alec/Eliot, 1/6)
Title: I Still Remember
Beta(s): amuly ♥, nevardevereaux ♥
Artists: cybel ♥, ryuutchi ♥
Characters/Pairings: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama, Post-Series
Warnings/spoilers: None.
Summary: Alec's been running his own crew for five years when Eliot reappears- on the other side of a job. Remembering someone, it turns out, isn't the same as knowing someone.
The cabin lights are dark, most of the passengers are asleep, and they're still out over the Atlantic. It's not like he's holding out hope, but Eliot can't stop staring out the window, looking for the lights of a ship below despite himself. The ship's still hundreds of miles behind, won't be catching up until well after they've made the descent into LaGuardia, and he's not going to kid himself. By that point, his attention's going to be elsewhere.
It should probably be here, now, anyway, given how startled he is by Ferrara sliding into the empty seat next to him. He recovers quickly.
"There's a good article on the new exhibit at the Chicago Art Institute. Thought you might be interested." Ferrara grins, handing him a copy of the airline magazine- identical to the one slipped in with the emergency instructions and airsickness bag in the seat in front of him- before standing and heading back to his seat.
Eliot's flips through the pages, pulls the route plan from between the pages and turns the reading light on, glancing warily at the woman sleeping across the aisle as he begins to scan the map. Still the same dockyard, which is a relief, but the route through Manhattan has been changed. He's not sure, but if nothing's changed and he remembers correctly, they're going to be going right past Hardison's place.
He needs a distraction, and pockets the map, looking instead at the magazine. Ferrara hadn't been lying about the article, though there's a moment of panic as Eliot calculates the odds that it's anything more than chance. There's an picture on page 78; a group shot of society people attending the opening. There, in the background, smiling over their drinks but unnamed in the caption, are Sophie and Nate. Nate's gone gray. Sophie's still stunning. They look good.
He'd panic if it weren't for the more obvious reason for Ferrara's vague interest. Page 83's got a great shot of one of the . The caption reads Aya Takano,
"Birth of Land Dance, Izanagi, Izanami" 2008. On loan from private collection of L. Ferrara.
It's just Ferrara's ego, nothing more. Still, Eliot feels sick.
They'll be landing in four hours.
....6123 Kingfisher Boulevard. 571-810-7582. 24 Arlington Parkway. 686-221-0327....
---
It's a sunny afternoon, the first real nice day of the year, and Central Park is filled with people.
It's exactly the reason Alec hadn't wanted to meet up here, but Jillian Ramey had seemed skittish, on the phone. Afraid. But if he'd been up against what she's been going through, he probably wouldn't be too trusting, either. Still, it means that after his circuitous route in to make sure he hasn't been followed, he has to stand here and watch the carousel go round, feeling more and more seasick and conspicuous by the minute. Because yeah, a 32 year old guy lurking alone by the merry-go-round? That's not creepy, not at all.
He busies himself with his phone, finds the usual message from Parker. In. Out. Argentina's nice. SAFE soon.
He has to think back to remember. If she's finished with Stuyvesant's estate already, she and Apollo will probably hit Markham's vault on the way back to the east coast, unless their schedule changes. Maybe they'll stick around long enough to grab dinner somewhere, maybe they'll just catch up over coffee again. Salton Security's got a new pressure trigger on the models rolling out next month and it hasn't been announced yet, but they're already sending out feelers into the London auction house scene, and for once, the gossip might actually be relevant.
The museums and antiquities circles- both legit and black-market- have been buzzing for months, wondering how the artifacts were finding their way back to the newly established storage facility in Manhattan, and why they were appearing in such perfect alphabetical order. Parker's proclivities in this regard- it would be too easy, otherwise, she'd said- had garnered enough attention that questions and gossip had started cropping up. People were wondering about the identity of the anonymous benefactors who'd endowed Saving Antiquities For Everyone with the resources to open the facility. Not even the board knows, never mind the curators, office admins, or the host of couriers who made the drop-offs; these last only rarely knew what they were handing over.
Just to be sure, though, Alec writes himself a reminder to crosscheck the shipping and bike messenger company rosters again. The last thing they needed was some kid remembering the face of the woman who dropped a suspect package up when Interpol came pounding at their dispatch office.
Setting the reminder for later tonight, Alec glances up again, watches another batch of kids clambering onto the wildly colored horses. There's another guy, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking far too interested. The nearby policewoman's already noticed, though, she's got her eye on him, but still. Compared to what Parker's doing, Alec's afternoon is starting to feel distinctly seedy.
He fires off a reply to Parker and checks the time. It's 2:37. He'll give Ms. Ramey another three minutes, but then he's gone. Jillian Ramey isn't the only person needing his help these days.
---
Alec can hear the thrash metal blaring the moment he steps out of the elevator, but Maria's already spotted him on the camera feed, and it's shut off by the time he reaches the door.
"You know you don't need to go offline like that," Maria chides him, pulling her streaked curls back into something resembling a ponytail. "It's not like you don't tell us everything they say thirty minutes later anyway."
"Doesn't feel right. They think they're only talking to me, I don't want to lie to them."
She's about to go off about how hard it is to run remote security when access is blocked- as if he didn't already know- so he derails the usual conversation before it starts, and sets her tracker, which he'd found stuck under his collar, next to her laptop. "Y'all are getting better, though, Had to break out the RFID reader to find it on the way back."
Pocketing it, Maria beams shamelessly. Alec doesn't know is if it's going to next appear shoved between the seats in his car, stuck underneath his watch, or sewn inside the seam of his jeans- and he's still trying to figure out how Ravi had pulled that one off- but he knows that he'll be bugged again within the next twenty four hours, maybe the next four. Ravi's on his way over already. He'll probably have it out of Maria's pocket and hidden again on Alec's person before he's even raided the fridge.
Of course, Maria doesn't seem to be making it too hard for him to pick her pockets these days. If they're not together already, they will be soon. Alec hopes it works out. Hackers aren't too hard to come by- most of them suck, but at least they exist- but pickpocketing had been a dying art when Parker had gotten started, and if she hadn't pointed Ravi his way, they'd all be screwed.
Besides. Just 'cause it didn't work out with him and Parker doesn't mean it won't work out for Ravi and Maria.
He's just getting around to asking after Jason when he hears his footsteps stomping up the stairs. At six foot five and two hundred and fifty pounds, stealth isn't his strong point, though he can ghost with the best of them when he needs to.
Right now, though, there's no need. He's throwing himself down in the chair across from Maria and glaring at Alec. "You were followed. Again."
"What?"
"Long blondish hair, maybe light brown. Aviator shades. I didn't get a good look, so I don't know if she was as hot as that last one." he smirks, obviously remembering Sophie's last surprise visit. "Silver Charger with Jersey plates. Took off when I pulled up, and I'm not sure, but it might've been the one that was parked next to you down at the park."
It's the sort of thing he could do with his eyes closed, but Maria's already asking for the license plate number, which Jason's already handing her on a scrap of paper. Alec's fingers flex uselessly. It's been a while since he's done a proper hack job.
"Stolen this morning," she confirms a moment later, her face worried as she looks up again.
Jason's nodding emphatically at Alec. "And that is why we're all supposed to wear our damned trackers. Even you, boss man."
Alec blinks at the lecturing tone, but lets it go. It's not worth explaining that anyone seriously gunning for him- for any of them- would probably have their shit together enough that they wouldn't be resorting to tailing him through Manhattan traffic.
"We'll deal with it when there's something to deal with," he says instead, glancing around. They're still one short. "Right now, I want to know where Ravi is. I swear, if he's showin' off down on the corner with his magic tricks again, I'm gonna put a leash on that kid."
---
If Nate hasn't gone off the rails already, Alec realizes, he's due. Possibly because Eliot's about ready to shove him right over.
They're so close to losing this one. The Retzings are going to get away with it. They're going to have to pull out, tell the client their house is gone, that there's nothing they could do because none of them can come up with anything better than Nate's drunken jackassery.
Alec's ready to let Eliot deck Nate. Hell, he'd hold him down himself, if Eliot so obviously didn't need it. Sophie, though, she's stepping between them. Eliot, Parker and Alec are being dismissed, because Mom and Dad need to fight in private. The kids wait in the hallway, exchanging wary glances and not speaking, though Parker's got her ear to the door. Maybe she can hear Sophie's part of the conversation, but Nate's loud voice bleeds through easily enough that they can all hear.
"What're we going to do?" Parker murmurs, her eyes fixed on some vague point a few feet in front of her, but Eliot's not talking, and really, this probably isn't his area of expertise.
It's Alec's. They've been playing this by Nate's rules, but his are not the only ones in town. Alec's got enough access and information that he could destroy the Retzings with a few quick keystrokes. It wouldn't be half as poetic as what Nate or Sophie would come up with, not as explosively insane as what Parker or Eliot would do, but the Retzing clan would be down for the count.
He considers the angles, runs the numbers and probabilities in his head. His fingers itch for a keyboard.
He's got a plan. It's so damned easy, and he's sure they'll run with it, but Parker's backing and away from the door suddenly, and it's swinging open, and Alec's missed his shot. Nate's got another plan, it's insane, reckless, but Sophie's mollified. It's bringing the others on board. Alec can keep his plans to himself. For now.
It's the first time he's thought about running his own game. His own crew. It's not the last.
---
Alec's just finished prepping the briefing files when Ravi slips in through the door, swearing like he always does that he'd run into the mailman and hadn't actually broken into the box before handing him two envelopes. More shit that needs to be filed to keep Maria's alias' NSA clearance in order, and the utility report for the property down in Boston. Ravi's holding something back, though, pulling it out of his obnoxiously tailored jacket and flipping it over nimble fingers.
"You got a postcard."
For an instant, Alec's heart stutters to a full and complete stop, the hope's hitting so hard. Reaching out for it, already trying to see the image on the front, the postmark on the back, but by the time it's in his hand, the moment of obscene hope's been crushed.
Parker sent it a few days ago, and it's got a picture of Quinta de Olivos in Beunos Aires on the front. The scrawl on the back is actually what he should've been expecting from the start. Peron's tunnels were more extensive than they show on the tour, but the security in the gallery was almost minimal. It was actually almost boring, but Sophie would've loved it.
It's exactly what he should've been expecting from the start, instead of that weird flash of anticipation shooting up his spine, hoping for something else. The team's still watching him, though he's not sure he's been caught out. He mentally shakes himself, shoves the card in his pocket, and brings up their new job on the computer. "Right on. But now that we're all here, we've got this."
He flips to the next screen, watches their three faces as they realize what they're looking at: security camera footage of four dead bodies laid on the edge of a dock. Another woman being dragged out of the water. The next shot reveals the back of a shipping container opening and the bodies being crammed in with fifteen other- still breathing- women.
"Human trafficking," Ravi guesses with disgust. "Wonderful."
Jason's examining the image, frowning. "So the client. Is she one of the ones in the truck?"
"Not this truck, though apparently it's how she came in. She's been in New York for about eight years, and runs a non-profit that helps these women out. It's hard going, since they're not exactly jumping at the chance to talk to her, since half of them thinks that she works for immigration."
"She doesn't?"
"She consults with several agencies, mostly off the books. She's naturalized now, but according to her, it took so much bribery to get that far that she thinks her name getting dragged through it will only hurt the cause. And she's probably right."
"So why come to us now?"
"She's done a lot of the groundwork trying to make a case to bring to her lawyers, but the lawyers have backed out because of politics."
Maria's already getting angry. Another minute and she'll explode. "You're telling me that there's some partisan bullshit involved here?"
"Ah, no. It's just the names that she's bumped into." Alec clicks forward to the next frame, keeping his eyes on the crew to register the surprise on their faces, but there's nothing but confusion. Glancing back to confirm that he'd put the right picture up, he shakes his head in disappointment. "Don't any of you read the news?"
Ravi's the only one to flip him off, but Maria has the sense to look mollifyingly shamefaced.
Alec tries again. "Lucas Ferrara?"
More blank stares. Jason's sneering at the picture, unimpressed with Ferrara's pressed polo shirt, khakis and loafers. His greased back hair does little to increase the severity of the image, but that's what Alec gets for using a shot from a charity golf tournament. He might not be immediately dangerous, but he's powerful, and that can be so much worse.
He gives them the big picture. "Import king of Staten Island? Runs nearly everything going through Howland Hook? Brother of Senator Alexander Ferrara?"
Finally Maria groans in recognition. The senator, she's heard of. "Right. Alexander Ferrara made his run at office after that police brutality case three years back that he prosecuted. The cops are terrified of him; it's no wonder the lawyers washed their hands of it. You think the senator's in on it with his brother?"
"That's one of the things we're gonna have to figure out. But even if he's not, we spook the senator? We're toast." Clicking ahead, Alec moves to the next slide. "This guy here is Ben Fletcher, and where Ferrara goes, he goes. Associate, assistant, henchman, it's hard to say. "
"Definitely not the muscle, though," Jason smirks, wrinkling his nose. "Guy's a beanpole with goggles."
Maria's only half listening, already at work tracking Ferrara's movements. "Ferrara's passport was dinged in Rome, and again coming in through Kennedy this morning, but it doesn't look like Fletcher's with him." Right on cue, she starts muttering to herself. When she can't have her music, she makes her own noise. "Okay, going to start looking for aliases, just to be sure, but... maybe he's not on the same flight. A different one? Maybe he's on the boat? That would make sense, given the situation..."
"All right," Alec says, knowing that she's off and that she'll hit him up when she's got something. "I'm going to go check out the senator, see if he's just related or actually involved. Maria, I know you're doin' your thing, but if you can find out when they're actually moving the women? That would be extremely helpful." This time, at least, she nods to show she's heard. Either that or Alec's deluding himself that he has any control over the situation whatsoever.
"Ravi? I'm thinking we're going to need to get the car out of storage and brought 'round." There's a dangerously enthusiastic glint in Ravi's eyes as he stands up, smoothing his suit, habitually checking to make sure he's got his picks on him, though he already know where the keys are. "And remember, you pull anything hinky on the side, I'm not bailing your ass out."
Jason's got one hand hooked into the belt loop of his jeans; the other's rubbing at the stubble on his head as he waits patiently for his orders.
"Alright. Wanna get you in down at the shipyard, so it looks like you're going to get a job. Can't remember what we've got set up for you. Do any of your ID's have a few misdemeanors on 'em? Maybe a little jail time, but nothing serious?"
Jason's already standing up. "Only my real one. Might as well put it to use."
---
Upstairs in his apartment, Alec's going through the mail. The postcard, he hangs on the refrigerator, slamming the magnet into place with a little more force than is absolutely necessary.
It's stupid to be this disappointed. This had passed beyond pathetic months ago. It's been over three years since he's gotten word from Eliot.
There'd been nothing written but "Happy Birthday" and Alec's address on the back, so there'd been no harm in framing it and putting it on the shelf next to the other pictures: Nana in her garden, Sophie, Mona and Nate standing at the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the picture of the bay Parker had taken from the top of it a year later. She'd apparently been hanging upside down from her rig when she'd taken it; even so, it's a good shot.
Better, at least, than the night skyline on Eliot's postcard. The camera angle's just off enough that's the tilt's only realized after hours and hours of staring. Either the photographer should've used either a longer exposure, stretched the headlights and taillights into solid streaks, or a shorter one, eradicating the blur entirely. On the whole, it's become a furiously annoying image.
But aesthetics aren't the point; they never have been. Eliot had mailed it from Toronto, two days before it arrived in Manhattan. In time and space, as far as Alec knows, it's the closest he's been in five years. It's the only real evidence that he'd ever existed.
---
Alec fires off a text to Parker- got your card, having fun?- as he forces himself to contemplate making something for dinner. The greens he'd bought in a moment of delusion are unsurprisingly wilted and soggy, and he throws them in the trash, and the pork chops in the freezer would need to be thawed. It's as good an excuse as any to order takeout instead.
His phone vibrates, and maybe it's Parker calling, maybe she's in on of her social moods, but it stops as quickly as it starts. Just a text message, then.
ur welcome.
He's not feeling all that sociable himself, anyway.
---
"You're from the Post, right? The new guy?"
"Yes sir," Alec shakes the Senator's hand, deliberately overenthusiastic, every bit the eager journalist working his first big story. "And I really appreciate you taking the time this afternoon to talk to me, especially on such late notice. I'll try and make this quick."
"Well, your editor said that you wanted to talk to me before going to print with your story, and believe me, when I get a call from an editor saying they want to call in a favor, I'm just relieved when it's not comments on some sort of lurid sex scandal." Senator Ferrara fixes him with a wary stare. "But I am curious. She told me you're doing a follow up on 4301?"
"I'm trying to straighten out some conflicting information." Alec glances down at his notes- really nothing more than a list of votes and committees, but more importantly, it's a list of every project Ferrara's committees have signed off on. Some of them are huge. There are fifteen that have swayed state budgets, and several with national implications. Eight of them directly involve Homeland Security, and of these, three seemed tied together under something called Project Scrutiny.
What he's actually got, though, is tiny. Just Ferrara's signature on a line, amongst other signatures on other lines. A slight modification in permitting. An update. It wasn't even big enough to make the front page of the papers when it went through.
"S4301-2009. Port security." Alec hands over a printout to help refresh the Senator's memory. "The upgrades your committee suggested were enacted eighteen months ago."
"Ah, yes." The Senator frowns, scanning over it, but there's a tightening in his jaw. It's clear that he doesn't need the reminder. "This was…yes, here it is. In response to updates in Federal guidelines regarding the PATRIOT Act. Streamlining and solidifying the inspection documentation on all shipments coming in through our ports. Rather than having foreign inspectors uploading their findings in one file and our domestic inspectors uploading theirs in a second file, we combined them into a single set of documents. It's started at the overseas port and finished domestically, then uploaded."
Alec nods. "Okay, so it removes duplicate information, I can see that, but doesn't it also remove a layer of security?"
"Actually, quite the opposite." Ferrara leans back in his chair and frowns. "And as I'm going on record, here, I would appreciate if you tread carefully. There's nothing underhanded about it, but it might be misconstrued, if taken out of context."
Alec nods. Of course.
"Many areas we do business with just don't have the technological interface to keep up with our systems, and data kept getting lost. With these modifications, the information now comes in with the ship, and is immediately on hand for our inspectors at the port. It's all in the committee transcripts, but we didn't want to leave it in the final signed copy, in case someone found the reality a little bit rude."
"I see." Alec needs to shift the Senator's curiosity here. Move it onto himself, rather than his questions. He nods to himself and scowls, making a show of thinking it over for a moment. Toying with his pen, he drops it on the floor and picks it up. Straightening in his chair again, he nods, feigns understanding and a shade of disappointment. "Okay, good. Well. Some of my sources had me running in a slightly different direction."
"How so?"
"Down at the docks, there's been some question as to why there's only one set of signatures on the shipments they've been seeing for the past few months." He frowns. "I mean, this way of doing things makes a lot more sense. But there's no real story in it. It's just looking more like my sources just didn't actually read their protocol update memos, you know? I guess that's what I get for trying to build my stories from the ground up." He stands, extends a hand. "Thank you very much. You just saved me from completely killing my career before my third byline."
"That's no problem at all," the Senator stands, offers Alec his hand; they shake. "I'd rather spend five minutes with one journalist than five months with thousands, especially over something that wasn't news in the first place."
---
The bug is still stuck to the underside of Senator Ferrara's desk.
Alec brings the feed up on the comms channel and listens in as he drives home. There are no terse phone calls to his brother, nobody's called into a quick, nervous meeting. Either Ferrara's confident that Alec's missed the point entirely, or he's confident that he has nothing to hide.
But Alec hasn't missed a thing. The stateside inspectors are, effectively, the only ones signing off on the shipments, and they have access to create or destroy any information they want.
Ravi's got the car out of storage and stashed in Alec's garage, so he's got to cruise around for an extra ten minutes just to find parking. He's finally pulling in to a space down the block when there's a faint ringing noise. It's the Senator's phone, through the bug.
"Hey darling," he says, voice calm and relaxed. "No, it's been today, the vote's been pushed out a week and I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork." A scuffling sound, like the chair being pulled out. "Nothing interesting. Journalist came by to look into a weird case though... yeah, you remember S4301? No? No reason you should. Shipping. Boring security upgrade stuff. Think the poor bastard must've pissed off his editors or something...yeah. No, I'll be home around eight, finish the rest of this at home." His wife, apparently, is still talking, but nothing Alec's heard so far is enough to make him wish he'd managed to tap the phone, too.
The next words catch his attention. "Lucas?" The Senator sighs, listening. "No, I'm not canceling our first date in months just so we can sit around listening to his vitriolic idiocy for another unending evening. Did that last Christmas, my duty's done for the year. Friday night, you, me, dinner and a show. He can kiss my ass. Yeah... Love you too."
The call ends, and it's making him feel homesick. He sits in the car for a moment, watching the traffic go by. Up in the office, he's got people waiting. It's not like he's heading back to an empty house to stare at the television in the dark. That'll come later, once they're done for the night and he's staggering up the stairs to his apartment.
It's not important. He'll leave the bug up, check out the Senator's cell and email later tonight, on the off chance. But it looks like, for once, the politician in the equation is clean.
It's a good thing. Makes his life easier. He doesn't need to be bummed out. Really.
---
"Okay, guys," Alec's call for attention doesn't work nearly as well as killing Maria's industrial noise does. "I was up until midnight combing through the Senator's life again, and the only thing I know for certain is that there's not much love between the brothers Ferrara. I don't think he's in on it. Where are we at with everything else?"
He's not the only one still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Jason's come straight from his overnight shift at the docks- never let it be said that their HR office can't keep up the pace- and looks like he's about to fall asleep in his chair. "Boat's due tonight. Quarter after ten long as the weather holds."
"I planted a tracker on Ferrara's car last night." It's early enough for Ravi, too, that the Bengali accent's coming through. It'll be gone again by noon, though why he's been making such a study of masking it is anyone's guess. "I put a tail on him for a time, just to be sure. He's been all over the city, hasn't stopped anywhere for long, but it seems that he may be going to the ground for the day."
"All right," Alec nods, transferring the data from Ravi's tracker to it's own layer of the map. Nothing much out of the ordinary, and there's a fifty-fifty shot that the side-trip into Williamsburg is because of the construction on the Midtown tunnel. The warehouse in Queens, though, Ferrara'd had to backtrack to get there. He's stopped in three times, last arriving an hour and a half ago."
"It's definitely a safe house," Maria calls as she comes out of the kitchen.. "Bank owns the building right now, there are three different developers trying to get their hands on it. In the meantime, it's just sitting vacant."
"The power has been cut, but I saw him and some other who we don't know dragging a generator inside. They're running... off of the grid." Ravi adds. "If I were to stash a few dozen women for a few days, I would do it there."
"Which means the deal's not going down on the ship," Alec grins. It's one less thing to worry about. "We might actually have some lead time on this."
"So what's the plan for tonight?" Jason's exhausted, cranky, but it hasn't boiled over yet. The coffee cup Maria's sliding in front of him seems to be keeping it at bay, but they've got to get a move on so he can crash out, get some sleep.
"We spook the hell out of them, get them to change up the play, give us time to get ahead of them. Nothing could be simpler."
Ravi shrugs. "What happens when they decide to start shooting at us?"
Jason raises his coffee and smirks. "I do."
Alec shakes his head. Hitters, man. Don't matter who they are, where they're from, it's always the same damn ego. "And by that, you mean step back and let the police handle it, right?"
Across the table, Ravi's going into his pocket for something. Maybe his deck of cards, hopefully not the picks. Alec has no idea what's left in the building that he hasn't broken into yet, but it's still another reason to get them their assignments and get them out of here, quick.
"Uh. Sure. Right. Whatever," Jason underscores it all with a yawn. "Let me guess. Ravi in the squad car again?"
"Nope. Turns out we get to save ourself a little running around this time. I'm bringing backup in on this one, you remember-"
Maria's computer starts chirping- it's found something- and three seconds later Alec's phone is vibrating. Checking the display just confirms it.
Huh.
He swings over to the computer to confirm. When predicting human behavior there's no such thing as a definite hit, but at 87.82 percent this one's as close as they're likely to get. It's time they got moving.
"Hey, Ravi? Are you as bored as you look?"
"Very much so."
"Excellent. I need a ride."
----
Alec has Ravi wait outside with the bike, and rushes into the airport with five minutes to spare. He gets as close to the terminal as he can without going through security, setting himself up along the far wall. There are half a dozen other people here, grandmas and guys in suits and kids all waiting in various states of anticipation, and it's easy to bleed into the background.
He's got his head down over his newspaper, but he doesn't have long to wait. After only a few minutes, he spots Fletcher going past, heading towards the baggage claim. Alec forces himself to wait ten seconds before checking his watch, acting startled in case anyone's looking, and following after him.
He's pulled the trick a thousand times before; airports are always the easiest place to pin a tail on someone. Nobody ever looks twice at anybody once they've cleared security, trusting enough in their x-rayed shoes to let their guard down; coming off an international flight, everyone's so groggy they can't see straight.
This time, though, something's feeling wrong. He's catching himself glancing around every twenty seconds, searching for the eyes he thinks are boring into him, or someone swiveling suddenly to head off in a different direction. He's checking reflections in the windows, but he's not seeing anything.
It feels like he's missing something.
Lurking next to the coffee shop, Alec considers aborting the tail as he watches Fletcher wait for his luggage. It still feels like there's something crawling up his neck and in a moment, Ravi's going to have this, anyway.
The bags are just starting to come down onto the conveyer belt when Fletcher's cell rings, and whatever's being said sets the skinny man into motion again. He suddenly takes off, straight off and quick, heading for the exit, no thought for his bags.
This is Ravi's chase, now, and Alec passes the info along as he swings into the coffee shop and orders a latte that he doesn't feel like drinking. Just in case it's enough to shake the eyes he's not honestly sure are on him.
"I've got him," Ravi's voice vibrating and slightly muffled the same way it always in when he's using the mic in his motorcycle helmet. The accent's gone, though, completely. He's awake and on the move.
"Be careful. Not sure he's the only one with a tail," Alec mutters underneath the hiss of the espresso machine.
When he turns around, though, the baggage claim looks the same as it always does. The feeling's passed. And he's got an appointment to keep, anyway.
---
"It's so good to see you!" Tara exclaims, hopping out of the cab to hug him. "I wasn't sure that was you leaving the park the other day."
"Silver Charger? Jersey Plates?"
Tara blinks in surprise as she steps back to look at him. "Showoff."
"Yeah, well. I don't like to brag, but-"
"You love to brag." She leans back and pays the cabbie. Her hair's a bit darker than he remembers- she's dyed it recently- but her shoulder's a little bit sunburned.
"You look good," he says, watching the cab pull off. "You see Parker when you were down in Rio?"
"Helped her liberate that Babylonian tablet from an investment banker who wasn't nearly as charming as he thought he was. Hit town a few days back. Just made the drop on the way over."
Parker's been adamant about using bike messengers whenever she's returning any of the looted artifacts. "Bold move," he says, opening the door to the cafe. "You didn't have it couriered over?"
"Did it myself," she's flirting again; she probably never really stops. "Spandex works very well underneath most clothing, you know."
He wants to ask her where she got the bike from, and what she'd done with it when she'd finished, but it's beside the point. "Just don't let Ravi hear you saying that, we'll be trying to put his eyeballs back in his head all day and we're gonna need him tonight."
Tara pulls a comical face, looking over her shoulder as they take their seats, clearly remembering the last time she'd been in town. "He's not joining us, is he?"
"Getting ready for tonight. I'll call them in a few hours," he says, flipping open the menu. He doesn't bother explaining that Ravi's attention's lying elsewhere these days. It's none of his business, and it's not Tara's, either. He's trying to decide between the burger and the club sandwich when he realizes that Tara's looking quizzically across the table at him. "What?"
"Nothing," she frowns, shaking her head. "Day of the job, just would've expected them to be hanging out. You know."
He does. Nate's crew, back in the day. They'd more or less moved into Nate's apartment- hell, Alec still owns the building in Boston; it's useful, once in a while- but that had been the entire problem, then. And damn Tara for bringing it up before they've even got their drinks. Thankfully, though, she's already picked up on his annoyance and is perusing her menu. "Don't worry. It's not a critique. So Maria and Ravi are still with you, and Jerry retired. What number are you on now?"
"Jason? He's solid." He starts counting off the guys Jason's replaced on his fingers. "No gang ties, no bailing on us in the middle of a job, no double-crosses. And he's still got an ego, thinks he's the Terminator or something, but it's nowhere near as bad as Omar was."
He's holding up five digits, now, feeling a little guilty about what he says next. "And he's not too old to handle it." Jerry had been with them for nearly two years, the longest any of their hitters had made it, and Alec had never blamed him for the broken arm, but Jerry'd been resolute, even going so far as to recruit Jason before he left. It's been a while since Alec's met him for beers, but he's gotten used to feeling homesick for people. Even Tara, who's been drifting in and out as much as anyone, these days. As much as she's always done.
They make small talk, catch up. She hadn't made it out to Nate and Sophie's for the holidays, but she'd gone out to visit in February. She finishes the story about the Babylonian tablet and Alec talks her through the dirty rental agency they'd taken out last winter in Boston.
"You go to McRory's while you were down there?"
"Yeah. Jason's got a thing for Cora, I think, but I ain't asking." It's a bad move, and he realizes his mistake the moment he's saying it. Tara strikes fast and hard.
"What about you? Are you seeing anyone?" She's been talking with Sophie. Or hell, maybe it's become such a normal thing, now, that it's not even worth talking about.
"Nothing serious, and not for a while now." I've seen you three times since my last drunken hookup and you know it. "Been busy, you know how it is. How about you?"
"Nothing serious, and not for days now." Her grin's genuine, but Alec can't help wondering if it's a front, just for a moment. If she's got someone she thinks about too much. He doubts it, though. She's not the type to get hung up on a half-decade old near miss.
---
...68 Bingham Street. 020-7153-9072. 8 Rio Vista Avenue. 505-273-2735.
Eliot's off his game and he knows it, but he's heading down to the docks on time anyway to get the lay of the land. Ferrara and the others are going to be here in a while, and they're going to do this thing, and there are still a thousand things that could go wrong.
Not least of which is the fact that he'd caught sight of Hardison at the airport. At first, Eliot had been content to duck around a corner and curse his luck- it was the last kind of coincidence he'd wanted, and the exact kind he'd been dreading- but a second scan of the terminal had shown him that Hardison hadn't been there for him.
'Course not.
He had, however, been there for Fletcher, trailing him as far the baggage claim before dropping off. He'd probably had someone else waiting outside to pick up the tail.
Part of him- the part he's created and maintained so carefully for two years now- wants to tell Ferrara everything, but it's not going to happen. It'll only lead to questions that Eliot can't answer.
Like, for instance, what is Hardison doing here? Does he know about the job? What is his angle? Is this going to be a problem? And who the hell is Hardison, anyway?
Because honestly? Eliot doesn't even know. He hasn't for years, now.
---
"Yo," Hardison strides into the kitchen, tosses his empty bottle into the recycling. "No way in hell I could ever imagine getting married, I mean, it's just a piece of paper." After that scene with Nate's diatribe and Sophie's reaction, it's not too strange a conversation, but it still feels like it's coming out of nowhere, and Hardison's taking his lack of response to mean something more than it is. "I take it you never been married?"
"No," Eliot takes a bite out of his apple.
"Ever come close?" As if it's any of his business.
"No."
"What was her name?" He's grinning like he already knows the answer- Aimee- and Eliot hates that he's not wrong.
He snorts. Whatever. It's not like it matters, anyway. Aimee was a long time ago, hell, they'd just been stupid kids- and he knows they both dodged a bullet on that one. Twice now. But it had been nice, for a while there. Nostalgic, maybe. She'd been the last person in the world he'd been totally honest with, and the first he'd lied to. Even before he'd been ordered to.
"It was a girl I grew up with, but…anyway, she married somebody else, so…"
"Hot damn!" It's strange that the shock and near-offense coming from the geek's makes him want to grin. "What did you do?"
"What did I do?" Honestly, he has to think for a minute. 1990. He'd still been in the service, then, just barely. Hadn't even given up his name yet. "I liberated Croatia," he says, because it's close enough to the truth, and it's not like he's going to tell him about going out the night before, getting drunk in Zagreb, and fucking her out of his head with some lieutenant whose name he'd never gotten.
"Well see now me, I would've just got fat, started up a comic book shop-"
He's still talking, but Eliot's gone before he can finish.
---
Moscone's daughter's wedding nearly falls apart- thanks in part to the Butcher of Kiev showing up, completely alive despite Eliot's previous best efforts, but they pull it off. Barely. Afterwards, he's wired, and though he's been cooking all day, Sophie's idea sounds great, at least up until she's letting him into the restaurant's kitchen.
"You lied to Hardison," she says, flipping on the lights.
It probably takes him too long to guess at what she's talking about. "Wait. You heard us talking?"
"I did." There's not even a hint of apology in her tone, which doesn't exactly make him want to start in on anything. He just wants to get the sauce going, get the garlic roasting, get these onions chopped.
"Doesn't matter."
"So why bother hiding it?" She sets to rinsing the basil off, and Eliot's surprised. It's oddly domestic of her. But she won't let him use it as a distraction. "There's a story there, isn't there?" She's barely trying to play him, being so direct.
"Got a lot of stories."
"Which you never tell anyone," Sophie nods.
"Probably 'cause nobody needs to know 'em." He picks up the knife, starts dicing the onions. Again.
"I'm sorry, but that hardly makes you unique, here," she jokes, but backs off quickly. It's clear that she can't just turn it off, can't stop mining for information, can't stop the curiosity, but she's trying.
Still, both conversations irk him, for some reason. They sit under his skin for days. It's one thing for Sophie to be asking things like that. She lives for that sort of thing, and personal details are how she makes her living. Hardison, though?
It's just irritating.
---
The papers Fletcher gave him are enough to get Eliot through the shipyard's security checkpoint, but the gates closing behind him sound like prison bars.
He's got about an hour before the shift change, it's more than enough time to get the lay of the land and find a place to wait and think. Because he's stopped kidding himself. Hardison's near. This is his town, now, and he's probably still working out of that same place they'd set up on that MoMA job. Worse, he has to be planning something, and whatever his intentions are, it's only going to lead to complications.
It takes him half an hour to convince himself to dig out his cell and dial Hardison's number, and only two seconds to stop himself from dialing. Digging the hole any deeper will only make things worse.
He really ought to call Ferrara, though, but he knows where it'll lead. He'll just stay on his toes.
In a few hours, he'll pull himself together. He'll do his job, and make sure the transfer goes down according to plan. Until then, he'll lay low, wait for Ferrara's call, and strip down the Beretta. The magazine release's been sticking for a few days now A cleaning's long overdue.
Chapter 2
Beta(s): amuly ♥, nevardevereaux ♥
Artists: cybel ♥, ryuutchi ♥
Characters/Pairings: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Drama, Post-Series
Warnings/spoilers: None.
Summary: Alec's been running his own crew for five years when Eliot reappears- on the other side of a job. Remembering someone, it turns out, isn't the same as knowing someone.
The cabin lights are dark, most of the passengers are asleep, and they're still out over the Atlantic. It's not like he's holding out hope, but Eliot can't stop staring out the window, looking for the lights of a ship below despite himself. The ship's still hundreds of miles behind, won't be catching up until well after they've made the descent into LaGuardia, and he's not going to kid himself. By that point, his attention's going to be elsewhere.
It should probably be here, now, anyway, given how startled he is by Ferrara sliding into the empty seat next to him. He recovers quickly.
"There's a good article on the new exhibit at the Chicago Art Institute. Thought you might be interested." Ferrara grins, handing him a copy of the airline magazine- identical to the one slipped in with the emergency instructions and airsickness bag in the seat in front of him- before standing and heading back to his seat.
Eliot's flips through the pages, pulls the route plan from between the pages and turns the reading light on, glancing warily at the woman sleeping across the aisle as he begins to scan the map. Still the same dockyard, which is a relief, but the route through Manhattan has been changed. He's not sure, but if nothing's changed and he remembers correctly, they're going to be going right past Hardison's place.
He needs a distraction, and pockets the map, looking instead at the magazine. Ferrara hadn't been lying about the article, though there's a moment of panic as Eliot calculates the odds that it's anything more than chance. There's an picture on page 78; a group shot of society people attending the opening. There, in the background, smiling over their drinks but unnamed in the caption, are Sophie and Nate. Nate's gone gray. Sophie's still stunning. They look good.
He'd panic if it weren't for the more obvious reason for Ferrara's vague interest. Page 83's got a great shot of one of the . The caption reads Aya Takano,
"Birth of Land Dance, Izanagi, Izanami" 2008. On loan from private collection of L. Ferrara.
It's just Ferrara's ego, nothing more. Still, Eliot feels sick.
They'll be landing in four hours.
....6123 Kingfisher Boulevard. 571-810-7582. 24 Arlington Parkway. 686-221-0327....
---
It's a sunny afternoon, the first real nice day of the year, and Central Park is filled with people.
It's exactly the reason Alec hadn't wanted to meet up here, but Jillian Ramey had seemed skittish, on the phone. Afraid. But if he'd been up against what she's been going through, he probably wouldn't be too trusting, either. Still, it means that after his circuitous route in to make sure he hasn't been followed, he has to stand here and watch the carousel go round, feeling more and more seasick and conspicuous by the minute. Because yeah, a 32 year old guy lurking alone by the merry-go-round? That's not creepy, not at all.
He busies himself with his phone, finds the usual message from Parker. In. Out. Argentina's nice. SAFE soon.
He has to think back to remember. If she's finished with Stuyvesant's estate already, she and Apollo will probably hit Markham's vault on the way back to the east coast, unless their schedule changes. Maybe they'll stick around long enough to grab dinner somewhere, maybe they'll just catch up over coffee again. Salton Security's got a new pressure trigger on the models rolling out next month and it hasn't been announced yet, but they're already sending out feelers into the London auction house scene, and for once, the gossip might actually be relevant.
The museums and antiquities circles- both legit and black-market- have been buzzing for months, wondering how the artifacts were finding their way back to the newly established storage facility in Manhattan, and why they were appearing in such perfect alphabetical order. Parker's proclivities in this regard- it would be too easy, otherwise, she'd said- had garnered enough attention that questions and gossip had started cropping up. People were wondering about the identity of the anonymous benefactors who'd endowed Saving Antiquities For Everyone with the resources to open the facility. Not even the board knows, never mind the curators, office admins, or the host of couriers who made the drop-offs; these last only rarely knew what they were handing over.
Just to be sure, though, Alec writes himself a reminder to crosscheck the shipping and bike messenger company rosters again. The last thing they needed was some kid remembering the face of the woman who dropped a suspect package up when Interpol came pounding at their dispatch office.
Setting the reminder for later tonight, Alec glances up again, watches another batch of kids clambering onto the wildly colored horses. There's another guy, standing with his hands in his pockets, looking far too interested. The nearby policewoman's already noticed, though, she's got her eye on him, but still. Compared to what Parker's doing, Alec's afternoon is starting to feel distinctly seedy.
He fires off a reply to Parker and checks the time. It's 2:37. He'll give Ms. Ramey another three minutes, but then he's gone. Jillian Ramey isn't the only person needing his help these days.
---
Alec can hear the thrash metal blaring the moment he steps out of the elevator, but Maria's already spotted him on the camera feed, and it's shut off by the time he reaches the door.
"You know you don't need to go offline like that," Maria chides him, pulling her streaked curls back into something resembling a ponytail. "It's not like you don't tell us everything they say thirty minutes later anyway."
"Doesn't feel right. They think they're only talking to me, I don't want to lie to them."
She's about to go off about how hard it is to run remote security when access is blocked- as if he didn't already know- so he derails the usual conversation before it starts, and sets her tracker, which he'd found stuck under his collar, next to her laptop. "Y'all are getting better, though, Had to break out the RFID reader to find it on the way back."
Pocketing it, Maria beams shamelessly. Alec doesn't know is if it's going to next appear shoved between the seats in his car, stuck underneath his watch, or sewn inside the seam of his jeans- and he's still trying to figure out how Ravi had pulled that one off- but he knows that he'll be bugged again within the next twenty four hours, maybe the next four. Ravi's on his way over already. He'll probably have it out of Maria's pocket and hidden again on Alec's person before he's even raided the fridge.
Of course, Maria doesn't seem to be making it too hard for him to pick her pockets these days. If they're not together already, they will be soon. Alec hopes it works out. Hackers aren't too hard to come by- most of them suck, but at least they exist- but pickpocketing had been a dying art when Parker had gotten started, and if she hadn't pointed Ravi his way, they'd all be screwed.
Besides. Just 'cause it didn't work out with him and Parker doesn't mean it won't work out for Ravi and Maria.
He's just getting around to asking after Jason when he hears his footsteps stomping up the stairs. At six foot five and two hundred and fifty pounds, stealth isn't his strong point, though he can ghost with the best of them when he needs to.
Right now, though, there's no need. He's throwing himself down in the chair across from Maria and glaring at Alec. "You were followed. Again."
"What?"
"Long blondish hair, maybe light brown. Aviator shades. I didn't get a good look, so I don't know if she was as hot as that last one." he smirks, obviously remembering Sophie's last surprise visit. "Silver Charger with Jersey plates. Took off when I pulled up, and I'm not sure, but it might've been the one that was parked next to you down at the park."
It's the sort of thing he could do with his eyes closed, but Maria's already asking for the license plate number, which Jason's already handing her on a scrap of paper. Alec's fingers flex uselessly. It's been a while since he's done a proper hack job.
"Stolen this morning," she confirms a moment later, her face worried as she looks up again.
Jason's nodding emphatically at Alec. "And that is why we're all supposed to wear our damned trackers. Even you, boss man."
Alec blinks at the lecturing tone, but lets it go. It's not worth explaining that anyone seriously gunning for him- for any of them- would probably have their shit together enough that they wouldn't be resorting to tailing him through Manhattan traffic.
"We'll deal with it when there's something to deal with," he says instead, glancing around. They're still one short. "Right now, I want to know where Ravi is. I swear, if he's showin' off down on the corner with his magic tricks again, I'm gonna put a leash on that kid."
---
If Nate hasn't gone off the rails already, Alec realizes, he's due. Possibly because Eliot's about ready to shove him right over.
They're so close to losing this one. The Retzings are going to get away with it. They're going to have to pull out, tell the client their house is gone, that there's nothing they could do because none of them can come up with anything better than Nate's drunken jackassery.
Alec's ready to let Eliot deck Nate. Hell, he'd hold him down himself, if Eliot so obviously didn't need it. Sophie, though, she's stepping between them. Eliot, Parker and Alec are being dismissed, because Mom and Dad need to fight in private. The kids wait in the hallway, exchanging wary glances and not speaking, though Parker's got her ear to the door. Maybe she can hear Sophie's part of the conversation, but Nate's loud voice bleeds through easily enough that they can all hear.
"What're we going to do?" Parker murmurs, her eyes fixed on some vague point a few feet in front of her, but Eliot's not talking, and really, this probably isn't his area of expertise.
It's Alec's. They've been playing this by Nate's rules, but his are not the only ones in town. Alec's got enough access and information that he could destroy the Retzings with a few quick keystrokes. It wouldn't be half as poetic as what Nate or Sophie would come up with, not as explosively insane as what Parker or Eliot would do, but the Retzing clan would be down for the count.
He considers the angles, runs the numbers and probabilities in his head. His fingers itch for a keyboard.
He's got a plan. It's so damned easy, and he's sure they'll run with it, but Parker's backing and away from the door suddenly, and it's swinging open, and Alec's missed his shot. Nate's got another plan, it's insane, reckless, but Sophie's mollified. It's bringing the others on board. Alec can keep his plans to himself. For now.
It's the first time he's thought about running his own game. His own crew. It's not the last.
---
Alec's just finished prepping the briefing files when Ravi slips in through the door, swearing like he always does that he'd run into the mailman and hadn't actually broken into the box before handing him two envelopes. More shit that needs to be filed to keep Maria's alias' NSA clearance in order, and the utility report for the property down in Boston. Ravi's holding something back, though, pulling it out of his obnoxiously tailored jacket and flipping it over nimble fingers.
"You got a postcard."
For an instant, Alec's heart stutters to a full and complete stop, the hope's hitting so hard. Reaching out for it, already trying to see the image on the front, the postmark on the back, but by the time it's in his hand, the moment of obscene hope's been crushed.
Parker sent it a few days ago, and it's got a picture of Quinta de Olivos in Beunos Aires on the front. The scrawl on the back is actually what he should've been expecting from the start. Peron's tunnels were more extensive than they show on the tour, but the security in the gallery was almost minimal. It was actually almost boring, but Sophie would've loved it.
It's exactly what he should've been expecting from the start, instead of that weird flash of anticipation shooting up his spine, hoping for something else. The team's still watching him, though he's not sure he's been caught out. He mentally shakes himself, shoves the card in his pocket, and brings up their new job on the computer. "Right on. But now that we're all here, we've got this."
He flips to the next screen, watches their three faces as they realize what they're looking at: security camera footage of four dead bodies laid on the edge of a dock. Another woman being dragged out of the water. The next shot reveals the back of a shipping container opening and the bodies being crammed in with fifteen other- still breathing- women.
"Human trafficking," Ravi guesses with disgust. "Wonderful."
Jason's examining the image, frowning. "So the client. Is she one of the ones in the truck?"
"Not this truck, though apparently it's how she came in. She's been in New York for about eight years, and runs a non-profit that helps these women out. It's hard going, since they're not exactly jumping at the chance to talk to her, since half of them thinks that she works for immigration."
"She doesn't?"
"She consults with several agencies, mostly off the books. She's naturalized now, but according to her, it took so much bribery to get that far that she thinks her name getting dragged through it will only hurt the cause. And she's probably right."
"So why come to us now?"
"She's done a lot of the groundwork trying to make a case to bring to her lawyers, but the lawyers have backed out because of politics."
Maria's already getting angry. Another minute and she'll explode. "You're telling me that there's some partisan bullshit involved here?"
"Ah, no. It's just the names that she's bumped into." Alec clicks forward to the next frame, keeping his eyes on the crew to register the surprise on their faces, but there's nothing but confusion. Glancing back to confirm that he'd put the right picture up, he shakes his head in disappointment. "Don't any of you read the news?"
Ravi's the only one to flip him off, but Maria has the sense to look mollifyingly shamefaced.
Alec tries again. "Lucas Ferrara?"
More blank stares. Jason's sneering at the picture, unimpressed with Ferrara's pressed polo shirt, khakis and loafers. His greased back hair does little to increase the severity of the image, but that's what Alec gets for using a shot from a charity golf tournament. He might not be immediately dangerous, but he's powerful, and that can be so much worse.
He gives them the big picture. "Import king of Staten Island? Runs nearly everything going through Howland Hook? Brother of Senator Alexander Ferrara?"
Finally Maria groans in recognition. The senator, she's heard of. "Right. Alexander Ferrara made his run at office after that police brutality case three years back that he prosecuted. The cops are terrified of him; it's no wonder the lawyers washed their hands of it. You think the senator's in on it with his brother?"
"That's one of the things we're gonna have to figure out. But even if he's not, we spook the senator? We're toast." Clicking ahead, Alec moves to the next slide. "This guy here is Ben Fletcher, and where Ferrara goes, he goes. Associate, assistant, henchman, it's hard to say. "
"Definitely not the muscle, though," Jason smirks, wrinkling his nose. "Guy's a beanpole with goggles."
Maria's only half listening, already at work tracking Ferrara's movements. "Ferrara's passport was dinged in Rome, and again coming in through Kennedy this morning, but it doesn't look like Fletcher's with him." Right on cue, she starts muttering to herself. When she can't have her music, she makes her own noise. "Okay, going to start looking for aliases, just to be sure, but... maybe he's not on the same flight. A different one? Maybe he's on the boat? That would make sense, given the situation..."
"All right," Alec says, knowing that she's off and that she'll hit him up when she's got something. "I'm going to go check out the senator, see if he's just related or actually involved. Maria, I know you're doin' your thing, but if you can find out when they're actually moving the women? That would be extremely helpful." This time, at least, she nods to show she's heard. Either that or Alec's deluding himself that he has any control over the situation whatsoever.
"Ravi? I'm thinking we're going to need to get the car out of storage and brought 'round." There's a dangerously enthusiastic glint in Ravi's eyes as he stands up, smoothing his suit, habitually checking to make sure he's got his picks on him, though he already know where the keys are. "And remember, you pull anything hinky on the side, I'm not bailing your ass out."
Jason's got one hand hooked into the belt loop of his jeans; the other's rubbing at the stubble on his head as he waits patiently for his orders.
"Alright. Wanna get you in down at the shipyard, so it looks like you're going to get a job. Can't remember what we've got set up for you. Do any of your ID's have a few misdemeanors on 'em? Maybe a little jail time, but nothing serious?"
Jason's already standing up. "Only my real one. Might as well put it to use."
---
Upstairs in his apartment, Alec's going through the mail. The postcard, he hangs on the refrigerator, slamming the magnet into place with a little more force than is absolutely necessary.
It's stupid to be this disappointed. This had passed beyond pathetic months ago. It's been over three years since he's gotten word from Eliot.
There'd been nothing written but "Happy Birthday" and Alec's address on the back, so there'd been no harm in framing it and putting it on the shelf next to the other pictures: Nana in her garden, Sophie, Mona and Nate standing at the foot of the Golden Gate Bridge, and the picture of the bay Parker had taken from the top of it a year later. She'd apparently been hanging upside down from her rig when she'd taken it; even so, it's a good shot.
Better, at least, than the night skyline on Eliot's postcard. The camera angle's just off enough that's the tilt's only realized after hours and hours of staring. Either the photographer should've used either a longer exposure, stretched the headlights and taillights into solid streaks, or a shorter one, eradicating the blur entirely. On the whole, it's become a furiously annoying image.
But aesthetics aren't the point; they never have been. Eliot had mailed it from Toronto, two days before it arrived in Manhattan. In time and space, as far as Alec knows, it's the closest he's been in five years. It's the only real evidence that he'd ever existed.
---
Alec fires off a text to Parker- got your card, having fun?- as he forces himself to contemplate making something for dinner. The greens he'd bought in a moment of delusion are unsurprisingly wilted and soggy, and he throws them in the trash, and the pork chops in the freezer would need to be thawed. It's as good an excuse as any to order takeout instead.
His phone vibrates, and maybe it's Parker calling, maybe she's in on of her social moods, but it stops as quickly as it starts. Just a text message, then.
ur welcome.
He's not feeling all that sociable himself, anyway.
---
"You're from the Post, right? The new guy?"
"Yes sir," Alec shakes the Senator's hand, deliberately overenthusiastic, every bit the eager journalist working his first big story. "And I really appreciate you taking the time this afternoon to talk to me, especially on such late notice. I'll try and make this quick."
"Well, your editor said that you wanted to talk to me before going to print with your story, and believe me, when I get a call from an editor saying they want to call in a favor, I'm just relieved when it's not comments on some sort of lurid sex scandal." Senator Ferrara fixes him with a wary stare. "But I am curious. She told me you're doing a follow up on 4301?"
"I'm trying to straighten out some conflicting information." Alec glances down at his notes- really nothing more than a list of votes and committees, but more importantly, it's a list of every project Ferrara's committees have signed off on. Some of them are huge. There are fifteen that have swayed state budgets, and several with national implications. Eight of them directly involve Homeland Security, and of these, three seemed tied together under something called Project Scrutiny.
What he's actually got, though, is tiny. Just Ferrara's signature on a line, amongst other signatures on other lines. A slight modification in permitting. An update. It wasn't even big enough to make the front page of the papers when it went through.
"S4301-2009. Port security." Alec hands over a printout to help refresh the Senator's memory. "The upgrades your committee suggested were enacted eighteen months ago."
"Ah, yes." The Senator frowns, scanning over it, but there's a tightening in his jaw. It's clear that he doesn't need the reminder. "This was…yes, here it is. In response to updates in Federal guidelines regarding the PATRIOT Act. Streamlining and solidifying the inspection documentation on all shipments coming in through our ports. Rather than having foreign inspectors uploading their findings in one file and our domestic inspectors uploading theirs in a second file, we combined them into a single set of documents. It's started at the overseas port and finished domestically, then uploaded."
Alec nods. "Okay, so it removes duplicate information, I can see that, but doesn't it also remove a layer of security?"
"Actually, quite the opposite." Ferrara leans back in his chair and frowns. "And as I'm going on record, here, I would appreciate if you tread carefully. There's nothing underhanded about it, but it might be misconstrued, if taken out of context."
Alec nods. Of course.
"Many areas we do business with just don't have the technological interface to keep up with our systems, and data kept getting lost. With these modifications, the information now comes in with the ship, and is immediately on hand for our inspectors at the port. It's all in the committee transcripts, but we didn't want to leave it in the final signed copy, in case someone found the reality a little bit rude."
"I see." Alec needs to shift the Senator's curiosity here. Move it onto himself, rather than his questions. He nods to himself and scowls, making a show of thinking it over for a moment. Toying with his pen, he drops it on the floor and picks it up. Straightening in his chair again, he nods, feigns understanding and a shade of disappointment. "Okay, good. Well. Some of my sources had me running in a slightly different direction."
"How so?"
"Down at the docks, there's been some question as to why there's only one set of signatures on the shipments they've been seeing for the past few months." He frowns. "I mean, this way of doing things makes a lot more sense. But there's no real story in it. It's just looking more like my sources just didn't actually read their protocol update memos, you know? I guess that's what I get for trying to build my stories from the ground up." He stands, extends a hand. "Thank you very much. You just saved me from completely killing my career before my third byline."
"That's no problem at all," the Senator stands, offers Alec his hand; they shake. "I'd rather spend five minutes with one journalist than five months with thousands, especially over something that wasn't news in the first place."
---
The bug is still stuck to the underside of Senator Ferrara's desk.
Alec brings the feed up on the comms channel and listens in as he drives home. There are no terse phone calls to his brother, nobody's called into a quick, nervous meeting. Either Ferrara's confident that Alec's missed the point entirely, or he's confident that he has nothing to hide.
But Alec hasn't missed a thing. The stateside inspectors are, effectively, the only ones signing off on the shipments, and they have access to create or destroy any information they want.
Ravi's got the car out of storage and stashed in Alec's garage, so he's got to cruise around for an extra ten minutes just to find parking. He's finally pulling in to a space down the block when there's a faint ringing noise. It's the Senator's phone, through the bug.
"Hey darling," he says, voice calm and relaxed. "No, it's been today, the vote's been pushed out a week and I'm up to my eyeballs in paperwork." A scuffling sound, like the chair being pulled out. "Nothing interesting. Journalist came by to look into a weird case though... yeah, you remember S4301? No? No reason you should. Shipping. Boring security upgrade stuff. Think the poor bastard must've pissed off his editors or something...yeah. No, I'll be home around eight, finish the rest of this at home." His wife, apparently, is still talking, but nothing Alec's heard so far is enough to make him wish he'd managed to tap the phone, too.
The next words catch his attention. "Lucas?" The Senator sighs, listening. "No, I'm not canceling our first date in months just so we can sit around listening to his vitriolic idiocy for another unending evening. Did that last Christmas, my duty's done for the year. Friday night, you, me, dinner and a show. He can kiss my ass. Yeah... Love you too."
The call ends, and it's making him feel homesick. He sits in the car for a moment, watching the traffic go by. Up in the office, he's got people waiting. It's not like he's heading back to an empty house to stare at the television in the dark. That'll come later, once they're done for the night and he's staggering up the stairs to his apartment.
It's not important. He'll leave the bug up, check out the Senator's cell and email later tonight, on the off chance. But it looks like, for once, the politician in the equation is clean.
It's a good thing. Makes his life easier. He doesn't need to be bummed out. Really.
---
"Okay, guys," Alec's call for attention doesn't work nearly as well as killing Maria's industrial noise does. "I was up until midnight combing through the Senator's life again, and the only thing I know for certain is that there's not much love between the brothers Ferrara. I don't think he's in on it. Where are we at with everything else?"
He's not the only one still rubbing sleep from his eyes. Jason's come straight from his overnight shift at the docks- never let it be said that their HR office can't keep up the pace- and looks like he's about to fall asleep in his chair. "Boat's due tonight. Quarter after ten long as the weather holds."
"I planted a tracker on Ferrara's car last night." It's early enough for Ravi, too, that the Bengali accent's coming through. It'll be gone again by noon, though why he's been making such a study of masking it is anyone's guess. "I put a tail on him for a time, just to be sure. He's been all over the city, hasn't stopped anywhere for long, but it seems that he may be going to the ground for the day."
"All right," Alec nods, transferring the data from Ravi's tracker to it's own layer of the map. Nothing much out of the ordinary, and there's a fifty-fifty shot that the side-trip into Williamsburg is because of the construction on the Midtown tunnel. The warehouse in Queens, though, Ferrara'd had to backtrack to get there. He's stopped in three times, last arriving an hour and a half ago."
"It's definitely a safe house," Maria calls as she comes out of the kitchen.. "Bank owns the building right now, there are three different developers trying to get their hands on it. In the meantime, it's just sitting vacant."
"The power has been cut, but I saw him and some other who we don't know dragging a generator inside. They're running... off of the grid." Ravi adds. "If I were to stash a few dozen women for a few days, I would do it there."
"Which means the deal's not going down on the ship," Alec grins. It's one less thing to worry about. "We might actually have some lead time on this."
"So what's the plan for tonight?" Jason's exhausted, cranky, but it hasn't boiled over yet. The coffee cup Maria's sliding in front of him seems to be keeping it at bay, but they've got to get a move on so he can crash out, get some sleep.
"We spook the hell out of them, get them to change up the play, give us time to get ahead of them. Nothing could be simpler."
Ravi shrugs. "What happens when they decide to start shooting at us?"
Jason raises his coffee and smirks. "I do."
Alec shakes his head. Hitters, man. Don't matter who they are, where they're from, it's always the same damn ego. "And by that, you mean step back and let the police handle it, right?"
Across the table, Ravi's going into his pocket for something. Maybe his deck of cards, hopefully not the picks. Alec has no idea what's left in the building that he hasn't broken into yet, but it's still another reason to get them their assignments and get them out of here, quick.
"Uh. Sure. Right. Whatever," Jason underscores it all with a yawn. "Let me guess. Ravi in the squad car again?"
"Nope. Turns out we get to save ourself a little running around this time. I'm bringing backup in on this one, you remember-"
Maria's computer starts chirping- it's found something- and three seconds later Alec's phone is vibrating. Checking the display just confirms it.
Huh.
He swings over to the computer to confirm. When predicting human behavior there's no such thing as a definite hit, but at 87.82 percent this one's as close as they're likely to get. It's time they got moving.
"Hey, Ravi? Are you as bored as you look?"
"Very much so."
"Excellent. I need a ride."
----
Alec has Ravi wait outside with the bike, and rushes into the airport with five minutes to spare. He gets as close to the terminal as he can without going through security, setting himself up along the far wall. There are half a dozen other people here, grandmas and guys in suits and kids all waiting in various states of anticipation, and it's easy to bleed into the background.
He's got his head down over his newspaper, but he doesn't have long to wait. After only a few minutes, he spots Fletcher going past, heading towards the baggage claim. Alec forces himself to wait ten seconds before checking his watch, acting startled in case anyone's looking, and following after him.
He's pulled the trick a thousand times before; airports are always the easiest place to pin a tail on someone. Nobody ever looks twice at anybody once they've cleared security, trusting enough in their x-rayed shoes to let their guard down; coming off an international flight, everyone's so groggy they can't see straight.
This time, though, something's feeling wrong. He's catching himself glancing around every twenty seconds, searching for the eyes he thinks are boring into him, or someone swiveling suddenly to head off in a different direction. He's checking reflections in the windows, but he's not seeing anything.
It feels like he's missing something.
Lurking next to the coffee shop, Alec considers aborting the tail as he watches Fletcher wait for his luggage. It still feels like there's something crawling up his neck and in a moment, Ravi's going to have this, anyway.
The bags are just starting to come down onto the conveyer belt when Fletcher's cell rings, and whatever's being said sets the skinny man into motion again. He suddenly takes off, straight off and quick, heading for the exit, no thought for his bags.
This is Ravi's chase, now, and Alec passes the info along as he swings into the coffee shop and orders a latte that he doesn't feel like drinking. Just in case it's enough to shake the eyes he's not honestly sure are on him.
"I've got him," Ravi's voice vibrating and slightly muffled the same way it always in when he's using the mic in his motorcycle helmet. The accent's gone, though, completely. He's awake and on the move.
"Be careful. Not sure he's the only one with a tail," Alec mutters underneath the hiss of the espresso machine.
When he turns around, though, the baggage claim looks the same as it always does. The feeling's passed. And he's got an appointment to keep, anyway.
---
"It's so good to see you!" Tara exclaims, hopping out of the cab to hug him. "I wasn't sure that was you leaving the park the other day."
"Silver Charger? Jersey Plates?"
Tara blinks in surprise as she steps back to look at him. "Showoff."
"Yeah, well. I don't like to brag, but-"
"You love to brag." She leans back and pays the cabbie. Her hair's a bit darker than he remembers- she's dyed it recently- but her shoulder's a little bit sunburned.
"You look good," he says, watching the cab pull off. "You see Parker when you were down in Rio?"
"Helped her liberate that Babylonian tablet from an investment banker who wasn't nearly as charming as he thought he was. Hit town a few days back. Just made the drop on the way over."
Parker's been adamant about using bike messengers whenever she's returning any of the looted artifacts. "Bold move," he says, opening the door to the cafe. "You didn't have it couriered over?"
"Did it myself," she's flirting again; she probably never really stops. "Spandex works very well underneath most clothing, you know."
He wants to ask her where she got the bike from, and what she'd done with it when she'd finished, but it's beside the point. "Just don't let Ravi hear you saying that, we'll be trying to put his eyeballs back in his head all day and we're gonna need him tonight."
Tara pulls a comical face, looking over her shoulder as they take their seats, clearly remembering the last time she'd been in town. "He's not joining us, is he?"
"Getting ready for tonight. I'll call them in a few hours," he says, flipping open the menu. He doesn't bother explaining that Ravi's attention's lying elsewhere these days. It's none of his business, and it's not Tara's, either. He's trying to decide between the burger and the club sandwich when he realizes that Tara's looking quizzically across the table at him. "What?"
"Nothing," she frowns, shaking her head. "Day of the job, just would've expected them to be hanging out. You know."
He does. Nate's crew, back in the day. They'd more or less moved into Nate's apartment- hell, Alec still owns the building in Boston; it's useful, once in a while- but that had been the entire problem, then. And damn Tara for bringing it up before they've even got their drinks. Thankfully, though, she's already picked up on his annoyance and is perusing her menu. "Don't worry. It's not a critique. So Maria and Ravi are still with you, and Jerry retired. What number are you on now?"
"Jason? He's solid." He starts counting off the guys Jason's replaced on his fingers. "No gang ties, no bailing on us in the middle of a job, no double-crosses. And he's still got an ego, thinks he's the Terminator or something, but it's nowhere near as bad as Omar was."
He's holding up five digits, now, feeling a little guilty about what he says next. "And he's not too old to handle it." Jerry had been with them for nearly two years, the longest any of their hitters had made it, and Alec had never blamed him for the broken arm, but Jerry'd been resolute, even going so far as to recruit Jason before he left. It's been a while since Alec's met him for beers, but he's gotten used to feeling homesick for people. Even Tara, who's been drifting in and out as much as anyone, these days. As much as she's always done.
They make small talk, catch up. She hadn't made it out to Nate and Sophie's for the holidays, but she'd gone out to visit in February. She finishes the story about the Babylonian tablet and Alec talks her through the dirty rental agency they'd taken out last winter in Boston.
"You go to McRory's while you were down there?"
"Yeah. Jason's got a thing for Cora, I think, but I ain't asking." It's a bad move, and he realizes his mistake the moment he's saying it. Tara strikes fast and hard.
"What about you? Are you seeing anyone?" She's been talking with Sophie. Or hell, maybe it's become such a normal thing, now, that it's not even worth talking about.
"Nothing serious, and not for a while now." I've seen you three times since my last drunken hookup and you know it. "Been busy, you know how it is. How about you?"
"Nothing serious, and not for days now." Her grin's genuine, but Alec can't help wondering if it's a front, just for a moment. If she's got someone she thinks about too much. He doubts it, though. She's not the type to get hung up on a half-decade old near miss.
---
...68 Bingham Street. 020-7153-9072. 8 Rio Vista Avenue. 505-273-2735.
Eliot's off his game and he knows it, but he's heading down to the docks on time anyway to get the lay of the land. Ferrara and the others are going to be here in a while, and they're going to do this thing, and there are still a thousand things that could go wrong.
Not least of which is the fact that he'd caught sight of Hardison at the airport. At first, Eliot had been content to duck around a corner and curse his luck- it was the last kind of coincidence he'd wanted, and the exact kind he'd been dreading- but a second scan of the terminal had shown him that Hardison hadn't been there for him.
'Course not.
He had, however, been there for Fletcher, trailing him as far the baggage claim before dropping off. He'd probably had someone else waiting outside to pick up the tail.
Part of him- the part he's created and maintained so carefully for two years now- wants to tell Ferrara everything, but it's not going to happen. It'll only lead to questions that Eliot can't answer.
Like, for instance, what is Hardison doing here? Does he know about the job? What is his angle? Is this going to be a problem? And who the hell is Hardison, anyway?
Because honestly? Eliot doesn't even know. He hasn't for years, now.
---
"Yo," Hardison strides into the kitchen, tosses his empty bottle into the recycling. "No way in hell I could ever imagine getting married, I mean, it's just a piece of paper." After that scene with Nate's diatribe and Sophie's reaction, it's not too strange a conversation, but it still feels like it's coming out of nowhere, and Hardison's taking his lack of response to mean something more than it is. "I take it you never been married?"
"No," Eliot takes a bite out of his apple.
"Ever come close?" As if it's any of his business.
"No."
"What was her name?" He's grinning like he already knows the answer- Aimee- and Eliot hates that he's not wrong.
He snorts. Whatever. It's not like it matters, anyway. Aimee was a long time ago, hell, they'd just been stupid kids- and he knows they both dodged a bullet on that one. Twice now. But it had been nice, for a while there. Nostalgic, maybe. She'd been the last person in the world he'd been totally honest with, and the first he'd lied to. Even before he'd been ordered to.
"It was a girl I grew up with, but…anyway, she married somebody else, so…"
"Hot damn!" It's strange that the shock and near-offense coming from the geek's makes him want to grin. "What did you do?"
"What did I do?" Honestly, he has to think for a minute. 1990. He'd still been in the service, then, just barely. Hadn't even given up his name yet. "I liberated Croatia," he says, because it's close enough to the truth, and it's not like he's going to tell him about going out the night before, getting drunk in Zagreb, and fucking her out of his head with some lieutenant whose name he'd never gotten.
"Well see now me, I would've just got fat, started up a comic book shop-"
He's still talking, but Eliot's gone before he can finish.
---
Moscone's daughter's wedding nearly falls apart- thanks in part to the Butcher of Kiev showing up, completely alive despite Eliot's previous best efforts, but they pull it off. Barely. Afterwards, he's wired, and though he's been cooking all day, Sophie's idea sounds great, at least up until she's letting him into the restaurant's kitchen.
"You lied to Hardison," she says, flipping on the lights.
It probably takes him too long to guess at what she's talking about. "Wait. You heard us talking?"
"I did." There's not even a hint of apology in her tone, which doesn't exactly make him want to start in on anything. He just wants to get the sauce going, get the garlic roasting, get these onions chopped.
"Doesn't matter."
"So why bother hiding it?" She sets to rinsing the basil off, and Eliot's surprised. It's oddly domestic of her. But she won't let him use it as a distraction. "There's a story there, isn't there?" She's barely trying to play him, being so direct.
"Got a lot of stories."
"Which you never tell anyone," Sophie nods.
"Probably 'cause nobody needs to know 'em." He picks up the knife, starts dicing the onions. Again.
"I'm sorry, but that hardly makes you unique, here," she jokes, but backs off quickly. It's clear that she can't just turn it off, can't stop mining for information, can't stop the curiosity, but she's trying.
Still, both conversations irk him, for some reason. They sit under his skin for days. It's one thing for Sophie to be asking things like that. She lives for that sort of thing, and personal details are how she makes her living. Hardison, though?
It's just irritating.
---
The papers Fletcher gave him are enough to get Eliot through the shipyard's security checkpoint, but the gates closing behind him sound like prison bars.
He's got about an hour before the shift change, it's more than enough time to get the lay of the land and find a place to wait and think. Because he's stopped kidding himself. Hardison's near. This is his town, now, and he's probably still working out of that same place they'd set up on that MoMA job. Worse, he has to be planning something, and whatever his intentions are, it's only going to lead to complications.
It takes him half an hour to convince himself to dig out his cell and dial Hardison's number, and only two seconds to stop himself from dialing. Digging the hole any deeper will only make things worse.
He really ought to call Ferrara, though, but he knows where it'll lead. He'll just stay on his toes.
In a few hours, he'll pull himself together. He'll do his job, and make sure the transfer goes down according to plan. Until then, he'll lay low, wait for Ferrara's call, and strip down the Beretta. The magazine release's been sticking for a few days now A cleaning's long overdue.
Chapter 2