Ezra sat down on the bedroll next to Buck. He brushed at his sleeves, a nervous mannerism that he chose to disregard at this time. They both looked disheveled, and dinner jackets were not exactly appropriate garments for a trek into the wilderness. He looked down at his filthy shirtfront in dismay. He had to stifle a gag response to the smell of vomit still clinging to his once-white ruffled 'bib'.

"Pretty bad, huh?"

Buck's voice actually held a note of humor in it and Ezra decided that he found that endearing. With a small smile, Ezra shook his head. "Not good, Mr. Wilmington. GQ would have conniptions." He lowered his back onto the blanket until his elbows caught him and rested there, craning his neck around to examine their situation. The sharp pain that burnt his side was subsiding slightly, maybe a cracked rib, but definitely not a broken one. Small thanks for that, at any rate.

Buck planted his open palms flat on the blanket near his rump, arms straight, and tilted back on the support they provided. He, too, gazed around. He said softly, casually, "Thought we'd moved on to 'Buck'?" He noted that there were at least eight or nine men plus Snow White - he didn't much like Emro Dressler and still called the man by the nickname in his head.

Ezra gave a one-off shrug with his nearer shoulder. "Perhaps I should consider that, a bit of familiarity may be called for considering our dire straits."

Buck counted three Land Rovers, and one big wheel All Terrain vehicle, then there was the helicopter. Damn, these boys were well equipped. He flexed one elbow so that his long body dropped lower towards Ezra. "Well, that's good news."

Ezra finally looked over at his companion, suppressing a jerk of surprise at the man's proximity. Buck really didn't seem to have any personal space of his own, and no respect for anyone else's. What was truly amazing was that he didn't seem to mind this lapse in Buck's manners. "Good news? Sir, we are kidnappees, surrounded by felons with ill-intent. Where's the good news in that?"

"Just saying, it's good that you are considering some familiarity with me."

Exasperated, Ezra turned fully toward his friendly nemesis, only to start back in shock at how much closer Buck had become in these few moments. Too close! "Buck!"

"Good, Ezra, very good." Buck smiled deeply and swayed in toward his target.

Ezra collapsed onto his back to avoid the pursuing lips aimed at him. "Buck! This is NOT the time!" He eyed Wilmington suspiciously from his vantage point on the ground. "You are enjoying this way too much."

Buck rolled over so that he rested on his arms over Ezra, his bulging forearms, still clothed in shirt and jacket, forming a cage around Ezra's upper body. "I'm beginning to think that any time I can get close to you, Ez, is a good time."

"Well, I can not find myself in agreement with that." Ezra pressed his palms up against Buck's wide chest and pushed. It was like trying to press weights and the man didn't budge. Sagging back down in defeat, and rolling his head first to one side, then the other, Ezra looked around at the camp. Amazingly, no one seemed to be noticing Buck's amorous advances. Well, that wouldn't last long if he let Buck continue. He looked back up and met Buck's warm dark eyes. "Buck, please, let me up. I just can't do this now."

Instantly, Wilmington rolled free, ending on his back next to Ezra. Contritely, he stared up at the stars above them. "Sorry, Ezra. I know we've got some issues with these creeps, but I'm not worried. We'll get out of this. Besides, it's more fun to think about us. I didn't mean to push. Hell, just started in with you tonight at dinner, I know I'm not being fair."

He turned his head to look over at Ezra. "But, Ez, for me, it hasn't been just one night. I've been studying at this for some time. I really like you. Admire you. You're so smart, got such class, you do your job so well that it looks like it's not even work sometimes. You have a giving heart, too. I've seen it, even if you tried to hide it." Buck cleared his throat. "And, Ez, buddy, you are mighty good looking. You have the sweetest little ass-"

"Buck!" Ezra's face blazed with a new blush. He jerked his head back until his skull nearly touched his shoulder blades on the ground blanket. He'd actually rather enjoyed listening to Buck sound so admiring, so complimentary. But the nonsense about his heart, and then his appearance was too over the top, even for Buck's romantic prattles. "Enough."

"Ezra, I want to have something with you."

"What? A baby?"

Buck grinned. He coughed a chuckle and then shrugged, not easy to do lying there on the ground. "Well, I'd like that, darlin', if we could but I'd settle for a partnership. You, me, and life."

Ezra drew in a breath to answer when a dark shape appeared above their heads.

"Is everything alright, gentlemen?" Dressler stood looking down at his captives-cum-conspirators.

Ezra looked blankly up at the man, his train of thought thoroughly derailed.

Emro noticed that the smaller, slower one was once again speechless. He cocked his head toward the big one. "Williams?"

The big man made a face, then sat up quickly, tucking his legs Indian-style in front of him. He looked up at Emro. "Everything's just hunky-dory."

"I don't understand." Dressler was about ready to have them tied back up and never mind the little 'Interpol' scheme. He noticed the smaller one, Sanders, was twisting into a sitting position but seemed off-balance because he began to tilt to the side.

Emro watched as Williams reached over and grabbed the back of Sanders' collar and jerked him upright into a seated position. Sanders shot a rather foul look at Williams who simply looked back up at Emro and folded his arms before saying, "Just means we're fine. Ready to back your play."

"Good, good." Emro nodded uncertainly, then turned slightly to face the part of the camp where men were moving about purposefully. "We have had some further information on the Mosher boys. We know they are traveling toward this area even as we speak." Emro folded his hands over his protruding stomach, resting them there. "We will contact Major Mosher in the morning. It will be evening in Israel and he will be home from work by then." When neither man in his 'audience' reacted to this, he felt pressured to continue. "So, we will try to ambush the sons, but if we are unsuccessful in time, we will use your kind services for a live video to send to their 'daddy.'"

Emro Dressler, aka Snow White, smiled then, and both Ezra and Buck felt ill. The man might be a fumbling idiot in some ways, but evil lay within.

As soon as he finished, Emro nodded to the two captives and strolled off towards a knot of men.

"We are departing immediately." Ezra began to climb to his feet.

Buck grabbed his friend's sleeve and yanked him back ground-ward. "Hold on, darlin', we can't just up and waltz out of here now."

"I can and will!" Ezra shoved his hands under his buttocks and pushed up again. Only to be frustrated when Wilmington caught him with two hands pushing down on his shoulders. "MR. WILMINGTON!"

"Williams!" Buck hissed. Damn, having a semi-concussed Ezra around was a bit of a challenge. He lowered his voice, and offered, "How about we just watch a while, see their routines and THEN high-tail it?"

Ezra, still held pinned to the ground, grunted in a very ungentlemanly manner and frowned. "I suppose."

"Great!" Buck released his hold on Ezra only to reapply it when the man did a jack-in-the-box upward. "Damn it, Ezra! Stay still! You're still concussed and you aren't thinking straight."

For the first time, Ezra subsided a bit. It did still hurt, his head. Maybe Buck was right. He knew he wasn't thinking too clearly, but his instincts never failed him and they were screaming at him to run. With a sigh of defeat, he had to admit, he wasn't certain if he should run from Dressler and his cohorts, or from Buck.

Chris led the way back into the Federal Building, Vin striding in pace behind and to his side, Fred Hernandez still shoulder to shoulder with Vin Tanner. The man from the Central Intelligence Agency was muttering into his cell phone again, instructing his own team to return to their temporary headquarters and continue their grid search for the missing Mosher sons. Everyone knew approximately where they were heading and what the boys' intentions were, but no one had found them. Yet.

If Tanner or Larabee overheard Hernandez's orders, they gave no sign, though Tanner did seem to be growing a wild grin. Fred took a deep breath, reminded himself that he'd been a covert agent for over ten years before retiring to supervisory field work. That only served to remind him, though, that his nerves were not what they once were and this group of ATF agents was pushing his tolerance levels hard. Gritting his teeth, he surged ahead to reach Larabee just as the man shouldered into an open elevator car. Tanner crowding in behind him didn't help his sense of negotiating power at all.

"Mr. Larabee?"

"Call me Chris. It'll save time." Larabee didn't bother looking over at Hernandez.

"Sure." Fred coughed and loosened his necktie. "Call me Fred."

Nothing more was said as the elevator slid to a smooth stop at the eleventh floor. Although Hernandez knew where the ATF offices were, even the ones for Team Seven, he meekly followed along behind Tanner and Larabee. Never had he seen such driven purpose and emotional commitment in agents of any agency. It was both inspirational and intimidating.

The three men crossed the hall and entered a large open office with smaller ones opening off of it, the home of Team Seven. They could see JD Dunne and Nathan Jackson at a desk in the bullpen of the suite. Dunne was typing madly while staring at a computer screen. Jackson was sitting on the corner of a desk directly behind Dunne, talking on a telephone, line pulled taut, his eyes focused on the screen in front of his fellow agent.

"What have you got?" Chris Larabee went directly over to his men, seeing the intense concentration, he leaned over JD's shoulders, placing his hands on them.

Dunne looked up at him in acknowledgement and then returned to his work. Without looking away from the screen, he began to speak. "Think I've got them on surveillance satellite." Dark hair flying from his face as he batted at his bangs, JD clicked his mouse repeatedly and the image on the screen zoomed in tighter with each click, until a red SUV roof could be seen on a long stretch of country road, moving at an ant's crawl.

Nate poked his head in from the side, studying the image as he depressed the close button on the phone. "Got confirmation from two different credit card charges - gas and breakfast, both on that route. They're headed southwest toward the New Mexico border."

"Can we intercept?" Larabee shot the question at Hernandez. For the first time since they'd made 'peace', Fred Hernandez was the subject of a direct, penetrating stare from Chris Larabee. The pale greeny hazel eyes were hot and demanding. Fred nodded.

"Good." Larabee turned away, and rose from his lean over Dunne. "Vin. Put some gear together. Nathan. Help him. Take what you need to be persuasive."

Jackson, already heading for another door, trailing the departing Tanner, stopped and looked back at his boss. "Persuasive?"

Larabee didn't blink. "We need information and cooperation. Fast."

The black man's chest rose as he took a deep breath and his mouth drew into a long frown but he nodded and turned away, looking grim.

"Fred."

Hernandez spun around to face Larabee. When had the man reached the other side of the office? "Yes?"

"Come on in here." The blond opened the door to an obviously larger office, with blinds drawn on large panels of windows that faced the pen. Larabee disappeared inside.

Most of the anonymous men were now in a loose group at the rear of the camp. Dressler had headed back over there, smirking - no doubt about his latest kidnapping spree. Buck scanned the camp, no one between them and the higher ground that he could just make out in the gray dawn light. A couple of men were still near the helicopter, looked like they were checking it over, fueling it up from a large truck that had arrived since he and Ezra.

Standish had been quiet but tense. Buck hoped that the passing of time was helping Ezra recover from his concussion. They hadn't talked further, just studied the camp.

"Now." Ezra's voice was faint and his movements small as he began edging away from their position. Buck wanted to stop him again but knew Ezra was right. This was a lose-lose situation for them. They needed out. He followed just as carefully.

Whatever was occupying the terrorists, including Dressler, must be very interesting Buck decided as he and Ezra made it to the perimeter of the camp unnoticed. Easing into the darker shadows of a loose collection of boulders, he came to his feet, crouched low, still following Ezra. Standish was surprising him yet again. The man obviously had some field training somewhere. There had never been a time he'd needed it in work, Buck realized, thinking about the undercover agent's usual out-front role in cases. Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Like I said to him, Ezra is a talented man. Buck looked back over his shoulder at the camp that remained quiet and nearly motionless. We're clear!

Ezra picked his way silently across the broken, rocky slope, aiming to get high and away from their kidnappers. He knew Buck was right behind him. Funny, he'd never considered Buck in social terms before. The man's proclivities for the fairer sex were always there. Never had he seen any sign of Buck changing or sharing another persuasion. Not like me. Ezra paused to listen, hearing only soft night sounds of the wild. And he says he's been watching me for sometime. Why didn't I notice that? And how did he manage to subvert my dinner engagement with Greg? Ezra nearly stumbled, his mind no longer on where he placed his feet. The near accident was enough to throw his adrenaline into high and wash all thoughts of Buck's motives from his head. Narrowing his eyes, he soundlessly moved ahead, faster now as the likelihood of their small sounds carrying diminished. Buck kept pace, like a large graceful shadow.

They crested the slope and found themselves seeing dimly, the layers of hills beyond, building toward mountains. From the looks of the trees, the few they'd passed, they were on the edge of desert country. Damn, that meant they were a long way from Denver. What I suspected, but it's a shame that it's proving out. Buck shook his head. "Ezra?"

Standish's elegant profile emerged from the shadows as he turned his head toward Buck. "Yes?"

"We've got to get deep cover before the sun's up or they'll hunt us down with the chopper."

Ezra lifted an arm and pointed upward. "Up there. I see dark shadow against that cliff face."

Buck looked up doubtfully. That was a climb and then some. The light was getting stronger, though the sun hadn't yet rimmed. "Let's do it," he said surging ahead as they dropped below the crest of the hill and out of sight of the camp.

Dressler smiled and leaned back against the closest Land Rover. So much easier when victims cooperate. His men with night-vision oculars both confirmed that Williams and Sanders had reached the top of the first hill. The simple tracking devices that he'd had attached to their clothing would do the rest. Safe and no supervision needed. Now he could concentrate on the Mosher boys. If that worked out, they'd simply leave. The escaping men would be left in this no man's land to their fate. If Simon and Bart slipped through his net, he could easily snatch up Williams and Sanders again - and by then, they'd probably be happy to be 'rescued.' Emro's smile widened and he laughed. It was all going to work out after all!

Josiah tightened the harness across his hips, teeth showing in an unholy grin. He elbowed Nathan Jackson who sat beside him, with what seemed like a permanently grim expression. Dark eyes followed Sanchez to where Tanner was working on the seemingly enormous pile of weapons as JD knelt on the deck of the cargo plane, securing pieces of the pile, a few at a time. Jackson shook his head, still not convinced that they really needed to play with all those toys.

JD looked a bit flustered, but Vin seemed inordinately pleased with himself, lifting up a sniper rifle to check the sight, sweeping the barrel of the empty rifle around the cramped interior of the small propjet.

Larabee was standing wedged between the pilot and co-pilot seats, hunched over some maps, his words lost to the men behind him in the roar of the just-started engines. Standing at his shoulder, hanging over his back to be part of the dialogue in the cockpit, Fred Hernandez looked bulky in his body armor.

Once the blond lead agent clamped a hand down on the pilot's shoulder in agreement, he and Fred backed up and away from the tiny forward compartment and started back down the gangway to the hold, Hernandez, per force, in the lead. Emerging into the larger open cargo area, Fred stopped to stare at the firepower that the ATF were mounting for this operation.

"Dear god, don't tell me you guys want another Waco!" He staggered to the side when shoved from the back by Larabee. Turning slightly, he stared wide-eyed at Chris. "What do you expect to use all that for?" He gestured in fear towards the stack of weapons that JD Dunne and Vin Tanner were rapidly reducing to an orderly set of stowed gear.

Chris smiled wolfishly and called without turning, "Vin?"

Tanner stopped, a clever portable grenade launcher in his hands, and squatted back on his heels. He patted the armament and looked up at Hernandez, his sky blue eyes clear, bright and devilish. Shoving home a lever, he shrugged, "Wanted to make sure they couldn't say no."

Fred spun toward Larabee, only to see the man seating himself next to Sanchez and Jackson, lifting ends of the harness to belt himself into the safety web.

"Chris," Fred paused to take a steadying breath, "I can't run with cowboys! You men have to take it easy here. Bart and Simon Mosher are innocents. The men who took yours are the criminals, not the Mosher boys."

Chris deliberately finished buckling in before cocking an eyebrow up at Sanchez looming large beside him. "Did he just call me a cowboy?"

Fred gulped and abruptly sat down on his side of the cargo hold, where the foldout bench sling already had harness set up for three men. He ducked his head and busied himself at one of the end positions, strapping in. Somehow, he had a feeling that he'd just said the wrong thing. Very wrong. But, damn it, his agency didn't need gun-happy ATF agents shooting up the countryside indiscriminately. It would be bad enough when the Fibbies found out that the CIA was operating inside the continental US. Suddenly, those warrens of dark alleys in East Germany that he used to haunt seemed like playing patty-cake.

Josiah, who had been slow to answer, finally nodded judiciously. "Yes, I believe he did, Chris. However," he added, "I don't think he's familiar with the connotations involved in that term."

Larabee seemed to relax back into the sling bench, folding his arms and turning to stare stoically at Hernandez, less than ten feet away. "That so?"

"I just don't think we need to show up with all that," Fred gestured to the final weapons that Dunne and Tanner were securing into a weapons locker at the center of the deck flooring.

"Cowboys," Vin Tanner drawled, dropping into the seating space next to Hernandez, "are kinda like milkmaids, they just tend the cows." He tipped his head and a sly smile crossed his face as he slid a look over at his best friend across the way. "Not always real bright."

Larabee bit off the end of a long brown cheroot and then shoved the unlit small cigar into a corner of his mouth, chewing on it by way of answer. He beetled his brows at Hernandez after sniffing at Tanner. "Don't call me cowboy."

"Sorry, it was just an expression." Fred muttered, adding rebelliously, "But that isn't the point here. You can't charge in on those two boys with all this stuff!"

"Won't be any charging," Tanner murmured with good humor, "We know to handle ourselves."

Fred, still waiting for and not getting an answer from Larabee, bit his tongue and sat back. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

" 'course, charging in - that could be fun," JD Dunne put in, settling into his space and grabbing up his own harness. "Like that time we had to take on the Nichols gang, huh, Chris?" Dunne's impish grin had Sanchez and Jackson fighting to swallow answering ones.

"JD." Larabee's eyelids lowered and his voice held a warning. "Pipe down."

JD nudged Tanner, who swayed sideways into Hernandez. Vin started batting at the youngest agent, "Watch it, man!"

"What?" JD's wide dark eyes peered around Vin to stare contritely at Fred. "Sorry Mr. Hernandez." JD's head twisted then to grimace up into Tanner's face, mere inches from his own. "That wasn't my fault!"

"Boys!" Larabee spoke sharply, sending a repressive look at the younger agents.

Both Tanner and Dunne sank back instantly, chins rising in unison as if they found the ceiling of the hold very interesting. Larabee watched them for a moment before resting his head against the vibrating hull wall, and then he turned to eye Hernandez.

Fred, who honestly felt like scrambling out of his harness, rushing to the front and demanding that the pilots let him off, felt the intense stare that Larabee was shooting his way. He raised his eyes to meet it and fingered his collar. It suddenly seemed awfully tight.

"No sign of anyone yet."

"That doesn't make any sense, Mr. Wilmington."

"Ez-"

"-Buck."

"Nope, must be a reason they haven't raised the alarm yet." Buck stared out at the brightening day from their cover in the small cave-like opening they'd located in the cliff side while still struggling to see in the half-light of dawn. All to be seen was the ripple of diminishing hills heading into the distance. They hadn't come that far, barely a few miles. Some sign of action from the kidnappers should have been seen by now. He suddenly had a very bad feeling. "Ezra, I think we might have a problem."

"Bugs!" Standish stood up abruptly, struggling out of his jacket and pulling free the rumpled cummerbund.

Buck stood up, confused, as Standish began to toss off his undershirt, shaking is roughly. "Ezra?"

"They must have put something on us, Buck."

The southerner was patting himself down now, rubbing hands quickly and lightly over his trousered legs, ankles to thighs, then circling hips and - don't go there, Buck! Wilmington shook his head, realizing that Ezra was probably right, and began his own search.

"Found it!" Ezra was sitting on the ground again, holding up a tiny transmitter that he'd just removed from a fold of his cummerbund.

With that clue, Buck quickly found his own in one of the tiny watch-pockets of his vest. He held it out for Ezra to see. "Guess we better smash these and then high tail it some more."

"No, Buck, no!" Ezra hastily reached over and wrapped a hand around Buck's wrist, holding back the stone Wilmington was preparing to use to crush the tiny electronic device. "I've got a better idea."

Taking up Wilmington's bug and his own, Ezra wadded them inside his cummerbund and knotted the pleated cloth waistband into a secure lump. He shoved a broken piece of dry tree branch into the knot and stood up. Buck, who'd been silent until now, asked, "What you going to do with that?"

Ezra smiled, dimples appearing to wreath his cherubically curving lips. "Watch." He lofted the packed cloth and wood complete with bugs, and let it sail off and over the cavern's edge, spiraling down into the river valley below. There was a faint splash as it dropped into the white waters of the river below. They could both see it bob to the surface and start racing down the current.

Ezra, standing at the edge of the cavern area turned with a wide smile, dusting his hands and facing Buck Wilmington. Whatever he was about to say froze on his lips as his expression faded from good humored and malicious to stunned surprise.

"Ezra?" Buck climbed to his feet and hurried toward the smaller man.

The southerner was gazing back over Buck's shoulder now, wonder spreading across his face. "Buck," came out in a whisper, "look what we found!"

Buck caught Ezra up by the shoulders and tugged him closer - and away from the drop off at the edge of the cavern - before turning to see what had drawn such a reaction from Ezra. As Buck moved so that he could see, his action pulled Ezra's body around. Ezra's head, though, remained still, neck craning as green eyes greedily ate up the vision revealed by the light of the rising sun.

To Buck, Ezra's face was much more intriguing than the lumpish looking sandstone cliff face punctuated by hollows and some oldish-looking adobe ruins. "What? Ezra? What did we find?" He released one of Ezra's shoulders so that he could slide his hand down Ezra's back and gather the small man closer, enjoying the shared body heat in the crisp coolness of the morning.

Buck's examination of the brown on brown scene sharpened with the awe in Ezra's voice as he said, "And I don't think anyone else found this before us, at least," he leaned forward in Buck's arms, looking down at the dirt beneath their feet, "At least, not for a long time."

"Ezra."

Green eyes looked up apologetically before returning, as if drawn by magnets, to the view in front of them. "It looks like an Anasazi pueblo." He hooked an arm around Buck's waist, to Buck's immense satisfaction, then pressed Buck forward so that they did a slow shuffle closer to the edges of what they'd thought was a cavern.

Buck stared in surprise, seeing the roughly weathered edges of adobe brick and sandstone melding to form what had once been a solid wall and now had a gaping hole in the middle of it, forming the 'cavern', their refuge earlier this dawn, tucked into an overhang on the cliff face. "So who are these Anasazi? Indians?"

Ezra flashed him a look that was part disappointment, and part resignation. "Yes. I suppose. Though, it is more acceptable to call them Native Americans now. They were a people of substance in the southwest about a thousand years ago."

By now, the two men were close to the old stone arch forming the hole in the former adobe wall. "Look! You can still see fingerprints here," Ezra pointed to some smears in the adobe, like a kindergartener had been playing in the mud, except the smears would better match adult fingers.

Buck noticed that Ezra's hand and finger were trembling slightly. "Cold?" He automatically hugged Ezra closer, noticing how well they fit together. Nice.

"No, not cold." Ezra's face broke into a child-like smile that he turned on Buck. "Excited."

Ezra casually raised Buck's hand to his lips and kissed it before pushing Buck's arm away to free himself. Buck stood stunned. He kissed me. Wilmington's hand tingled and his heart began to thump faster. He suddenly realized that Ezra was no where to be seen. "Ezra?" Buck fought panic as he spun on one heel. "EZRA!"

"Right here, Buck." Ezra's head poked back out of a well-shaped rectangular opening further down the adobe wall. "This is absolutely incredible! Come inside." A hand appeared in the opening, waving Buck back toward the 'cavern' entrance.

Wilmington choked back a curse. What the hell is Ezra thinking? We're in the middle of a fucking kidnapping, on the run, hiding out, and he wants to take the grand tour of some old Indian ruin? Buck practically ran into the cavern, ignoring the shaft of sunlight that speared down from above, leaving a flat rectangle of sparkling light on the flat sandstone floor. He turned to his right and, with the day's light for illumination, saw a series of doorways, one framed in the next, receding into the distance, each one well shaped and blocked with wood. "What the hell?" He saw no sign of Ezra. When I get my hands on that boy, I'll - "EZRAAAH!"

A cheerful face leaned back into view between the third and fourth doorframes, breaking the symmetry of the domino-effect. "Right here, Buck!"

Ezra's voice was bubbly with happy excitement, Buck couldn't think of any other way to describe it. This was a new side of Ezra and in the ordinary way, Buck would have been thrilled with the discovery, but right now? It was insane. "Ezra, you come out of there right now!" By now Ezra had disappeared again.

"Come ahead! I have found petroglyphs!" Ezra was practically singing.

"Petro-what?" Buck started down the room in front of him, tripping over the raised doorsill, nearly twelve inches up from the floor level. Catching himself on the doorjambs, he hung there for a moment, taking deep breaths and telling himself that he was NOT going to kill Ezra. Nope, not yet anyway. Maybe kissing the man silly would work instead? Work for me, he thought with a faint smile.

He plowed into the next room, more wrecked than the previous, some sort of dried up old sticks and what looked like scrawny weed-branches had fallen, along with dried mud from what had obviously been a ceiling. The litter was a hurdle to cross but Buck's long legs stretched over it easily. More cautiously stepping over the next threshold, Buck found Ezra finally. The bewildering man was gazing raptly at the inner wall of the room, a wall of rock. The rock, a soft brownish white, was covered with scratchings, patches of color - reddish, dark brown, and chalk-white. Looked like someone had made handprints over part of it, each print surrounded by blotches of red. Some of the bits of etched stone were objects and shapes, one looked like a child's drawing of a man, bent over and holding a stick to his head. Ezra was pointing at it. He barely glanced at Buck before turning back and calling out triumphantly, "Kokopelli!"

Buck heaved a great sigh and stalked further into the room and came up beside Ezra. The little guy was damn near vibrating with excitement. Buck stared up at the wall and squinted at the drawings. "More like Coco Puffs, if you ask me."

"No, no, this is a find of a lifetime! Buck," Ezra turned quickly, latching on to Wilmington's lapels, face turned up to Buck's. "Buck, this is incredible! I don't know this site!" Everything Ezra said seemed to be ending in exclamation marks.

But, Buck began to melt as he gazed down into that flower-like face, those beautiful green eyes glowing up at him, all hint of the tough, sneaky undercover agent gone in favor of an enthusiastic discoverer. Buck raised a hand and cupped that lovely, shining face, smiling down into the stars that passed for eyes. "This is important to you."

"Yes," Ezra breathed out.

Buck was charmed all over again. What a treasure.

He realized he must have said that out loud because Ezra answered, "Yes, but not monetary, only an historical treasure."

Buck smiled fondly and stroked Ezra's face as his darling man continued, "Buck, these are beautiful!"

"Yes," Buck breathed out, smiling down into Ezra's eyes. "Beautiful."

"Buck?" Ezra was becoming confused. Buck wasn't really making sense, he was agreeing with Ezra, but seemed to be focused on something else entirely.

"Ezra, quit talking," Buck caught at Ezra's waistband in the front, hooking one hand in and pulling Ezra's body close to his own, "I'm going to kiss you now."

"Oh." Ezra's lips stayed in that perfect shape, all thoughts of ancient Anasazi, their dwellings and art, dissolving into Buck's approaching face, lips. "ummmmmm."

Ezra melted against the man holding him so firmly. The kiss was their first truly deep and exploratory connection, physically. Ezra, who'd had many affairs with men, was familiar with facial hair and not discomforted by Buck's abundant mustache. As Buck pressed still closer, as if seeking to swallow Ezra, their heads automatically tipped to better fit, Buck's neck curving down so he could meet Ezra's upturned face.

Buck let his hand creep out from Ezra's waistband and grope around the slender man's body to cup his sweetly rounded ass. Grasping it, he lifted, his other arm roping the man's back and pulling Ezra close against him. Buck shifted, rubbing his pelvis against Ezra's, now that he had the man high enough to bring them together. It felt so damn good, better than he'd ever imagined, and he'd imagined pretty well. He groaned into Ezra's soft mouth, one hand now straining up to glide into that gorgeous head of hair, fingers driving through the chestnut locks as he lost himself in sensations.

Ezra felt his feet leave the earth as Buck enveloped him, consumed him. He rode the rising tide of sensual overload, hands snaring and holding tight to the strong shoulders of Buck Wilmington. Eyes closed to better absorb the touches, the kiss, he was overcome with the feeling of coming home to this. There was no sense of strangeness or hesitation, his head was spinning with relief - it felt so right. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to attach himself to Buck forever. His legs, seemingly of their own accord, no longer supporting him, hooked around the taller man's thighs as he moved against his friend, no, lover. Ezra's mouth, still captured totally by Buck's insistent lips and tongue, was unable to form the smile that crinkled skin around his eyes and warmed his cheeks to a bright flush of color.

For moments that seemed to go on forever, the two men clung together, breathless and seeking, bonding in their urgency, throbbing painfully against one another. Then Buck caught his breath as his body surged and spasmed. He could feel Ezra echo the movements against his thighs and groin. He groaned. Damp warmth seeped and that sweet feeling of total relaxation and serenity washed across him.

Slowly, Buck pulled his mouth free from Ezra's, feeling the man's dead weight against him now. Ezra was limp, his legs dropping bonelessly from where he'd tried to frantically climb up Buck's only moments before. Green eyes half-opened but glassy, shut again and Ezra's head tipped down to rest against Buck's shoulder. With a sigh, Ezra's breathing evened out into the slow rhythms of sleep and Buck, holding him close, smiled as he rested his head against Ezra's.

With cautious, slow effort, Buck backed up to the closest sidewall of the adobe room and, shoulders braced against it, he slid down. Ezra's legs folded up on either side of Buck as Wilmington subsided on the earthen floor and Buck cradled the man to him. He let his own head tip back to rest against the supporting wall and closed his eyes, perfectly content to wait for his lover to awaken. With a half-hearted kiss toward Ezra's nearest ear, Buck's eyes closed and he, too, relaxed into deep sleep, still holding Ezra in his lap and tucked warmly against his chest.

Neither could say how much time passed, only that the brilliant sun no longer shone directly into the ruins and shadows now clung to the walls. It was the sound of feathery, hollow notes that woke them. A lightly played flute was tickling the air with a haunting series of melodic riffs. It wasn't exactly a tune, but somehow both pleasant and energizing.

"Hear that?" Ezra pulled his head back enough to look up at Buck's face.

"Sounds like a pipe of some kind."

"A flute," Ezra answered with confidence. "Kokopelli's flute."

Buck's eyes opened wider and he lifted his head. "Ez?" He gently began to disengage Ezra from his lap and arms, pushing the man to one side. "Thought we were alone."

Standish seemed to emerge from his dreamlike state at Buck's comments. "Yes." He sat upright, one hand braced back awkwardly against the wall, elbow cocked toward the ceiling. He half-shoved against the wall to push himself to a crouching position, balancing on the balls of his feet. "I do not believe our captors would tease us thus."

"Nope, don't think Dressler would go that route. So," Buck had been moving too, and was now standing, knees flexed, hands away from body, as he edged between Ezra and the direction of the sounds, "we got company, uninvited."

Ezra listened quietly to the musical poem drifting towards them. Finally he stood up as well and dusted his hands. He glanced down for a second at his dress trousers, unhappy at the sticky wetness he'd created, then clearly chose to ignore it as he braced his shoulders and leaned forward, one hand gently pushing Buck aside.

"Allow me." Ezra walked with cat-like grace across the floor and was through the doorway into the next room before Buck could react.

"Wait!" Buck hissed, making a futile grab for his partner. Failing, he took long, quiet steps to catch up to the man, arriving at Ezra's back just as the music drew to a close.

In the silence that followed, both men stood poised, listening for any clues as to their unknown 'guest'. Then, to Buck's surprise, Ezra bowed toward the doorway in front of him and said, "I, for one, am no music critic but that was very evocative. My compliments."

Buck stared hard at the empty doorway, then down at Ezra questioningly.

"Our friend is just beyond the portal, Buck." Ezra made no move to continue into the room, instead leaned back against his larger friend, as if confident that Buck would catch him and Buck did.

"You're a cocky little imp, Ezra." Buck nibbled a presented ear, all the while keeping his eyes glued to the still empty doorway.

"Not really, Buck, I just have faith." Ezra turned in Buck's arms and smiled up at the man, brilliantly. "Faith in you."

Buck couldn't resist, his eyes dropping to that enchanting smile, his innards warming and heart swelling. "God, Ezra, I do. I do love you!"

"Ah, love." A third voice intruded, low and dry.

Ezra continued to smile up at Buck, his eyes trapping Buck's. He slowly turned away, and both he and Buck, who now raised his eyes as well, looked into bright eyes, so black as to be velvet.

The dark eyes peered at them from a long, bony face, high cheekbones highlighted by the angled shafts of midday light. Gleaming black hair was pulled back tightly, forming a thin frame to the face. Buck, still hovering over Ezra with a protective arm now encircling his friend, realized that their intruder was hunched over in the doorway, one moccasinned foot resting on the high threshold of the low opening. It was like seeing a framed painting come to life.

Ezra studied their visitor with dawning pleasure. He could see the wooden, carved flute, with feather adornment on a leather thong. The spindly man had a thick chest and small potbelly that made his appearance slightly off kilter.

The moment of assessment was brief as the stranger stepped into the room with Buck and Ezra. Once through the open doorway, the man straightened from his hunched posture, a bulging, black nylon backpack giving an echo of the hunchback silhouette. Buck decided it was the synthetic fabric that relieved him the most. With a sigh as the tension eased, Wilmington gathered Ezra closer and nodded over his friend's shoulder at their 'guest.' "Makes the world go round."

Ezra had to think for a moment to remember that Buck was responding to the stranger's first words. Then he smiled, first up at Buck, then at their new friend. Somehow, he knew that this man would be a friend. "We are stopping here to take refuge from evil-doers." Somehow the words 'criminals' and 'kidnappers' did not seem apropos with the stranger. Ezra essayed a small bow, one hand patting at Buck's still restraining arm.

The beanpole before them laughed in delight. "HA! Evil-doers? You have found a safe haven here, for this place will not allow such creatures."

"Not allow?" Buck looked around uncomfortably, shuffling his feet closer to Ezra, putting one large dress boot on either side of Ezra's petite feet.

"Sit, sit." The man gestured with his free hand, palm facedown and flat patting the air. He crossed his ankles and sank into an easy cross-legged position on the earth floor.

Ezra dropped down in similar movements without hesitation. Buck was left with an Ezra-shaped space and empty arms. "EZRA!" He could hardly believe his hardened, caustic, and cynical friend could accept this unknown man so easily.

"Sit down, Buck."

With a frown and very put-upon look, Wilmington drew his dark winged eyebrows together and lowered his gangly body to the ground beside Ezra. "Ok, we're all sitting. Now what?"

"Is he always so impatient?"

The amusement in the man's soft voice provoked a chuckle from Ezra. "No, but then, he is rarely confronted with such an unexpected, close encounter."

"Of the third kind?" The stranger's mouth curled up in a, to Buck, disquieting smile.

"You will have to tell us that." Ezra leaned sideways so that he could maintain contact with Buck. For some reason, he had no fear of this one.

"I am simply a wanderer," the man held up his instrument, continuing, "a musician, a seeker."

"Ah, and what do you seek?" Ezra rubbed his hands together, still smiling.

"Today? It seems that I seek you," the stranger nodded, then turned and met Buck's deep blue eyes, "and you."

"We are Ezra and Buck." Ezra returned, as if he'd been asked.

Buck began to worry. Ezra was taking this WAY too well. Was that damn concussion interfering with the man's normally suspicious nature?

"And I," the stranger touched his chest with the palm of one hand, "I am Tonto."

"No. Way." Buck began to rise angrily. "I've heard that old joke before, means 'I don't know'!"

Ezra snatched at Buck's arm and pulled him down. "Stop. Buck, wait and listen."

"It's a good name for one such as me, for I am all questions and few answers." Tonto smiled benignly at the men. "I chose it myself."

"So what was it before?" The anger was clear in Wilmington's voice as he put his hand over Ezra's where it still held his sleeve.

"Henry." Tonto smiled again, the shrugged. "I prefer Tonto."

Buck humphed and Ezra rolled his eyes as his friend, then turned back to Henry nee' Tonto. "Why are you here? Did you just find this site too?"

"Friend Ezra, I did not find this place. It called to me from across the hills and I came." Henry, Buck could not bring himself to call the man Tonto, looked around the ruined room with satisfaction, finally staring in open admiration at the wall of shapes and picture-forms. Henry's body swayed towards the wall, one long arm reaching out and the splayed hand coming to rest, poised in the air mere inches from one of the strange handprints on the wall. Buck could see that the hand would be a good match if Henry let his touch.

Ezra squirmed, tensing, and Henry glanced back at him. "Don't worry, Friend Ezra, I shall not touch."

Ezra subsided, reassured.

Buck felt like spitting. "Well, you found this place and you found us. Now what?"

"Perhaps you are hungry?" Henry nee' Tonto let his backpack drop off one shoulder and slip to the floor.

Buck's mouth instantly filled with saliva and he had to lick his lips to stop any from drooling out. "Yeah, we might be."

One hand came out and pulled that lumpy backpack away from Ezra and Buck, "Or, perhaps you are only hungry for each other?"

"You have a problem with that?" Buck was on the offensive again, his face smoothing out and voice lowering into a dangerous flatness.

Ezra, alerted by the change in Buck's composure and tone, sat up, hands pressing down on his knees. He twisted his neck to frown at Buck beside him. "Buck, calm down."

"I am an admirer of love, not a detractor. Friend Buck, I only wish you and your Ezra many contented years of bonded love and contentment. I plant the seeds of harmony and let the music grow by itself." Henry raised his flute to his lips and played. The room seemed to darken, sunlight slowly crawling away and shadows showing bold. On the wall, the figure that Ezra had pointed to and called Kokopelli seemed to glow unevenly, as if lit by firelight, or as if it danced. The slow notes seemed to strengthen in volume after leaving the flute, filling the small chamber with the repeating tonalities, like tiny echoes bouncing around their heads. Buck decided he'd never complain about Vin's harmonica playing again. Ezra simply closed his eyes and rolled his neck, letting his head loll back as he began to hum along with the tuneless musical arrangement of notes.

How long the little concert went on, Buck wasn't sure. Gradually he relaxed and drooped, Ezra's warmth beside him the only heat in the room. His head began to nod and then his chin, so very heavy, dropped to his chest. He struggled to remain awake but everything was so tranquil that he really no longer knew why he fought it. Light began to fail.

Henry began to fade. Buck pulled his head back up with tremendous effort and forced his eyes to open. He stretched out one hand towards the musician, fingers unable to find the man to touch him, even though he knew he saw him - right in front of his eyes. And then, his eyes fell closed again and he slept.

Hernandez watched in irritation as the ATF team sprang still another surprise. When the pilot had announced over the intercom that they were approaching the landing field, Agent Dunne, 'JD' Fred corrected himself, unhooked his harness and stood up, grabbing at the sling strap beside him and swaying in the propjet's slight bumping over choppy air.

"Shouldn't he stay secured?" Fred asked into Vin Tanner's ear as the other agent was seated next to him and it was hard to be heard across the hold just now.

Bright blue eyes slanted towards him and crinkled with good humor. "Got things to do."

Unsatisfied, Fred Hernandez leaned forward to watch as JD knelt carefully at the side of a duffle bag strapped down next to the scary, he admitted it, weapons locker in the center of the hold decking. JD ripped open the zip and plunged both hands into the satchel. His hands came up with what looked like tiny wires and small earplugs. SHIT! Fred yanked himself forward to the edge of the sling bench, his chest forcing the safety harness to expand as he sat perched now on the outer bar of the canvas seat.

A hand came down on his shoulder and he turned his head toward the source, Vin Tanner. Tanner grinned at him. "S.O.P." Tanner's grip fell away and the man patted Hernandez on the shoulder before settling back beside him.

Watching, Fred saw JD start across the deck, distributing his loot. Silently, Larabee, Sanchez, and Jackson accepted their shares and began hooking earpieces and tiny microphones, with nearly invisible wires, to their persons. Then JD was handing one to Tanner and turning to stare questioningly at Fred.

"Oh, hell, if you've got extra, give me one too!" Fred spoke in open irritation, ignoring the assessing glance from Larabee and the twin, understanding smiles from Jackson and Sanchez, who'd both relaxed back in their seats and were watching him.

Once JD sat down, Larabee's hand went to his throat and Fred heard his low, quiet voice in his own ear. "Check."

"Sanchez."

"Jackson."

"Dunne."

"Tanner." Vin cocked an expectant eye at Hernandez.

Fred touched the tiny mike. "Hernandez."

"Larabee."

Thumbs went up around the hold.

"Chris?" Fred was getting spooked by the paramilitary nature of this team's approach, "Are these really necessary?"

"Yes."

When Larabee didn't expand on his answer, Fred sighed internally and sat back. These guys were too much.

The hum of the jets was interrupted once more by the pilot. "Gentlemen, I'll be lowering the landing gear now, we'll be on the ground in a few. Prepare for landing."

There were two large white Suburbans, with bold New Mexico Highway Patrol lettering, parked outside the plane when the co-pilot swung open the hatch and dropped the exit ladder to the ground. He stepped back as the passengers began to climb out.

Larabee led, with Hernandez following. The men behind them were scrambling to lift out their weapons locker and duffels. Fred refused to dwell on their stash.

Once on the ground, Fred walked over to the lead vehicle waiting for them, shaking hands with the uniformed patrolman on the near side of the first truck.

While introductions and updates were shared, out of the corner of his eye, Fred watched the rest of Larabee's team lower their baggage off the plane and tote it to the second truck. He could see them greeting the other driver and stowing gear at top speed. With a snap of attention, he turned back to the conversation between Chris Larabee and Captain George Carson of the NM HP.

"Thanks, Captain." Larabee quietly shook the man's hand, so Fred stepped up and did the same with a nod. Then Chris added, "We'll ride with you." He leaned out of their small group to yell, "JD, you ride with us."

Fred saw JD's head pop up from where he'd been poking around in the duffle on the ground. The young agent gave a short wave, shoved something back in the bag and from the way his arm jerked, Fred figured he'd zipped it closed. The bag, slung quickly on Dunne's back, came with him as the agent jogged quickly over to their truck.

Dunne, with a careless flick of dark straight bangs, was sliding into the back seat area as Hernandez suddenly realized the rest of the team was already in the second vehicle and slamming doors. Larabee was in the front passenger seat, and leaning back over it, called to him, "Fred, get in!"

Hernandez climbed in, nodding to the Captain already seated behind his driver and to JD who had taken over the rear seats with his ubiquitous duffle and was busily engaged in setting up a slim laptop on top of it. Before Fred had his seatbelt buckled, Carson had leaned across him to slam home the big passenger door and they were moving.

Buck stretched and yawned, back arching. He felt refreshed and content as he looked down at Ezra Standish still asleep and tipped against his side. They'd fallen asleep sitting together. Wiping his eyes, Wilmington looked around, becoming tense as his memories kicked in. They were still in the small wrecked brown rock and adobe room. The noon sun was warming the walls obliquely, shadows barely visible. I thought it was later than this. Buck unconsciously flattened one hand on Ezra's spine and began a gentle rubbing as he studied the space in front of them, empty except for a large black nylon backpack. He swallowed scratchily, his mouth gone dry. Where was Henry? Trying to stay still, he turned his head to the extremes of his physical rotation and still nothing, no one. No Henry. No 'Tonto.'

He could hear nothing at all, the ruins were silent around them. Then he realized he was hearing Ezra's even, quiet breathing. That sound reassured him, strangely. He looked down at Ezra. Bleary green eyes looked back up at him.

"Hey, Pard." Buck swiped a thumb across Ezra's pale cheek. "You okay?"

For a moment, Ezra simply blinked up at him, then he hummed softly and pressed his face into Buck's hovering hand. Keeping contact there, Ezra's voice floated up. "Yes, tired, but fine." Eyes becoming clearer and sharper, flicked back up. "And you?"

"Doing okay." Buck pulled an unprotesting Ezra on to his lap, arms holding the man in a comfortable cuddle. "Better now." He smiled warmly and tipped his head down to steal a kiss, light and promising. Pulling back just a whisper, he added, "I love you."

Ezra's face warmed with color and his eyes seemed to glow as he looked back up at Buck, fingers coming to his just-kissed lips. "I think I could love you, too, Buck."

Buck smiled tenderly. "Good. Good start. We'll get you there, darlin'."

Ezra sank against Wilmington and turned his head, resting it against the big man's chest as he checked the room. Empty. "Henry, ah, Tonto seems to have left." Ezra eyed the abandoned backpack. "Leaving a bit of goodwill behind, I see."

"Maybe." Buck held Ezra a bit tighter. "Not sure what's in there, or if we should even look."

Ezra pulled gently away from his new lover, his friend. "Buck, this has nothing to do with those cretins who kidnapped us. This is," he hesitated, looking back over his shoulder at the backpack and empty room, then eyeing the wall of images with a lingering look, "this is - different."

Buck pulled Ezra's head back around to face him, eyes mapping Ezra's features, memorizing each bit. "Yeah, Ez, this is very different." He lightly kissed those sweet lips again, then met Ezra's eyes. "I want this to last, Ezra."

Standish felt a warmth growing inside and smiled up at Buck. "We'll have to see, won't we?"

New Mexico's Captain Carson of the Highway Patrol was rather garrulous and kept interrupting himself to point out scenic tidbits as the two truck convoy headed up the narrow road that would intersect with the route of the red Chevy Blazer. Between cactus varieties and chance glimpses of roadrunners, Carson explained that after Hernandez's people had called them, his officers had established a checkpoint on the road identified as the route of the Blazer. It was a regular insurance, registration, and license check, stopping all traffic briefly, thus being less likely to rouse any suspicion. If the Blazer arrived before they did, his men would hold it on some minor irregularities in the vehicle.

"What if it doesn't have any?" JD interrupted his own flying fingers to throw in before returning to his computer screen link to the satellites.

"Sonny," Carson boomed with a flash of teeth, "if it rides on a road, it ain't perfect and my boys will figure out how."

Larabee took advantage of the break in Carson's flow to call back, "JD? What's the status?"

"I found the roadblock. Looks like the Blazer still has about ten minutes 'til arrival."

"And us?"

Carson spoke up. "We'll be there in five." Now that the others were on drill, his conversation dried up and he sat straighter, putting one hand on the shoulder of his driver. The captain suddenly looked a lot harder, less jovial, and more ready for business.

Chris, still facing the rear of the truck, studied the man. He'd been ready to write him off as a loud-mouthed buffoon, but the sudden change in demeanor had him reevaluating. A lot like Buck, fools around until it's time to go, then worth riding into trouble with. Chris nodded formally to the captain and then turned back to face ahead. They were rounding a curve in the road that hugged a small butte.

"There, you see?" Dressler smiled down at the patrol officers and their matching patrol cars. "They set up this block and it works for us!" He tapped one of his men on the shoulder and pointed toward the far end of the draw that fed out toward the road. "Take cover there." The man nodded and, crouching low, dashed for the hidden spot.

His men were no longer wearing black. They'd changed into desert camouflage. He had every intention of plucking the Moshers from this little police filter and taking them away triumphantly. He could already see them in front of his high tech video equipment, informing their father that their lives were forfeit if he didn't cooperate. Cooperate with the men that Dressler would be using to cross the borders with guns for the group paying Dressler's fee, a splinter group of Palestinians. Emro was tired of this project, it had gotten too involved he realized now and he was ready to end it. Quickly.

He marshaled the rest of the men at his command, scattering them in strategic locations across the butte that shaded the roadblock. His information put the Israelis on this road, arrival time imminent.

The wiry lookout on the top of the small butte began flashing a small mirror. Here they come!

Vin leaned forward in the passenger seat of the second truck. "Chris?"

Larabee sat up, pressing one hand to his earplug. The other members of the team listened silently as he acknowledged Tanner. "Yeah."

"We got company. Light signal up on the left."

Larabee reached over and took hold of the driver's nearest arm. "Stop here."

The corporal raised an eyebrow at him but didn't slow. Larabee didn't hesitate, he leaned over, grabbing the wheel and jerking it sharply to the left, causing the truck to careen across the narrow tarmac toward the rough debris at the foot of the bluff edging the road. "SHIT!!" Corporal Flanagan stomped on the brakes and wrestled the truck to a fishtailing stop.

The truck engine died with a rattle and the sound of the hot engine ticking as it cooled was the only sound in the cab for a moment. Then Carson exploded.

In the second truck, Tanner pressed a hand on the patrolman's gloved grip. "Slow down, we're all stopping."

Before the man could respond, the lead truck was swerving across the road and skidding to a halt. Patrolman Harris slammed on his brakes and managed to stop without hitting the rear of the first truck. Breathing deeply, he shook his head and looked over at his passenger, but the seat was already empty.

"NOT NOW, CAPTAIN!" Larabee was dropping out of the truck's doorway and crouching low, a wicked looking revolver materializing in his fist. He shaded his brow and looked up, squinting against the early afternoon sun. "Unknowns have the high ground, you're men are in trouble."

Hernandez ducked as the now silent police captain shoved past him and down beside Larabee, drawing his weapon. Fred followed, pulling his own gun and scanning the top of the steep incline. Scrubby brush and stunted trees created a confusing texture, the earth, dry and ravaged by past rains, was deeply scarred, perfect for hiding opponents. He shouldered down next to Carson and noticed that Dunne had slipped out and was already circling the rear of the truck with two guns raised.

Turning to check on Larabee, he realized the man had vanished. Then he heard Chris over the headphones. "Keep low everyone. Vin's going for the high ground."

Now, how did Larabee know that? Fred craned his neck so that he could look down their truck to the following truck. It sat, equally abandoned behind theirs, no sign of any of the ATF agents, only the patrolman who'd been driving who was standing behind his open driver's side door, weapon drawn, staring up the steep bluff. Eyes tracking the man's line of sight, Fred caught a glimpse of the wide backs of Sanchez and Jackson, nearly a quarter of the way up the steep incline, just before they disappeared into a vertical crevice already lined with shadow. Of Tanner, there was no sign.

Hernandez went down to his belly and crawled forward towards the hood of the first truck, following Captain Carson who was moving fast, his body shimmying along disregarding the thick dust and rocks on the roadside. I'm getting too old for this. Fred checked his six, looking down the intersecting road that he realized was now in sight. In the distance, he could see a faint shape that might be a red Chevy Blazer, or might not. Following the road with his eyes, he found the roadblock ahead.

Above him, he could hear the sergeant on the radio in the truck, alerting the roadblock team of their danger. Hernandez turned his wrist to take a look at his watch, it was past three. With summer over, days would be shorter, but daylight should see them through this engagement. He frowned. Damn, I sound like I'm back in the military. He checked his gun and then rolled into a shallow draw at the roadside, still trying to stay with Carson since he'd already lost Larabee.

Somehow, he hadn't expected the radio silence of the team. After that one order to the team, there had been no further word from Larabee. No one else had spoken. Damn, these guys are worse than my spooks. Fred grit his teeth and began to edge toward higher ground.

Ezra insisted that they needed to open and inspect the backpack, claiming it was a gift. "He did ask if we were hungry."

Buck watched indulgently as his partner tugged open the strings that held the drawn-up mouth of the bag closed. From the way Ezra slowed at that point, Buck came alert and rose to his feet. As the southerner began to cautiously place one hand within the bag, Buck got a very bad feeling and rushed forward to yank Ezra's arm back out and free of the bag. "No! Wait!"

Ezra tried to shake off Buck's hand but the man was strong and held on tight. Before Ezra could object, Buck had pulled him back several feet from the dark, oversized backpack. Looking up impatiently into worried eyes, Ezra lost his irritation. "I don't think there is anything to be concerned about, Buck," he paused, reading Buck's denial in the contrary man's face, "there is no reason to think Henry has any ill will towards us." He tried to pick vise-like fingers from his arm to no avail. "Buck?"

Wilmington stared down into Ezra's face and could see that the normally suspicious agent was really convinced of Henry's nature. He bit his lower lip and slowly relaxed his grip on Ezra's arm. "Ez, we never met that guy before, he makes some music and disappears." Buck swiveled his head around, once more looking for any sign of the stranger, then looked back at Ezra. "And leaves behind his backpack. Seems too convenient to me, pard."

Standish listened to his friend's doubts and wondered at his own faith in the stranger, but then his eyes wandered back to the wall of images and he just knew that this was alright. It felt good. He'd been having some bad feelings himself, earlier, when they were still in the clutches of that foul group of miscreants, but they had escaped and his urge to run had dissipated. He stopped trying to break free of Buck and, instead, turned into the man's embrace.

"Ez?" Buck's face was a picture of confusion.

Ezra smiled up at the man who claimed to love him. "Thank you."

"For what?" Buck's head pulled back as he tucked his chin in towards his chest to better study his friend.

"For being so protective, so cautious, so caring." Ezra stood up on his tiptoes and reached up to draw Buck's head down further towards him. He smiled up at those dark blue eyes so wide and full of Buck's great spirit. "Thank you for giving me your love." He raised his own chin more and brought their lips together in a chaste kiss.

Buck stood absolutely still, letting Ezra initiate and control the kiss, but inside, his heart was singing. It took great restraint not to sweep Ezra up into his arms and consume him once more. His chest hurt, it was so full of his growing love for this darling man.

Ezra dropped back to his feet and smiled again, his fingers lighting running down the sides of Buck's strong face before coming to rest on the man's broad chest. "I don't know why, Buck, but I trust him."

Wilmington read the faith in Ezra's eyes and felt his own knot of worry begin to dissolve. He raised his eyes to the motionless backpack and otherwise empty room. "Alright. But, I open it." He took both of Ezra's shoulders in his hands and steered the man to the side before walking slowly back over to the satchel.

Ezra's earlier work had left the mouth of the thing gaping open, dark and mysterious. Buck poked at the bag with one foot, then stepped back. He wasn't sure what to expect, but there was no point in taking unnecessary chances. Wouldn't be too good to have a bunch of snakes jump out at them or something else. Who knew? Down here near the desert, might even be scorpions. He steeled himself and without looking back at Ezra, plucked one of the shoulder straps up, turning the backpack in the process and raising it enough so that some of the contents began to spill on to the ground.

Puzzled, he studied the buckskins that tumbled free, then an old wooden canteen, some small nondescript bags of tan leather, and some bundles. He grabbed the other end of the backpack and shook it upside down now, watching a final bundle drop soundlessly onto the dusty earth and rock floor.

"Clothing!"

Buck swung around to find that Ezra hadn't waited and was crouched down, unwrapping some of the dusty looking buckskin to reveal what looked like leggings and a shirt with light pattern of beading across the chest. This was just plain crazy. "EZRA!"

Standish looked up from where he was smoothing out the shirt. "Yes?"

Buck strode back over to his friend and with exasperation pulled him to his feet by hooking hands under his arms and lifting. Steadying his partner, he tilted his head and looked directly into Ezra's eyes. "What if there were booby traps?" He hesitated, then added, "Snakes? Scorpions?"

Disbelief in Ezra's eyes was enough answer. Buck grit his teeth. "Ezra! You could have been hurt!"

The heart-deep exclamation was enough to dissolve the stubbornness in Ezra's resistance. He felt as if something important was finally penetrating his reserves. Buck cared. Not just about a roll in the hay, not just making unasked for declarations of love, easy enough to say, but he cared about Ezra's well being. He was worried about his safety. Ezra didn't know how to explain his certainty about their mysterious visitor or his gifts, for that was what he was convinced they were finding, but he did know that he was making an important discovery now about Buck and about himself. He took a deep breath and stepped closer to Buck, pressing the side of his face into the man's shirtfront until he could hear Buck's heart beating deep within.

Buck was startled by Ezra's action. He stood silent now, staring down at the top of Ezra's head where it rested against him. Slowly, he brought up his arms and wrapped them around Ezra's shoulders. Inside, he felt a bubbling such as he hadn't felt in a very long time, a feeling that was climbing out of places it had hidden since childhood days with his mom, a feeling of warmth and joy. He crushed the man to him. "Oh, god!"

Ezra didn't protest, just rode out Buck's increasingly tight hold. After several minutes, Buck's arms loosened enough for him to raise his head and look up at the dear man. "See? This is a good place, Buck. Everything is alright." Ezra lowered his head for a moment, then raised it again, "And I think we will be too."

"We?" Buck's voice had deepened and held a smile.

Ezra blushed and smiled, "Yes."

Then the irritating man squirmed free of Buck's arms and squatted back down beside the tanned leather clothing he'd been examining earlier. Buck took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling as he gathered his scattered wits, then he sunk to his heels beside Ezra.

"This definitely looks like it would fit you." Ezra held up the large shirt. He turned to raise the leggings which turned out to be full trousers with leather bits to tie up the front opening. "As will these."

Buck finally dragged his eyes away from Ezra's glowing face and looked at the offerings. They did look as if they'd fit. "Maybe, but-"

"We need to get out of our evening clothes." Ezra gestured with a wave of one agile hand to the disheveled black dress suits and now stained and grayish shirts, once white and crisp. He continued, motioning towards the leathers in his hands, "In these, we'd blend into the terrain."

Buck nodded slowly. "Okay. These might fit me, but what about you?" He'd only seen the one set of buckskins so far, likely ones that old Henry could wear himself. He reached out to finger the soft, pliant material.

Ezra poked an arm under Buck's outstretched one and plucked the other bundle of buckskin free. Buck waited. This was getting a bit spooky. If that other set of clothes would fit Ezra, it would be downright weird. It was almost with relief that he watched Ezra's face fall in disappointment as he unrolled an equally large set of even older looking buckskin clothing.

When Ezra held up the second large shirt, Buck's smile widened and he patted Ezra's shoulder consolingly.

"Don't worry, little guy, we can always roll up the sleeves."

He chuckled when Ezra sent him a dirty look. Taking the shirt from Ezra's unresistant hands, Buck acted on his suggestion and began folding up the long sleeves.

Ezra humphed lightly, acknowledging that his mysticism had perhaps gone too far. With a shrug of acceptance, he lifted the canteen and shook it. Hearing the slosh inside, he realized that he was very thirsty. Neither of them had eaten or drunk anything since their short dinner at the restaurant a lifetime ago. Mouth drier by the second, he hastily twisted the cap off the water container, and before Buck could stop him, took a tiny sip. Water. Untainted, unflavored, water. Cool and delicious! He wiped his lips with the back of one hand and then offered the canteen to Buck.

Wilmington's cry of warning died on his lips when he looked over and saw Ezra already drinking from the old canteen. Shit! He could have poisoned himself! Buck growled as he snatched the offered canteen from Ezra and brought it to his own mouth. One swallow and he relaxed. If there was anything wrong with it, he couldn't taste it, and now at least, if there was, they'd suffer for it together. Somehow, the together part was growing in importance with each passing second.

"What else are you finding, Ezra?" Buck's concerns had eased a bit when he saw the two changes of clothing would both fit Henry. Seemed a bit less twilight zone and more just a puzzlement.

Ezra's busy fingers unwrapped a second flute, this one less decorated and not yet finished, wood still roughly carved. As he flipped the piece of thin leather open, a sharp-bladed woodcarving knife fell to the ground and a small wood awl. "Tools of the trade, it seems."

Ezra's voice sounded curious and thoughtful to Buck. This was a side of the man that he'd not yet met and he was finding it endearing. Face it, Buck, you've got it bad.

Tanner watched from the top of the bluff as the four policemen at the check point all began to rubberneck and drop to the dirt near their two patrol cars. Someone had finally warned the poor saps that they were at ground zero on this one. Vin quickly finished tying off the laces of the lookout's boots. It hadn't taken any effort to slip up behind the man, put him down.

Now it was just a question of getting him bundled up so that Tanner could move on. Using the laces from the man's boots, he had already restrained his wrists behind him and now, his ankles. The Team Seven sharpshooter lowered himself to his belly on the rise and carefully set up his sniper's rifle, grabbed from their weapons locker in the transport just minutes earlier. Casually, he shoved his prisoner back further away by pushing against the top of man's head with his booted foot. He barely spared a glance to do it, eyes ranging over the rough terrain to spot other targets.

Nathan tapped Josiah on the shoulder and gave a warning with hand signals to drop left. He kept low and climbed over Sanchez's retracting leg, letting his body skim the rocky rubble in front of him. Just beyond the shadow of the narrow crevasse, someone sat perched on a boulder. Jackson was behind the stranger and jerking him back with an arm around his throat before the man even knew he had company. It was a moment's work to lash his hands together with his ankles in a classic restraint, using the man's long dirty headscarf for a gag. Nathan peered out and located his next objective, another ambusher idling just past the boulder. Jackson flashed a deadly grin, white against his face, before flowing over the rocks toward the man.

Josiah could see that Nate had things well in hand. Sanchez had already begun climbing and decided to move back away from Nathan's intended prisoners, there were probably plenty to go around. Eyes flaring with fierce amusement, Josiah flexed his biceps and then pulled himself up to the next ledge on the crevasse wall. From there he could see several routes upward, one of which had an unusual silhouette. For a big man, Josiah could move very quietly, even over rough surfaces. The hidden watcher had no chance to warn anyone.

Sanchez had no trouble restraining this one, you didn't get a fuss from someone unconscious. Wiping his hands on his knees, Josiah sat back for a moment on his haunches, evaluating the surroundings before picking another likely spot for a perp. The Team Seven profiler made himself one with an image of smoke and drifted upward, face serene, eyes dancing from stone to stone.

Tanner nodded at JD Dunne who had just scrabbled up onto a neighboring high ground. A brief, small cloud of dust was the only sign that the youngest of their team had just subdued another of the opposition. Vin quirked a tiny smile at JD and then turned his attention back to where Chris Larabee was now closing in on the checkpoint. Relaxing his shoulders and tightening his pressure on the trigger of his rifle, Vin waited patiently. JD had his back now.

Larabee could hear the police captain, Carson, breathing hard right past his shoulder. He ignored the noise and rolled into the next slight depression of ground, using what cover he could. Chris was nearly all the way to the roadblock now, and he could see the whites of the eyes of two of the officers who were staring at him over their revolvers. Huffing out a breath of anger at the lack of skill among these patrolmen, he waited for Carson to join him. He had to make sure that those men out there knew he was one of the good guys.

Fred Hernandez had dropped away from Carson and Larabee when he realized they intended to head out into the open and meet up with the exposed patrol officers. They didn't need him. He was still in deep shadow at the edge of the draw, just beyond where their abandoned trucks still stood. Seemed a likely spot for someone to hide. Fred drew his gun, silencer automatically screwed on as he studied the area. Then with more skill than Larabee would probably give him, he sidled deeper into the shade and began edging toward the further end of the draw. He kept his pistol up and ready.

Dressler had retreated to the rear of the action, no point in becoming personally involved in the confrontation. There might be bullets flying shortly and he had no intention of being hit by a careless shot. He looked over his shoulder to where their helicopter squatted behind the bluff. The pilot was leaning against the nose, smoking. Irritated, Ermo rose to his feet from the crouch he'd maintained as he crept back from the ambush. He began to walk toward the helicopter, anger making his steps quicker. Behind him, he heard a shot fired. It was a sharp, loud bang that could not have come from a weapon belonging to his men. They didn't have any rifles with them. The first sound he should have heard was to have been the mortar round. Gait changing to a trot, he waved both arms at the pilot.

Vin took aim again and sent a second shot into the road surface in front of the red SUV, watching as the driver slewed the vehicle to a stop and he and a passenger dove from their respective sides into the dirt. Looks like those boys know a little something about survival. Vin grinned tightly and swung his rifle back around towards the bluff below him, looking for another target. Instead, he saw his team begin to rise up from their positions.

"Check in." Chris was coming to his feet, helping Captain Carson rise as two of the uniformed officers with them walked out to the young men crouching near a red Chevy Blazer that Tanner had stopped.

"Vin."

"JD."

"Jackson."

"Sanchez."

"Hernandez." Five men smiled wolfishly at the sound of their temporary teammate's clipped response. Man has some salt, Vin thought.

"Clear?" Chris waited again, a hand on Carson's shoulder to still him for another minute. The affirmatives all around had Larabee nodding, before saying, "Hope you boys kept a few of them breathing. We need information."

Before anyone could answer, they all heard the rattle and roar of a helicopter lifting off just beyond the edge of the butte. Vin spun and cursed, ducking as the machine swooped low over his head. He brought up his rifle, but waited, asking, "Chris?"

"Stand down, Vin. JD, you got it?"

"Got it." Tanner looked over his shoulder to where Dunne was shouldering a long tube-like weapon. A wisp of smoke came from the rear of the tube when the agent jerked back slightly. Vin followed the thin smoke trail that flew from the weapon and traced an arc up to the helicopter. Instead of hearing an explosion, nothing happened. Vin raised an eyebrow. Could have sworn JD hit that thing. Damn, it was big as a barn going over us. Vin looked his silent question at JD who stood in plain sight now on the rise just below Tanner's position.

JD wiped his face, sweating from the fast climb and adrenaline rush of taking down a man, then shooting a helicopter. He saw Vin turn to stare at him, looking curious. He grinned, face dirty from the sweat and grit, his smile shining through as he mouthed one word. "Bug."

Ezra found that some of the mystique of their temporary hideaway was fading now that he stood drooping in Henry's much too big buckskins. He looked sideways at Buck who was on one knee beside him, silently turning up the cuff one more fold on one of the sleeves. And silently laughing. Disgusted at his situation, Ezra was not happy. "Mr. Wilmington, I'm glad to see you find this amusing."

The acerbic tone had Buck's head coming up and the laughter subsiding to an affectionate smile. "Ezra, no matter what you wear, you look good to me." Then he stretched up and hooked a hand around Ezra's neck, pulling his friend down enough so that he could plant a firm kiss on those sweet, and, at the moment very pouty, lips.

Buck released his hold as Ezra broke their kiss. He studied the flushed face and saw only acceptance and arousal. With a grin, Buck tried to reel Ezra back in.

"Stop!" Ezra shuffled backwards away from his amorous companion. At another time, he decided he would welcome Buck's advances but just now was not the time. Breaking eye contact with the devilishly good looking Wilmington on his knees in front of him, Ezra brushed at the soft, fine leather sleeves of his new attire, grimacing at the dropped shoulders and triple-folded cuffs. It had been a good decision to switch into Henry's clothing but was it too much to ask that the man be a bit smaller? Then Ezra stole another look over at Buck. Wilmington was climbing to his feet, the buckskins fitting him as if tailored for his long, beautiful - when did I start thinking 'beautiful'? - body. Buck was like an image from some history book, a mountain man of the Old West. Ezra was charmed.

Buck, resigned to keeping the old libido in check, pushed up from the earthen floor to stand and swing his arms slightly, testing the fit of the tunic and pants. Nice. He lifted one leg, no pull. Yeah, this would work. He hadn't realized that he and Henry were near the same size. His hands brushed the intricate pattern of beadwork covering a small area of the front of the tunic, with tiny feathers hanging from the bottom edge of the decorative work, like a small, soft fringe. The beads were all earthen colored, reddish-brown, brown, tan, gray, white, and black, with a smattering of tiny turquoise bits. The feathers were under-feathers, all light brown with white fluffy, downy edges, none longer than two inches. He admired what he could see, peering down at the geometric patterning upside down. Touching the feathery fringe lightly, it reminded him of Ezra's soft chestnut hair and his eyes rose automatically to seek out his companion.

Ezra stood looking at him. There was an affectionate light in those gorgeous green eyes. Buck had to suppress a laugh, though, at the picture that Ezra made in the too large clothing. With cuffs at sleeves and leggings turned up, waist cinched into the baggy trousers, tunic hanging down to his knees and shoulder seams resting on his biceps, Ezra looked more like a waif than the tough undercover agent that Buck knew he was. "Eh, Ezra. Looking good there."

Ezra made a face at him and then smiled ironically down at his outfit. They'd put him in the older costume, the leather so supple that it easily folded back, like cloth. The butternut coloring had faded to an indeterminate dust color. Any decorations had long since vanished, but tiny threads still hung from the front of the tunic, together with slightly less faded coloring on the leather, subtle hints that once this too was a fancy shirt.

"I seem to be the second class citizen here." Ezra spoke dryly.

"Sweetheart, you're first class, all the way." Buck stepped close and placed one arm around the smaller man's shoulder and back and giving him a light hug. He didn't press, knowing that Ezra was right, this wasn't the time, much as he wished it was. With an unrepentant peck on Ezra's cheek, Buck looked up and around the crumbling adobe room. The wall away from the back rock wall was broken with a fair-sized opening. He released his gentle hold on Ezra and walked over to look out.

To his surprise, it was still full daylight. The sun had moved, no longer shooting rays of direct light into the ruin complex, but it must still be fairly high in the sky, he thought. Henry's visit and disappearance had lulled they into a distortion of time, Buck thought, one hand coming out to grip the smooth old bricks that remained in an uneven, toothy display.

He felt rather than saw Ezra come up beside him to look out at his shoulder. "Are you packing?" Buck murmured.

"Yes." Ezra lifted the folded hem of one trouser leg to reveal his ankle holster, still holding a small revolver. "It seems our captors never even checked. A bit of overconfidence."

"Yeah, same for me." Buck put one booted foot up on the debris near him and tugged back the legging to pop out the pistol that sat in the top of his short dress, ankle boot. He reset it after checking it, then turned his head to jerk it back towards the room. "Those carving tools might come in handy, too."

Ezra nodded thoughtfully, straightening up again. "Yes. And we still haven't eaten, I suspect that there are some provisions in that bag."

"Ezra-" Buck started, warning in his tone.

"Buck, I don't know why, but I did - I do - trust Henry." Ezra stared towards the back wall, where the pictographs had dimmed in the altered light. Shrugging off the sense of mystic harmony that wanted to settle on him like a cloak, Ezra rubbed his hands together. "We will need to replenish our energies before we start."

Buck eyed his friend assessingly. "Are you up to it?" The concussion was less than twenty-four hours old.

Ezra lifted his chin and lightly touched the back of his head. He closed his eyes and grimaced. Then opened them and blinked. "Yes. It still hurts to the touch, but my head is functioning again." He flashed a dimpled smile at Wilmington, "And I think my brain has caught up as well."

Buck's face softened into a smile. "Glad to hear it." Then he moved over to join Ezra at the abandoned backpack. Rubbing his hands together, he squatted beside it and said, "We'll see what else he left us. Then," Buck looked up at Ezra, "then, we get the hell out of Dodge here," he gestured to the ruined adobe room, "and go back there and see what we can do."

"I concur." Ezra folded himself down into a cross-legged seating position across from Buck and helped him untuck the unmarked cloth and leather bundles. Unrolling a particularly lumpish pack, and eyeing the jerky and biscuits inside with satisfaction, Ezra added, "It is time we took back control on our situation. Time to put Mr. Dressler and his crew of miscreants in their proper place."

"Yeah, behind bars." Buck plucked a piece of the jerked meat from the dry sticks on Ezra's lap and sniffed it. Testing it with his tongue, he found it spicy and sweet. With a secret smile, he cast a glance up at Ezra. Spicy and sweet like you. Aloud, he said, "Tastes okay." And he bit off a piece.

"Can you track it?" Chris leaned over JD Dunne who was frantically tapping at his laptop keyboard, sitting on the tailgate of the first truck, legs swinging madly in excitement. Larabee kept one hand firmly on Dunne's shoulder, as if to keep him from flying off the truck in his obvious excitement.

"Wait - wait - wait," JD chanted, slowing and using the thumb ball to guide his cursor now. "YES!" he pointed to the screen and Larabee could see the tiny white blip flitting slowly but steadily across a schematic grid. "Got him!"

Chris looked up and met the eyes of his men, who stood in a relaxed circle around JD and him. Even Fred Hernandez was blending into the serene air that always topped out the team after action. Well, all the team except Dunne. Chris smiled back down indulgently at his young genius. Quite a team.

"Agent Larabee?" Carson, the highway patrol captain appeared at Josiah's shoulder and with an apologetic look, squeezed into the team's inner circle between Sanchez and Jackson who moved slightly to make room. "We've got those men all secured. Do you want to talk to them or to the Mosher boys?"

Larabee could see the two young Israelis standing casually beside their red SUV at a distance. Neither looked too upset at the events. Must be a way of life for them, he thought with regret. Shaking his head at the way the two men reminded him of Buck and Ezra, he answered, "No. You can interview them. Probably should take them into protective custody until this is over."

He turned his head towards where the terrorists were being forced to kneel in the dirt, each handcuffed with arms behind their backs. They were all dressed in desert camouflage and face paint. Carson's men stood over them. This had been like a military operation and that made Larabee very concerned. His two men were still out there somewhere. "We need to talk with your prisoners."

Carson stood straighter, "They are under arrest, Agent Larabee. They have the same legal rights as-"

"As snot." Tanner stalked into the circle from where he'd been lounging beside Dunne. "Captain, they know where Ezra and Buck are. We'll give them back to you. My word as a Tanner." He folded his hands across his chest.

The deadly look in the young man's eyes did not reassure Carson who huffed up. Before he could answer, another voice interrupted.

"CIA, Captain." Fred Hernandez reminded, coming closer from his place on the far side of Sanchez, and flipping out his ID. "National security issue. You can take the prisoners after we interview them." Hernandez paused and caught a subtle movement from Larabee, then continued, "And we can do that right here. Won't take long."

The captain hesitated. He did sympathize with these agents, two of their own were missing. And if they hadn't acted so decisively, so amazingly fast, then his men and those two tourists would have been captured, or wounded, or dead. Tightening his lips, he turned away and strode out of the group, shouldering back past the two big agents, Sanchez and Jackson who smiled at each other with what looked like carnivorous anticipation and let him through without comment. Taking a deep breath, he looked back over his shoulder and said succinctly, "Nothing shows when you're done."

Larabee met the man's look with one of his own. With a single nod, he answered, "Agreed."

Carson came to a halt and watched, still only half-turned toward the ATF team and CIA agent. Watched, as the wolves stalked over to the group of sullen prisoners who immediately and sensibly cringed back on heels. The captain swallowed hard and faced forward. He had to explain things to the young men who waited so patiently at their vehicle, and he had to draw off his own men - for now.

Josiah sat in the dirt facing one of the captives. It had been arranged to use the transport trucks as a screen so the other captives couldn't see what happened during the interview. Sanchez had spent considerable time, for him, staring at the men cuffed and kneeling on the ground. As time ticked by, they began to show signs of irritation, impatience, anger, and, fear. He picked his man and had Tanner and Jackson frog-march the captive around the back of the truck. He followed slowly, wanting to give the rest time to think about what might happen.

He hid a small smile as everyone flinched at the sound of gunfire, one shot after another, behind that first truck. Then, the truck rocked as they all heard the sound of a body's impact against the side panel. Josiah didn't look back.

Rounding the truck, he watched as Vin stepped out a distance of about fifteen feet and then turned and ran full tilt at the truck. At the last minute, Tanner leapt into the air and twisted his body so that both feet hit the side of the truck with a resounding crash. The truck rocked on its tires again.

Nathan, who held onto their prisoner by his collar, shook the man and frowned, his free hand poking the ground with an enormous blade. Must be Nate's Bowie knife, haven't seen that one in a while, Josiah thought as he eyed it and the open weapons locker half out of the rear of the second truck. He strolled over that way and rummaged around. JD and Vin had packed everything apparently. He reached beneath some gas masks and drew out a simple weighted sandbag with leather grip. Sanchez stared at it, lost in thought as he tapped it against his palm. Another crash and the truck's suspension groaned this time. Vin's going to hurt himself soon.

Josiah turned and walked over to Nathan and sat down facing the prisoner. This was the one that had shown fear most clearly. Josiah cleared his throat and began to speak in simple Arabic. They'd picked up that much already. The men were foreign and the few curse words and commands that had shot back and forth before they were restrained had been in that language.

"Your name?"

When there was no answer, Josiah waved casually. "No matter. You are 'pig'."

Fear became anger in the dark face across from Sanchez. A silent snarl formed. Then Jackson threw his knife in the ground just in front of the man and he cringed back, anger forgotten.

"Pig?" Josiah had the man's attention back and a sullen look. "Where is your base?"

Nothing. Josiah looked over at Vin. "Get the fix from JD."

Tanner nodded and left quickly. Josiah rubbed his hands together and then dropped them to his knees as he sat there cross-legged. He leaned forward. "Nathan, hand me your knife."

Nate licked his lips and glanced down at the man sagging against him. He yanked his favorite throwing knife out of the dirt. I'll have to get that sharpened when we get home. Ezra and Buck are going to owe me. He paused. Damn it, they're fine. He flipped the knife from hilt to blade in his broad palm, right next to the prisoner's face, then proffered it to Josiah.

"Thanks, brother." Josiah toyed with the weapon, poking the sand and dirt in front of him. Hurry up, Vin.

Just then, Tanner appeared around the end of the first truck. He loped over to Josiah and squatted, whispering in Sanchez's ear. "About forty miles due south from here."

"South?" Josiah's accent was atrocious, he knew, but he also knew that it was understandable and the man's widening eyes proved it. "Why thank you, piggy!"

"NO!" the scream in Arabic was loud and hoarse. The man understood what was being done. He struggled in Nathan's grip, trying to rise, to run.

Nate rolled to his feet in one smooth motion, grabbing the terrorist's arms in a tight grip and shoving him toward the trucks. Jackson relished the image of this man's face when he realized the others would think he'd told them everything.

Josiah stood up with a helping hand from Vin, who patted him on the back. The two exchanged grim smiles as they trailed after Nathan and his prize.

It was all the patrolmen could do to restrain the rest of the prisoners as the first was forced to walk back into view, still screaming, "NOOO!" and shaking his head vehemently.

The rest began to scream and thrust up to their feet, cursing the first one. Larabee, standing to one side of the Highway Patrol cars from the roadblock, nodded at Sanchez and Tanner. They'd gotten confirmation. That's all they needed. And, they'd prepared a bit of divisiveness among the prisoners. It would make interrogation of the rest much easier for the police and Hernandez's people back in civilization. Right now, they had somewhere else to be. Forty miles, due south.

JD, standing at Chris' side was zipping up the nylon tote for his laptop. He'd open it again when they started moving. Just had to wait for their own helicopter, courtesy of Fred. He'd been on his cell, and then borrowed Captain Carson's radio, and finally rejoined them with the news that a chopper was on the way. Time, thirty minutes.

Carson had watched the prisoners after one was taken away by Larabee's men. He'd been worried when the gunshots went off, more so when the truck was apparently used to toss the prisoner against, several times. But the CIA agent just kept a firm grip on his shoulder and kept shaking his head when Carson would have moved to intervene. Jeb Carson had been reduced to watching Agent Larabee. The man never blinked when the truck rocked for the third time. The young agent at his side, Dunne, crouched over a laptop and hadn't even looked up.

When Tanner had come out briefly, he had gone directly to Dunne and conferred quietly before trotting back over to the trucks. The man never spoke to his boss, nothing. Carson knew he wouldn't run any operation like that. But when the three other ATF agents came back, dragging a semi-hysterical prisoner, it seemed as if they'd had some luck. At least, if the reactions from the rest of the prisoners were anything to go by. And it looked like Larabee could keep his word. There wasn't a mark on the prisoner, well, unless you counted the dampness at the crotch of his trousers. From the smell, that had been self-inflicted. And finally, Jeb Carson laughed.

"Ezra! Watch where you're going!" Buck couldn't believe that Standish, who was a good mountain climber, could be so careless. The man's eyes were constantly returning to the hidden adobe dwellings that they'd climbed back out of minutes earlier. It wasn't a really dangerous climb down, but you could break an ankle climbing out of bed, dammit, and they were scaling down the bluff face right now. And Ezra was still wearing his dress shoes, smooth soled.

We have to remember how to get here, Ezra thought, eyes straying back up the steep hillside to the ruins again. He'd never come across a reference to this site, never seen any reproductions of those particular pictographs before. This was a find! He slipped on the broken rock under foot and had to grab for new handholds. But then, of course, he thought, troubled, if this was a secret, then he was honor-bound to keep it. Henry. Henry, or Tonto, was the key. He didn't answer Buck's warning, just shifted his hold and felt downward with one foot, gaze still vague as his mind raced. Henry was real. The backpack was real, the clothing they were wearing was real. The food they ate was nourishing, the water refreshing. The music sublime. Henry was real. Wasn't he? Ezra reached for a new hold and lowered himself another foot.

They reached the bottom of the steep bluff and studied the small stream that probably was called a river in this dry part of the world. It was deep enough and swift enough that it had carried away Ezra's 'bug'-infested cummerbund wrapped around a piece of wood. Sunlight was striking off to the side now, high up, the tiny valley, almost canyon, was in deep shade. Evening would be setting in here soon. It would cool off fast.

Looking downstream, Buck saw no sign of the bundle. Probably far away by now and just as well if those creeps are trying to track us. He turned to Ezra who was also studying the water. It was about the same depth as the night before, mid-calf, but looked less challenging in the late daylight.

"Leather doesn't like water."

Ezra's tone was dry. Then hot green eyes looked up at Buck and Wilmington's pulse rate jumped into a race against the sudden heat in his blood. Buck licked his lips and hesitated. It would be so easy to agree to those suggestive eyes. But. But the shits that had dragged them out in the middle of the wilderness were around somewhere. It wasn't safe, and Ezra knew it too. Taking a deep breath, he ventured, "We can roll up our pant legs, Ez."

"Well, you can." Ezra eyed his own, already folded leggings. "I shall simply increase the thickness of my unstylish cuffs."

While not exactly cheerful, Buck could sense acceptance in Ezra's voice. He relaxed slightly. Too soon. Ezra was suddenly directly in front of him, tipping his head to the side and meeting Buck's eyes. "I'll do yours," Ezra paused and let his gaze wander downward, "if you do mine."

Ermo frowned in confusion as he glimpsed the nearly silent capture of his men below when his ride swooped low overhead. He could see two extra police trucks parked askew on the intercepting road and his men being dragged from cover by a group of strangers in civilian clothing. Who were they? Why were they interfering? Uneasy at his ignorance, angry at his missed opportunity at the Israeli boys for hostages, he sat back and tightened the safety harness on his hips. Now they would have to use those two firemen after all.

As for the Palestinians below, good riddance. A few less of those devils to deal with wouldn't make his life a hardship. The gun dealer settled down, plans already forming. With a grunt, he stretched forward beyond the pilot to snatch the radio microphone and pull it back to his mouth. Shouting over the helicopter's engine and blades, he called to the co-pilot, "Connect me to base!"

Chris stood beside Captain Carson and Agent Hernandez as his boys loaded up the old Huey that Fred had drummed up out of thin air. From the flashy red paint on the sides, he gathered it was part of a flying circus show. It was all he could do not to sneer. Fred probably wouldn't take that too well, and right now, he needed Fred.

Carson had sworn at the helicopter that swept in and landed with a decided hop. The CIA agent claimed it was government business but, damn, he knew Clem Fortnight and the man wasn't any fed that he'd ever heard about, just a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants air jockey. Half the time, so tanked up that he flew upside down in his bi-plane, maybe even backwards. And this old relic from 'Nam was unlikely to do much more than bounce from one X to the next at the county fairs. Yet, here was Clem dropping in out of the sky and looking nigh on obnoxious he was grinning so damn wide. Jeb Carson shook his head and wondered if Agent Hernandez really knew what he'd called up here.

Clem Fortnight, veteran and covert operative from bygone wars, couldn't believe his luck. His grey-blonde hair was plastered to his bony skull under his old aviator cap with earflaps and black goggles. His off-white, alright, dirty gray, silk scarf was wrapped three times around his long neck and still trailed off a good three feet behind - and flew out nicely in the wind when he had his birds airborne. He was grinning with his teeth clamped tightly around an old stogy and leaned out his side of the Huey to wave widely at the circle of men closing in on him. "Come on, come on! Ain't got all day!" His shout was faint over the thud-thuds of the blades as they slowed.

Vin cast a sideways look at Josiah and Nathan when JD cheered and grabbed arms around a duffle and his laptop and charged for the chopper that squatted next to the road. Sanchez laughed outright and smacked Tanner on the back. "Just like old times, Brother Vin!"

"Maybe for you, Josiah." Vin drew up a pack of supplies he'd unloaded from the truck, and then watched carefully as Nate hoisted one end of the weapons locker and Sanchez shouldered up the other.

"We got it, don't worry, Vin." Nate smiled reassuringly at Tanner as he adjusted his grip. His height balanced Josiah's.

The team sharpshooter was carrying his sniper rifle now and simply shrugged it back on his shoulder and waited. He'd follow them on board, make sure that locker made it in safely. Some things shouldn't be bumped too hard.

"Looks like your men are ready, Larabee." Carson stifled an urge to guffaw at Clem who had jumped down and was striding over towards them, one scarecrow arm extended with hand open. Jeb figured he was aiming at Larabee and figured there was no way that the ATF agent would let Crazy Clem anywhere near him.

Then that quiet CIA agent simply stepped in front of Larabee and took the offered hand. Carson mentally shrugged. Too bad.

"Name is Fred Hernandez, CIA." He flipped open his leather wallet badge with his free hand. "My people contacted you, Mr. Fortnight. Glad you could help us out."

"Whoo-eee!" Clem pumped Hernandez hand and then flashed an unrepentant grin at Chris Larabee who was exuding displeasure and a dim glare. "Howdy there, friend. Name's Clem Fortnight. You with Mr. CIA?"

"Larabee, ATF." Chris really didn't have time for this lunatic. Maybe he should just ditch the fool and let Josiah loose on that bird, looked like the kind Sanchez had nursed through the end of the war in Southeast Asia.

"Yeah. Got it. Waco, right?" The Fortnight winked broadly.

Chris bit back his first answer. He'd give him 'Waco' alright. Hell, the only wacko here was this walking string bean in a poor man's Baron von Richthofen outfit, Waco be damned. Chris gritted out, "Not likely. We're tracking terrorists. They've got two of my men."

The thin face, full of smiling creases, abruptly folded in on itself, the laughter wiped clean and with a tilt of his head, Clemson Fortnight ceased to be a buffoon and became another dangerous man. "Just tell me where." He folded his arms across his thin chest and pulled his chin back, "Flew plenty of missions behind the lines. Not all of them rescue." He looked briefly toward Carson who was blinking at the transformation, then reconnected with Larabee's flat hazel eyes. "We'll get 'em back."

Fred looked between the two men, seeing the recognition between two old soldiers pass back and forth. Gotcha. He smirked over at Carson, then jerked his chin toward the helicopter. "Chris, Clem, let's go."

The other two both turned to Hernandez as if waking from a trance and the twin nods had Fred shaking his head with a grin. "Let's do it!" he urged, starting forward. Larabee and Fortnight swung in behind him and the three strode back toward the waiting chopper.

Carson watched them go, amazed that it had been less than two minutes since Clem had jumped out of his still cooling bird. Hell, the blades hadn't stopped turning yet.

Continued on page 3 of 4