GK Fic: Mr Frosty Part III

[lunasky]

Marina in Long Branch, NJ

They boarded the small speedboat in the shadows, Walt taking them out of the dock under the cover of darkness. Brad checked his watch. They had twenty minutes until the meet.

"Okay, Walt, turn the reins over to Trombley, we need to start our checks."

"Why do I always have to stay behind?" Trombley whined as he took over position in the back of the boat.

"Because you're a psycho killer and we can't take you anywhere?" Ray said with a smile that always had a little too much malice in it. Didn't matter much to Trombley as near as Brad could tell.

"Because you like to shoot things," Brad replied a little louder than Ray. "There are more things to shoot at on the surface."

Trombley made a face like he always did when Brad was trying to explain something to him. Some people had to partake in a minimum level of bitching in order to function properly.

Ray smacked Walt on the ass as Walt came forward.

"Make sure your oxygen tanks are open and pressure is set, then initialize your handsets," Brad told them as they settled down next to their partners. Nate was sitting across from him so that their knees were almost touching. The night had gotten chilly and Brad tried to pretend it was just the body heat that had gotten his attention. He turned his master handset on, listening for the beeps and clicks that told him the solenoid and batteries were being tested under load. Then he tested his slave handset while making sure Nate was performing his tests properly.

Nate gave him a nod as everything checked out, then Ray and Walt indicated they were set to go.

Brad looked out at the water. The night was cool and calm. In the distance he could see a ship near the entrance to the harbor and pulled his rifle up to have a look through the scope.

"Poke," Brad called over the small handheld radio they'd brought along, "do you have visual confirmation on the yacht?"

"Affirmative, Iceman," Poke's voice floated back. "There's also another ship three hundred mikes east of the yacht's position."

Brad moved his rifle over, until he spotted the other boat and recognized its shape. "Coast Guard."

"Are you sure?"

Brad had another look. "Hitman assured us they were ready to provide back up."

"Right, 'cause his assurances always works out so well. Do we have comms with them?"

Brad looked over to Ray, but Ray shook his head. "Nope. I even tried Godfather directly. If they're Coast Guard, they're doing their own thing."

"Fucking beautiful. Hopefully, they won't get in our way," Brad replied, looking at the ship again. It was too far away to get a good visual, but it fit the description of one of their ships. It would have to do for now. "We're coming up on the dive point now, Poke. We'll contact you after we board the yacht and neutralize the targets."

"Good luck," Poke responded. "Two-One Bravo, out."

Trombley brought the boat around. They were still sheltered from the horizon by the buildings from the marina, but at least they'd cut some distance.

"Make sure you're on channel sixteen." When everyone had checked their comms, Brad gave them the okay to continue. "Alright, masks on and pre-breathe. We'll dive on my signal."

Everyone slid their masks on; full face masks with mouthpieces attached that allowed them to communicate underwater using ultrasound. Brad grabbed Nate's arm and turned him around, checking Nate's gauges as he breathed. When everything looked good, he turned so Nate could do the same checks on him. Nate gave him an awkward smile and thumbs up that everything was fine.

After several minutes, Brad did a final check to make sure everyone was ready. With a final glance at his watch, he gave them the signal to dive.

~~~

Underwater, everything was silent. Brad always loved the thrill of facing an open ocean, its boundless depths. A dirty harbor wasn't quite the same thing, the beauty and majestic landscape certainly weren't there, but the independence was. There were no distractions from the outside world, just the mission at hand.

"Come with me," Ray's voice had an odd, echoey quality to it coming over the headset but the tune was recognizable. Though that might have been because Brad had heard everything in Ray's repertoire at least several hundred times by now. "My love. To the sea. The sea of love."

Nate swam along next to him and Brad had to take back what he thought about distractions. At least several meters underwater, everything seemed to become more tolerable. Nate gave him a nod and Brad motioned for them to dive deeper. There was more than enough to think about during descent. When they reached a depth of ten meters, the water was almost pitch-black. The light from the moon above gave a diffuse glow, but even then, the water was thick with sand and gasoline pollution and there was very little visibility.

Only because he knew where to look could Brad see the glow from Nate's handset. He turned on his torch, shone it at his hands and GPS unit. "Ready?" Brad asked.

Nate's voice came through slightly muffled. "Lead the way."

The swim was intense. They had to make good time, which meant they had to keep a fast pace, but it was invigorating as well. Nate matched him, never straying more than a few feet, almost daring Brad to push him harder, which Brad was happy to do.

At the half-way mark, Brad made a startling realization. Even breathing hard and with muscles straining, there was a certain comfort in the exertion, in being close to Nate. Working beside him eased a knot that had been building inside Brad for a long time and maybe it was worth it. Maybe always being this close but not being able to touch was a small price to pay for the feelings he was having right now.

He was actually enjoying his job.

Checking his GPS, Brad was surprised to find that they were almost there. As they approached the rendezvous location, Brad pushed all extraneous thoughts into the back of his head. There would be time for them later.

During the ascent, Brad kept going over the plan, going through the mental check list of what they had to do when they reached the surface. They broke the surface at the same time.

The moon was so bright that Brad felt exposed with his head above water. Looking around, he saw another head bob, then another as Walt and Ray approached them from ten meters out.

Brad reached the side of the yacht. It was a gorgeous ship; thirty five feet long with three decks. He pointed to his ear and then to the ship, and made a circling motion with his hand. Ray, Walt and Nate swam out in different directions, checking all sides of the ship. A minute later they returned and shook their heads. No one had heard or seen anything.

He gave his team a nod and they turned off their mouth pieces before attaching their fins to their belt clip. Brad made the appropriate adjustments to his own equipment, fitting the thermal scope on his dual purpose rifle and when everyone was ready, he hauled himself onto the deck of the boat.

Crouching low against the railing, Brad looked about, not seeing anyone. He moved slowly, looking around the cabin toward the main deck.

The deck of this ship was deserted. Brad turned to Nate. "They knew we were coming."

"How?"

Brad shrugged.

"We should still have a look around. If we're lucky, maybe they left something behind."

Adrenaline kicking up a notch, Brad nodded, and motioned to Ray and Walt to take the upper decks. Nate took the cabin while Brad settled against the railing, rifle up and ready.

Everything was quiet, only the lapping of the waves against the hull echoed in the air.

One minute passed. Then two.

Brad looked through the scope, out into the water towards the Coast Guard ship he'd seen earlier. It was still out there, circling. Focusing on the main deck, he noticed several people moving about. Even though the resolution wasn't very clear, especially through his face mask, the movement of the men on board made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Something wasn't right. Their movement wasn't that of officials securing an area-they were nervous.

"We need to leave," Brad said quietly over the comms. As he followed the men in the ship with his eyes, he saw their movements becoming more frenzied. They were rushing and Brad could see rifles coming out. "It's a trap."

Ray acknowledged and came sliding down the stairs from the upper deck, throwing himself behind the raised hull near the cabin door just as the bullets started flying.

"Okay Walt," Brad shouted, providing covering fire as Walt descended from the flybridge. Most of the shots were going wide regardless; the men clearly weren't professionals. Walt slid down the stairs, joining Ray when he reached the deck.

"Hitman-Two actual, you need to hurry," Brad said calmly into the radio, never stopping his suppressive fire. He sited a target, fired. Sited another one and fired. His lone rifle picked off targets more effectively than the half a dozen rifles pointed at them.

"I need a minute," Nate replied. "There's-"

Static cut him off and Brad looked around for a possible cause. Sure enough, he could now see more people on the upper deck of Coast Guard ship, one of them carrying an object of some kind. Brad's stomach dropped.

"Get out now!" Brad shouted as Nate came through the cabin door. Walt and Ray already had their air tubes in and fins on and Brad waved at them to jump overboard. "Go! Go!-"

As he turned back to Nate, time slowed down. In the background there was a splash as Ray and Walt simultaneously dove into the water, as Nate started running toward him. Three feet from the cabin, a large orange fireball appeared behind him, growing each microsecond as Nate ran forward, until eventually, it engulfed the whole upper deck. The sound of the explosion hit a second later, speeding everything up to twice its normal speed as the force of the explosion knocked Nate into Brad and sent them both up and backward, over the railing and into the water, in a flash of terrible, horrible white.

After the boom, there was nothing. Just blackness and silence in the water.

Instantly, Brad twisted around so his feet were pointing downward. He had lost his rifle. His mask was flooded and he couldn't see shit, couldn't reach his air tube to plug it back in so instead he concentrated on getting back up to the surface. The next minute was full of kicking and moving his arms around trying to find Nate. A foot from the surface Brad found him, lying motionless in the water. Brad grabbed him, flipping him over as he broke the surface so Nate's face was above water.

The moonlight painted Nate's face white in sharp contrast to the murky water that had flooded his mask. Brad tapped the side to help the water escape.

The rattling of machine gun fire was everywhere adding to the ringing in his ears and pounding in his head.

"Come on, Nate," Brad shouted, flicking Nate's mask to try and get him to wake up. Nate's eyes fluttered open. "You okay?"

For a second Nate started to lash out, panicked and disorientated. Brad kept a firm grip on him until Nate's eyes settled on the burning yacht fifteen feet away and he calmed.

"Ray and Walt?" Nate asked.

"They're fine. I saw them dive. We need to dive as well. Can you make it?"

Nate gave him a nod.

Holding onto each other, they slid their breathing tubes into their masks. There was no time to do checks, no time to make sure everything was functioning properly but Brad could tell right away something wasn't right. Nate's pack was hissing which meant pressurized air was getting out.

"Fuck," Brad swore under his breath. He reached over, closed the valve that connected Nate's intake tube to the rebreather and switched him back to breathing ambient air. "It won't work. Your whole system's probably been contaminated by now. You're going to have to hook into mine."

The spray of the bullets started getting closer.

"Okay...what do we do?" Nate asked.

Brad eyed the approaching boat and weighed the factors. Diving like this was complicated and not without its risks but staying on the surface had even more. He guided Nate around so his back was to him. Holding him close against his chest, Brad hooked in Nate's line so that they shared the same air. "We dive."

With a slight turn of their bodies, they slipped underwater. It was awkward moving like this as Nate learned to time his kicks to match Brad's-they fought against each other more often than not at first, but Nate learned not to put too much power into his movements until he figured out how to work with Brad's.

When they reached eight meters, Brad steadied them, trying to take a reading from his handset, which was next to impossible since he didn't want to let go of Nate. The line they shared wasn't that long, and Brad didn't want to risk one of them pulling in the wrong direction.

Nate took the GPS from Brad. "I'll navigate."

They started to move, again. Brad could see the searchlights from the other ship reflected in the water above them, still too close.

"Bravo Two-One Alpha Papa, respond," Brad called out over the comms after they had found a steady rhythm.

There was no response.

"Bravo Two-One Alpha Papa, I say again, please respond."

There was silence and then static. "-we're here at the extraction point," Ray's voice finally came through. "The boat is gone. I say again, the boat is gone. Walt and I will scout the area for Trombley."

"Roger," Brad acknowledged. "We will regroup at the victor, over."

There was more garbled mumbling from Ray which Brad hoped was an affirmative. The comms were good, but their vertical distances in the water were limited.

"Take us to shore, Nate," Brad said.

~~~

An hour later, Brad helped Nate up onto the dock and then pushed himself up as well. They lay panting on the wood as Brad ripped his face mask off. "You okay?" he asked.

Nate rolled over onto his back, panting and staring up at the sky for a few minutes before removing his own mask. "You know, I fucking hated my Combat Water Safety Swimmer course."

Brad snorted. "More than SERE?"

Nate looked at him. "Except for the times I thought my interrogators were going to drown me, yes."

Sliding the equipment off his back, Brad took off his fins and got up. He pulled the hood of his wet suit down and then offered a hand to Nate. Every muscle in Brad's body was burning from the exertion. He could just imagine the shape Nate was in. "You knew Marines were amphibious before you joined, right?"

"Ha ha," Nate replied dryly before taking Brad's proffered hand.

Brad grunted as he pulled Nate up, but with his fins still on, Nate lost his balance and stumbled into him. Brad caught his arm and steadied him.

"Thanks," Nate said, standing too close.

Brad inhaled sharply before taking a step back. The night was dark-silent now except for the lapping of the waves. "You'd better take all that equipment off. I'll go get the bags."

Nate pulled his fins off while steadying himself with Brad's support and then nodded. With a quiet sigh of relief, Brad extricated himself to go get two of the hockey bags they'd left in the bushes by the side of the Marina. Mr. Frosty was parked down the street and Brad didn't think it would be a good idea for them to draw attention to themselves.

They loaded the SCUBA gear into the bags and slipped some athletic shoes on their bare feet. They still looked suspicious in their wet suits, but at least they were dark. When they were done, Nate looked out into the water and Brad followed his eyes. There was no sign of the ship that had chased them.

"What about Ray, Walt and Trombley?" Nate asked.

"We should go back to the truck. Poke's been monitoring our channels; he knows what's going on. He probably has Lovell's team already coordinating with Ray."

Nate nodded, taking one last look out at the water. "Good."

Just as they were about to head out, Brad paused as he remembered those last few minutes on the yacht. He reached out and touched Nate's arm. "What was it you saw back there?"

Nate turned to him, his eyes dark in the moonlight. "We were set up."

~~~

"Lovell's team is rendezvousing with Ray and Walt three klicks north of here and then they're going to go pick up Trombley," Brad called out after he got off the hook. Sliding out from the front seat, Brad moved toward the back. "Our little psycho cut off the ship that was attacking us and blew it up with an RPG."

Nate paused in mid-towel dry and looked up, coming close to Brad. "Really? He blew it up?"

Brad stared at the expanse of skin in front of him. Nate had pulled the top of his wet suit down to his waist and was still holding the towel in one hand. "Yeah," Brad said when he remembered to speak. "Lovell said the real Coast Guard is fishing people out now."

"Guess there's little chance we'll get the opportunity to question them?"

Brad looked up and forgot the question. Nate's eyes were dark and intense, his hair sticking up in every direction. Letting his eyes wander down to take in the whole sight, Brad saw that water was still coating Nate's skin in patches where the towel hadn't reached.

Taking a deep breath, Brad forced himself not to touch. It would be too easy. Nate was less than two feet away-just a step and Brad could put his hand on Nate's stomach and pull him close.

As if reading Brad's mind, Nate took a step closer and Brad reached out before he could stop himself. Nate's skin was warm-warmer than Brad had expected it to be as he traced it up towards Nate's chest.

"Brad-" Nate started and Brad immediately pulled his hand back like he'd been burned.

"Sorry-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" Brad turned away, turned his back on Nate to give them some space as he mentally berated himself for losing control. He knew better than that-he knew Nate wasn't interested and now he'd probably just gone and fucked up their relationship even more. "Sorry, sir. Momentary lapse in judgment, it won't happen again. You have my word."

"Brad, please don't," Nate said, grabbing Brad's arm and turning him back around. There was a pained look on Nate's face. "I-"

"No. You told me you weren't interested, I shouldn't have touched you. I'm sorry."

"I lied."

Brad's eyes snapped up to Nate's as his heart jumped into his throat. The small space between them seemed impossibly far, and at the same time, not nearly far enough. Nate's words echoed in his head. "Lied?"

"When I said I wasn't interested in men."

The words brought a rush of heat to Brad's face. The reluctance in Nate's face was evident though. Something still wasn't right. Then another possibility occurred to Brad, one more crushing than the idea that Nate wasn't interested at all. "So you were letting me down easy then?"

"If I recall," Nate said with a sigh, his face clearing as if he had finally come to some conclusion. "You were the one saying you weren't going to complicate matters by getting involved with me. You didn't want the distraction, so I took the distraction away. Only-" Nate's lips quirked into a smile, "I don't think you stopped being distracted."

Nate brought his hand up to Brad's chest which was still covered by the wetsuit and then ran it down Brad's side. Brad shuddered at the touch.

"So, you were trying to give me an easy way out?"

"Only, I'm not capable of carrying it through," Nate said, shivering as he reached up to undo the zipper of Brad's wetsuit. "Not when you look at me like that."

The cool air chilled his chest as his wetsuit came open and Brad lost whatever reserve he'd been clinging to. It seemed impossible that they were finding themselves here, like this. But Nate's eyes were wide and green and his fingers were sliding the wetsuit off Brad's shoulders and then working it down over his hips.

"Nate..." Brad whispered as Nate knelt down, still working the wetsuit off his legs. Brad tried to help, tried to get himself out of it, but it was glued to his skin. Nate shooed away his hands, slid it the rest of the way off himself, and then distracted Brad by skimming his lips down Brad's stomach to the indent just past his hip bone, leaving a trail of warm wetness in his wake.

When Nate's lips found Brad's dick, Brad had to reach back and brace himself against a crate of supplies. Nate's mouth was impossibly warm, especially against his cold skin, and when he sucked and teased with his tongue and his hands, Brad was already right there. There was too much adrenaline still cooling in his veins-his body was still ready for a fight-every nerve tensing for action. Iceman or not, Brad was still human.

Brad tried to pull him up. "Nate...stop...I...I'm going to come-"

Instead, Nate increased the pressure, took him in deep, his hands working hard and fast until Brad's tentative grip on control snapped and he couldn't hold it off anymore. The orgasm hit him fast and hard-harder than he'd been expecting, sucking the air from his lungs and slamming through his body. Nate carried him through it, swallowing and stroking until there was nothing left.

Brad collapsed bonelessly against the crate.

"You didn't have to do that," was all Brad could force out of his mouth.

Nate smiled, getting back up and cocking his head to one side. "I know."

Reaching out, Brad hooked his arm around Nate's waist to bring him closer. He wanted to taste those lips, taste himself there while looking at Nate's face, to feel him, to make sure he was real and not some exhaustion or stress-induced vision that would indicate he was losing his mind. Nate let himself be pulled closer, solid under Brad's grasp and not a fixture of his imagination.

Tracing the curvature of Nate's neck with his finger, Brad could still smell the light scent of Nate's deodorant. He started to guide Nate back, toward the fridge in the corner until Nate was sandwiched between.

"We shouldn't, Brad," Nate whispered even though Brad could feel his erection through the bottom half of his wetsuit. "We were lucky nobody came back. I'm sure it won't be long-"

"I want to take care of you."

"You shouldn't."

"Later, when all the plebeians are asleep then." Brad rubbed against him until Nate shivered.

Nate shook his head and pushed Brad away. "No."

"Why not?"

Right then a loud pounding sounded on the side door, and Brad had barely enough time to take a few steps back, grab the towel off the floor and wrap it around his waist before Ray opened the door.

"Hey, Homes!" Ray said, bounding into the truck, followed closely by Walt. SCUBA gear was dumped in a big pile in the center of the truck, clanging together in harmony with the cacophony of people entering a small space with lots of equipment.

Ray gave Brad a once over, his smirk widening even further. "I'm seriously hoping we interrupted something."

Brad affixed him his best withering glare, willing his pounding heart to slow down and tucking away any errant thoughts into the back of his head to protect them from this. Nate had already moved to the back of the truck to get dressed. "You interrupted me changing. However, you'll notice that I put my fucking gear away first."

Walt quickly dragged most of the mess over to the storage locker while Ray continued bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Fuck, Brad. You should have seen Trombley in action. He RPGed those motherfuckers. The fish'll be eating a feast for weeks with the mess he made."

"Where is Trombley?" Brad asked, going over to his locker to grab clothes.

For some reason, Ray closed his mouth and pointed his thumb to the outside of the truck. Brad turned to Walt for an explanation.

"Trombley got shot. Doc's looking at him now in the HQ."

"Poke's here?"

Walt nodded. "They pulled up just as we got here and Doc unloaded him in there. Said the light was better."

Quickly pulling an olive-drab t-shirt over his head and slipping into his cargo pants, Brad cast a quick look around. Nate was still busy doing his own thing, not that Brad would have been able to say anything now, so he hopped out of the truck and went out to check on Trombley. Sure enough, Poke's eighteen wheeler had pulled in right next to them.

Glancing at his watch, Brad was surprised to see it was well into the middle of the night. That was the problem with ops. Time became relative and its value stopped having any quantitative meaning. He'd had maybe two hours of sleep in the last thirty-six, and between the swimming, the shooting, and the blow-job, the exhaustion in his body ran all the way down to his bones.

The blow-job.

Fuck.

Brad felt like he'd been side-swiped. He paused for a minute, letting the cool air wash over him as he tried to gather his thoughts. He hadn't been expecting that from Nate. He wasn't prepared to deal with whatever the fuck was going on between them. It was just this tangled, complicated mess and there was no time or space to sort anything out. Fuck. And he had no idea why Nate had pushed him away at the end.

Taking a deep breath, Brad knocked on the back of the trailer, giving the password when asked through a little slot in the door. The door opened, and Lilley greeted him with a nod.

Brad found Trombley on a rack being tended to by Doc Bryan. "How is he?"

Trombley's chest was a mess of bandages and blood stains and Doc snorted while taking his pulse.

"His vitals are good. Damn fool's lucky the bullet didn't pierce his heart. We need to get him cas-evaced. We're just about to leave for the extraction point-bird's standing by to take him to our clinic."

Brad met Trombley's eyes and Trombley gave him a grin, made slightly more maniacal by whatever drugs Doc had already given him. "You should have seen it Sergeant. I blew up that ship like it was motherfucking cool."

~~~

Brad was leaning up against Poke's truck, trying to gather his thoughts when Nate opened the door to Mr. Frosty.

"How is he?" Nate asked, coming outside.

Brad sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Doc gives him a high probability of harassing more dogs in the future. They need to get him to our clinic in Baltimore. We have a surgeon standing by, ready to patch him up. Poke's team is going to get him to the airport."

Nate came and stood beside him and leaned against the truck as well. The early morning breeze picked up and scattered some garbage lying around in the alley. "That's good. How are you?"

"I'll live," Brad replied, studying Nate's face. There didn't appear to be any awkwardness or regret on Nate's face, which was a good thing. At least they hadn't screwed up their working relationship completely. "I should have told Walt to stay with Trombley. We didn't have any other back up on the water and-"

"Don't," Nate interrupted. "There are always going to be things that could have been done differently. If there had been anyone on that boat, we would have had our hands full with just the four of us."

Nate's body heat warmed the side of his body. Brad weighted Nate's words. He knew Nate was right, but logic didn't diminish his guilt. Trombley was still a member of his team.

Nate continued, "Lovell's team offered to stay on watch for the next three hours so we can catch some shut eye. We have no new mission orders from Godfather, we might as well take advantage of the opportunity."

"That'd be nice," Brad conceded as he suddenly felt more exhausted than ever. There was just one more thing-if he didn't say it now, he never would. "Listen, Nate..."

Nate gave him a tired smile. "Can we not do this now?"

Brad didn't know what to say. "I didn't get the chance to reciprocate."

"That doesn't matter."

"It does to me," Brad said. "My sense of honor and justice in the world are unbalanced now."

With a quiet laugh, Nate started walking back to their truck. "I didn't mean to complicate things between us. You were probably right to want to avoid this and I went and made it worse. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Brad swallowed the bile in the back of his throat. He sure as fuck didn't want Nate's apology. The words he'd been dreading tumbled out of his mouth faster than he could stop them. "We'll just forget it ever happened, then?"

Nate gave him a terse nod, and turned back toward the truck. Brad stood rooted to the spot, watching him walk away, unable to think of a single personal thing to say to make him stay. He settled for work talk.

"Wait. Back on the dock, you said we'd been set up. What happened on the yacht? How come you took so long in the cabin?"

Nate closed the door he'd started to open and turned around. "They were expecting us. Our latest encryption protocols were on the desk."

Suddenly, Brad's exhaustion started to melt away. It was one thing to know that they had to deal with the stupidity of command, but their encryption protocols were classified information. The only way the Leon cartel could have had a copy of those, were if they had someone on the inside. "Why would they leave those lying around in plain sight?"

Nate shrugged. "Maybe they were hoping we'd stop to have a longer look? As soon as I saw them, I started tearing up the cabin, searching for anything else. And I nearly got us killed in the process, so I'd say it wasn't a bad plan on their part."

"Those were amateurs on that boat. Expendable. They weren't the brains of the cartel. Plus, that's not the Leon cartel's MO. Only one of the Leon brothers would have been trusted with an OP this size."

"So you're saying one of them is in town?"

Brad nodded. "At least for now."

Nate leaned against the door, and rubbed his face. "We should get some sleep and bring this up to Godfather in the morning. When I left him, Ray was singing about how he felt like a woman. I think even he's reached his limit."

"No," Brad said, shaking his head. "We need to find out who could have given our protocols to the cartel. If we can get to them, maybe we can turn them back. Get them to give us the location of one of their leaders"

With a sigh, Nate nodded. "Do you have any idea where to start?"

Running through a mental profile of everyone involved in Godfather's task force, it wasn't hard to pull out a name. They'd joked about it in the truck often enough.

"We need go to New York," Brad said. He got up off of Poke's truck, his mind suddenly alert again. He knew he needed sleep-they all did. Sooner or later, their bodies would stop responding to the adrenaline, but for now, Brad would keep riding it while he could. "I'll let Poke and Lovell know. We should step off ASAP."

"I'll let Ray and Walt know," Nate said.

Brad nodded. "And tell Ray to lay off the country music and go easy on the Ripped Fuel. For all our sakes."

An Underground parking garage, New York, NY

"Maybe I should try some of this shit," Ray said beside him. "It smells like ass, but if it can make my hair nice and shiny, give it bounce but keep it manageable-"

"Shut up, Ray."

Ray's usual nonstop babbling was at an all time high, probably due to the lack of sleep and increased intake of ephedra and caffeine-laced energy pills. Brad looked out the window, trying to see if anyone was coming, but they were still alone. For now.

"You're right, Brad. Salon hair care products are too fucking gay. But why should girls have all the nice stuff. Maybe someone needs to make designer shampoos for men because I swear, I can't do fucking shit with my hair these days. And look. It says on the label that it has truffle oil in it. Why would anyone want to put the oil of fungus on their hair? And for that matter, why would anyone want to smell like pomegranates, or melon or some shit like that? It's not like I want someone to eat my hair. Well, at least, not the hair on my head. And even then...if they're eating my fucking pubic hair, they're not doing it right. But I have to tell you, men who shave their balls, are way too fucking gay too. I don't wanna put a razor down there! Or worse-wax! Can you imagine trying to fucking wax your balls?"

"Ray," Brad said, finally turning to face Ray who was sitting in the spacious back seat of the Beamer with him. "Put the fucking shampoo and perfume bottles down and concentrate on your fucking job."

Ray rolled his eyes. "I am doing my fucking job. My job is recon and I'm currently reconning Meesh's backseat full of black market hair care shit and other paraphernalia. And have you asked yourself why Meesh has a case of Rolex watches on the floor of his Beamer? Because I have. And it has led me to believe that our dear Meesh, the guy who controls all the communication protocols for our operation, is perhaps involved in some shady fucking deals that might bring into question his integrity and honor."

Brad glanced through the tinted windows at the sound of footsteps moving in the parking garage. "Steady, Ray. I think our entrepreneur has finally arrived."

Focusing on his breathing, Brad kept perfectly still. They'd been waiting for forty minutes; he didn't want to risk any movement that would give away their position. There was a double beep as the door locks disengaged, and then the front driver side door opened. For someone involved in the intelligence community, Meesh wasn't the most observant man. Meesh got in with a heavy sigh, lugging his briefcase through the door and trying to put it in the passenger seat. But of course, the briefcase got jammed between him and the steering wheel as Meesh muttered and cursed. Finally Meesh yanked it through and it tumbled to the floor. Then Meesh adjusted his seat, pulled out his cell phone and sent some text messages before finally glancing up in the rear-view mirror and meeting Brad's eyes.

"Fuck, dude!" Meesh yelled, throwing his hands up, his cell phone clattering to the ground. Brad put his KA-BAR up against Meesh's throat.

"Don't move and don't do anything stupid, Meesh," Brad said quietly.

Ray gave a tap on the window and then the passenger-side door opened and Nate got in the front seat.

"What the fuck, Brad?" Meesh stuttered out, trying to twist around to see Brad.

Nate grabbed a hold of Meesh's chin and turned him so they were looking at each other. "We need to talk. Introductions have been a little slow since I first started, but I'm Nate Fick. And I want to know why the fuck you're trying to get my team killed."

Meesh snorted. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Brad tightened the grip on his knife and pressed the edge a little harder into Meesh's neck, careful not to break the skin. "Meesh, don't fuck around with us. We're tired. We were almost blown up and we gave up our three hours of shut eye to drive here and talk to you. I want to know why you're working with the Leon cartel."

Meesh squirmed in his seat as Brad pressed in a little harder. "I don't know anything, I swear."

"Well, if you really want to play it that way...Ray." Brad tilted his head at him.

Ray twisted his head from side to side, cracking his neck and doing some arm stretches too. "Alright. But I'll have you know, it gives me no pleasure to do this," Ray said, pulling out his own KA-BAR. With a quick flick of his wrist, he used it to put a gash on the ceiling. "Fucking beautiful car..."

"Fuck!" Meesh cried out. "What are you doing?"

Brad narrowed his eyes and leaned in a little closer. "Meesh...is there anything you want to tell us about encryption protocols, or shall I have Ray reupholster your shiny, new-smelling, leather seats?"

"I don't know anything!"

With an audible sigh, Brad nodded to Ray. "Fine. Tell Walt to bring the gasoline."

"No, no, no. That won't be necessary. " Meesh held his hands up in surrender. "Maybe I know something."

"Start talking," Nate said, releasing Meesh's collar so he could sit back.

When Meesh turned his face toward to Nate's though, the panic seemed to recede a little and Brad was just about to smack him around to get him talking again when Meesh raised his eyebrow and caught Brad's eye in the rearview mirror. "I may know something, but it won't be what you want to hear."

Brad glared at him. "I'll take my chances. Start with the encryption protocols we found on the yacht last night."

Meesh shook his head and reached for something in his pocket. Immediately, Brad tightened his grip on the knife. Meesh pointed to a pack of cigarettes and then slid one out and into his mouth when Brad rolled his eyes. "Dude, I think you want me to start earlier than that. Shit started to get fucked up at the stakeout in the park. The cartel had eyes on you and the Mustang. Then they found you in the alley and blew up your truck."

"So you've been playing us from the beginning?" Brad demanded.

Meesh shook his head. "Not me, dude. Things were going to shit long before I showed up."

"What are you talking about?"

Meesh inclined his head in Nate's direction. "What do you think? When he joined us, the rest of Bravo got stopped by the cops on the way to our fucking sting."

Nate leaned forward and pinned Meesh to his seat. "Give me a break. Do you want to know what I think? I think you sell a lot of things out of this car, Meesh, including intel on Godfather's organization."

"Whatever," Meesh said, lighting his cigarette. "The fact remains, dude, that we didn't have an information leak in our operation until you showed up."

"That's enough," Brad said, sharply. A cold feeling was brewing in the pit of his stomach, and it felt like he was going to puke. He turned to Ray and said, "Get Walt here now."

"No! Not the car!" Meesh started to protest but Brad had had enough. His anger was brimming close to the surface-this was as close as any time he'd actually come to losing his shit. He hopped over to the front seat and forced Meesh out of the car, following behind him and pushing Meesh's body against the hood when they got out. When he'd divested Meesh of the rest of his cigarettes, pager, flask of cognac, and semi-automatic pistol he had hidden in his sock, Brad zip-cuffed his hands together behind his back and pushed him toward Mr. Frosty as Walt pulled into the parking spot next to them.

"You can't do this to me," Meesh continued as Brad escorted him to the side door and with Ray's help, threw him inside. Ray went in to secure him, while Brad closed the door. He could still hear Meesh's muffled screams from inside the truck, protesting his innocence and implicating Nate, instead.

Nate was getting out of the Beamer and closing the door. "What a waste of time. Do you think there's any point in detaining him? He's just going to spew whatever bullshit comes out of his mouth-"

Brad forced himself to act without thinking. There was this horrible, gut-wrenching nausea inside his stomach, and as he tried to process the impossibility of Meesh's words, it just got worse. If there were any truth to Meesh's accusations, Brad had to act. It was built into him and as fundamental as his name, even if it felt like he was cutting off a limb. He grabbed Nate's arm, twisted him around so his stomach slammed against the door of the Beamer and pulled his KA-BAR up against Nate's neck.

"Is there any truth to what Meesh was saying, sir?"

Nate fought for breath as he struggled against him. "Are you insane?"

"No. Just really fucking tired of playing this game."

Nate twisted his head as far as possible so he could look at Brad. "I am not selling intel to the cartel, Brad."

"Why'd you go to the park two days ago?"

"To buy some fucking ice cream!"

Using his forearm to keep Nate pinned, Brad pulled out another set of zip-cuffs. He slapped them on Nate's wrists and then pulled him toward the truck.

"I can't believe you're seriously considering listening to Meesh. I'm new here and even I've figured out that's a bad idea."

Suddenly, the thread of Brad's anger got pulled too tight and he threw Nate against the side of the truck. Nate stumbled but managed to stay upright.

"I'll tell you what I fucking believe, sir," Brad said, stabbing his KA-BAR in the roof of Meesh's car and approaching Nate. All the clues and intel from the last few days started coming together. "I believe Meesh would try and sell swamp in Florida to retired grandmothers on social security. I usually don't have trouble seeing through his sales-pitch, but this time, I got fucking goose bumps as he was talking. Because even if everything was a fucking coincidence.... How the fuck did you go from being a hostage, to worming your way into Godfather's operation and becoming my boss? Because you never quite answered me that one. Then there's the small matter of your bank account wiring a large amount of money. It's awfully convenient that you wanted us to catch up on sleep instead of driving down here to find out intel on our leak. Then there's us. Did the Cartel hire you because of your talented blowjobs or was that just a bonus?"

"You know what, Brad? Fuck you. If, after everything we've just been through, you think I could sell you out, then nothing I can say is going to change your mind."

Brad grabbed Nate by the arms and hauled him toward the side door. "That wasn't what I wanted to hear." He pounded on the door until it opened, then he pushed Nate in, hauled himself through the door and shut it behind him.

Nate crashed into Meesh on the floor and Ray looked at Brad. "Seriously, Brad? Again?"

"Shut up, Ray. Walt-drive."

"Where to, boss?"

Brad jumped into the front seat, picked up a magazine off the floor and put it over his face. "I don't fucking care, just get us the hell out of here."

~~~

Next - Part IV

Index
Part I * Part II * Part III * Part IV * Part V