************

RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER:Characters belong to CBS/Trilogy/etc. No infringement
intended, no profit being made.
AUTHOR'S NOTES:This is my first ATF story, so bear with me, I'm still
getting my feet wet. Thanks to Mog for lending me the keys to the
universe (she says she doesn't really own it, but we all know she does). I hope
I didn't dent anything.

--------

Had you passed the warehouse, it's unlikely you would have noticed it.
That's half the reason it was used; neither large nor small, located
with many others like it and deep enough into an industrial area that no one
would notice the strange men who passed through. What more could an
importer of illegal merchandise ask? The warehouse had seen a million crimes
take place. It had witnessed the passage of stolen goods and guns, it had
seen assault and murder, there had even been an arson attempt. Tonight it
was to have been the sale of narcotics to a major dealer. Instead, what would
take place was something new... tonight there would be some semblance of
justice.

As he waited in a northerly warehouse, Agent Chris Larabee remembered
the message he had received informing him of the sale. 'L, Merry Christmas.
Early, I realise, but I'm certain you'll appreciate your gift..., S.'

After a month of working the fringes of the import business, his group's
undercover specialist had been invited to one of the biggest deals
Larabee had ever heard of. Say what you want about the man, Ezra Standish was a
damn good agent. The information he had supplied - names, dates, places -
would soon see the downfall of a major illegal import concern and one of its
best customers. A very merry Christmas, even if it was July.

Assembled in the warehouse with Larabee was half of a fifty man raiding
party. The group was a mixed bag of ATF, FBI and Denver PD officers. A
lot of people had an interest in seeing this bust go well. The FBI, in
particular, had been after the drug dealer for years. He was a cagey
type, no agent had managed to get close to him and a few had even died
trying Chris couldn't help being a little smug that his agent had gotten in.

Next to Larabee, a young agent fidgeted, checking over his weaponry for
the hundredth time, making sure it was loaded. Chris frowned. Tanner was
not usually one to get nervous. A sharpshooter, he could sit for hours,
waiting for the shot. Tonight, something was bothering him.

"You 'right there, Cowboy?"

Tanner shot his boss a dirty look, then chose to ignore the name they
teased each other with. "I'll be better once we get going," he replied, in a
soft, but urgent voice. "What the hell is taking so long?"

Larabee shrugged. The deal was being monitored, via a wire Standish
wore, by two of Larabee's agents in a nearby van. When it was time, they would
contact the raiding parties by radio and give the signal to move. Until
then, the agents were stuck with no idea of what was going on.

"Ezra knows what he's doing. Besides, if anything went wrong, Josiah
and Nate would get us in there in no time."

Chris wasn't telling his friend anything he didn't already know. No
news was good news. Vin just had this awful feeling about the raid. Everything
had gone a little too well. The group was ready for some bad luck and Vin
didn't want anyone, especially Ezra, in so vulnerable a position when that bad
luck showed.

"Just radio the van, will ya? See what's happening."

Larabee shook his head. "Radio silence until we're told to move. You
know that."

Vin made a face. He did know that. Maybe he just wanted the raid
cancelled, wanted everyone to go home, while they still had their skins in tact.
The former bounty hunter shook this idea off. Just another bust, Vin, it'll
be fine.

Vin didn't usually ignore his intuitions. He had an uncanny way of
knowing the direction a situation was taking. It had proved very useful to him
in the past. Vin had grown up around the rougher parts of society. Even
now, his apartment was in the most notorious gang area in Denver. While on
his own Vin had allowed himself to be guided completely by his sixth sense
and it had kept him alive and sane. As a law enforcement officer, Tanner
conceded, a person needed a better excuse than 'it feels wrong' to call
something off.

Had Ezra been there, it would have been different. Somehow, the sneaky,
double-dealing undercover seemed to have acquired the same talent as
Tanner.

He could see through people like they were water, yet remained as
impenetrable as a brick wall himself. Vin could conceive that maybe he
was wrong about this foreboding, but, had Ezra felt the same thing, Vin
would've known he was right. Without that backup, Vin could only sit and wait.
Absently, he checked his guns for the one hundred and first time.

JD refused to sit still. This was the part he lived for. Not that the
young agent was trigger happy; on the contrary, he had been with the ATF for
a couple of years, now, and had seen how dangerous these situations could
be should something go wrong. JD was an idealist and the raid was when he
saw his efforts make a difference. The research was tolerable and the
detective work occasionally fun, but going in there and arresting the bad guys
was what the job was all about.

JD had been assigned to the raiding team concealed in the southern
warehouse. The idea was that, once the signal was given, the two teams
would enter the target building from both the north and south doors, trapping
their quarry in the middle. Agents would remain outside, to take any
sentries posted and ensure no one from the warehouse slipped out, but
chances of escaping the pincer action from two such large teams were
small.

It was a very good plan.

Buck Wilmington, JD's best friend, was leading the second team. It made
him nervous, to say the least. He sat, silent, by the radio, listening for
the signal. He was terrified he would miss it and ruin all the hours of
work that had gone into the bust. Hell, if things didn't move like clockwork
someone could get killed. Tension flooded through Buck's body. Why had
Chris assigned him leader? Why not Josiah or Nathan? All Buck wanted to do
was tease JD about his excessive enthusiasm and laugh with the other agents
about the kid's stupid hat. 'JD. Knowing my luck he'd be the one got
killed... hey, was that the signal?' Buck quietly laughed at himself.

He was jumping at every crackle of static.

"What's so funny, Buck?"

"Nothin', Kid. Except, of course, you looking like it's your birthday
and someone just handed you a million dollars," Buck had to relax and
teasing his young friend was a sure-fire way of doing it.

"It's better that sittin' there, looking like someone just shot your
dog," countered JD.

"Well, you know, when someone gives you responsibility, you gotta take
it real serious. You'll find out, when you grow up."
JD scowled, but it was half-hearted. Buck's teasing got on his nerves,
but his silence was worse. At least the teasing was normal. "Why should I
wait 'till I grow up? You didn't."

Buck laughed and took a swipe at the kid, who ducked away, escaping by
an inch. Normally, Wilmington would have continued the chase, but tonight,
his nerves somewhat steadied, he returned his attention to the radio.

It was in Nathan Jackson's nature to worry about his friends. Having
been trained as a medic in the Gulf War, he was always first to see to their
bullet wounds, to tell the group how badly a team member had been hurt
or translate the medical jargon thrown at them while they sat in hospital
waiting rooms. In Nathan's opinion, he had every right to be
overprotective - other people's injuries were hard work for him. However, listening to
the southern undercover speak through the headphones made Jackson acutely
aware of how far away Ezra was. Nate would not be there, should something go
wrong, Ezra was on his own.

Nathan sat listening to the signal transmitted from a wire sewn into
Ezra's shirt. The signal was weak and Nathan had to turn the volume up high.
The background noise coming through the headphones hid a lot of the
conversation. Later, he would have to dampen that down.

"Come on, Standish, just a bit closer to the action."

The undercover was as close as he could get, without drawing attention
to himself. In fact, knowing Standish, he was probably a little closer
than was safe. Nathan suspected Ezra got a real buzz out of undercover work. The
charming agent spent his whole life manipulating those around him to
suit his own purposes. Undercover, he got to put those somewhat dubious
talents of his to good use. On a case, Ezra would put everything on the line to
get the best approach to the suspect, the right piece of evidence. If
something went wrong, Standish could always talk his way out of it. So far, this
approach had not gotten the agent killed, but Nate was worried it was a
matter of time.

Nathan Jackson did not understand his colleague at all. At the start of
their relationship, his opinion of the man swung between disgust at his
blatant disregard for others to admiration for his professional
ability.

Rationally, Nathan suspected Ezra was neither criminal nor hero; he was
just another human being, living his life and doing the job as best he
could. It was this human being for whom Jackson now feared.
Josiah Sanchez entered the van, bearing steaming coffee and sandwiches
from the nearby deli. "I miss anything?"
Jackson shook his head and took one of the cups of coffee. The two had
been listening to the wire for four hours, now. Certainly not a marathon
effort, but enough to warrant a caffeine hit.
Josiah picked up his set of headphones and resumed the vigil. "If you
need a break, I can take care of this for a while."

Nathan shook his head, again. Although his tall frame needed a stretch
and his head ached from sitting in the close, dark space, he did not want
to leave his post. While he could hear the southerner talk and move, he
was okay, everything was going to plan.

Josiah understood his partner's need to keep his ear on proceedings.
Sanchez, too, hated being a fly-on-the-wall, unable to alter the
situation he monitored. He hated that his friend was at risk, while he, himself,
was safe. Ezra Standish was certainly one of a kind. Unlike Jackson, Josiah
had never even tried to understand Ezra. There were too many pieces which
didn't fit together. Instead, Josiah tolerated the man's bouts of self
absorbtion, revelled in his acts of kindness and returned what friendship was
offered, unconditionally.

As Sanchez listened, the signal became stronger. Ezra had found a way
to move closer the the dealer's conversation. Josiah hoped he wasn't
risking too much.

Ezra had been feeling pretty pleased with himself when he had sent that
message to Chris. It would be a major sale, an important bust, and not
just anyone could have gotten an invitation, especially after only a month.
He wished he could deliver the message in person. Larabee had taken a risk
in signing the former FBI misfit to his group. In return, Ezra worked hard
to deserve that chance. He actually enjoyed providing his boss with
results; payment of a debt.

Instead, Ezra had to settle for attending the inter-agency meeting,
held the evening before the bust. The ATF and FBI both wanted to be running the
show. Both had contributed large amounts of information to the investiagtion
and both needed convictions for the two ringleaders. Ezra had watched,
silent, as representatives from both parties argued for position. DA Travis
also sat in silence, as he assessed each alternative.

"Our operatives have been working on the drug ring for years. We have
hundreds of thousands of man-hours invested." whined the head of the
FBI investigation.

"We have just as much to lose, if you screw up the importer bust,"
returned Larabee. The look on his face showed he had every intention of leading
this raid. Were Ezra a betting man, his money would have been on the ATF.

"The information we have on both suspects far outweighs yours. We've
had eleven undercovers involved over five years!"

"Sure, but ours got in," Larabee smiled.

Ezra couldn't believe his ears. Larabee was gloating. He was actually
participating in the sworded cross-agency rivalry and he was playing
dirty.

Well, well, you are full of surprises. Standish decided to help. "If I
may draw your attention to one small detail, District Attorney Travis?" the
DA nodded, "I will be participating in this production blind; while my own
actions will be scrutinised thuroughly, I will have no way of
monitoring the actions of my colleagues. I believe my familiarity with Agent Larabee's
methods would prove advantageous, should an anomalous factor alter the
pre-existing formulation."

The judge nodded, Larabee grinned and the FBI agent looked confused, as
if still trying to unravel the undercover's words. Exactly what Standish
had intended.

Ezra stood amongst the importer's goons, hoping things went as well,
tonight. So far, so good; they had made it to the warehouse without any
complications. The bosses were discussing inconsequential things, the
weather, etc., while their sentries and bodyguards made one last look
around the building. All in all, there were at least twenty men present, maybe
more, so they made short work of sweeping the warehouse. Ezra had
managed to position himself behind the importer, where the sale could be closely
monitored by Nathan and Josiah.

"So, you have some merchandise for me? Might I see it?" began the
dealer, greed glinting in his eyes.

The importer looked around for his nearest subordinate. "Stewart, get a
bag of the merchandise and give it to our esteemed associate."
Ezra couldn't believe his luck. By asking him to get the drugs, not
only was the boss providing him with an excuse to stand right in the middle of
the action, he was enabling him to get a close look at what Ezra liked to
think of as "Exhibit A". Ezra handed the bag to the dealer, who slit it open
with a pen knife. Ezra stepped back, as the dealer tasted a small amount of
the powder. By the look on his face, this was quality stuff, but, before he
could comment, a messenger from one of his sentries came and whispered
in his ear.

"I believe we have a problem," the dealer began, fury simmering in his
voice. He motioned for the dealer to move closer and the two turned
away from their employees. They talked in hushed voices, which Ezra knew the
wire would not pick up clearly.

"I'm sure it's not with the merchadise. I tried it, myself, before I
agreed to sell it," the importer was indignant.

The dealer shook his head. "Not the mechandise, the company. There's a
surveillance van two blocks south of here."

"I hope you don't think I have anything..."

The dealer shook his head. The importer had a thing or two to learn,
but he was a crook. The dealer was sure of this. "Do you have any new men?
Anyone you're not entirely sure of?"

The importer furrowed his brow, then it came to him Stewart. He had
only known the man two months, and Stewart had known about the deal from the
start. The importer had thought him ambitious and shrewd, but, in
hindsight, it was clear who the undercover was. Furious, he turned and aimed the
gun at his betrayer, as Standish stood there, helpless, speechless.

The gun fired once. The dealer, seeing what his associate was about to
do, tried to stop him, grabbing his arm and pushing it down. The last thing
they needed was gunfire in the warehouse. Stupid damn importers. Not a brain
between them. It was too late, however, the trigger had been pulled.

The only thing changed by the dealer's actions; the bullet entered Ezra's
stomach, rather than his head.

Nathan and Josiah sat, tensed, desperately trying to make out the
whispered conversation over the wire. Josiah watched his partner frown, as his
concentration deepened. They both jumped when the gun went off.
Josiah grabbed the radio, "Teams one and two, move now. I repeat, move
now."

He continued reciting this mantra a few more times, as his whole being
was drowned in adrenaline.
The two teams entered the warehouse at almost the same time. The place
was chaos, every crook for himself. None got through the descending wall of
law enforcement agents. Within minutes, dealers and importers were cuffed
and lined up against the wall, like ducks in a shooting gallery. Larabee
and Wilmington approached each other, meeting the centre of the room.

"You find Ezra?" Buck asked, the success of his first major command
overshadowed by fear for his friend.

Chris shook his head. He turned to Vin, who stood, distracted, to the
side.

"You and the rest of the team find Standish. The FBI can have the
privilege of cleaning this lot up."

Exactly what the younger agent wanted to hear. He was off in a flash,
rounding up JD, as well as Josiah and Nate, who had abandoned the van
after the raid. It was two hours before they found their fallen friend.
Ezra had been stunned when first he was shot. There had been no pain,
only surprise and panic. Then, suddenly, burning agony swept over him,
making him dizzy, choking off his very breath. He heard the crash of the doors fly
open and knew the raid was on. He also knew he stood no chance if he
remained in the middle of the ensuing stampede. Even if he weren't trampled to
death, some spiteful criminal could use him for target practise. Clutching his
stomach, trying not to drip blood, he had dragged himself over to a
stack of crates piled in a corner. He crawled behind the crates and propped
himself up against a wall. Leaning heavily, he sat and waited, passing in and
out of conciousness.

"Oh, God, I've found him. Nate, get over here, now!" Vin scrambled over
the crates, pushing them away, with a crash. Ezra opened his eyes to see
the sharpshooter kneeling over him, trying to stop the flow of blood from
his stomach. The fear on Vin's face was obvious. All he could see was the
blood.

So much blood oozing slowly between the agent's fingers, pooling, thick
and red, on the floor. Somehow, the blood had managed to get on the
undercover's face and in his hair, staining the whole area. The wounded agent
stared, mute, his green eyes accentuated by the red.

Nathan rushed over and, pushing Vin aside, knelt by the agent. He
helped Standish lie down flat and began his examination. The bullet had
entered and exited on the left side of Ezra's abdomen, about an inch above the hip.
"This is okay. It looks like a lot of blood, but a wound like this will
take days to kill you," using a bandage he had stolen from the warehouse
manager's first aid kit, Nathan put pressure on the wound.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yeah. It's just a gut wound. I doubt anything major has been hit. It's
too low for the spleen of pancreas. Kidney, maybe, but you don't really
need both of those."

"Hurts," moaned Ezra.

"Yeah, I'll bet," replied Jackson, dismissively. To Vin he said, "See?
He's awake and everything. Intestinal wounds bleed slowly and constantly and
hurt like hell, but they take a real long time to kill you."

"Oh, okay," Vin nodded. If Nathan was sure, he was never wrong.

"Oh my God," gasped JD as he approached the scene. His eyes grew big
with horror.

"It's okay," Vin reassured his friend, "he's even awake enough to give
us dirty looks."

"Oh, okay."

The paramedics, having finished with all the other wounded, arrived at
Ezra's side. Within minutes, he was in an ambulance, headed for the
hospital.

Nathan's diagnosis turned out to be correct. In surgery, the hole in
Ezra's abdomen was patched. Within a few weeks of treatment, any infection of
the wound or peritoneal cavity had been wiped out. Ezra returned to work in
a little over a month, very little the worse for wear.

Ezra wandered through the office, returning smiles and greetings, as if
in a dream. With all he had been through, he couldn't believe he hadn't quit
already. He sat down at his desk to a mountain of paperwork. Why did he
bother?

At the top of the mountain was a handwritten request from Larabee. 'S,
Welcome back. I'm keeping you off field work for another few weeks. I'm
sure you have enough paperwork to keep you busy. I need that warehouse
report yesterday. Merry Christmas, L...'  Ezra snorted. He knew that remark
would come back to haunt him.  '...PS You scare me like that again, I'll
shoot you, myself.' With a grin, Ezra attacked the mountain.

The End
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