Brothers in Arms
An alternate point-of-view and ending to "The Leak" (ST:FBE, Ep 1.13)
By T.L. Lawrence
"SAM3-3, report."
"SAM3-3, room clear." Lord, he hated dark houses. Like walking through a minefield. Blindfolded. The white mist of tear gas outside his recon mask didn't do a damn thing to ease the knot in his gut. Not that he didn't trust Thomas' judgment… okay, so maybe that idealist streak made him a little nervous. He just hated raids where he didn't know what might have just crept up beh—
He never even heard movement. Just a subconscious vibe or the shifting of the air. He spun and fired on instinct as a jackhammer punched him right in the chest. Oxygen vanished and his knees went to jelly. The already dark room went completely black…
"We have an operator down! Need to extract an operator!" Noisy dreams, loud surreal voices and hands touching him, disconcerting in the tight heat of his gear. Breathing took effort. A sudden light over his eyelids, painful and sending a groan over his lips. "Identify!"
"Operator is SAM3-3. Get the medics in here." Shadowy figures came into half-focus, leaned over him, recon gear making them look like giant-eyed insects or something out of a space-horror movie.
"I got him, Jack. Go." The soft Aussie drawl echoed from a dark tunnel.
"Clear this house! I want every corner searched." Two of the figures moved away with the sharp command from… Jack Hudson. His unit leader.
Okay… not dead. Too damn noisy for dead. The light hurt too much and he turned his head.
"Easy there, mate. You ain't going anywhere 'cept on a stretcher." Stong fingers probed along the edges of his Kevlar vest. "No blood, that's a good sign. Where'd you get hit anyway?"
"Ch-chest." Drawing a breath to speak felt like his ribs would burst right open. He screwed his eyes shut against the pain.
"It's okay. Don't talk right now. Just sit tight. We got it covered." If Myles didn't know better he'd have sworn he felt Bobby's hand brush over his forehead. "Over here, Dan!"
It got easier to let the medics handle getting him on the stretcher when he realized it hurt to do pretty much anything. He lay back and let his brain shut down for awhile.
"Ok. Found the bullet." The doctor's dark face reflected the light from the monitor keeping track of his heartbeat. Long forceps extracted the piece of lead. He saw Jack's jaw tighten and Bobby pull in a deep breath. The bullet clinked against the glass beaker and settled, staring back at him. "You're a lucky man, Agent Leland. Took that round right in the trauma plate of your vest. Another inch to the left and we're not having this discussion." A queasy tendril wrapped around his stomach.
"Aw, that's not luck, Doc. Training." Myles could hear a smile in Bobby's voice, but it sounded hollow in his ears. "Line it up, took all that little bush ranger had. Front and center, right, Myles?"
Come on, mate. Shake it off. He heard the message as clearly as if his Aussie teammate had spoken it. He'd have said the same thing if the situation were reversed, but right now it didn't want to let go. He needed some time to shake it off for real. "Yeah, nothing to it." He tried to stand and immediately decided it was a bad idea. His ribs felt like they'd been shattered. A groan got past him; at least it wasn't the scream that had started on the other side of his larynx.
D's hands eased him back into the exam chair. "Easy there, cowboy."
The doctor scowled. "He's right. That's still a major blow you absorbed. I'm going to need to do some tests, get some x-rays."
No. Not here. I don't want to stay here and I don't want them to know I'm shaking inside. "Nonsense. I'm fine."
"Hey, you try getting up out of that chair again and I'll finish you off myself." Typical Jack. Then again, they were all doing their level best to shake off not only his near-fatal injury but the situation as well.
"So how'd it feel? Life flash before your eyes?"
Bobby's voice, the one he'd heard that wasn't yelling and screaming, the one that had stayed with him, seemed to settle him more than the rest. Enough that he could pull up a quip and pretend everything was normal. "Well, I knew I wasn't dead when I looked up and saw your homely faces. I figured this couldn't possibly be heaven."
D chuckled. "That's more like it."
"So…" The weight settled back into his chest. "I overheard someone say that one of them was wired up?"
Jack's smile faded immediately. "Yeah. He was wearing a bomb. Looks like he tried to detonate it, but it didn't go off."
So it wasn't just a bullet. He'd scraped past death twice in one afternoon. They all had. The slimy tendrils around his stomach contracted. "Isn't that a joyful thought. And let me guess, their fearless leader, Ahkmed Al Azir wasn't one of the men inside."
Bobby snorted. "No. Don't you just love those saber-rattling gutless Osama types? They keep selling how wonderful it is to be a martyr as long as it's not them doing the martyring." Bitterness dropped the smooth Aussie accent into a low pitch.
"Myles?"
He looked up to see Sue Thomas standing there all sweet-faced and wide-eyed. Oh lord, what does she want? The last thing he needed was some bleeding-heart reassurance when he hadn't done anything wrong… that he could remember. Did I screw up? Did I get myself shot and maybe endanger someone else? Too often lately he found himself second-guessing his instincts because of Thomas' rosy point of view.
"I just wanted to tell you, I'm glad you're okay."
Now what do you say to that? Especially with Jack and Bobby grinning at him, waiting for a reply. Especially when he'd been nothing short of rude to her for the past three months. One soft bubble of gratitude slipped past his habitual barriers. "Thank you."
The doctor broke the silence before things got awkward. "I'd like to get him in for observation. Let's go."
"Yeah, we're outta here."
Suddenly the thought of being alone with his thoughts clenched his stomach again. "No, look, just do what you need to do and let me get out of here. I have unfinished business. And they are out there recruiting new fanatics as we speak." And if I don't walk out with them now I'm terrified I may never want to again.
No one heard what he couldn't say. "We'll take care of that. You get some rest."
The doctor left to get the forms for all her poking and prodding, leaving him alone staring at that little glass jar with its shiny contents. After a long moment he managed to get to his feet, glad at least his ribs seemed to be intact this time. The glass felt cool against his fingers as he picked up the jar and considered the flattened bullet rattling around inside. How can something so small…? He wasn't sure how to finish the sentence. Scare the hell out of him as he realized what it had almost done, yes.
Scare the hell out him as he realized the legacy he'd have left behind… even more so.
#
I can do this. No matter his hands shook deep in his overcoat pockets and the claw squeezing at his gut had set up a nice little rhythm. Just walk in there like it's all good and it'll get there. He'd made it through the phsyical tests and x-rays and gotten the all-clear; then a quick sit-down with a Bureau shrink where he managed to stay calm for an hour's debrief. Now he just had to plow back into work and get his sea-legs back. He'd be fine.
Until Ted Garrett's deep tones echoed into the hallway from the Bullpen. "So if they were tipped off, who did it?"
His steps faltered. Tipped off?
"Well, it's a short list of candidates." Jack's voice, all business with that undertone of frustration. "There's us and … Sue's informant."
"I don't believe he would do that." A rather tense pause followed Sue's declaration of loyalty. "Not intentionally, anyway."
Always so trusting. He couldn't seem to work up any anger at her, though. She'd feel bad enough that maybe something she did had screwed up the raid.
"Have you been in contact with him since it happened?" Garrett's voice always softened a little when he talked to Thomas. To a point.
"I've tried to reach him. He hasn't returned my calls." But you still believe he's innocent. Little stubborn streak in there, haven't you, Thomas?
"He's an informant, Thomas." Sounded like Garrett's soft-point had been reached. "He's unreliable by definition."
"And he obviously had advance knowledge." D's solemn declaration sent a shiver up Myles' spine. Fortunately the hallway was deserted. He pulled in a breath and braced his shoulders. Time to make an entrance.
Jack's words provided a cue. "We'll find him and check it out."
"Well, look who's back!"
"Hey-hey!"
He tried to just let it slide off, walk to his desk like it was any other day. But he couldn't. The welcome felt so warm and he'd treated them all so coldly the whole time he'd known them… No. No more ice-walls. Life was too short to waste it hiding. He received the applause graciously and with a short bow of gratitude.
"Aren't you supposed to be being checked out?"
Ah, leave it to Jack to blunt the warmth. A tiny spur of resentment licked at his soul before he pushed it away. "Already done it. Medical and psych. Doctors say I'm good to go." And I plan to keep everyone thinking that way until I really am.
"He gets shot and he goes sane on us." Tara's smile caught just the corners of her lips. Really, very charming. "Go figure."
"How do you feel, Man of Steel?" Bobby playfully landed a punch into his chest, not hard enough to truly touch but enough Myles winced and held up a hand.
"Sore. I've got the mother of all bruises." It all felt so warm and welcoming, he wanted to join in. "Care to see?"
"No." Lucy, Sue and Tara all cringed.
Teasing was such fun when you felt included. "Well, I know you're all just kidding."
"No. We're not."
Or… not. Lucy's words cut deep, deeper than he'd normally have allowed. Still… a new leaf, I'm not going to get bent out of shape over every little thing. Garrett's chuckle sounded forced but it carried a similar advice.
He tried his own laugh and decided it sounded credible. Maybe it was time to explain what he'd discovered so they'd understand. "You know, there are things that, uh, happen in your life that, uh— well, like getting shot in the chest that— have a way of changing your outlook. I guess what I'm realy saying is… I'm going to be making an effort to be... a little kinder, a little gentler, and a lot less sarcastic with my cutting wit."
He didn't miss the disbelieving looks exchanged among his teammates. But I mean it. Words he couldn't say, knowing it would only make things harder. They'll see. I've been given a second chance. I don't intend to waste it.
#
It felt good, doing a little routine canvassing of a neighborhood, seeing if anyone had seen Malik Bassaam lately. The occasional worried glance from Bobby as they headed back to meet up with Jack and Sue felt even better. Lord, even the crisp early spring air tasted wonderful. He could beat it. They'd find Al Azir and he would go back to his life a better man for the experience.
"Any luck?" Bobby called out to the other team as they appraoched.
"She hasn't seen him since before the raid." It appeared Thomas wasn't having much luck defending her informant.
Jack didn't pause, something that happened with more frequency now that Thomas understood more the way of things at the Bureau. "Or so she says." He stepped around to face her, next to Bobby, putting her essentially alone against the three of them. "Mothers will often do whatever it takes to protect their sons."
She favored the dark-haired agent with a longsuffering gaze. "Malik feels strongly there is no place for terrorism in his religion." At the skeptical looks she got from Bobby and Jack, her voice tightened. "He's given us solid information and never asked for a dime. I don't believe that he set us up."
She had a passionate streak a mile wide, he'd give her that. And she did have a point. Most informants cared for little except the money they could make or the get-out-of-jail-free card that came with information.
"I think we need to face the reality that he may have." Was this the way he'd sounded all these months? That slightly condescending tone that— okay, his hadn't been exactly slight— stopped just short of a tolerant pat on the head? At least Jack still had the grace to explain afterward. "Look, and the fact that he's not calling you back, it's… it's tough to get around."
"Unless he's been found out."
Bless Sue, always thinking the best in people. Then again, what could it hurt once in awhile to not assume the worst-case scenario?
"Sue has a point." He had to keep from smiling at the shock on her face. So much to make up for, and he could at least start by not making it unanimous against her this one time. "He could be dead. Or maybe he's hiding out because someone threatened him."
"Or… threatened his mother?" Shocked she might be, but she'd take any help she could get right now.
"Or he could just be playing us." Bobby never much cared who he argued with, just as long as the angles got covered. One of the best agents he'd ever worked with. And a closer friend than he'd ever admit.
And Jack always considered all the angles. "I think we need to check out the mosque he belongs to."
A crash off to the side caught Myles' attention, an older lady with a cart full of groceries, overturned as she'd tried to get up over the curb. He didn't think, just acted with the new-found outlook he'd discovered. He wasn't the only person on the planet with problems.
"Are you ok? Here, let me get that for you." How amazing that a little connection of service could make his soul fly just a bit. Her bundles and bags weighed nothing in the balance.
"That bullet must have ricocheted off his vest and given him a little knock to the noggin." Bobby's comment registered faintly, but not enough for him to do more than chuckle inwardly over it. They'd see. Right now he had a fellow human being to assist.
"Do you have far to go?" The smile on the lady's wrinkled face made the world a little warmer still.
#
"Oh, Agent Leland?" The pretty analyst from White Collar moved aside so he could step off the elevator. "Your shoe's untied."
"Ah!" He glanced down before giving her a bright smile. "Thank you—" He stopped to read her ID. "—Dana. Wouldn't want to trip in the middle of a pursuit." He swung the two boxes of donuts onto a chair and bent to tie his favorite Italian leather work shoes. Why save them for White House briefings when they felt like a second skin and looked so nice?
He retied the second one as well, giving himself time to breathe normally after the torture of so many keen eyes all in a tiny space. It felt like everyone could see right through his business-as-usual face. In the Bullpen a lively discussion was taking place and he allowed the familiar voices to help him center so he could function.
"Classified information that we wouldn't share with a five-star general. Available on-demand to politicians. And their staffs, who don't even have security clearances." Bobby's outrage warmed him beyond belief. At least someone else seemed to care agents were getting shot.
"Did they know about this raid?" He could almost hear the wheels turning in Jack's head.
"I checked. It was in the full Ops brief Garrett had to send up at the beginning of the week. It got included at the last minute." Ah, such a fount of realiable information was Tara!
"Well that's gotta be it!" The slap of a folder hitting Bobby's desk.
"You know, these leaks are— I almost said 'these leaks are gonna be the death of me,' and I just realized they almost were."
You have no idea, D. None of them really did. They'd almost been blown up, true. Again. The number of times had surpassed active memory. But they hadn't taken an actual, physical piece of lead to the chest, stopped a quarter-inch from their skin by a synthetic miracle. A quarter-inch from death. His hands started to shake and he grabbed the donuts before slipping into a nearby conference room.
Stop. He leaned his fists against the dark cherry table and swallowed several times, pushing the memory of a dark room and the jackhammer blow to his chest as far from his conscious mind as he possibly could. You have work to do. A lifetime to make up for. Stop reliving it and move on.
He forced his mind to focus on what he'd heard. An Ops briefing. A Senate sub-committee. Staff members or senators themselves with royally big mouths and too many eager ears around. He already knew what Jack would be planning by the time he could breathe again and stepped from the conference room, smooth façade in place.
"And when one of those little details shows up in the newspaper or we hear it on the street, we know which office is leaking." Right on track.
"I say we do a little creative plumbing."
Ah, milady Tara, the gift of wit! Of course, his own attempt at a play on words failed utterly, but who cared when he had something to share with them all. "I'm sorry I'm late, but they were just making up a fresh batch of these babies." He presented the first box of still-warm donuts with a flourish worthy of a game-show prize girl. "And let me tell you, it was worth the wait."
"I thought you quit eating donuts."
Lucy wouldn't bother him today. Nothing could. "Oh, I did. Bad for my cholesterol." Lord, they tasted incredible! "Mmm. So, who wants one?" They all stared at him as if he were from another planet. It's ok. They'll get used to it and see I meant what I said. "Hey, come on, you only live once, people, you could get shot tomorrow! Or in my case yesterday." If he said it enough maybe the tremor would go away.
Aliens didn't seem to concern Bobby when there was food involved. "My cholesterol's fine." First taker.
"Mine, too."
Even Thomas smiled and got up. "Good philosophy."
Tara stayed seated, her eyes wide and a little wary. Good thing he knew the magic words. "I have crème filled."
"Works for me." Her bright grin got close-up in a hurry.
It felt wonderful to have them all so close, friends as well as colleagues, working together to put the man responsible for his shooting behind bars. Only Lucy stopped to take a phone call.
He saw the look on her face first— bad news. The others turned and he felt the chill descend. "That was DCPD. Your informant, Malik Basaam, was found dead of a gunshot wound."
The pain shot through his chest all over again. Suddenly that quarter-inch seemed a whole lot smaller.
#
It wasn't fair. She'd put her heart into defending the kid and he ended up dead anyway. And it irked Myles that he had to keep reminding himself it was about more than his own injury. Another human life had been actually snuffed out by these bastards and all he could think about was how he wished that circle of concern had been so nice when it was his alone. He sat at the conference table and concentrated on keeping the tremors at bay.
"For all those interested, we've put out the tidbits of false information to the various senators' offices. They were placed in updates, ninety-nine percent of which are true. All with a different piece of misinformation." Hearing Jack go over the details they already knew really didn't help.
"Now we wait to see whose false tidbit becomes public." From the look on her face, Tara hated waiting as much as he did.
"The brass upstairs wants everyone here to take polygraph tests."
What? Bad enough he had to fight every waking moment to maintain some semblance of outward calm. Now the insult to be hooked up to that infernal machine— "Right. I called Al Qaeda just before we entered the house to let them know which door I'd be at so they'd be sure to have a good shot at me." The sheer absurdity of it added another knot to his stomach. The people around the table were the only people he felt safe with right now. So nice of the upper echelon to take that small comfort away from him as well.
"It's to prove that the leak didn't come from here. Now they are backing us on the Senate probe— I'm not going to complain."
Whatever. Getting mad at Jack wouldn't solve a thing. Myles waved it off.
"In the meantime we have no new information on Akhmed Al Azir. We're not even sure if he's still in the country. No one's seen him for ages." One thing Myles could always count on was Bobby's frustration levels matching his own.
The briefing broke up. Time to go back to his desk and try not to think.
#
Two days passed with nothing, no new information. Myles found it harder to get up in the mornings. Vague dreams of dark hallways and sinster shadows plagued his nights, along with whispers of treachery and betrayal. Conversations narrowed to case details only. He got through his polygraph with no major dilemmas, but the whole idea of someone in his unit leaking information was laughable. When it didn't creep into those nightmares.
Bobby's solid presence across the desk from him was about the only thing keeping him sane at the office. Fighting to keep the tremors in his hands from catching the big Aussie's eye helped him concentrate more on the case work. The distinct aroma of that vanilla-espresso Bobby favored lately from the coffeehouse a block away wrapped a blanket of half-calm around him.
"Read all about it." The sound of a newspaper slapping Jack's desk brought his head up. From the gleam in Tara's eye, they'd just hit pay dirt.
A column, written by a journalist known for digging in places he shouldn't, revealing the lovely little bread crumb dropped in the path of Wisconsin Senator Chuck Lawton's office. A lead. Not one directly to the leak, but enough to drop a few more goodies along the path and follow the slime trail to Examiner darling Joe Harding. Who despite his writing skills needed a swift kick in the common sense.
"And when we find the sorry mongrel who's responsible… Let's just say I consider what they did to be every bit as bad as pulling the trigger."
That… that wasn't for Basaam. Myles couldn't quite believe he'd heard correctly. Bobby? Maybe that friendship wasn't as one-sided as he'd thought. The Aussie mad brewing on his behalf just might help him sleep tonight. The rage bright in those blue eyes warmed him deep.
"This just came in from our good friends at WYZX." Garrett's voice always seemed to arrive a few seconds before the big man himself. And the compact disk he held in one broad hand.
Jack's brows went up. "Channel 3? I wasn't aware we had any good friends there."
"We didn't. But we do now. They refused to air it, but they thought we might want to see it."
Seconds later Akmhed Al Azir's stoic face appeared on the plasma screen, voice intense and boring a hole right into his gut. "Now you see that we will no longer tolerate the provocations of your godless immoral govenrment. When you attack us, the sons and daughters of Allah will answer fire with fire, sword with sword."
Nothing like having an entire religious faction declare a personal war on you before ten a.m. It took all Myles had to stay upright and stare the terrorist down, even in digital form. The bruise on his chest throbbed all over again.
"We will attack your agents and soldiers, and those who aid and abet them with all the strength that we possess. We will take the fight to you. You are no longer safe inside your own borders. Be forewarned."
#
"You okay, mate?" At least Bobby had given him a few hours to start breathing normally again without having to force it. "You been kinda quiet."
"Yeah." Okay, so maybe a little more breathing time would have been better. Myles tried again and prayed his voice gained a bit more solidity this time. "Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking."
"Mm." Bobby's quirkish pencil-juggling over his fingers started up for a moment before the blue eyes nailed him squarely. The soft drawl dropped to a whisper. "You do know he wasn't talking about you personally, right?"
"I—" Damn it all, he'd been too engrossed in trying to breathe he'd let a tremor creep out into his hands. Myles laid them flat on the desk blotter to keep them still. "I know, Bobby. It's just the same old rhetoric we've heard a million times."
"No, it's not. It's way closer to home." The pencil stopped its cartwheel routine. "I just wanted to make sure you knew it wasn't just you. It's us."
He had to look away. It was either that or have every terrified secret tumble out and he couldn't do that. Not here. But he could at least say thank you for the glow those words set in his stomach. He blinked once to clear his eyes and looked back at Bobby—
"Anybody up for a matinée?" Tara's words broke the moment and Myles swallowed the gratitude as everyone turned to see what she had.
New information gleaned using her impressive computer skills! A few hours' work with a digital sound filter and some visual wizardry, and not only could they determine the time and city Akmhed had filmed his little glory-speech, but the very building. I do love technology. And Tara, you shall have a bouquet of my finest roses at the first opportunity.
And Akmhed Al Azir just met his match.
#
Finally, something to do besides track down fruitless leads. The adrenalin rush felt familar again, his senses sharp and under control for the first time since the last raid. Myles checked his firearm clip a third time and caught Jack's attention focused across the street. D must be on his way back.
A moment later D appeared around the corner of the Bureau SUV they were using for cover. "Apartment manager says Akmhed checked out last night."
You've got to be kidding me! The frustration retied itself around his gut. "I don't suppose he left a forwarding address." What the hell is it going to take?
Bobby's eyes held complete empathy. The Aussie once chased a perp, who'd ripped Bobby's shoulder open with a three-foot length of chain, across three states and two Canadian provinces. That one had taken several wrong turns in the process as well. "No, but that's not to say he doesn't have some other little surprises for us."
"All right, let's check it out." Count on Jack to not waste any time. Which works just fine for me. Less time to think.
Myles held his breath and focused on Bobby and Jack's voices in his ear while waiting in a stairwell several yards down the hallway. Bobby had his bag of gadget wizardy, checking for who knew what sort of booby traps. Myles found himself praying with a fervency that rarely manifested in his rather jaded soul. God, please don't let anything happen to them. Because I swear, if that bastard takes out any of my team there won't be anything left for a trial when I find him.
"Hello." Bobby's voice tensed. "A little welcoming message."
A pause and shuffle as Jack no doubt took his own look through the sensor. Then a fast breath and more tension. "The room's wired with IR-activated sensors. Get the bomb boys."
Infared sensors. Explosives. And knowing Akmhed and his set, enough explosives to not only eliminate evidence but take out half the city block. Myles' gut relaxed enough to breathe only when he saw Jack and Bobby appear in the stairwell door. The seven-floor descent felt like a marathon.
It took the Bomb Squad all of five minutes to ascertain the situation. "You boys may as well put your feet up. This is gonna take an hour, bare minimum. Better to figure two and change."
Two hours. Two hours to sit and think and try not to shake. The close confines of the SUV started to feel like a cage. Two hours would drive him mad if he had to just sit here.
"Well, strewth, if we're stuck here I say we find some tucker." Bobby could eat in the middle of Armageddon. "Saw a little deli a couple blocks down when we drove in. Whaddya say we make a lunch run, eh, Myles?"
His head swung fast. Was it that obvious? Nothing but ease in those blue-teal eyes, an almost-plea for sustenance that had Myles quirking one corner of a smile in spite of himself. "Heaven forbid we have to sit here and listen to you slowly starve to death. Sure, I'll go with you." Anything to get out of this tiny space.
A brisk breeze accompanied them down the sidewalk. Bobby shoved his hands in the pocket of his windbreaker and glanced up at the light haze in the sky. "I hate waiting in a space made for somebody Sparky's height. Makes me feel like a bloody pretzel. Rather have room to pace properly."
Myles had watched Bobby pace the Bullpen enough times to take the comment at face value. Maybe it wasn't so obvious after all. "Being six-three in a six-zero world does have its trials. The price we pay for our genetics."
"You gonna get your usual turkey-and-sprouts thing? I got my mouth set on a mile-high Reuben, with as much pastrami as they can stuff into it." A familiar grin. "Days were you'd get one too and I'd eat the half you couldn't finish." A sideways glance and the little gleam that always spelled mischief. "You still feeling like living in the moment?"
"How can someone your height and build have the metabolism of a hummingbird?" But it sure sounded good. Pastrami and a delicate Baby Swiss, just the slightest touch of sauerkraut and a bit more dressing on a fine Russian rye... Okay, mouth watering. If it kills me, it kills me. He smiled. "But I believe living in the moment sounds perfect right now."
By the time they got back Myles found he had an appetite for his sandwich after all. The simple space and the feeling of not being watched for a change let him relax a little.
But only a little. Al Azir's still out there. And so's the informant. He wouldn't be able to truly rest until they were caught.
#
"Akmhed must have been a very busy bee to get all those sensors and explosives in place so quickly."
Lucy's comment just fueled the fire burning in Myles' stomach. Three hours it had taken the Bomb Squad to unravel the little Jihadi spiderweb. For all the good it did them. The room was clean; there was no evidence to indicate Akmhed al Azir, or anyone else for that matter, had been in the place for a month. Another dead end.
Bobby glanced up from his report. "No rest for the wicked."
"Hey, anything to kill a few more infidels." Funny, he didn't feel like an infidel. Where the hell did somebody get off barging into his country and taking aim at him just for doing his job? Let alone sweet-talking or blackmailing some senator or aide into selling out their homeland? Oh, Myles hoped al Azir had the stupidity to run when they finally cornered him. Grinding the man's face into the pavement with a flying tackle would feel so good. A bullet would be too kind.
"Anybody interested in some more show and tell?" D's entrance with Thomas broke his train of thought, but not the rage building. He shifted wrong and a sudden pain from the bruise on his chest sharpened it to a slim blade.
"Yeah. Can you show and tell me where Akmhed is?" Jack's frustration always maifested itself as weariness.
"Well, it's not quite as exciting as that, but this ain't bad." The look in D's eyes and the triumphant little smile curving Thomas' lips, along with that lovely shiny disk in D's hand said this could be a new direction indeed. Myles set aside his thoughts and stood to face the plasma screen.
Joe Harding, nosy little cretin that he was, sunning himself on a park bench with a not-very-obscuring newspaper. We knew that. What's the rest? He had to consciously stop the little rant in his head. Whoa, back up a little and let them explain. They wouldn't have brought it in unless--
"And here comes our mystery guest." Thomas sounded so calm. Then again, didn't she always unless it was her own banner on the ramparts. "This would be Philip Kent, one of Senator Lawson's top aides." The images on the screen began to interact. Myles found himself staring at that new face, imprinting it on his brain.
As Sue lip-read the conversation. confirming Kent as their government leak, his emotional sword zeroed in and found a target. A man who would knowingly betray classified information to the press, an American journalist of all people who would relay that news to Al-Qaeda... It has to stop. It will stop.
"Slimy Senate aide, a drongo reporter and a terrorist who's trying to blow us off the face of the earth. We've got more weasels running around here than a Tasmanian henhouse." Bobby's down-under humor didn't quite reach below the surface this time. Myles couldn't let Kent out of his sight. Not another ghost.
"I think you and I ought to pay Mr. Kent a visit." Perfect. Time to take down the first angle. Dry up the information fountain. Plug the leak.
"Better watch what we say, apparently he has a hard time keeping a secret." Thomas' voice made Myles realize Jack wasn't talking to him. No wait. Thomas? Well, fine, she can come along too. But he's mine. I want this cockroach in my sights. But they were reaching for their coats.
Bobby shifted on the desk. "And need I remind you, this is just a different kind of booby trap, boys and girls. Trip this wire, your career blows up in your face."
Enough. "Yes, well we've established that I'm bullet-proof, probably bomb-proof, too. So, let's go."
"Uh, Myles, maybe you should stay here..."
The dam broke. And he didn't much care to rebuild it. He grabbed his coat and scarf. "Oh, no, no... If this little poindexter is responsible for making me a pop-up target for terrorists, I at least want the satisfaction of looking him in his smarmy little face when we take him down."
And then maybe I can sleep again.
#
What was it about these dark walnut-paneled walls that turned ordinary patriotic Americans into sleazy politicians? Or was it a required class in the degree? Then again, half of politicians started out as lawyers, so who knew? Listening to the glib rubbish going on in the office Kent's secretary opened for them made him nauseous.
"...you're absolutely right about that. And I can personally assure you that Senator Lawton is considering your proposal." The man even looked like a weasel, beady little eyes and pointed nose, continuing his telephone snow-job even as he motioned them in. "Fabulous! Well, we'll see you at the benefit then. And oh please, say hello to your lovely wife, uh..." Quick check of the notes to make sure all the compliments match. "...uh, Helen, for me. Right. Buh-bye." The physical eye-roll wasn't even necessary; it showed for the split-second before that practiced smile turned to flash at them. "Sorry about that. Lobbyists. Always want a piece of you."
Oh, not nearly as much as I want a piece of you right now, junior.
"I'm Philip Kent. And you must be the ones who called from our nation's number-one law enforcement agency."
So smooth, so unconcerned. Oh, how he'd love to land a fist right in Kent's lobbyist-funded caps.
Jack pulled up the gracious smile. "Jack Hudson. Sue Thomas. Myles Leland."
Or I could just pulp the twit's hand right now. Myles managed to stay civil. Justice would come soon enough. "Hello."
"What can I do for you folks today?"
Oh, give me a reason to throw you over that desk and slap a pair of cuffs on you. That will do quite nicely.
"We need to discuss a rather... sensitive matter with you." The Jack Hudson special-delivery diplomacy voice.
Okay, he's good cop. And Thomas couldn't be a bad cop if she tried. That leaves bad cop for me. Perfect.
"Ah, well, discretion is my middle name."
Actually, Roland is your middle name. And it's going to look so good on a court order. Right next to "traitor."
Jack looked about as convinced. "We have reason to believe that classified information is being leaked by this office."
The guy was good. The shock in those beady eyes actually lacked any guilt. "That's terrible."
"Yes, it is." Ah, patient good cop. "And I should also tell you that leaking such information is a federal offense."
Bad cop's cue. I'm going to enjoy this. Myles took a step forward and didn't bother to stop until he stood right in front of Kent. "It's a nice little exchange program you guys have here. You leak Joe Harding classifed info, and then when you need to call in a favor he writes something nice about your boss." Nice silk tie. Perfect for a good grip. Could that be fear in the little cretin's eyes? Even better. He gripped tight and made the first shove. "So why don't you tell me what possessed you to--"
"Hey, hey, Myles, woah!" Jack pulled him back before he could get the leverage to plow Kent onto that antique desk. But Bad Cop got his job done. And the release felt pretty good, too. Back to business. Good Cop Jack took over again and Myles could catch his breath. "Now, if you don't mind, we'd like to know if this is your deal, or if the senator's in on it, too."
Kent had the audacity to half-gurgle out his response. "And I would like to remind you that Senator Lawton has oversight authority on your agency. I don't think he'd like to know that you were intimidating one of his top aides."
Brother, you didn't get half of what I could have done to you. Quit whining.
"Oh, he's gonna know. Because we're gonna tell him." Jack could get tough when needed. Then Good Cop resurfaced. "Think about it, Philip. If the senator doesn't know anything about this, don't you think it's going to come as a bit of a shock to him?"
I do believe "duh" applies here.
"And if he does... who do you think he's going to want to take the fall? Himself? Or some lower-level aide?" Jack's little jabs into Kent's chest sent the point home so well. And thumbscrews were just too messy.
Kent's polished facade crumbled. "He doesn't know."
A smile, the first one in days, felt so good. One down, two to go.
#
"It may be illegal for an aide to leak classified information, but it's not illegal for a journalist to print it." Always, always the letter of the law. And no one pushed the limits of those letters like Joe Harding. Myles glared at the reporter's back, picturing a big red bullseye on it.
Jack's voice betrayed a similar thought, though diplomacy still reigned. "So the fact that you might have gotten an agent shot--"
"That would be me." Myles caught his unit leader's glance and internalized the rest of the anger at Harding. As if you give a damn, you pathetic excuse for a human being. Oh wait, that's the definition of journalist around this rag. Lord, would they were all like Darcy D'Angelo and at least had some semblance of a conscience.
"--is irrelevant?" Really, a very good thing Jack was along. The younger agent's outrage kept Myles from ramming Harding's smug face right into a wall.
Harding condescended to put down his notes and face them. "I didn't, so yes it is." That snotty little tone set a new fire in Myles' gut. "Check the date on my story. You had already botched your raid by the time I wrote it. So it wasn't compromised by me."
Botched? Why you-- The man had the audacity to fix a glare on him. The mere fact you knew compromised it. It's classified, idiot. That means you don't get a taste. And I didn't botch anything. I did my job. That little mantra plagued Myles' nights now. Every step, every nuance and movement, he'd relived and reanalyzed and re-everythinged. He'd done it by the book. And it didn't help a damn thing.
"Did you discuss what you knew with anyone prior to that?"
Save your breath, Thomas. There's a universal cop-out for that one.
Harding glared again. "I don't have to tell you that. Or anything else that's protected by the First Amendment's language concerning the freedom of the press."
Of course. Myles somehow doubted that this was what the Founding Fathers had in mind when they added in that little clause. But then they never expected the shark-infested free-for-all the media would become, did they?
"It's a fascinating passage. You guys should read it sometime." Unbelieveable. Harding would actually stand there and defend himself with the First Amendment after bribing or otherwise seducing another American to commit treason.
Harding stepped toward him and stood toe-to-toe. "I been doing this a long time."
No kidding. Just how many more leaks have you opened up?
"I know what information might put people in jeopardy and I don't do that."
Right. You just file it away and save it for a rainy day. And I'm captain of the Hesperus.
"I don't print it and I don't go talking about it at cocktail parties." The sheer gall to look Myles in the eye as he said it. Harding was a weasel of the highest caliber. "I wouldn't be in business long if I did. I know how to do my job. Why don't you guys learn how to do yours and maybe you won't always have to blame the press for your failures?"
I didn't--
"Mr. Harding, I have--" A female voice broke into the conversation. It didn't make a dent in the churning motions Myles' stomach had going. Or the vise wrapping icy fingers around his heart. The young woman behind him must have felt the tension strung across the room. "Oh. I'll come back."
A wise idea. You probably don't have the constitution for the blood about to come pouring from his nose. And possibly mouth, if I aim just right.
"Oh, no, that's all right. They were just, uh, leaving." Oh, Harding had a brass pair. As if Myles couldn't see that subtle little down-over-my-nose glance. "Look, I'm on a deadline. If you guys want to continue this conversation, you're gonna have to come up with a better reason than the pleasure of your company." That little sneer-and-snort dismissal. "You can show them out."
Over my dead body, you pompous, snide, traitorous son of a bitch! One step-- and Jack's hand caught him in the chest. No words, just a calm reminder that one's career wasn't worth the immense satisfaction of pounding a slug like Harding into the floor. Slug's too refined for Harding. Pond scum. Red Tide. That really foul-smelling foam that washes up with dead seaweed on the Cape. Still too nice. Harding belonged with the most repulsive, vile, abhorrent sustances known to man. And even then he'd be relegated to the bottom of that odious list.
"We'll be in touch, Joe." Agent Diplomacy at all times. Maybe someone should take a shot at Jackson now and again. See how calm he stays.
Harding's sneer twisted that ice-cold vice a little more. "Well, isn't that something to look forward to."
The impulse to land a fist rose up like bile in his throat. Until Jack walked out of the office ahead of him. Trust. Jack's silent and utter trust that Myles knew when to walk away. Beating Harding to a pulp would do nothing for the case and everything for ending Myles' career in a heap of press-fired ashes.
Swallow it, Leland. You've got to swallow it. It took a moment for his gut to obey his brain. Especially when swallowing it left his gut burning. Much more and he feared he'd have no stomach left for the job or anything else.
#
The DC Metro gave Myles the perfect place to rehash the interviews with Kent and Harding over and over in his mind. Nobody on the subway looked anywhere but at their papers, books, or hands, and anyone who did either wanted you to find God or the last five dollars in your wallet. Only one old wino approached him before having the good sense to back away from the glare Myles felt burninng behind his eyes.
Sue had gotten a call from the administrator of the Eighth Avenue Mosque, apparently with some new tidbit of information that would no doubt lead in a renewed circle of hand-offs, excuses and general "who-cares" attitude. Myles had offered to take the train back to the Hoover Building before that hesitant little glance of Jack's could dismiss him. He'd had quite enough of interviews today anyway.
He'd curse aloud if it wasn't so crass an action. One benefit of the anger though, it kept him from shaking. Fury cured the lingering terror that resurfaced each night in his dreams. Perhaps he should cultivate it.
He left the Metro with a double weight of sheer rage simmering in his belly. Woe betide this traitor when Myles finally found them.
"Myles! Hey!" Bobby's voice rang out over the traffic. "Hold up, mate."
Myles waited for the big Aussie to cross the street from the Hoover Building, a really rather elegant dance with the myriad of automobiles vying for position. Rage got put on hold for a moment. "You bellowed?"
"Got a lead. Our boy frequents a coffee shop out by the Uni. Up to a little reccy?" The grin burned brighter than the rather weak sun overhead. "Go stir the grounds a bit and see what brews?"
Now how the hell was he supposed to stay mad in the wake of that? Myles rolled his eyes and laughed in spite of himself. "I'm not sure what to arrest you for, bad puns or the murder of the Queen's English. Let's go." He shook his head at that bright grin and headed to the crosswalk at the corner. "So why didn't you simply wait for me on that side which has the parking garage on it?"
"Your sunny disposition? Need a bit of it to cheer me up?" Bobby's dimples appeared in full force. Myles sent of up a prayer of thanks for his immunity. "I'm out in the lot today. Somebody swiped my spot again."
"Well, if you could manage to arrive on time more than once a month, they'd know someone actually uses it." Somehow just being in Bobby's aura made the knot in Myles' stomach ease. "And I'm not sure how sunny I am after..." You start talking it's all likely to spill out. Not a good idea. "Never mind. Which end of the lot?"
"This end for a change." Bobby fished his keys from his pocket and led the way to the car. "And what has you feeling less than solar-powered, mate? After what? Things go bad with your meeting?"
Now that tack he could handle. The anger simmered again, warm and comforting. "Oh, not at all. Unless you consider a Senate aide with the morals of a vulture and a journalist who thinks the First Amendment exists solely for him to crawl under when he does something to screw with m--" A quick swallow and a change of word choice. "...with the security of his country to be bad. Other than that it went just dandy."
A bright gaze caught him out of the corner of hooded eyes. "Yeah. The security of the country. Me, I'm not too pleased with them trying to blow me up. Tends to get on my wrong side, that."
The bruise on his chest ached with a suddenness that caught Myles' breath as he got into the car. It's not about you, Leland. Don't go there. The fact that it felt very, very much just as Bobby said sent a new tremor through Myles' hands and he clenched them into fists to keep it to himself. "So what's this lead? Or are you simply on a hunt for a new level of caffeine-induced job performance?"
"Jack called. The guy over at the mosque says our current favorite genocidal maniac likes to frequent a certain coffee shop. I'm thinking he's flavoring his latte with a little recruitment." Bobby negotiated the parking lot, moving toward the street as he spoke. "Looking for young minds he can warp."
That blue gaze stayed fixed on him, even though Bobby watched the road and the pedestrian traffic. Myles knew it too well from many years of working with the big Aussie. He sighed and rubbed at the band of tension re-wrapping itself around his head, though a tendril of warmth peeked through the ice in his gut. "How much of the rest did Jack tell you as well?"
"The part where you came really close to rearranging the faces of a Senate aide and a well-known reporter? That part?" He managed to steal a glance at Myles. "I heard. And here I'm supposed to be the raw-meat eating one."
"Kent..." Beady-eyed little weasel. God, it would have felt so good to drive his narrow face into that walnut desk. I-- "Okay, so Bad Cop almost got carried away. That's the drill, isn't it?"
"And you do Bad Cop better than anyone I know. But I don't think you were play-acting this time, mate. I think you got a lot steaming up that head of yours." Bobby managed to avoid a gaggle of tourists crossing against the light. "And scum like that could make it boil over. Only natural."
"Kent was just...annoying. Trying to hide behind his boss and all that slimy polish they use on the lobbyists and their constituents." Maybe if he ignored the fact that Bobby read him far too well for comfort, the insects crawling in his stomach would go away.
The Australian nodded. "Never cared for those types myself. Probably better Jack was along. I'd have helped you pound him to a pulp."
Myles opened his mouth to retort, but the sheer breadth of understanding in those few words melted the ice and exterminated the insects. He pulled in a long deep breath, the first accessible in several hours, and allowed the rest to flow out. "You'd have been harder pressed with Joe Harding, trust me. The man... he had the audacity to accuse us of screwing up the raid, then took up the inevitable First Amendment speech." A little whisper curdled his stomach anew and he needed to stomp it out once and for all. "Bobby, we... I didn't, did I? Screw up?"
"No, mate. You didn't. Whoever's feeding info to terrorists is the one who screwed up. They came damn close to screwing us while they were at it. But we did everything we should and so we get a chance to show them just how bad a mistake they've made." Rows of businesses catering to the university appeared as they neared their destination.
Myles nodded and quashed the urge to thank Bobby; it wouldn't be comfortable for either of them. But it really did feel good knowing at least one other person understood and was angry on his behalf. The tremors stilled, his stomach warmed, and oxygen became his friend once more. "Let's go stir up a few coffee grounds, then."
#
The kid behind the counter staring at Akhmed al Azir's photograph looked barely old enough to shave, let alone manage a college coffee shop. "Yeah, I know him. He used to come in here, set up shop at the corner table and never order anything. Not particularly friendly, but, uh, he seemed to have a lot of conversations with different people."
Pay dirt's pay dirt. Even from a kid. Myles felt the knot in his stomach dissolve a little more. Bobby's solid presence helped as much.
That rock took over the questioning with ease, mobile face unreadable as the kid revealed the very not-shocking fact that mostly al Azir met with Middle Eastern appearing men. That path would lead them very rapidly to nowhere.
"You ever see a woman with him?" Might as well go for the long shot. And the kid would be more likely to remember a female face, especially if luck favored them and she was pretty. Pretty women were much harder for the average straight male to forget.
"Uh, yeah, he used to come in with this one chick quite a bit. Nonfat decaf no-whip latte. Never tips. I think she might be his girlfriend or something. Name's... Laura, I think."
Pay dirt indeed. Score, as Bobby would say. Time to dig a little more and see what marvelous treasure emerged. "This Laura person, she's a student?"
The kid shrugged. "Be my guess. Never thought to ask, but this is a university. That's kinda what we do here."
"Ah." So much for that. Everyone's a comedian. Myles kept the eye-roll mostly to himself and decided to let Bobby finish the interview. At least the kid didn't seem to think their presence trod upon some civil liberty. The day might hold some promise after all.
"They been in here lately?" Bless the Aussie's soul. He always seemed to instinctively know when he should step in and take over.
"Uh, I haven't seen him for awhile, but uh, she's been around." The kid seemed unconcerned, and unimpressed with Federal credentials. No one seemed impressed with those any more.
Bobby prodded a bit more. "Could you, uh, give us a description?"
Yes, do pull yourself for your no doubt mary-jane-induced mellowness and let us know what this traitoress looks like.
"Um...blond. Sorta cute. Could even be my type except she's with him and she doesn't tip."
Obsession with money wasn't pretty in one so young. "Some people are just cheap. Thank you." Myles placed a bill on the counter as he spun. Nothing more could be gleaned here.
"Is that a real five?" Bobby hurried to catch up, waiting until they got back to the car before he caught Myles by the sleeve. "Hey. So it wasn't a home run. Base hit beats a strikeout. We'll find her."
"Laura, who may or may not be a student. And if she is, do you have any idea how many Lauras that might be on campus?" Myles leaned against the car. "Well, it was a long shot at best."
Bobby grinned and moved to the driver's side. "Long shot's better than no shot, mate. And I think Tara may be the marksman we need for this. Come on, let's get back and give her what we've got."
#
It took Tara all of twenty minutes to narrow an exhaustive list of coeds named Laura down to a workable seven. One of whom, Miss Laura Greeley, a senior at Georgetown University, just happened to be working an internship for none other than Bigmouth Journalist Joe Harding. Lord, what were kids coming to these days? Apparently brainlessly succumbing to the dubious attractions of known terrorists. And al Azir wasn't even handsome enough for this sort of traitorous devotion. The girl must be desperate for more than just rebelling against her father.
Bobby had left some three hours ago to procure a search warrant for Miss Greeley's apartment, with the grinning promise that he'd camp out on the hood of Judge Harold Morley's shiny red T-bird if that's what it took. The image of just that kept Myles half-smiling through the pile of other cases he worked on while they waited.
And waited.
But he found his confidence in his teammate only increased as the minutes ticked away. Bobby really would park himself in the most inconvenient place he could find and wait for the judge to issue a warrant. He felt so good about it, in fact, that he could lean back, hands behind his head and feet up on his desk as the team caught D up on the progress to date. Bobby would come through. That fact remained one of the rare constants in Myles' life. He let the team's conversation waft around him, adding his bits as necessary. And waited for Bobby.
"Anybody interested in a little search-and-seizure?"
Never a doubt, my friend. Myles grinned and wondered if Judge Morley's car had escaped unscathed. Time to go to work.
#
"Hallway is clear." Myles leaned close enough his dark coverall brushed Bobby's as the other agent fished for the appropriate tool to open Laura Greeley's door. The mental stop-watch in his head counted down the seconds.
"After you, mate."
Yes, still far faster than Jack Hudson ever dreamed of being. Really a very good thing Koala Boy was on their side. A quick check of the mail on the table, half-buried under a dirty plate and a soda can from this morning's no-doubt hurried breakfast.
Bobby took the desk, starting with the single drawer in the well-used piece. "This girl needs a maid."
She needed to be turned over Myles' knee and paddled until she couldn't sit for a month. Traitorous little... "She'll do better in prison. Not as big a room to keep tidy." Myles moved from the dinette to what looked like possible closet doors.
"We're doing her a favor." Myles didn't have to see Bobby to know a smile graced that mobile face.
Jack's voice crackled over the radio. "What are you finding?" Really, the man had no appreciation for humor.
"So far just a very messy apartment." Bobby continued to rifle through the papers and mail he'd found.
"Well, you better pick up the pace. SOG just called and said that Laura's heading in our direction. This is your ten-minute warning."
Truly no appreciation for keeping things light.
"Okay, pressure's on, clock winding down, no time outs remaining." The same could never be said for Bobby Manning.
Honestly, had Laura Greeley never heard of a hamper? Myles scooped up a pile of dirty laundry that seemed a little too high for even a coed. "Hm." An expandable file envelope, stuffed full. And quite likely the most organized thing in the entire apartment. His curiosity radar started screaming Incoming!
Ah, yes. He dug out a sheaf of papers. Oh, life did go his way on occasion. "This looks interesting."
"Whaddya got?" Bobby moved to his side with silent speed.
"Could be the thing that seals up this nasty little leak." The pages warmed Myles' insides almost as much as the firm presence of his friend pressed at his back. He passed the collection to the Australian.
A quick scan confirmed Myles' impression. "Yes. I love a buzzer-beater. We're out of here."
A what? Never mind. Some delightfully obscure Aussie-ism no doubt. It didn't really matter. Myles dumped the laundry back on the floor and followed Bobby out. The game just went into overtime.
#
"Nice job, boys. Photocopies of what looks to be Joe Harding's personal notes from his meetings with Philip Kent. Now we know she knew." Jack leafed through the papers Myles had lifted so joyfully from their grubby hiding place.
"A direct terrorist connection." Something in Bobby's voice vibrated pure fury. A quick look confirmed the irk under the light tone. Myles had to be careful and not allow it to fuel to his own. This puling little girl had nearly gotten him killed! He pushed the rage down. He couldn't give in. Not yet.
"Wow. Good stuff in here. Some things I didn't even know." Myles managed not to roll his eyes. Contrary to his unit lead's thoughts, Jack didn't actually know everything going on in D.C. The chirping ring of Jack's cell set Myles' cells tingling. Calls meant action, he hoped.
"Yeah?" Some subliminal tension set Jack's jaw tight. "Right. Okay, we're on our way." A quick slap-shut of the phone and a not-quite huff colored the tenor of the shorter agent's voice. "Change of plans. SOG thought Laura was heading here but she ended up at a house nearby. They could see through a window that a Middle-Eastern man greeted her with a kiss."
Not just the girl... al Azir himself! Myles grabbed his Kevlar vest stashed under the van's desk-shelf.
Tara's voice settled into his gut like a fanfare. "All units, we're on the move!"
Myles braced himself against the wall of the van as Bobby lunged for the driver's seat, Tara giving directions as he slammed it into gear. Five blocks. Only five blocks separated Myles from al Azir. The bastard wouldn't elude them this time. He willed the terrorist to remain where he was, wrapped in ignorance that retribution flew toward him. You are NOT going to slip through my fingers again. He doubted his stomach or his nerves would take it.
"Alright, D's waiting for us with SOG. Bobby, you, me, and D are going in the front. Myles, there's a side door and I want you on it in case they rabbit."
What?? "I--" Arguing would be useless against Jack's hard gaze, no matter the need to take al Azir and the blond bimbo down personally spread over Myles' tongue like fresh blood. The man responsible for the bullet to his chest; a direct conflict of interest. Sheer frustration crawled over his skin, but he clenched his teeth. "Just make sure you get him."
The other agent's face softened. "We will."
The slowing of the van sped Myles' heart rate and ended any further conversation. The team piled from the van, an SOG member taking Myles away almost immediately, moving him to the side of a tiny house. At least the murderous scum wasn't living too well.
Second after second ticked by, each one slithering up his spine, waiting for the gratifying crack of a battering ram against the front door. A trickle of cold sweat slipped down his chest, offset by the cool steel power of his sidearm, smooth under his palm. It ends now. His hands tremored in anticipation.
How long were they going to take! That door, a single sheet of flimsy wood separated Myles from al Azir. He could break through it without a battering ram. It was nothing. He drew closer to it. Just the other side...
There! The blessed sound of a lock popping under the force of a well-aimed blow. The shouts of his team. They were inside.
"FBI! Warrant! Get your hands up!" The fact that it got shouted more than once told him that al Azir, like so many other crazed terrorists they'd taken down, sat there like some granite statue, waiting for his ticket to Virgin-loaded Paradise.
Bobby's equally-granite voice echoed clear around the house and through every wall. "Put your hands on your head or you will be shot!"
No! Myles didn't want al Azir dead. He wanted him very alive and very miserable in a federal prison for the rest of the terrorist slug's life. He couldn't let them take al Azir down hard.
The door yielded to him as easily as he'd known it would. "FBI! Warrant!"
Somewhere between the roaring in his ears and the dark dead gaze of Akmhed al Azir he heard a faint echo from a long way off. "Bobby! Hold your fire! Myles! No, don't! Hold your fire. Myles, stand down!"
Jack's voice registered at last and Myles looked up, straight into a small black hole and Bobby Manning's blue eyes just above them down the sight of the Australian agent's Glock .45mm sidearm. Pointed directly at Myles' head. Purest terror blossomed in those eyes, spreading to Bobby's expressive face even as reflexes twitched against the trigger.
Oh, dear God, he's going to shoot me-- The tip of that pistol shook with the effort to control. Shook too much.
"Gun!"
Jack's call rocketed through him. Bobby would have to wait. Myles dove for the terrorist, the crash of bone and muscle against the same immensely satisfying. al Azir belonged face down on the cheap beige linoleum.
Half a heartbeat and Myles was up on his knees, gun pointed at the kneeling terrorist, the perpetrator under control. Still alive. Both of them.
D's voice floated in, taking care of the rest of the problem, the lovely Laura. "Hands on your head! Up against the wall. Up against the wall, turn around."
"I said get down!" Jack planted a foot firmly in al Azir's ass and shoved the terrorist the rest of the way down.
Done. Myles looked up at his unit leader. Jack stared at him, dark eyes unreadable, then turned to look at Bobby. Myles heard two huge gulps of air pass through the Aussie's lungs.
Crap. Myles had seen Bobby diffuse bombs, face down bullets, and even flip a car, and never had that level of abject fear and shock on the Australian's face. Nothing even close. Myles swallowed and forced his attention back to al Azir. They had their man.
And they were all alive. Bobby's reflexes had seen them through and they had the bad guy. Nothing else mattered. Myles tried not to hear Bobby's gasping breaths or the click of the safety on the Glock. Ice shimmied over Myles' spine. You didn't lock your gun when your suspect wasn't fully secure. But Bobby had.
Myles cursed in silence and willed Jack to get cuffs on the terrorist. The few minutes it took to secure the scene felt like eternity and the walls started to close in. Bobby's glare burned right through Myles' jacket; he didn't need to look up to see bright blue fire. Nobody else said a word to him. They worked without conversation and Myles finally had to get out of the close confines or scream.
I'm supposed to feel better. We got him. I did my job. It rang a little hollow even in his own ears and the knot in his stomach clenched tight. The steps of the house offered cooler air, a chance to breathe, to get away from Bobby's anger.
"Hey!" Or not. Myles had barely made the sidewalk when a broad hand gripped his arm and spun him around. Fury warred with hurt in eyes as blue as the waters of the Great Barrier Reef.
"What kind of stunt did you think you were trying to pull back there!" Shouting, uncaring who heard, so close Myles could see the tremor of every muscle in Bobby's face. But off-radio; the ear-piece bounced over the big agent's shoulder. Off the record.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, take it easy." Myles hands reached up, not in an attempt to push Bobby away, but to soothe, to... connect. It's all right. I'm alive. You didn't hurt me.
"No, I won't take it easy! That was not SOP and you know it!" A hard poke landed in his chest, close enough to the bruise Myles had to step back, trying to reach through that azure rage again. Rather like trying to reach through a paper-shredder. Bobby's fury froze into an ice-cold glare. "I may very well want to shoot you one day, mate, but if I do I don't want it to be by accident!" Another poke emphasized the depth of Bobby's emotions.
"Relax, nobody got shot and we got our man, so no harm, no foul." As placating as Myles dared make it. He kept his voice strong but tempered it with as much assurance as he could allow. The final words came out even softer than he'd intended. So much so he had to turn away. He couldn't face Bobby's wounded anger just yet. He needed time to regroup, to rebuild his defenses.
"Yeah, you believe that you're in worse shape than I thought!" Bobby's voice raised to follow Myles.
Damn it! Worry not for what had nearly happened, but for Myles' state of being. Guilt surged up and had to be blinked back. Not here. Not now. And not until he could manage to breathe properly again. Every curse Myles knew zinged through his head. A glance over his shoulder showed the Aussie stalking away, shoulders set, rage unabated as Bobby stalked past Sue without acknowledging her presence.
It was all right. Bobby would calm down and things would be all right between them.
Wouldn't they?
#
Myles caught a ride with SOG rather than try to face the suffocating confines of the van. Give Bobby a chance to settle and himself a little thinking time. Just easier all around. He managed to arrive at Hoover just as the rest of the team did, following them to the office, letting the normality of their conversation ease him. They had their man; they'd plugged the leak. No more problems.
He fiddled with the top button of his shirt, suit coat in hand, feeling too constrained by his tie after the cooler air outside. Lord, so tired. Tonight he'd sleep.
"Nice work, everybody." Ted Garrett's deep voice welcomed them all. "Now that must have felt especially good for you, Myles."
It would have, if Bobby hadn't swung around just then. Bright blue eyes bored into him, the same eyes so full of terror earlier at the realization his finger was tightening on the trigger, poised to end Myles' life. Then burning with fury laid over relief and concern. Now those eyes held hurt and the accusation Myles had tried to ignore the entire ride back: You didn't trust us, mate. You didn't trust me to take him down and I nearly killed you in the process.
"Oh, uh..." His ability to form a reasonable response strangled. He could only see the hurt on Bobby's face. Then Bobby looked down, away from Myles, closing the connection Myles had relied on for sanity and support through it all. "It was a team effort. All the way." He managed a nod and a half-smile, hoping it would serve as enough of an apology.
Bobby shot a glare from under lowered brows, not bothering to raise his head. You didn't trust ME.
Myles' stomach dropped away, the need to flee making his feet move of their own accord. I did. "Absolutely."
He'd never run from anything in his life, but he turned and ran from the hurt in Bobby's eyes.
#
He made it to the second landing in the stairwell before his vision tunneled in from lack of oxygen and he fell back against the steps, yanking at his tie and trying to pull in something from his spasming lungs that didn't burn like fire or blow back out again before his body could stop it. Control spiraled away.
Oh dear God, help me! Can't-- breathe... It seemed perhaps he was going to die after all; not on a raid surrounded by his teammates, not--Thank God!-- by accident, at the hands of quite likely his best friend. But right here in this stairwell, alone and drowning in his own guilt.
He could see nothing, feel nothing, but the pain he'd inflicted on Bobby. It bore into his throat, filling it, clogging it with all the words he'd never quite managed to voice. You really are my best friend. The only one I actually have a depth of feeling for. The one who matters most. And I do trust you absolutely. Now they'd never be said. They'd expire with him. He couldn't even manage the other man's name.
"Myles?" Oh Lord, just what he needed. Sunshine Sue and her ever-rosy glow on things. "Are you all right?"
And he'd have to look at her to answer. If he didn't she'd call 9-1-1 and the whole damn building would see him like this. He'd be on a medical discharge before he could blink. He managed to pull in enough air to raise his head so she could see his lips without having to actually look at her. "I think so. I'm just...having a... kind of a hard time... breathing."
"Do you want me to get some help?"
Of course. Just what he didn't want. "No!" Okay, he managed enough air for that to sound forceful. "I... ah..." Something, anything to make her stop and go away. "That, ah, wouldn't be good." Oh brilliant. Hardly his best effort. If only he could breathe he could think. His hands moved in futile gesture, fluttering near his heart, mimicking its uneven race. "I... I think I'm... I think I'm having a panic attack." Maybe the obvious truth would send her away. His condition was perfectly apparent to anyone with the least comprehension. He just didn't have to tell her what caused it.
Oh God, Bobby. What have I done?
"Take slow, deep breaths."
That should have been obvious as well, but his brain remembered finally how to control his body. A soft whine from below and Levi the Wonder Dog nosed his way under Myles' arm. Somehow petting the large soft dog helped him find a normal rhythm again. Now he just had to find an explanation that would get her to go away. "I guess the impact of the last few days has, uh, finally caught up to me."
"I think you should see somebody about this." Ah yes, that lovely annoying meddlesome concern. The woman simply didn't know when to leave well enough alone. She could end his career with a single comment to anyone.
"I'll be fine." Now go away and let me grieve the loss of what is quite possibly my only friend in peace. He stroked Levi's head. Really, the dog surpassed all Sue's abilities at comfort. Levi only wanted to offer the canine version of a hug. So much better. And Levi would never speak of what he saw. "I would however, ask you to keep this strictly between us."
"I don't want to agree to that because I don't think it's what's best for you." No doubt she'd run right to Garrett. Myles felt a new wave of fear catch at his lungs. "But... okay. I will."
Thank God. He managed to sign THANK-YOU to her as well, barely enough breath remaining for the words. The sharp whew he exhaled was as much for the unexpected ease of winning that battle as for the minimal return of air to his lungs. He allowed his eyes to drift closed. Now if he could just rest a moment before facing the pain of losing Bobby, he might survive after all.
Sue stepped back and turned to go, then paused for a moment. Myles looked up to see an expression he knew all too well after a mere three months working with her. A pretty little sermon about whatever she thought his problem was sat on the tip of her lovely but way-too-nosy lips. But she seemed to think better of it as she gazed toward the stairwell door, and after a moment patted her thigh in a signal to Levi. The big Golden rested a wet nose in Myles' palm before moving to follow her out. Blessed silence.
Myles let the constriction that remained out, air still too precious to disregard. He propped his elbow on his knee and rested his head in his hand, surrendering to the exhaustion. Five long, delicious oxygen-filled breaths later he glanced down at the landing... and a pair of dark dress shoes under charcoal trousers. His gaze shot upward to troubled blue eyes. "B--" Bobby. His friend's name couldn't get past the new weight on his chest, every bit as suffocating as the bullet that started this whole mess in the first place.
"You look like hell." Anger still roughened the Australian's normally musical voice. "What's going on with you, mate?"
"I..." Myles could hide again, or he could prove that trust still existed between them. He pushed an answer past his frozen vocal cords. "I'm not sure I know anymore."
Bobby drew the long, deep sort of breath Myles wished he could and dropped down onto the step below Myles, twisted sideways so he could look up at Myles. "Why doesn't that surprise me? You probably need to figure that out before you do something the lot of us are going to regret."
"I'm sorry, Bobby." That much needed to be said. "I... I heard you shouting at him and I knew he was just waiting for you to shoot and I... killing him was too easy a way out."
Some of the anger lifted, the storm clouds thinning and letting the clear sky of those blue eyes show through. "Yeah, probably. But I'd far rather kill him than you. I think you scared me worse than anything ever has. Good thing I'm as tall as I care to be, because you stunted my growth, mate."
"I guess it just all built up..." Myles considered the faded and stained paint from too few budget surpluses as he finally allowed himself to digest the past few days' events. "I mean, I've taken slugs before, but never that close to... final. Then chasing al Azir like some sort of ghost, Kent and Harding and just... everything."
Bobby nodded. "Can't say I didn't have a moment when I saw you stretched out on the floor. Thought for sure you'd bagged it that time. Not half as bad as tonight though. You scared the life out of me. What was I supposed to do if I'd killed you? How was I supposed to live with myself after that? I'm letting you know right now - I even think you're considering something like that again and I'm gonna kick your skinny arse all the way the Virginia border."
The rather vivid image of Bobby doing just that curved one corner of Myles' mouth and the weight eased from his chest. "I consider myself warned." Myles let his hands rest out over his knees and kept his gaze on the wall, needing to speak but allowing them both a measure of...masculine distance. "Thank you. For... well, for simply being at my back through all this." He dared a glance at his friend. "It was never an issue of trust, Bobby. Not with you or the team at least."
Bobby nodded. "I see that now. That takes care of some of it, but it doesn't erase the parts that are going to give me nightmares for the next few weeks. I should charge you for the extra coffee I'm going to need to stay awake on the job."
"I'll be happy to pitch in some funds. I've had more than one nightmare lately myself." A sudden tremor took his hands and he didn't feel the crushing need to hide it here, so he just let them shake. "Lord, Bobby, I'm still shaking and it's over. What the hell am I going to do?"
A big hand settled over his. "You're going to get help. Whenever an agent gets shot the Bureau offers up all sorts of shrinks to help them get back on their feet. Just because that bullet didn't make you bleed doesn't mean you don't need the same." The hand squeezed. "You're a wreck, mate. So you're going to talk to someone who knows more than I do about helping you through this. If you don't, I really will kick your ass to Virginia."
The thought of a psychiatrist and all the stereotypical images that brought up sent a new shiver over his shoulders. Myles opted for a sidewise grin at the Aussie. "I'd much rather talk to you."
Bobby's eyes widened for just an instant. "Well, you can still do that. I'm over most of the urge to beat you senseless. But you still need professional help. I don't think I'm good enough to get you through all of this, mate."
"And you need to be able to trust me on the job again. I know." A great tired sigh lifted his lungs and Myles rested his head on his arms. "I need to trust myself again. And the system. I... I don't want to have to find another line of work. The Bureau's home." He looked up into still-wide eyes. "And don't you dare tell a soul I admitted that."
Bobby made the age-old childhood symbol for zipping his lips, locking them, and tossing away a key. Then those blue eyes warmed. "Look, get it straightened out so I don't have to worry about you, okay? Sparky'll twitch if I have to start holding your hand every time we go on a raid."
That visual caused a few brain cells to die. "It might be worth it just to see his face."
Bobby chuckled and stood, extending a hand. "You gonna make it home okay?"
Myles took the help Bobby extended, all of it, not just the help to his feet. "Yes. I think I'll be more okay than I have been in a week." He tightened his grip on his friend's hand for a long moment. "Thank you. For... all of it." Air flowed easily through his lungs again, the suffocating darkness replaced with light and Bobby's bright, too-wide smile.
"Brothers in arms, mate. Besides, I've gotten too used to your homely mug across my desk. I don't feel like breaking in somebody new." A broad hand landed on Myles' shoulder. "Go on, go get some sleep. We've got to save the free world again tomorrow. And you have to make an appointment with a hopefully gorgeous lady shrink."
Myles accepted the touch and all that went with it. "Yes. Hopefully." He grinned and pulled away, headed for home. "See you tomorrow. Brother."
THE END