Fic: Tides (Mag7:ATF/Riptide, NC-17, Chris/Vin, Nick/Cody/Murray) (Part 1 of 3)
Title: Tides
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17, FRAO, No Pants
Fandoms: Magnificent Seven:ATF, Riptide
Pairing: Chris/Vin (first time), Nick/Cody/Murray (established relationship)
Word Count: about 27,000
Feedback: sara_merry99 @ livejournal.com, any and all feedback welcome
Summary: Team Seven tackles a case that takes them from Denver to a boat off the coast of Los Angeles where they're assisted by the Riptide Detective Agency. Both teams have to overcome their reluctance to work with others to save a hostage, solve a crime and bring some gun runners to justice. During the course of the case, Chris and Vin find that there's a deeper level of connection between them than they thought.
Author's Note: While this story is a crossover between the ATF AU of The Magnificent Seven and the 1980s detective show Riptide, I wrote it so that it was primarily oriented toward a Magnficent Seven fan audience. It is set in the "present" of the ATF AU (late 1990s/early 2000s) and fifteen years into the future of the Riptide characters. If you want more information about them, you can find it here.
Disclaimer: The guys aren't mine. Darn it. They'd be much happier if they were. Many many thanks to Mog for the ATF AU, there are no words for the amount of joy I've gotten from her brainchild.
Betas: Catyah and Arouette were hugely encouraging, from the first word all the way through to the last. Farad made lots of things better, most dramatically the action sequence. And sassyinkpen did a final beta. Thanks to all of y'all!
"I see Carasco, boys," Vin Tanner said, speaking softly into the headset microphone that kept him in touch with his teammates. He watched the nighttime meeting from his perch on a dockside warehouse roof and wished they'd had time to find him a position that afforded him clearer lines of sight. "He's got five guys with him. Another two are approaching from the south, looks like they're coming from the pier."
Down below, their target, gun runner Victor Carasco, greeted one of the other men that walked up. They met with a handshake that ended in a friendly, shoulder-slapping hug. A laugh floated up to the roof. "Don't seem like a business deal going down, though," Vin said.
"Get a picture of the man he's talking to, JD," Chris said, directing his team from his position around a corner and out of sight of the action.
Vin took a deep breath, steadying his pulse and his hands. Team Seven hadn't had much of a chance to plan or prepare this operation, so they were making do with what they'd been able to work out on the fly. Vin's position allowed him to keep an eye on Carasco and his men and two of his ATF teammates, Buck and JD. Josiah and Ezra were their emergency backup plan, waiting in the wings. Nathan and Chris were at opposite ends of the building, out of sight. On their own.
Vin hated the deployment, but had just nodded and climbed up to the roof without another word. Chris could take care of himself, so could Nathan, hell they all could, but Vin preferred it when he could watch his teammates' backs. Especially Chris's.
"Got it already," JD said. "I'm going to circle around and see if I can get a better angle though. Why can't these meetings ever happen in good lighting?"
Vin glanced over to where he could barely make out JD, who was nothing more than a thickness in the shadows, moving slowly along between a pile of crates and the wall. A flicker of movement and a bit of lightness out of place caught his eye and he hissed into the wire, "JD, freeze." The shadow that was JD stopped moving.
"What is it Vin?" Chris asked. From his position he could see along the pier, but not into the alley where the action was happening.
"Three more people coming in, from the north," Vin said, watching them carefully. The three men were dressed all in black and wore watch caps and sunglasses. They kept to the shadows and had a watchful eye in all directions as they crept slowly forward. "Don't look like they were invited to the party."
"Guns?" The question was just a breath and Vin hoped that JD hadn't taken the risk of asking. He was only a few feet away from them, separated by only the darkness and a low stack of crates.
Vin watched for a second more. He saw a flash of metal in one hand, maybe a tell-tale shadow in another, but it was hard to be certain. "Looks like, can't quite tell."
"Damn it, Travis said the FBI were letting us take the lead on this one. If those are Feebs, I'll have their hides," Chris said, anger in his voice.
Vin watched as one of the men, tall, skinny and leggy as a newborn colt, tripped over something and almost fell into a patch of light visible from where Carasco's friend stood. One of the others caught him and pulled him into the shadows behind a stack of pallets. "They don't look like no agents I've ever seen," Vin said.
His only response was silence, though Vin could fill in the cursing that Chris wasn't sharing through the wire. With unknowns on the scene they couldn't risk unnecessary chatter. The three men circled around, keeping between the crates and the wall, heading not toward Carasco and his contact but toward the waterfront. He relayed that information to the others.
"I'll keep an eye on them," Chris said, his position the only one with a view of the waterfront.
Vin grunted and turned his attention back to Carasco. Just in time too. "Boys, we're definitely in the right place. It's them crates again." He counted the crates on the loaded carts Carasco's men were pushing, then said, "All 20 of them are here."
"Imported china, my ass," Buck said.
A hum of excitement ran down Vin's spine. Those crates, labeled "Fine China Imports--Fragile", held high-tech weapons, misdirected from an Army shipment. Team Seven of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms had been following them for two weeks, tracking them as they passed from the soldier who'd signed the falsified paperwork, through a series of middlemen, to Victor Carasco, a low-end broker. With Carasco and the crates in one location, they could make an arrest, but the Bureau wanted Carasco's buyer far more than they wanted the broker himself.
Carasco and his friend, laughing and talking like this was a family reunion not a gun deal, walked toward the waterfront, five men pushing loaded dolleys following along behind.
"They're moving toward the waterfront, watch yourself Chris. I'm going to find a position at that end of the roof," Vin whispered, taking up his rifle and running along the warehouse roof far enough back from the edge that he wouldn't cast a telltale shadow.
Vin found himself a good position in the shadow of an HVAC unit where he was able to see all of Carasco's men. He first located Chris behind one of the big pillars used to tie up the cargo ships. Chris was way too close to the action for Vin's comfort, but there wasn't a lot he could do about it. Buck and JD found a position together in the shelter of a doorway, and Nathan darted behind an empty shipping container.
The cluster of men and dolleys walked out onto the relatively well lit pier, near a large, sleek yacht. It was bigger than any boat Vin'd seen, but against the scale of the warehouse it still looked tiny. A man on the boat extended a ramp from the boat to the pier just as Carasco and his friend arrived. When he bent over to adjust it, Vin saw a holstered gun at his hip. They'd expected the men to be armed, though there was no sign of tension between the two groups. Apparently Carasco and his contact weren't expecting trouble. Either of them.
"Chris, where'd those three unknowns go?" Vin asked, scanning the shadows for them.
"They turned right onto the pier, but I lost them when I had to move," Chris said.
"Crap," Vin swore, when he spotted the three men, darkness layered in darkness. "Chris, they're hard by the front of the boat. Twenty feet from your position."
Chris popped his head out of the shadow that protected him to look around, his golden hair shining in the orange security lights. Vin turned his eye, and his sights, back to Carasco and his men. If they spotted Chris and raised an alarm he'd need to act before anyone got hurt.
Carasco shouted and pointed in Chris's direction, and Vin slowed his breath, focusing on controlling his pulse and finding the shot that would protect Chris. A shot was fired from the deck of the boat and three of Carasco's men drew their weapons and ran toward the commotion. Vin, forcing his voice as steady as his hands, said, "Chris?"
"Not me," came Chris's familiar voice. Vin took a breath then released it slowly. He looked away from Carasco and saw the three unknowns exposed in the beam of a searchlight from the boat's deck.
Vin adjusted his position, taking aim on one of Carasco's men. If they had to reveal themselves to keep the three men, now being shouted at in a broken mix of Spanish and English, from getting killed, they would, of course, arresting Carasco and seizing the guns, but then they'd lose their chance at the buyer. The intruders'd be spending several years in prison for interfering with a Federal investigation. And they'd have to face down Larabee's anger, which Vin reckoned was probably a worse fate.
"Ezra, Josiah, we need you to extract the three unknowns. Now," Chris said. Vin breathed a little easier as Chris shifted into a more sheltered position, behind a low stack of crates, taking advantage of the distraction the unknowns were providing.
There was no direct response to his words, but Vin saw Ezra and Josiah, dressed in the uniform of the harbor's security guards, come trotting down the pier, holding onto their night sticks like all beat cops everywhere. Josiah ordered the three men to turn around and put their hands up, while Ezra stepped forward to talk to Carasco's men.
From his vantage point, Vin could only hear a few of the words, but within just a few minutes the three men were being escorted off the pier in handcuffs and Carasco and the wooden crates were loaded onto the boat, La Estrella de Mar. Vin held his position until he heard from Chris that the rest of the team were all back at the van and safe.
***
When he arrived at the van a few minutes later, Vin was prepared to bet that the three men didn't consider themselves safe at all. They were sitting in the open rear door of the van, hands still cuffed behind them as Larabee shouted, "...doing there? Do you know how many years you'll get for messing up our investigation? You're just lucky no one was hurt when we pulled your asses out of there."
One of the men jumped to his feet. "We didn't need your help, we could have gotten out on our own," he said. Buck shoved him back down and he moved to stand again, until Josiah rested a heavy hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.
Chris looked at the three men and said, "Stay there," with a hard glare. The skinny one looked like he was prepared to stand up and argue until the man next to him, blond and mustached, bumped him with his shoulder and shook his head no. The skinny man closed his mouth and sat back.
Vin stepped up next to Chris and gestured toward the three strangers with his head, raising his eyebrow in a question.
"Private investigators. Apparently Carasco's friend is named Alberto Ramirez. There's a girl on the boat they've been hired to find," Chris said, speaking softly.
"Kidnapping?"
"Say they don't know. Say they don't know anything about Carasco or the guns either. They tracked Ramirez here in his boat," Chris said. "They planted a GPS unit on it a couple of days ago, but weren't able to get aboard to get the girl."
Vin nodded. "GPS still working? That'll help us keep an eye on those guns."
Chris considered that for a minute, lips pursed. "Yeah," he finally said, turning toward them.
Before he could take a step though, JD bounded out of the side of the van with a whoop. "I knew it!" he shouted. He rushed to the prisoners and stopped in front of the skinny one. "Murray Bozinsky. I thought I recognized you, you were one of my heroes when I was a kid." The slender man winced just a bit as JD turned to Buck. "This is the Boz. Back in the 80s, he made the most awesome computer games and all kinds of cool robotics. Then he just sorta disappeared from all that and wound out writing articles on artificial intelligence and the use of computers in criminal investigations." He turned back to Bozinsky, and said, "You totally changed my life, Mr. Bozinsky. I was hacking into government and corporate systems, until I read your articles on forensic data analysis and cryptography. I would have wound out in jail rather than the police academy if it weren't for you."
The man relaxed a little and smiled. "Wow, that's completely boss," he said, looking pleased and embarrassed at the same time. "I didn't realize anyone was reading those articles." He moved like he was going to shake hands, but was stopped by the handcuffs.
"JD," Chris said, an edge in his voice, said, "What'd you find?"
JD backed away from Bozinsky and turned to Chris, looking sheepish. He handed over three wallets as he said, "Oh, right. Yeah, they check out. Riptide Detective Agency's been in business since 1984. Originally formed as the Pier 56 Detective Agency, re-incorporated a few months later when they added Mr. Bozinsky as a co-owner. They have a few minor arrests for breaking and entering, reckless driving, disorderly conduct, all more than ten years ago. No convictions. Address of record for all three of them is Slip 12, Pier 56, King Harbor, Redondo Beach, CA. They're who they say they are."
The dark haired one leaned over to the blond and whispered something that made him smile, just a flicker of amusement quickly lost in his bushy mustache.
Chris thought for a second, then nodded to Josiah. "Uncuff 'em." He tossed their IDs in their laps as they stretched their arms and worked out the kinks. "Cody Allen, Nick Ryder, Murray Bozinsky, you have information that is material to our investigation and we want it. Now. This isn't a request. We could arrest you for interfering with a federal investigation, but we'd rather not do that."
The dark haired, belligerent one, Ryder apparently, stood and held his hand out to Ezra, with a glare that would have done Larabee proud. Ezra, probably feeling belligerent himself at having spent the last two hours in a polyester security guard uniform, gave a patently false smile and slapped the two handguns in the outstretched hand. Ryder handed one to Allen and checked the clip on the other one before tucking it back into the holster under his jacket. He looked at his two partners and got some response that Vin couldn't see, because when he turned back to Chris, he said, "Everything we have is at our boat, the Riptide." The skinny one, Bozinsky, twitched a little at that, but Allen made a gesture with his hand and he was quiet. "We'll meet you there."
Chris shook his head. "No, we'll follow you."
Allen laughed. "That's going to be difficult for you. We came here by boat."
"You came in from the street side, not the pier," Vin said, suspicions raised again.
"You can't sneak up on someone in a speedboat, trust me. We tied up in one of the channels away from the main waterway and walked over," Allen said, looking sincere. Sincerity could be faked, Vin knew, but he didn't get the feel that Allen was lying to them. Ezra was the expert on that though.
Nathan turned to Chris. "I'll ride over with them, meet y'all there," he said. "I haven't been on a speedboat in years."
Chris nodded and said, "Okay." He turned to Buck. "You too. Keep in touch." Buck nodded and the five of them walked off.
***
When they were all five on the Ebbtide II, Murray stood at Cody's back in the cockpit of the Ebbtide II, hands on his shoulders. When Nick joined them after casting off, Murray pulled a portable computer from his pocket and checked the screen. The GPS signal showing La Estrella de Mar's location was moving steadily and slowly out of the waterway.
Nick looked at it for a second, then took it from Murray and stuck it into Cody's view. Cody looked away from his steering for a second, then said, "The Estrella's capable of a lot more speed than that. Whatever Ramirez is up to," Nick snorted but Cody ignored him and went on, "he's not in any hurry. Keep an eye on that, but I bet they're going back to the Yacht Club."
Nick looked back over his shoulder and Murray followed his eyes. The two ATF agents, the tall one with the mustache was apparently called Buck but he hadn't caught the other man's name, were watching them closely, not crowding but apparently not missing anything either.
Murray ran a hand over his head, wondering how the ATF had come to be involved in their missing persons case. And why. Not that he was prepared to complain that they'd been pulled out of there. Nick might be confident that they could have gotten out on their own, but Murray was far less certain.
With another look back over his shoulder at the agents, Murray said, softly, "Should I show them?"
Nick pinched the bridge of his nose, then said, "Yeah. We'll be giving them everything as soon as we get back to the Riptide. Might as well give them that now."
Murray nodded. Two steps took him to where the men were seated and he handed the computer to the one called Buck. "That moving light is the Estrella de Mar. Cody says the boat can go a lot faster than it is, so he doesn't think they're in any hurry at the moment. Probably going back home."
The black man, voice low and smooth like chocolate, said, "Where's home?"
"Marina Del Rey, just up the coast," Murray said. "Ramirez lives on the boat in the Yacht Club."
Nick walked up behind Murray, a solid and familiar presence, and said, "We could follow them there and make sure that's where they stop, but we won't get back to King Harbor as quickly."
Buck turned to the other agent and said, "What do you think, Nathan?"
"They could offload the crates in the middle of the night and we'd lose them. We should have the whole team meet us there," the black man said, reaching for his cell phone.
Murray smiled, and said before he could dial, "Well, we have security cameras up all over the marina." The two men looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed. "Completely legal. The marina management hired us to provide security and surveillance. They know we're recording everything that happens on the piers and in the parking lots."
"Any cameras on the boats?" Buck asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
Nick shook his head. "No. Just on the public areas. Surveillance not spying."
"Where are the monitors?" Nathan asked, looking again at the handheld computer and the moving green dot.
"The main monitors are at the marina office. But we can also pick up the feed at the Riptide. If they off-load anything we'll know exactly what and be able to get a license plate for the vehicle they load it on to. Camera coverage is very good," Murray said.
Buck shook his head, with a low whistle. "How'd you get the management to go for letting you have your own feed of the security footage?"
Nick smiled and waved at Cody, whose attention was focused on steering the boat. "Cody's good. Convinced them it was an additional service. We charge them extra for that."
Buck laughed. "Hell, he is good. I'm not sure even Ezra could have pulled that off. Nathan, call the others, tell them we'll be up to King Harbor as soon as they make port, sooner if it's obvious they're going somewhere other than their yacht club."
"There's a hotel right near Pier 56 called Straightaway's, your team can take some rooms there. They can't miss it going up the shore road," Nick said. "We'll call when we're about half an hour out so they can meet us at the boat."
***
The sun was up and the waterfront community was starting to hum with activity by the time the Ebbtide II pulled into her slip. Vin, a bag of equipment over his shoulder and a gun case in his hand, hung back behind the others and watched while Ryder, Allen and Bozinsky worked smoothly to tie up the boat and cover her with a tarp. He admired the ease with which they worked together, the familiarity of years and affection showing in small ways. Allen helped Bozinsky onto the pier without even thinking about it, his hand lingering a bit more than necessary on the thin shoulder. Vin looked to Ryder and saw a small smile on his face as he watched.
He shook his head. Whatever was going on with the three of them, it wasn't any of his business anyway.
When the speedboat was secure, Allen lead the way to a larger, multi-decked boat. It was smaller than the boat the guns had been loaded onto, the Estrella de Mar, and far less sleek, with a two story deck-house of weathered wood. As he opened the door, Allen said, "This is the Riptide, our home and our business office."
They escorted people into the living room, which was clean and comfortable, with a sofa and chairs on one side and a table with a built in bench seat on the other. The ten of them were crammed in there like rabbits in a warren, but Vin imagined it'd be comfortable enough with just three. Maybe a little close, but not too bad.
Still, he thought, looking out the window at the surrounding boats and the people all around, there didn't seem to be a lot of privacy here. He preferred the open spaces around Larabee's ranch, nothing for miles but horses and prairie grass and mountains.
Vin turned away from the window, finding himself a spot in a corner near a table with a coffee warmer, like they had in diners, on it. The pot was empty, damn it. He thought about finding the kitchen and making some, figuring that caffeine and maybe a little rest would ease the stress some.
"You won't all fit down in the computer room, Agent..." Ryder said, speaking over the bustle of movement. There followed a quick round of introductions, before he said again, "As I said, Agent Larabee, you won't all fit in the computer room. We've got recordings and a live feed of images from Marina Del Rey, we've even got audio."
"Audio," Chris said, eyes narrowed. "You haven't bugged their boat have you?"
Ryder coughed and Allen stepped forward. "We have some high gain mics on the public areas of the pier. Anyone who lives on a boat can tell you that in port you have almost no privacy. Anything he said that our mic picked up we consider public."
Chris turned to look at Bozinsky who was fidgeting. "What is it, Bozinsky? You have something to say?" His voice was sharp suddenly, and the skinny man, all arms and legs and big thick glasses, jumped.
"We did put a mic on their boat, just tonight, last night." When Ryder glared at him, Bozinsky said, "We told these guys we'd give them everything, Nick." He gave a little wave around the room as he went on, "Look, these guys are ATF. Think about it. I doubt they'd have a team like this on the case if that guy Ramirez picked up was smuggling crates of cigarettes, or moonshine. That means those are guns. Probably not handguns, either. We're giving them everything." For a man who looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over, he could summon some decent authority into his voice.
Ryder looked at Allen then back at Bozinsky with a fond smile. "You're right, Boz. How bad can federal prison be anyway?"
"We just put the bug on the Estrella tonight," Bozinsky said, turning back to Chris with an earnest and almost pleading. "That's why we were there. We know that Miss Morales was on the boat a few days ago, but we haven't seen her since. We've heard some muffled sounds on the harbor mics," Chris looked quickly at Buck who gave a reassuring nod, while Bozinsky went on, "but they're mostly focused on the salon and the pilot house. We were hoping to catch her on the bug, maybe get an idea if she's okay or not."
"You realize that's illegal?" Josiah said in his softly rumbling voice.
Bozinsky nodded. "Yeah. But we weren't planning on using the information for anything except to help our client, and Miss Morales if she needs it. It's not spying, exactly."
Ryder stepped up and put his hand on Bozinsky's shoulder, and Vin wondered if the move was supposed to look as protective as it did. "We haven't even checked to see if the feed's working yet." Bozinsky pulled a small black device out of a case attached to his belt and pushed a few buttons, then he nodded.
"We'll share that with you too, but," Nick said as he turned to Chris, "we want to go with you when you hit the Estrella de Mar."
Vin winced even before Chris shouted, "Absolutely not! You've already interfered with our operation once and I'll be damned if I let you do it again."
Ryder stepped right up into his face and said, "Without us you haven't got an operation. And we're not letting you and your people blast onto that boat and get Melina Morales killed. We were hired to find out if she's okay and if she's not to get her to safety and damn it we're going to do that if we have to leave you and your team of jokers behind."
"We could arrest you, Mr. Ryder, and seize all of your property, including your computer equipment, your monitors, and your boat. We don't need you," Chris said, voice low and as full of danger as the hum of a rattlesnake.
The room erupted into shouts and chaos and Vin slipped down a staircase into the kitchen and from there out onto the lowest deck. The argument seemed likely to take a while and if he couldn't have coffee he could at least have a little relaxation while he waited.
***
Worn down by lack of sleep and the shouting, which didn't seem to have an end in sight, Murray slipped into the galley and started a pot of coffee brewing. Everyone was over-tired and caffeine would help with that. While the machine ran, he went out to the fantail. A few minutes of dozing in the sun would do him a world of good.
He was surprised to see one of the agents out there, the quiet young one he'd only gotten a glimpse of while the leader of them, Laramie, was yelling at them. He sighed. He didn't really want to have to deal with anyone else. The young agent must have slipped out of the room even before Murray did. He was sitting on one of the chairs, some sort of rifle or gun on the table next to him, polishing an automatic pistol with a cloth.
Murray sat down on the bench seat on the other side of the table and looked at the unusual gun, pushing up his glasses so he could get a better view. It was shaped like a rifle but it wasn't much longer than the pistol, wood polished smooth and dark, brass gleaming.
"It's okay, Mr. Bozinsky. You can pick it up if you want."
At the softly drawled words, Murray snatched his hand back away from the unusual gun, rifle?, he was looking at. He hadn't even realized he was reaching toward it. The young man next to him, long legs stretched out across the deck, collar length hair ruffling in the breeze, smiled and made an encouraging motion with the cloth in his near hand.
"No, no, that's okay, Agent," Murray thought for a minute, trying to remember which of the seven names that had flown by him at light speed belonged to this man, "Agent Standish. I couldn't..."
His words were cut off when the young man barked a laugh. "Ezra won't thank you for mixing us up," he said, with a big grin. "Standish is one of the ones who got you out of there last night. He's wearing a fancy silk suit and Italian shoes. I'm Tanner. Vin Tanner."
Murray stammered out an apology but Tanner shook his head and held up his hand. "Got nothing to apologize for. There's a lot of us to keep straight and only three of y'all." He winked. "And JD's been showing off your picture and articles like he's braggin' on kin or something."
Murray laughed and relaxed. Vin Tanner didn't look like any Federal agent he'd ever seen. He was wearing faded blue jeans and a t-shirt advertising a sports team Murray didn't recognize the name of. Unlike some of his colleagues, Tanner was easy to be around, soft voiced and quiet.
Murray listened to the commotion from the salon for a moment, then sighed. Much as Murray liked Nick's gruff and dominant side he wasn't in the mood to watch him posturing with the head agent. Particularly when the Riptide Detective Agency no longer had any role in their case except on sufferance of the ATF. Not anymore. If Nick pissed off Laramie, Lara-something anyway, too much the agents'd commandeer the Ebbtide and go off after Carasco and his guns without them. And that would just piss Nick off more.
Silently, Murray wished Cody luck with his mediating, but calming the two volatile men was looking to be an almost hopeless task. Fortunately two of the agents, Buck and the older one with the voice of a priest, were trying to keep the peace as well.
Tanner set the automatic pistol down in a padded case that was sitting on the deck next to him. The hole in the foam was obviously made to fit the weapon on the table, and the pistol was angled half in and half out. Tanner nudged the unusual gun toward Murray. Murray leaned back in his seat, keeping away.
"You can't hurt it," Tanner said. "It's been through more than you can dish out."
"I've never seen a gun like it," Murray said, fascinated despite himself.
"Well, that ain't too surprising. I don't reckon they were common even back in the day. It's a sawed-off rifle. Nowadays it's against the law to cut down a longarm, but this was done over a hundred years ago. It's an 1875 Winchester lever-action rifle. Modified trigger guard too. Maybe the original owner had big hands or something." He ran his fingers across the brass and steel in a gentle gesture, almost a caress. After a moment he looked up at Murray and chuckled. "Sorry, I go on sometimes." He tilted his head, then went on, "I've got a permit for it."
His voice sounded a little defensive on the last words and Murray smiled. "You'd have to, wouldn't you?"
"Well, it wouldn't look right for an ATF agent to get arrested with an illegal firearm. Wouldn't do my career a lick of good," Tanner said with a smile.
"You're not going to...?" Murray started to ask, then as confusion took over the question faded away. It was clear that the agent was cleaning both the pistol and the rifle, getting them ready for an expected fight the same way Cody and Nick prepared. But surely he wasn't panning on using the antique...
With a chuckle Tanner said, "Hell, no. I was in town for a firearms conference. The ATF's big on professional development these days so it was worth it to them to send me out here even with this case going. I brought the mare's leg along for show 'n' tell. I should probably have left it in the hotel room, but I don't trust hotel locks, is all."
Understanding, Murray said, "Well, you can put it in the computer room if you want, it's the most secure place in King Harbor." He looked back to the gun. With age it had acquired dings and scratches in the metal and wood, the marks of much handling and use. He wondered how many people had died because of it, and how many had lived.
Focused on the gun, Murray was surprised when Tanner nudged it toward him again. "It's old, but it's not gonna break. Go on and pick it up if you want. It ain't loaded."
Murray held his hands up and said, "No, I don't...I don't like guns. I was just curious. I couldn't..." He was embarrassed by the shake in his voice. Damn it, it'd been nearly fifteen years, and yet the guilt was still as fresh and hard as it had been when he shot Nathan Warwick.
Tanner tilted his head and studied him, curiosity in his blue eyes. "You don't carry?" he asked.
Murray's shudder at the thought was all the answer he could offer.
Tanner nodded, his eyes hooded. "Your partners both do."
"Yeah," Murray said, "I don't know what kind they are, just that they're both 9mms. You could probably tell me," he said, looking at the agent. Tanner gave a small smile and nod and Murray went on, "Sometimes I have to buy the bullets, that's how I know what ammunition they take."
Vin picked up the cut-down rifle and put it carefully in its case, picking up his pistol as he did so. Cradling the pistol, black and angular and aggressive looking, in his palm, he said, "They don't mind you're not packing?"
Murray wrapped his arms around his chest. "No. They understand. It's been a long time, they've gotten used to it."
Lost in memory, overwhelmed by the sight of the bullet penetrating Warwick's chest, the sound of the impact, the smell of gunpowder, Murray was surprised then when Tanner tapped his knee softly. "Who was it?" Tanner asked, his raspy voice gentle.
Murray forced his arms down to his sides, and looked out over King Harbor. "He'd just shot Cody, and I lost it. I thought...I thought Cody was dead. So I..." He rubbed the palm of his right hand, remembering the hard feel of the gun pressing into skin and muscle. "We were told he was a rapist and a murderer. But he wasn't. He was just an innocent man targeted by a crazy cop." Murray focused on a seagull bobbing on the gentle waves, a peaceful image.
After a minute or so, Tanner said, "You sure he's the one who'd shot your friend?"
Murray nodded. "Yeah," he said. He'd raised this point with himself a thousand times, but it didn't make a difference in how he felt.
"Not so innocent, then. At least not in my book," Vin said.
Murray shrugged, still watching the gull. "Yeah, that's what Cody and Nick say." He turned toward Tanner and gave a small smile. "It's not that simple, of course."
Tanner made a sympathetic noise and slipped the pistol into a holster at the small of his back. "Nothing's ever simple in this life. Just got to muddle through and do the best you can."
The raised voices from inside peaked into overlapping shouts and Murray looked up to the upper deck, half expecting to see someone, Nick or one of the ATF agents, come flying through the salon door. But nothing happened and after a second, he turned back to Tanner, now stretched out in his seat with his legs crossed at the ankles. Murray smiled, and said, "Your boss reminds me a lot of Nick."
Tanner snorted. "Larabee's bark's worse than his bite. Y'all'll get along with him fine if you just remember that." He looked over at Murray and said, "Bet Mr. Ryder's like that too. Acts like a hard-ass all the time, but inside he's a real good man."
"Yeah," Murray said. "He and Cody were the best after...," his voice trailed away. Tanner nodded and pursed his lips for a second and Murray went on, "Never pressured me about the gun thing or made me feel like I was any less valuable to the agency. I couldn't have asked for better friends. Or better partners." Or lovers, he thought to himself, but he wasn't about to share that with the rough and ready man in front of him. He didn't think Larabee, or any of his men, would be that open minded about three men in a committed relationship.
Tanner sighed and looked at him, a solemn expression on his face. "You're a lucky man to have friends like that."
Surprised, Murray glanced up toward the salon, where the voices still hummed, and said, "Your team...I guess I assumed you were all friends as well as...well, colleagues."
Tanner smiled. "Yeah. They ain't just friends, they're my family. Best group of people I've ever known."
"Well, then," Murray said, "they'd understand if you'd done something and couldn't," he took a deep breath, "couldn't risk doing it again."
Tanner shook his head. "Maybe Ezra or JD could get away without using their weapons, though they'd still have to qualify at the range to keep their badges. Even Josiah. But not me. My job begins and ends with what I can do with a gun. Has since I was younger than those boys over there." He waved a hand toward a distant crowd of young college students playing volleyball on the beach.
Murray nodded, understanding. "Military?"
Tanner gave a crooked smile. "Army. Enlisted on my eighteenth birthday. Always had sharp eyes so they trained me up as a sniper and I been doing it ever since. I'm damn good at it too. I've shot and killed," he thought for a minute, "twelve men, two women." There was a pause and Murray had the sense that the count wasn't complete, but Tanner went on after just a heartbeat, "Can't count the number I've shot and wounded. I stopped asking if they's innocent or guilty in Somalia." He paused for a minute, hands tight around the arms of the deck chair. Murray was about to say something, anything, to fill the heavy silence when Tanner spoke again. "Tried to walk away from it then but the Army wouldn't let me. Said they'd invested too much in my training to let me go soft over one..." His words stopped suddenly and he spread his hands out, looking at Murray from the corner of his eye. "Your tax dollars at work, makin' killers like me."
Tanner's drawl had thickened while he spoke and Murray felt like he was seeing a side of the young man that was normally carefully hidden. "They're your friends," Murray insisted, "they'd understand if you couldn't do it anymore."
Tanner leaned down and snapped the gun case shut, locking it with a small key he tucked in his pocket, then pushed himself to his feet and said, "Could be that you're right, Mr. Bozinsky. I'll give it some thought."
Murray stood and offered his hand, "Call me Murray."
Tanner smiled and gripped Murray's hand firmly in both of his, the clasp somehow more familiar than a normal handshake. Murray smiled as Tanner said, "Vin." He tilted his head toward the stairs to the upper deck, "Let's go see what the dogs have got up to. I don't much like that quiet."
Murray opened the door for him. "Coffee's probably ready, maybe that'll help. I think I could find something for breakfast too."
"Always good to feed the animals," Vin said, as he walked into the boat, dim after the bright morning, "keeps 'em peaceful."
***
They walked into the salon with two trays, one with coffee and mugs, the other with bagels, cream cheese, a bunch of bananas, and two boxes of PopTarts. The men in the room parted to let them pass, Ryder and Allen on one side of the room, Team Seven on the other.
Chris walked in from the deck and found Vin with his eyes. His head tilted, checking to make sure Vin was okay. Vin nodded and smiled, pleased to have been missed. "We brought y'all breakfast," he said, setting his tray down on the table.
While the others came in and selected their breakfasts, Chris sidled up behind Vin. Vin turned to him and asked, softly, "So what's going on?"
"They're going to take us out there. We'll see about whether they're going on the Estrella once we know more about the situation," Chris said, voice just as soft.
"Surprised Ryder went for that," Vin said, eyeing the dark man, who was hovering around Murray, not quite touching but staying close.
"Didn't leave them much choice. Allen's got plans of the Estrella, he was going to get them when I stepped out onto the deck," Chris said. He moved even closer to Vin and said, "You okay?"
Vin shrugged, and said, "Yeah, just a bit crowded in here. Needed some air."
He wondered for a second if Chris had heard what he'd said to Murray out there on the lower deck. Jesus, what the hell'd he been thinking opening up to the man like that, spilling his guts? If Chris heard any of it he'd be worried about Vin going soft right in the middle of the operation. No wonder he was standing so close. To set Chris's mind at ease, he said, "Hope we start moving soon, I hate this waiting."
Chris grunted in response then went to the table to get his own cup of coffee, leaving Vin feeling strangely discontent.
Across the room JD was saying something to Buck that made the tall man cuff him gently on the back of the head. JD danced a step away, then said, louder, "Hey, they have 'em, why can't we?"
Buck set down his cup of coffee on the table then grabbed JD and pulled him in for a noogie. "'Cause PopTarts ain't food, kid. They'll stunt your growth."
JD pushed out of Buck's hold and said, indignant, "My growth's none of your business, Buck. At least I can still eat them without getting fat and slow."
The others laughed, even Ryder and Allen, and that broke the cold tension in the room some.
A few minutes later, when second cups of coffee had been poured, Murray pulled out the black device again and checked the screen. "They're still at Marina Del Rey. I'm going to go check on the surveillance cameras and the harbor mics. Make sure nothing happened overnight." He turned to JD and said, "You want to come see?"
"Hell, yeah!" JD said, draining the rest of his coffee and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The two men ran down the stairs with equal enthusiasm. Murray hardly looked five years older than JD at that moment, let alone twenty.
Ryder cleared the table with Josiah's help, carrying the trays, now filled with dirty cups, crumbs and PopTart wrappers down the stairs that lead to the kitchen. Allen spread some papers out on the table, nautical charts it looked like, and handed each agent a printed sheet that showed the plan of a boat.
"The Estrella De Mar's a Lazzara 110. She has three decks, four passenger staterooms, and separate quarters for the captain and crew. Ramirez lives aboard along with the boat's captain, and the two bodyguards you saw with him last night. They also act as crew. This is the standard floor plan of the boat, but there's no telling how Ramirez might have modified it," he took a sip of his coffee. "She's bigger than the Riptide, and sits up higher in the water, but we're faster. And we have the Ebbtide which is even faster still."
Ryder walked back into the room, and said, "We've also got a helicopter for air support."
Chris nodded at that and made a satisfied noise, then waved them all in close. They gathered around the table studying the plans and brainstorming ideas for how to handle taking both the Estrella and whoever she was going to be meeting.
They were still discussing, when Murray came back up from the computer room. "Cody, Nick, Vin," Ryder's head snapped up at Murray's mention of Vin's name and Vin heard Chris mutter something as he walked past, "we've got something."
Vin followed them downstairs, Chris hard behind him despite not having been invited.
JD was staring intently at the computer screen, adjusting a bank of sliders like a music mixing board. "I think I got it better now, Boz," he said as they walked in.
"Good," Murray said. He turned to the men who'd followed him, blinked twice when he noticed Chris in the crowd, then shrugged. "They didn't take anything off the boat last night. JD and I were worried that they'd offload onto a Zodiac or some other small boat rather than onto the pier. Our cameras wouldn't have caught that. The harbor mics didn't pick up any sounds out of place though."
JD chimed in, "I think the computer would have even picked up something small like a rowboat. He's got the most amazing algorithm for sound analysis."
"So we know that Carasco and the guns are aboard the boat. Along with Ramirez and a total of eight other men," Chris said, his voice getting the edge that Vin knew meant he was focusing everything on the operation.
"And Melina Morales," Allen said, "We can't forget her."
Murray put his hand on Allen's shoulder and said, "I'm sorry, Cody. There's no sign of her even on the...bug." His eyes shifted and he looked away from Chris when he mentioned it, as though he was embarrassed to mention it. Probably was, since they still stood in danger of being arrested for it.
Ryder turned and slapped the edge of the doorway, venting frustration Vin could see clearly on his face.
"So was that what you called us down here for?" Chris asked.
"Oh, no. Sorry," Murray said. "Both sets of mics picked up a phone call this morning. It's clearer from the bug."
"Give me the harbor mics," Chris said, after a second spent thinking. "It's better if we do this without relying on, or even using, the illegal information."
Murray sat down next to JD and flipped a couple of switches and pressed a button. Even scratchy and distorted by the computer, Vin recognized Carasco's voice, saying, "I've got your merch...move it tonight...agreed three mil...can find it...after sunset...pleasure cruise."
Chris pursed his lips and his jaw tightened and, before he could explode, Vin said, "I ain't sure how that's going to help us, Murray. We didn't get a location or a time."
"That's on the next bit, hang on," JD said as he reached across Murray and pressed another button. "This is still the harbor mics."
Carasco's voice was clearer now as he said, "Farouk gave me coordinates," as Carasco gave the numbers Chris and Ryder both pulled out notebooks and wrote them down, similar concentrated scowls on their faces. "Says we're to take a sunset cruise out there and meet him at 9:30 tonight."
"You're positive this is the harbor mic," Chris said. Murray and JD both nodded, and Chris went on. "I'm not sure even that's completely legal, but we'll let the prosecutors sort that out. JD find out everything you can about Farouk. Go back to the hotel if you need your computers."
JD snorted a laugh that made Chris's eyes narrow. "My computers can't do half what these can," he said, with a mixture of envy and pride in his voice.
"Except get into the ATF's system," Chris said.
Murray looked for a second as though he was going to say something, but changed his mind and pulled up a second chair from another desk and sat down at a second computer next to JDs.
Obviously frustrated with all the talking, Allen took the notebook out of Ryder's hand and ran up the stairs, Chris and Ryder hard behind him.
At the door, Vin stopped and said, "Let us know if the Estrella moves or anything comes up on the mics." JD nodded and waved without turning his head. "JD, harbor mics only, kid. Best if we all stay away from the poison tree there. Don't want to give the defense lawyers anything to work with."
JD settled the headphones on and waved again, dismissing Vin.
***
Upstairs, Chris, Josiah, Ezra, Ryder, and Allen were all hovering over the charts spread on the table. Buck stood by the windows, gazing out across the harbor. On the other side of the room, Nathan was lying down on the sofa, and Vin was reminded that he and Buck, and all of the private investigators, had been up all night on the Ebbtide, making sure that the Estrella went to ground where she belonged.
Vin ambled over, giving the charts barely a glance before deciding that they weren't going to mean much to him anyway. He picked up a copy of the Estrella's plans instead and leaned against the wall next to the coffee machine, steaming in the corner, and tried to determine where the guns might be stored, and where the missing woman might be.
He looked up again when Chris, voice carrying the weight of decision, said, "We're going to need the Coast Guard. Ezra, you and Josiah go and coordinate with them. Give them everything we've got." He looked at Cody, who was still studying the map, then went on, "Except the illegal bug. We want them there, but out of sight, no running lights even."
Adjusting the hang of his coat as he stood so that it flowed smoothly over the holsters at armpit and waist, Ezra said, "They won't be well pleased by this, Mr. Larabee. They will expect us to make use of their resources rather than those of the Riptide Agency."
"I have faith in your powers of persuasion, Ezra. If you need to, get Travis to talk to them. And if they won't listen to him keep working your way up the chain. I don't much care how you do it, but we need them at these coordinates," Chris checked the chart and scribbled something on a notepad then checked it again before handing the paper to Josiah. "And we need them there at," Chris checked his watch, "2100, no lights, waiting on our signal."
Josiah nodded his head and Ezra gave a sketchy salute, then they walked out.
Allen stood straight up, rolling tension out of his shoulders and moved aside to let Ryder get a better look. Ryder studied the chart for a minute, then stood with a grin. "You realize this means the Mimi? The Huey won't have the range we need."
Allen groaned, though there was a smile hiding under the edges of his mustache, and Vin got the impression that this was a familiar and comfortable tease, like Buck ragging on JD's eating habits. Curious, Vin said, "The Mimi?"
Ryder was practically beaming when he turned to Vin, his face as transformed and beautified by a smile as Chris's was. "It's a Sikorsky H-34T. She's a real classic chopper, served us well for a long time."
Allen stroked his mustache and said, "Served us well, except for all the times the pistons were broken or the engine seized or the hydraulics stopped working." Looking over at Chris he raised his hands, "She's never let us down when we needed her, though, and she's got enough fuel on board to get out there and circle around for..." He looked to Ryder.
"An hour, hour and a half maybe if the engines are as good as they were last time. And there's Sutil Island right there if I have to land," Ryder said, still obviously pleased.
Chris studied the chart again and pursed his lips in thought, then said. "Okay. One man in the chopper with Ryder. I want Nathan on the boat in case someone gets hurt," Chris said. He turned to Buck, who was staring out the window with the quivering tension of a hunting dog on point. "Buck, it's between you and JD."
Buck turned slowly away from the window toward Allen, an awed look on his face, and said, "Hell, I see why you all live here, boys. Those girls available?"
Vin looked out the window in the direction Buck had been staring. Just a few yards away across a channel there was a large sailboat with a dozen beautiful young men and women working on it, polishing the wood and brass. Vin snorted and said, "Buck, you dog, those girls're too young for you. Hell, a couple of 'em look like they're too young for JD."
Ryder and Allen exchanged smiling glances, then Allen said, "That boat's a fortress, Agent Wilmington, and it's guarded by a dragon named Maxine. And she also runs the hotel you're staying at. I wouldn't advise getting on her bad side by messing with her crew."
Ryder went on, "Anyway, we tried for years with no luck. Finally decided to give up and just enjoy watching."
Buck shook his head, a look of sympathy on his face, "I bet you boys just didn't have the right approach. Ladies like that take a special touch. And ol' Buck's got it."
Tuning out Buck's boasts of his prowess, Vin looked out again, head ducked to hide his eyes. The young men working on the other boat were all of the slender, bronzed and sinewy type with sunbleached long hair and he let himself appreciate the view for a moment.
Until Chris snapped, "Buck, chopper or boat?" Vin's eyes were drawn to Chris and the boys on the other boat suddenly paled in comparison to the lean, chiseled man in front of him.
"Well, now that depends," Buck said slowly, either ignoring or unaware of the irritated gleam in Chris's eyes. "How long do I have before we go?"
Allen checked the charts again then his watch, and said, "I'd like to get in the area before they do, maybe anchor off Sutil Island and pretend we're fishing." Chris nodded, so he went on, "That means we have to leave in three hours."
Ryder grinned and said, "Chopper doesn't have to leave for five."
Buck opened the door and, as he stepped out, said, "Chopper." He turned to Ryder, "Come find me when it's time for us to take off. I'll be on that boat." He pointed to the large sailboat and walked out the door.
A few minutes after Buck left, Chris said, "Mr. Ryder, Mr. Allen..."
He was interrupted by Allen waving his hand and shaking his head. "Look, we're working together. Can we just use first names?"
Chris responded with a small smile, just a quirk of his lips and said, "Yeah. That sounds good. Nick and Cody, you two were up all night. Get some rest while you've got the chance." He gestured to Nathan, snoring softly on the other side of the room. "Nate's setting a good example."
Cody nudged Nick with his shoulder and said, "You'll sleep longer if you go to the hotel. Maybe you can crash in one of their rooms."
Nick shook his head. "I'll sleep better here."
"What about Murray?" Vin asked, remembering that he'd been awake all night too.
"We'll take care of Murray," Nick said, an edge to his voice.
His hand on Nick's shoulder, Cody said, "He'll be okay. He does this sometimes, gets caught up in a case and stays up for a couple of days. He'll crash when we've got Melina Morales safe."
Not touching, but still moving in synch with one another, the two walked down the stairs that led to the back of the boat, past the galley and on down. Vin tilted his head and watched for a second, but turned away before they reached the bottom of the stairs. He wasn't about to make it his business how many bedrooms the Riptide had and how the men who lived there arranged themselves among them.
***
Continued in part 2.
Or skip to part 3.
Author: Sara
Rating: NC-17, FRAO, No Pants
Fandoms: Magnificent Seven:ATF, Riptide
Pairing: Chris/Vin (first time), Nick/Cody/Murray (established relationship)
Word Count: about 27,000
Feedback: sara_merry99 @ livejournal.com, any and all feedback welcome
Summary: Team Seven tackles a case that takes them from Denver to a boat off the coast of Los Angeles where they're assisted by the Riptide Detective Agency. Both teams have to overcome their reluctance to work with others to save a hostage, solve a crime and bring some gun runners to justice. During the course of the case, Chris and Vin find that there's a deeper level of connection between them than they thought.
Author's Note: While this story is a crossover between the ATF AU of The Magnificent Seven and the 1980s detective show Riptide, I wrote it so that it was primarily oriented toward a Magnficent Seven fan audience. It is set in the "present" of the ATF AU (late 1990s/early 2000s) and fifteen years into the future of the Riptide characters. If you want more information about them, you can find it here.
Disclaimer: The guys aren't mine. Darn it. They'd be much happier if they were. Many many thanks to Mog for the ATF AU, there are no words for the amount of joy I've gotten from her brainchild.
Betas: Catyah and Arouette were hugely encouraging, from the first word all the way through to the last. Farad made lots of things better, most dramatically the action sequence. And sassyinkpen did a final beta. Thanks to all of y'all!
"I see Carasco, boys," Vin Tanner said, speaking softly into the headset microphone that kept him in touch with his teammates. He watched the nighttime meeting from his perch on a dockside warehouse roof and wished they'd had time to find him a position that afforded him clearer lines of sight. "He's got five guys with him. Another two are approaching from the south, looks like they're coming from the pier."
Down below, their target, gun runner Victor Carasco, greeted one of the other men that walked up. They met with a handshake that ended in a friendly, shoulder-slapping hug. A laugh floated up to the roof. "Don't seem like a business deal going down, though," Vin said.
"Get a picture of the man he's talking to, JD," Chris said, directing his team from his position around a corner and out of sight of the action.
Vin took a deep breath, steadying his pulse and his hands. Team Seven hadn't had much of a chance to plan or prepare this operation, so they were making do with what they'd been able to work out on the fly. Vin's position allowed him to keep an eye on Carasco and his men and two of his ATF teammates, Buck and JD. Josiah and Ezra were their emergency backup plan, waiting in the wings. Nathan and Chris were at opposite ends of the building, out of sight. On their own.
Vin hated the deployment, but had just nodded and climbed up to the roof without another word. Chris could take care of himself, so could Nathan, hell they all could, but Vin preferred it when he could watch his teammates' backs. Especially Chris's.
"Got it already," JD said. "I'm going to circle around and see if I can get a better angle though. Why can't these meetings ever happen in good lighting?"
Vin glanced over to where he could barely make out JD, who was nothing more than a thickness in the shadows, moving slowly along between a pile of crates and the wall. A flicker of movement and a bit of lightness out of place caught his eye and he hissed into the wire, "JD, freeze." The shadow that was JD stopped moving.
"What is it Vin?" Chris asked. From his position he could see along the pier, but not into the alley where the action was happening.
"Three more people coming in, from the north," Vin said, watching them carefully. The three men were dressed all in black and wore watch caps and sunglasses. They kept to the shadows and had a watchful eye in all directions as they crept slowly forward. "Don't look like they were invited to the party."
"Guns?" The question was just a breath and Vin hoped that JD hadn't taken the risk of asking. He was only a few feet away from them, separated by only the darkness and a low stack of crates.
Vin watched for a second more. He saw a flash of metal in one hand, maybe a tell-tale shadow in another, but it was hard to be certain. "Looks like, can't quite tell."
"Damn it, Travis said the FBI were letting us take the lead on this one. If those are Feebs, I'll have their hides," Chris said, anger in his voice.
Vin watched as one of the men, tall, skinny and leggy as a newborn colt, tripped over something and almost fell into a patch of light visible from where Carasco's friend stood. One of the others caught him and pulled him into the shadows behind a stack of pallets. "They don't look like no agents I've ever seen," Vin said.
His only response was silence, though Vin could fill in the cursing that Chris wasn't sharing through the wire. With unknowns on the scene they couldn't risk unnecessary chatter. The three men circled around, keeping between the crates and the wall, heading not toward Carasco and his contact but toward the waterfront. He relayed that information to the others.
"I'll keep an eye on them," Chris said, his position the only one with a view of the waterfront.
Vin grunted and turned his attention back to Carasco. Just in time too. "Boys, we're definitely in the right place. It's them crates again." He counted the crates on the loaded carts Carasco's men were pushing, then said, "All 20 of them are here."
"Imported china, my ass," Buck said.
A hum of excitement ran down Vin's spine. Those crates, labeled "Fine China Imports--Fragile", held high-tech weapons, misdirected from an Army shipment. Team Seven of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms had been following them for two weeks, tracking them as they passed from the soldier who'd signed the falsified paperwork, through a series of middlemen, to Victor Carasco, a low-end broker. With Carasco and the crates in one location, they could make an arrest, but the Bureau wanted Carasco's buyer far more than they wanted the broker himself.
Carasco and his friend, laughing and talking like this was a family reunion not a gun deal, walked toward the waterfront, five men pushing loaded dolleys following along behind.
"They're moving toward the waterfront, watch yourself Chris. I'm going to find a position at that end of the roof," Vin whispered, taking up his rifle and running along the warehouse roof far enough back from the edge that he wouldn't cast a telltale shadow.
Vin found himself a good position in the shadow of an HVAC unit where he was able to see all of Carasco's men. He first located Chris behind one of the big pillars used to tie up the cargo ships. Chris was way too close to the action for Vin's comfort, but there wasn't a lot he could do about it. Buck and JD found a position together in the shelter of a doorway, and Nathan darted behind an empty shipping container.
The cluster of men and dolleys walked out onto the relatively well lit pier, near a large, sleek yacht. It was bigger than any boat Vin'd seen, but against the scale of the warehouse it still looked tiny. A man on the boat extended a ramp from the boat to the pier just as Carasco and his friend arrived. When he bent over to adjust it, Vin saw a holstered gun at his hip. They'd expected the men to be armed, though there was no sign of tension between the two groups. Apparently Carasco and his contact weren't expecting trouble. Either of them.
"Chris, where'd those three unknowns go?" Vin asked, scanning the shadows for them.
"They turned right onto the pier, but I lost them when I had to move," Chris said.
"Crap," Vin swore, when he spotted the three men, darkness layered in darkness. "Chris, they're hard by the front of the boat. Twenty feet from your position."
Chris popped his head out of the shadow that protected him to look around, his golden hair shining in the orange security lights. Vin turned his eye, and his sights, back to Carasco and his men. If they spotted Chris and raised an alarm he'd need to act before anyone got hurt.
Carasco shouted and pointed in Chris's direction, and Vin slowed his breath, focusing on controlling his pulse and finding the shot that would protect Chris. A shot was fired from the deck of the boat and three of Carasco's men drew their weapons and ran toward the commotion. Vin, forcing his voice as steady as his hands, said, "Chris?"
"Not me," came Chris's familiar voice. Vin took a breath then released it slowly. He looked away from Carasco and saw the three unknowns exposed in the beam of a searchlight from the boat's deck.
Vin adjusted his position, taking aim on one of Carasco's men. If they had to reveal themselves to keep the three men, now being shouted at in a broken mix of Spanish and English, from getting killed, they would, of course, arresting Carasco and seizing the guns, but then they'd lose their chance at the buyer. The intruders'd be spending several years in prison for interfering with a Federal investigation. And they'd have to face down Larabee's anger, which Vin reckoned was probably a worse fate.
"Ezra, Josiah, we need you to extract the three unknowns. Now," Chris said. Vin breathed a little easier as Chris shifted into a more sheltered position, behind a low stack of crates, taking advantage of the distraction the unknowns were providing.
There was no direct response to his words, but Vin saw Ezra and Josiah, dressed in the uniform of the harbor's security guards, come trotting down the pier, holding onto their night sticks like all beat cops everywhere. Josiah ordered the three men to turn around and put their hands up, while Ezra stepped forward to talk to Carasco's men.
From his vantage point, Vin could only hear a few of the words, but within just a few minutes the three men were being escorted off the pier in handcuffs and Carasco and the wooden crates were loaded onto the boat, La Estrella de Mar. Vin held his position until he heard from Chris that the rest of the team were all back at the van and safe.
***
When he arrived at the van a few minutes later, Vin was prepared to bet that the three men didn't consider themselves safe at all. They were sitting in the open rear door of the van, hands still cuffed behind them as Larabee shouted, "...doing there? Do you know how many years you'll get for messing up our investigation? You're just lucky no one was hurt when we pulled your asses out of there."
One of the men jumped to his feet. "We didn't need your help, we could have gotten out on our own," he said. Buck shoved him back down and he moved to stand again, until Josiah rested a heavy hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.
Chris looked at the three men and said, "Stay there," with a hard glare. The skinny one looked like he was prepared to stand up and argue until the man next to him, blond and mustached, bumped him with his shoulder and shook his head no. The skinny man closed his mouth and sat back.
Vin stepped up next to Chris and gestured toward the three strangers with his head, raising his eyebrow in a question.
"Private investigators. Apparently Carasco's friend is named Alberto Ramirez. There's a girl on the boat they've been hired to find," Chris said, speaking softly.
"Kidnapping?"
"Say they don't know. Say they don't know anything about Carasco or the guns either. They tracked Ramirez here in his boat," Chris said. "They planted a GPS unit on it a couple of days ago, but weren't able to get aboard to get the girl."
Vin nodded. "GPS still working? That'll help us keep an eye on those guns."
Chris considered that for a minute, lips pursed. "Yeah," he finally said, turning toward them.
Before he could take a step though, JD bounded out of the side of the van with a whoop. "I knew it!" he shouted. He rushed to the prisoners and stopped in front of the skinny one. "Murray Bozinsky. I thought I recognized you, you were one of my heroes when I was a kid." The slender man winced just a bit as JD turned to Buck. "This is the Boz. Back in the 80s, he made the most awesome computer games and all kinds of cool robotics. Then he just sorta disappeared from all that and wound out writing articles on artificial intelligence and the use of computers in criminal investigations." He turned back to Bozinsky, and said, "You totally changed my life, Mr. Bozinsky. I was hacking into government and corporate systems, until I read your articles on forensic data analysis and cryptography. I would have wound out in jail rather than the police academy if it weren't for you."
The man relaxed a little and smiled. "Wow, that's completely boss," he said, looking pleased and embarrassed at the same time. "I didn't realize anyone was reading those articles." He moved like he was going to shake hands, but was stopped by the handcuffs.
"JD," Chris said, an edge in his voice, said, "What'd you find?"
JD backed away from Bozinsky and turned to Chris, looking sheepish. He handed over three wallets as he said, "Oh, right. Yeah, they check out. Riptide Detective Agency's been in business since 1984. Originally formed as the Pier 56 Detective Agency, re-incorporated a few months later when they added Mr. Bozinsky as a co-owner. They have a few minor arrests for breaking and entering, reckless driving, disorderly conduct, all more than ten years ago. No convictions. Address of record for all three of them is Slip 12, Pier 56, King Harbor, Redondo Beach, CA. They're who they say they are."
The dark haired one leaned over to the blond and whispered something that made him smile, just a flicker of amusement quickly lost in his bushy mustache.
Chris thought for a second, then nodded to Josiah. "Uncuff 'em." He tossed their IDs in their laps as they stretched their arms and worked out the kinks. "Cody Allen, Nick Ryder, Murray Bozinsky, you have information that is material to our investigation and we want it. Now. This isn't a request. We could arrest you for interfering with a federal investigation, but we'd rather not do that."
The dark haired, belligerent one, Ryder apparently, stood and held his hand out to Ezra, with a glare that would have done Larabee proud. Ezra, probably feeling belligerent himself at having spent the last two hours in a polyester security guard uniform, gave a patently false smile and slapped the two handguns in the outstretched hand. Ryder handed one to Allen and checked the clip on the other one before tucking it back into the holster under his jacket. He looked at his two partners and got some response that Vin couldn't see, because when he turned back to Chris, he said, "Everything we have is at our boat, the Riptide." The skinny one, Bozinsky, twitched a little at that, but Allen made a gesture with his hand and he was quiet. "We'll meet you there."
Chris shook his head. "No, we'll follow you."
Allen laughed. "That's going to be difficult for you. We came here by boat."
"You came in from the street side, not the pier," Vin said, suspicions raised again.
"You can't sneak up on someone in a speedboat, trust me. We tied up in one of the channels away from the main waterway and walked over," Allen said, looking sincere. Sincerity could be faked, Vin knew, but he didn't get the feel that Allen was lying to them. Ezra was the expert on that though.
Nathan turned to Chris. "I'll ride over with them, meet y'all there," he said. "I haven't been on a speedboat in years."
Chris nodded and said, "Okay." He turned to Buck. "You too. Keep in touch." Buck nodded and the five of them walked off.
***
When they were all five on the Ebbtide II, Murray stood at Cody's back in the cockpit of the Ebbtide II, hands on his shoulders. When Nick joined them after casting off, Murray pulled a portable computer from his pocket and checked the screen. The GPS signal showing La Estrella de Mar's location was moving steadily and slowly out of the waterway.
Nick looked at it for a second, then took it from Murray and stuck it into Cody's view. Cody looked away from his steering for a second, then said, "The Estrella's capable of a lot more speed than that. Whatever Ramirez is up to," Nick snorted but Cody ignored him and went on, "he's not in any hurry. Keep an eye on that, but I bet they're going back to the Yacht Club."
Nick looked back over his shoulder and Murray followed his eyes. The two ATF agents, the tall one with the mustache was apparently called Buck but he hadn't caught the other man's name, were watching them closely, not crowding but apparently not missing anything either.
Murray ran a hand over his head, wondering how the ATF had come to be involved in their missing persons case. And why. Not that he was prepared to complain that they'd been pulled out of there. Nick might be confident that they could have gotten out on their own, but Murray was far less certain.
With another look back over his shoulder at the agents, Murray said, softly, "Should I show them?"
Nick pinched the bridge of his nose, then said, "Yeah. We'll be giving them everything as soon as we get back to the Riptide. Might as well give them that now."
Murray nodded. Two steps took him to where the men were seated and he handed the computer to the one called Buck. "That moving light is the Estrella de Mar. Cody says the boat can go a lot faster than it is, so he doesn't think they're in any hurry at the moment. Probably going back home."
The black man, voice low and smooth like chocolate, said, "Where's home?"
"Marina Del Rey, just up the coast," Murray said. "Ramirez lives on the boat in the Yacht Club."
Nick walked up behind Murray, a solid and familiar presence, and said, "We could follow them there and make sure that's where they stop, but we won't get back to King Harbor as quickly."
Buck turned to the other agent and said, "What do you think, Nathan?"
"They could offload the crates in the middle of the night and we'd lose them. We should have the whole team meet us there," the black man said, reaching for his cell phone.
Murray smiled, and said before he could dial, "Well, we have security cameras up all over the marina." The two men looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed. "Completely legal. The marina management hired us to provide security and surveillance. They know we're recording everything that happens on the piers and in the parking lots."
"Any cameras on the boats?" Buck asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
Nick shook his head. "No. Just on the public areas. Surveillance not spying."
"Where are the monitors?" Nathan asked, looking again at the handheld computer and the moving green dot.
"The main monitors are at the marina office. But we can also pick up the feed at the Riptide. If they off-load anything we'll know exactly what and be able to get a license plate for the vehicle they load it on to. Camera coverage is very good," Murray said.
Buck shook his head, with a low whistle. "How'd you get the management to go for letting you have your own feed of the security footage?"
Nick smiled and waved at Cody, whose attention was focused on steering the boat. "Cody's good. Convinced them it was an additional service. We charge them extra for that."
Buck laughed. "Hell, he is good. I'm not sure even Ezra could have pulled that off. Nathan, call the others, tell them we'll be up to King Harbor as soon as they make port, sooner if it's obvious they're going somewhere other than their yacht club."
"There's a hotel right near Pier 56 called Straightaway's, your team can take some rooms there. They can't miss it going up the shore road," Nick said. "We'll call when we're about half an hour out so they can meet us at the boat."
***
The sun was up and the waterfront community was starting to hum with activity by the time the Ebbtide II pulled into her slip. Vin, a bag of equipment over his shoulder and a gun case in his hand, hung back behind the others and watched while Ryder, Allen and Bozinsky worked smoothly to tie up the boat and cover her with a tarp. He admired the ease with which they worked together, the familiarity of years and affection showing in small ways. Allen helped Bozinsky onto the pier without even thinking about it, his hand lingering a bit more than necessary on the thin shoulder. Vin looked to Ryder and saw a small smile on his face as he watched.
He shook his head. Whatever was going on with the three of them, it wasn't any of his business anyway.
When the speedboat was secure, Allen lead the way to a larger, multi-decked boat. It was smaller than the boat the guns had been loaded onto, the Estrella de Mar, and far less sleek, with a two story deck-house of weathered wood. As he opened the door, Allen said, "This is the Riptide, our home and our business office."
They escorted people into the living room, which was clean and comfortable, with a sofa and chairs on one side and a table with a built in bench seat on the other. The ten of them were crammed in there like rabbits in a warren, but Vin imagined it'd be comfortable enough with just three. Maybe a little close, but not too bad.
Still, he thought, looking out the window at the surrounding boats and the people all around, there didn't seem to be a lot of privacy here. He preferred the open spaces around Larabee's ranch, nothing for miles but horses and prairie grass and mountains.
Vin turned away from the window, finding himself a spot in a corner near a table with a coffee warmer, like they had in diners, on it. The pot was empty, damn it. He thought about finding the kitchen and making some, figuring that caffeine and maybe a little rest would ease the stress some.
"You won't all fit down in the computer room, Agent..." Ryder said, speaking over the bustle of movement. There followed a quick round of introductions, before he said again, "As I said, Agent Larabee, you won't all fit in the computer room. We've got recordings and a live feed of images from Marina Del Rey, we've even got audio."
"Audio," Chris said, eyes narrowed. "You haven't bugged their boat have you?"
Ryder coughed and Allen stepped forward. "We have some high gain mics on the public areas of the pier. Anyone who lives on a boat can tell you that in port you have almost no privacy. Anything he said that our mic picked up we consider public."
Chris turned to look at Bozinsky who was fidgeting. "What is it, Bozinsky? You have something to say?" His voice was sharp suddenly, and the skinny man, all arms and legs and big thick glasses, jumped.
"We did put a mic on their boat, just tonight, last night." When Ryder glared at him, Bozinsky said, "We told these guys we'd give them everything, Nick." He gave a little wave around the room as he went on, "Look, these guys are ATF. Think about it. I doubt they'd have a team like this on the case if that guy Ramirez picked up was smuggling crates of cigarettes, or moonshine. That means those are guns. Probably not handguns, either. We're giving them everything." For a man who looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over, he could summon some decent authority into his voice.
Ryder looked at Allen then back at Bozinsky with a fond smile. "You're right, Boz. How bad can federal prison be anyway?"
"We just put the bug on the Estrella tonight," Bozinsky said, turning back to Chris with an earnest and almost pleading. "That's why we were there. We know that Miss Morales was on the boat a few days ago, but we haven't seen her since. We've heard some muffled sounds on the harbor mics," Chris looked quickly at Buck who gave a reassuring nod, while Bozinsky went on, "but they're mostly focused on the salon and the pilot house. We were hoping to catch her on the bug, maybe get an idea if she's okay or not."
"You realize that's illegal?" Josiah said in his softly rumbling voice.
Bozinsky nodded. "Yeah. But we weren't planning on using the information for anything except to help our client, and Miss Morales if she needs it. It's not spying, exactly."
Ryder stepped up and put his hand on Bozinsky's shoulder, and Vin wondered if the move was supposed to look as protective as it did. "We haven't even checked to see if the feed's working yet." Bozinsky pulled a small black device out of a case attached to his belt and pushed a few buttons, then he nodded.
"We'll share that with you too, but," Nick said as he turned to Chris, "we want to go with you when you hit the Estrella de Mar."
Vin winced even before Chris shouted, "Absolutely not! You've already interfered with our operation once and I'll be damned if I let you do it again."
Ryder stepped right up into his face and said, "Without us you haven't got an operation. And we're not letting you and your people blast onto that boat and get Melina Morales killed. We were hired to find out if she's okay and if she's not to get her to safety and damn it we're going to do that if we have to leave you and your team of jokers behind."
"We could arrest you, Mr. Ryder, and seize all of your property, including your computer equipment, your monitors, and your boat. We don't need you," Chris said, voice low and as full of danger as the hum of a rattlesnake.
The room erupted into shouts and chaos and Vin slipped down a staircase into the kitchen and from there out onto the lowest deck. The argument seemed likely to take a while and if he couldn't have coffee he could at least have a little relaxation while he waited.
***
Worn down by lack of sleep and the shouting, which didn't seem to have an end in sight, Murray slipped into the galley and started a pot of coffee brewing. Everyone was over-tired and caffeine would help with that. While the machine ran, he went out to the fantail. A few minutes of dozing in the sun would do him a world of good.
He was surprised to see one of the agents out there, the quiet young one he'd only gotten a glimpse of while the leader of them, Laramie, was yelling at them. He sighed. He didn't really want to have to deal with anyone else. The young agent must have slipped out of the room even before Murray did. He was sitting on one of the chairs, some sort of rifle or gun on the table next to him, polishing an automatic pistol with a cloth.
Murray sat down on the bench seat on the other side of the table and looked at the unusual gun, pushing up his glasses so he could get a better view. It was shaped like a rifle but it wasn't much longer than the pistol, wood polished smooth and dark, brass gleaming.
"It's okay, Mr. Bozinsky. You can pick it up if you want."
At the softly drawled words, Murray snatched his hand back away from the unusual gun, rifle?, he was looking at. He hadn't even realized he was reaching toward it. The young man next to him, long legs stretched out across the deck, collar length hair ruffling in the breeze, smiled and made an encouraging motion with the cloth in his near hand.
"No, no, that's okay, Agent," Murray thought for a minute, trying to remember which of the seven names that had flown by him at light speed belonged to this man, "Agent Standish. I couldn't..."
His words were cut off when the young man barked a laugh. "Ezra won't thank you for mixing us up," he said, with a big grin. "Standish is one of the ones who got you out of there last night. He's wearing a fancy silk suit and Italian shoes. I'm Tanner. Vin Tanner."
Murray stammered out an apology but Tanner shook his head and held up his hand. "Got nothing to apologize for. There's a lot of us to keep straight and only three of y'all." He winked. "And JD's been showing off your picture and articles like he's braggin' on kin or something."
Murray laughed and relaxed. Vin Tanner didn't look like any Federal agent he'd ever seen. He was wearing faded blue jeans and a t-shirt advertising a sports team Murray didn't recognize the name of. Unlike some of his colleagues, Tanner was easy to be around, soft voiced and quiet.
Murray listened to the commotion from the salon for a moment, then sighed. Much as Murray liked Nick's gruff and dominant side he wasn't in the mood to watch him posturing with the head agent. Particularly when the Riptide Detective Agency no longer had any role in their case except on sufferance of the ATF. Not anymore. If Nick pissed off Laramie, Lara-something anyway, too much the agents'd commandeer the Ebbtide and go off after Carasco and his guns without them. And that would just piss Nick off more.
Silently, Murray wished Cody luck with his mediating, but calming the two volatile men was looking to be an almost hopeless task. Fortunately two of the agents, Buck and the older one with the voice of a priest, were trying to keep the peace as well.
Tanner set the automatic pistol down in a padded case that was sitting on the deck next to him. The hole in the foam was obviously made to fit the weapon on the table, and the pistol was angled half in and half out. Tanner nudged the unusual gun toward Murray. Murray leaned back in his seat, keeping away.
"You can't hurt it," Tanner said. "It's been through more than you can dish out."
"I've never seen a gun like it," Murray said, fascinated despite himself.
"Well, that ain't too surprising. I don't reckon they were common even back in the day. It's a sawed-off rifle. Nowadays it's against the law to cut down a longarm, but this was done over a hundred years ago. It's an 1875 Winchester lever-action rifle. Modified trigger guard too. Maybe the original owner had big hands or something." He ran his fingers across the brass and steel in a gentle gesture, almost a caress. After a moment he looked up at Murray and chuckled. "Sorry, I go on sometimes." He tilted his head, then went on, "I've got a permit for it."
His voice sounded a little defensive on the last words and Murray smiled. "You'd have to, wouldn't you?"
"Well, it wouldn't look right for an ATF agent to get arrested with an illegal firearm. Wouldn't do my career a lick of good," Tanner said with a smile.
"You're not going to...?" Murray started to ask, then as confusion took over the question faded away. It was clear that the agent was cleaning both the pistol and the rifle, getting them ready for an expected fight the same way Cody and Nick prepared. But surely he wasn't panning on using the antique...
With a chuckle Tanner said, "Hell, no. I was in town for a firearms conference. The ATF's big on professional development these days so it was worth it to them to send me out here even with this case going. I brought the mare's leg along for show 'n' tell. I should probably have left it in the hotel room, but I don't trust hotel locks, is all."
Understanding, Murray said, "Well, you can put it in the computer room if you want, it's the most secure place in King Harbor." He looked back to the gun. With age it had acquired dings and scratches in the metal and wood, the marks of much handling and use. He wondered how many people had died because of it, and how many had lived.
Focused on the gun, Murray was surprised when Tanner nudged it toward him again. "It's old, but it's not gonna break. Go on and pick it up if you want. It ain't loaded."
Murray held his hands up and said, "No, I don't...I don't like guns. I was just curious. I couldn't..." He was embarrassed by the shake in his voice. Damn it, it'd been nearly fifteen years, and yet the guilt was still as fresh and hard as it had been when he shot Nathan Warwick.
Tanner tilted his head and studied him, curiosity in his blue eyes. "You don't carry?" he asked.
Murray's shudder at the thought was all the answer he could offer.
Tanner nodded, his eyes hooded. "Your partners both do."
"Yeah," Murray said, "I don't know what kind they are, just that they're both 9mms. You could probably tell me," he said, looking at the agent. Tanner gave a small smile and nod and Murray went on, "Sometimes I have to buy the bullets, that's how I know what ammunition they take."
Vin picked up the cut-down rifle and put it carefully in its case, picking up his pistol as he did so. Cradling the pistol, black and angular and aggressive looking, in his palm, he said, "They don't mind you're not packing?"
Murray wrapped his arms around his chest. "No. They understand. It's been a long time, they've gotten used to it."
Lost in memory, overwhelmed by the sight of the bullet penetrating Warwick's chest, the sound of the impact, the smell of gunpowder, Murray was surprised then when Tanner tapped his knee softly. "Who was it?" Tanner asked, his raspy voice gentle.
Murray forced his arms down to his sides, and looked out over King Harbor. "He'd just shot Cody, and I lost it. I thought...I thought Cody was dead. So I..." He rubbed the palm of his right hand, remembering the hard feel of the gun pressing into skin and muscle. "We were told he was a rapist and a murderer. But he wasn't. He was just an innocent man targeted by a crazy cop." Murray focused on a seagull bobbing on the gentle waves, a peaceful image.
After a minute or so, Tanner said, "You sure he's the one who'd shot your friend?"
Murray nodded. "Yeah," he said. He'd raised this point with himself a thousand times, but it didn't make a difference in how he felt.
"Not so innocent, then. At least not in my book," Vin said.
Murray shrugged, still watching the gull. "Yeah, that's what Cody and Nick say." He turned toward Tanner and gave a small smile. "It's not that simple, of course."
Tanner made a sympathetic noise and slipped the pistol into a holster at the small of his back. "Nothing's ever simple in this life. Just got to muddle through and do the best you can."
The raised voices from inside peaked into overlapping shouts and Murray looked up to the upper deck, half expecting to see someone, Nick or one of the ATF agents, come flying through the salon door. But nothing happened and after a second, he turned back to Tanner, now stretched out in his seat with his legs crossed at the ankles. Murray smiled, and said, "Your boss reminds me a lot of Nick."
Tanner snorted. "Larabee's bark's worse than his bite. Y'all'll get along with him fine if you just remember that." He looked over at Murray and said, "Bet Mr. Ryder's like that too. Acts like a hard-ass all the time, but inside he's a real good man."
"Yeah," Murray said. "He and Cody were the best after...," his voice trailed away. Tanner nodded and pursed his lips for a second and Murray went on, "Never pressured me about the gun thing or made me feel like I was any less valuable to the agency. I couldn't have asked for better friends. Or better partners." Or lovers, he thought to himself, but he wasn't about to share that with the rough and ready man in front of him. He didn't think Larabee, or any of his men, would be that open minded about three men in a committed relationship.
Tanner sighed and looked at him, a solemn expression on his face. "You're a lucky man to have friends like that."
Surprised, Murray glanced up toward the salon, where the voices still hummed, and said, "Your team...I guess I assumed you were all friends as well as...well, colleagues."
Tanner smiled. "Yeah. They ain't just friends, they're my family. Best group of people I've ever known."
"Well, then," Murray said, "they'd understand if you'd done something and couldn't," he took a deep breath, "couldn't risk doing it again."
Tanner shook his head. "Maybe Ezra or JD could get away without using their weapons, though they'd still have to qualify at the range to keep their badges. Even Josiah. But not me. My job begins and ends with what I can do with a gun. Has since I was younger than those boys over there." He waved a hand toward a distant crowd of young college students playing volleyball on the beach.
Murray nodded, understanding. "Military?"
Tanner gave a crooked smile. "Army. Enlisted on my eighteenth birthday. Always had sharp eyes so they trained me up as a sniper and I been doing it ever since. I'm damn good at it too. I've shot and killed," he thought for a minute, "twelve men, two women." There was a pause and Murray had the sense that the count wasn't complete, but Tanner went on after just a heartbeat, "Can't count the number I've shot and wounded. I stopped asking if they's innocent or guilty in Somalia." He paused for a minute, hands tight around the arms of the deck chair. Murray was about to say something, anything, to fill the heavy silence when Tanner spoke again. "Tried to walk away from it then but the Army wouldn't let me. Said they'd invested too much in my training to let me go soft over one..." His words stopped suddenly and he spread his hands out, looking at Murray from the corner of his eye. "Your tax dollars at work, makin' killers like me."
Tanner's drawl had thickened while he spoke and Murray felt like he was seeing a side of the young man that was normally carefully hidden. "They're your friends," Murray insisted, "they'd understand if you couldn't do it anymore."
Tanner leaned down and snapped the gun case shut, locking it with a small key he tucked in his pocket, then pushed himself to his feet and said, "Could be that you're right, Mr. Bozinsky. I'll give it some thought."
Murray stood and offered his hand, "Call me Murray."
Tanner smiled and gripped Murray's hand firmly in both of his, the clasp somehow more familiar than a normal handshake. Murray smiled as Tanner said, "Vin." He tilted his head toward the stairs to the upper deck, "Let's go see what the dogs have got up to. I don't much like that quiet."
Murray opened the door for him. "Coffee's probably ready, maybe that'll help. I think I could find something for breakfast too."
"Always good to feed the animals," Vin said, as he walked into the boat, dim after the bright morning, "keeps 'em peaceful."
***
They walked into the salon with two trays, one with coffee and mugs, the other with bagels, cream cheese, a bunch of bananas, and two boxes of PopTarts. The men in the room parted to let them pass, Ryder and Allen on one side of the room, Team Seven on the other.
Chris walked in from the deck and found Vin with his eyes. His head tilted, checking to make sure Vin was okay. Vin nodded and smiled, pleased to have been missed. "We brought y'all breakfast," he said, setting his tray down on the table.
While the others came in and selected their breakfasts, Chris sidled up behind Vin. Vin turned to him and asked, softly, "So what's going on?"
"They're going to take us out there. We'll see about whether they're going on the Estrella once we know more about the situation," Chris said, voice just as soft.
"Surprised Ryder went for that," Vin said, eyeing the dark man, who was hovering around Murray, not quite touching but staying close.
"Didn't leave them much choice. Allen's got plans of the Estrella, he was going to get them when I stepped out onto the deck," Chris said. He moved even closer to Vin and said, "You okay?"
Vin shrugged, and said, "Yeah, just a bit crowded in here. Needed some air."
He wondered for a second if Chris had heard what he'd said to Murray out there on the lower deck. Jesus, what the hell'd he been thinking opening up to the man like that, spilling his guts? If Chris heard any of it he'd be worried about Vin going soft right in the middle of the operation. No wonder he was standing so close. To set Chris's mind at ease, he said, "Hope we start moving soon, I hate this waiting."
Chris grunted in response then went to the table to get his own cup of coffee, leaving Vin feeling strangely discontent.
Across the room JD was saying something to Buck that made the tall man cuff him gently on the back of the head. JD danced a step away, then said, louder, "Hey, they have 'em, why can't we?"
Buck set down his cup of coffee on the table then grabbed JD and pulled him in for a noogie. "'Cause PopTarts ain't food, kid. They'll stunt your growth."
JD pushed out of Buck's hold and said, indignant, "My growth's none of your business, Buck. At least I can still eat them without getting fat and slow."
The others laughed, even Ryder and Allen, and that broke the cold tension in the room some.
A few minutes later, when second cups of coffee had been poured, Murray pulled out the black device again and checked the screen. "They're still at Marina Del Rey. I'm going to go check on the surveillance cameras and the harbor mics. Make sure nothing happened overnight." He turned to JD and said, "You want to come see?"
"Hell, yeah!" JD said, draining the rest of his coffee and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The two men ran down the stairs with equal enthusiasm. Murray hardly looked five years older than JD at that moment, let alone twenty.
Ryder cleared the table with Josiah's help, carrying the trays, now filled with dirty cups, crumbs and PopTart wrappers down the stairs that lead to the kitchen. Allen spread some papers out on the table, nautical charts it looked like, and handed each agent a printed sheet that showed the plan of a boat.
"The Estrella De Mar's a Lazzara 110. She has three decks, four passenger staterooms, and separate quarters for the captain and crew. Ramirez lives aboard along with the boat's captain, and the two bodyguards you saw with him last night. They also act as crew. This is the standard floor plan of the boat, but there's no telling how Ramirez might have modified it," he took a sip of his coffee. "She's bigger than the Riptide, and sits up higher in the water, but we're faster. And we have the Ebbtide which is even faster still."
Ryder walked back into the room, and said, "We've also got a helicopter for air support."
Chris nodded at that and made a satisfied noise, then waved them all in close. They gathered around the table studying the plans and brainstorming ideas for how to handle taking both the Estrella and whoever she was going to be meeting.
They were still discussing, when Murray came back up from the computer room. "Cody, Nick, Vin," Ryder's head snapped up at Murray's mention of Vin's name and Vin heard Chris mutter something as he walked past, "we've got something."
Vin followed them downstairs, Chris hard behind him despite not having been invited.
JD was staring intently at the computer screen, adjusting a bank of sliders like a music mixing board. "I think I got it better now, Boz," he said as they walked in.
"Good," Murray said. He turned to the men who'd followed him, blinked twice when he noticed Chris in the crowd, then shrugged. "They didn't take anything off the boat last night. JD and I were worried that they'd offload onto a Zodiac or some other small boat rather than onto the pier. Our cameras wouldn't have caught that. The harbor mics didn't pick up any sounds out of place though."
JD chimed in, "I think the computer would have even picked up something small like a rowboat. He's got the most amazing algorithm for sound analysis."
"So we know that Carasco and the guns are aboard the boat. Along with Ramirez and a total of eight other men," Chris said, his voice getting the edge that Vin knew meant he was focusing everything on the operation.
"And Melina Morales," Allen said, "We can't forget her."
Murray put his hand on Allen's shoulder and said, "I'm sorry, Cody. There's no sign of her even on the...bug." His eyes shifted and he looked away from Chris when he mentioned it, as though he was embarrassed to mention it. Probably was, since they still stood in danger of being arrested for it.
Ryder turned and slapped the edge of the doorway, venting frustration Vin could see clearly on his face.
"So was that what you called us down here for?" Chris asked.
"Oh, no. Sorry," Murray said. "Both sets of mics picked up a phone call this morning. It's clearer from the bug."
"Give me the harbor mics," Chris said, after a second spent thinking. "It's better if we do this without relying on, or even using, the illegal information."
Murray sat down next to JD and flipped a couple of switches and pressed a button. Even scratchy and distorted by the computer, Vin recognized Carasco's voice, saying, "I've got your merch...move it tonight...agreed three mil...can find it...after sunset...pleasure cruise."
Chris pursed his lips and his jaw tightened and, before he could explode, Vin said, "I ain't sure how that's going to help us, Murray. We didn't get a location or a time."
"That's on the next bit, hang on," JD said as he reached across Murray and pressed another button. "This is still the harbor mics."
Carasco's voice was clearer now as he said, "Farouk gave me coordinates," as Carasco gave the numbers Chris and Ryder both pulled out notebooks and wrote them down, similar concentrated scowls on their faces. "Says we're to take a sunset cruise out there and meet him at 9:30 tonight."
"You're positive this is the harbor mic," Chris said. Murray and JD both nodded, and Chris went on. "I'm not sure even that's completely legal, but we'll let the prosecutors sort that out. JD find out everything you can about Farouk. Go back to the hotel if you need your computers."
JD snorted a laugh that made Chris's eyes narrow. "My computers can't do half what these can," he said, with a mixture of envy and pride in his voice.
"Except get into the ATF's system," Chris said.
Murray looked for a second as though he was going to say something, but changed his mind and pulled up a second chair from another desk and sat down at a second computer next to JDs.
Obviously frustrated with all the talking, Allen took the notebook out of Ryder's hand and ran up the stairs, Chris and Ryder hard behind him.
At the door, Vin stopped and said, "Let us know if the Estrella moves or anything comes up on the mics." JD nodded and waved without turning his head. "JD, harbor mics only, kid. Best if we all stay away from the poison tree there. Don't want to give the defense lawyers anything to work with."
JD settled the headphones on and waved again, dismissing Vin.
***
Upstairs, Chris, Josiah, Ezra, Ryder, and Allen were all hovering over the charts spread on the table. Buck stood by the windows, gazing out across the harbor. On the other side of the room, Nathan was lying down on the sofa, and Vin was reminded that he and Buck, and all of the private investigators, had been up all night on the Ebbtide, making sure that the Estrella went to ground where she belonged.
Vin ambled over, giving the charts barely a glance before deciding that they weren't going to mean much to him anyway. He picked up a copy of the Estrella's plans instead and leaned against the wall next to the coffee machine, steaming in the corner, and tried to determine where the guns might be stored, and where the missing woman might be.
He looked up again when Chris, voice carrying the weight of decision, said, "We're going to need the Coast Guard. Ezra, you and Josiah go and coordinate with them. Give them everything we've got." He looked at Cody, who was still studying the map, then went on, "Except the illegal bug. We want them there, but out of sight, no running lights even."
Adjusting the hang of his coat as he stood so that it flowed smoothly over the holsters at armpit and waist, Ezra said, "They won't be well pleased by this, Mr. Larabee. They will expect us to make use of their resources rather than those of the Riptide Agency."
"I have faith in your powers of persuasion, Ezra. If you need to, get Travis to talk to them. And if they won't listen to him keep working your way up the chain. I don't much care how you do it, but we need them at these coordinates," Chris checked the chart and scribbled something on a notepad then checked it again before handing the paper to Josiah. "And we need them there at," Chris checked his watch, "2100, no lights, waiting on our signal."
Josiah nodded his head and Ezra gave a sketchy salute, then they walked out.
Allen stood straight up, rolling tension out of his shoulders and moved aside to let Ryder get a better look. Ryder studied the chart for a minute, then stood with a grin. "You realize this means the Mimi? The Huey won't have the range we need."
Allen groaned, though there was a smile hiding under the edges of his mustache, and Vin got the impression that this was a familiar and comfortable tease, like Buck ragging on JD's eating habits. Curious, Vin said, "The Mimi?"
Ryder was practically beaming when he turned to Vin, his face as transformed and beautified by a smile as Chris's was. "It's a Sikorsky H-34T. She's a real classic chopper, served us well for a long time."
Allen stroked his mustache and said, "Served us well, except for all the times the pistons were broken or the engine seized or the hydraulics stopped working." Looking over at Chris he raised his hands, "She's never let us down when we needed her, though, and she's got enough fuel on board to get out there and circle around for..." He looked to Ryder.
"An hour, hour and a half maybe if the engines are as good as they were last time. And there's Sutil Island right there if I have to land," Ryder said, still obviously pleased.
Chris studied the chart again and pursed his lips in thought, then said. "Okay. One man in the chopper with Ryder. I want Nathan on the boat in case someone gets hurt," Chris said. He turned to Buck, who was staring out the window with the quivering tension of a hunting dog on point. "Buck, it's between you and JD."
Buck turned slowly away from the window toward Allen, an awed look on his face, and said, "Hell, I see why you all live here, boys. Those girls available?"
Vin looked out the window in the direction Buck had been staring. Just a few yards away across a channel there was a large sailboat with a dozen beautiful young men and women working on it, polishing the wood and brass. Vin snorted and said, "Buck, you dog, those girls're too young for you. Hell, a couple of 'em look like they're too young for JD."
Ryder and Allen exchanged smiling glances, then Allen said, "That boat's a fortress, Agent Wilmington, and it's guarded by a dragon named Maxine. And she also runs the hotel you're staying at. I wouldn't advise getting on her bad side by messing with her crew."
Ryder went on, "Anyway, we tried for years with no luck. Finally decided to give up and just enjoy watching."
Buck shook his head, a look of sympathy on his face, "I bet you boys just didn't have the right approach. Ladies like that take a special touch. And ol' Buck's got it."
Tuning out Buck's boasts of his prowess, Vin looked out again, head ducked to hide his eyes. The young men working on the other boat were all of the slender, bronzed and sinewy type with sunbleached long hair and he let himself appreciate the view for a moment.
Until Chris snapped, "Buck, chopper or boat?" Vin's eyes were drawn to Chris and the boys on the other boat suddenly paled in comparison to the lean, chiseled man in front of him.
"Well, now that depends," Buck said slowly, either ignoring or unaware of the irritated gleam in Chris's eyes. "How long do I have before we go?"
Allen checked the charts again then his watch, and said, "I'd like to get in the area before they do, maybe anchor off Sutil Island and pretend we're fishing." Chris nodded, so he went on, "That means we have to leave in three hours."
Ryder grinned and said, "Chopper doesn't have to leave for five."
Buck opened the door and, as he stepped out, said, "Chopper." He turned to Ryder, "Come find me when it's time for us to take off. I'll be on that boat." He pointed to the large sailboat and walked out the door.
A few minutes after Buck left, Chris said, "Mr. Ryder, Mr. Allen..."
He was interrupted by Allen waving his hand and shaking his head. "Look, we're working together. Can we just use first names?"
Chris responded with a small smile, just a quirk of his lips and said, "Yeah. That sounds good. Nick and Cody, you two were up all night. Get some rest while you've got the chance." He gestured to Nathan, snoring softly on the other side of the room. "Nate's setting a good example."
Cody nudged Nick with his shoulder and said, "You'll sleep longer if you go to the hotel. Maybe you can crash in one of their rooms."
Nick shook his head. "I'll sleep better here."
"What about Murray?" Vin asked, remembering that he'd been awake all night too.
"We'll take care of Murray," Nick said, an edge to his voice.
His hand on Nick's shoulder, Cody said, "He'll be okay. He does this sometimes, gets caught up in a case and stays up for a couple of days. He'll crash when we've got Melina Morales safe."
Not touching, but still moving in synch with one another, the two walked down the stairs that led to the back of the boat, past the galley and on down. Vin tilted his head and watched for a second, but turned away before they reached the bottom of the stairs. He wasn't about to make it his business how many bedrooms the Riptide had and how the men who lived there arranged themselves among them.
***
Continued in part 2.
Or skip to part 3.