The Occam's razor job - Chapter 30
Title: The Occam's razor Job
Characters: Nate Ford, Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison, Parker, Sophie Deveraux, Patrick Bonnano
Fandom: Leverage
Spoilers: The Lonely Hearts Club Job, The Boy's night out Job
warnings: Dead people, language, violence, medical bullsh*t, extreme violence in later chapters, and extreme angst
Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah
Special, special, special, special thanks to trappercreekd for Betaing :D
Chapter 30
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Sophie turned off the headlights when they entered the circle that Hardison said the Hummer hadn’t yet left, and no one objected. They slowly drove among the ruined and abandoned buildings, ready to turn around at the first sign of danger.
“No wonder I couldn’t find any camera inside this circle, and all the working ones are far away,” Hardison murmured when he peeked between Sophie and Nate. “This is zombie apocalypse material, people, mark my words! If you see people with outstretched hands that-”
“Go back to monitors, Hardison, you’re scaring Parker,” Nate said knowing that that statement would make them both look at each other, asking themselves if he had lost his mind, and stop the zombie metaphors that were threatening to continue endlessly.
Unfortunately, that made Parker crawl to the front seat to peek for herself, dragging her leg, eager to see what would scare her, and the hacker squeaked, “See? She’s turning into-”
“Hardison!”
“Okay, okay, I was just trying to lighten up the atmosphere, geez.”
“Just… do your job. Search. Hack. Type. Something.”
“I have nothing to search now, he is here.” Hardison’s light tone dropped too quickly, a clear sign he was keeping it with an immense effort, and Nate turned to look at him, regretting that he stopped him. “But without any cameras, and if I may say, a very little signs of civilization in general, all we can do is go back and forth and try to find the Hummer.”
“You’re keeping an eye on the outer cameras, and if he leaves here, you’ll see him?” Nate asked a little softer.
“Yep, everything is covered. Just a few cars have gone in and out by now, I won’t have problems locating the Hummer.”
Nate followed him into the back of the van to check the dots on the map, letting Parker climb up next to Sophie. The thief was restless, and he was surprised how well she was doing by now; her temporary disability must have been driving her crazy.
He looked at all of them: Sophie was rubbing her eyes and he could see the dark circles beneath them when she felt his stare and looked at him in the mirror. Hardison’s fingers were trembling on the keyboard; he was dead tired hours ago and his concentration was slipping.
Nate knew it was a mistake to let them listen to his conversation with Betsy at the moment she had asked to hear the numbers in the fourth group of Eliot’s papers; they’d gotten a cold, professional assessment that dumped all spirits. What the fuck was a massive tension hemothorax anyway? Sophie had almost stopped the van; Hardison stared as if he knew what it might be; Parker was pretending she wasn’t listening at all. At the end of a disturbingly long tirade, when Betsy had stated that he was probably dead by now, they’d all heard the ‘but’; she paused, murmured something that sounded like ‘damn idiot’, and said she would come when she arranged with Patrick to drop her, and everything that she needed, at their place.
That reminded them all that seven hours had just passed, the seven hours they believed was the outermost limit he could survive. That was the main reason everybody carefully avoided mentioning why the Hummer might have stopped, and was not moving anymore, in the middle of nowhere.
“Hardison, sort out all the information you have on Villacorta and the lieutenants, find out if there is any connection with them and this place. There must be a reason why he had come here. Cars, phones, everything you can track. We already know he took Rojas’s Hummer. What if he took his phone as well? You have the number, can you track it?”
“It would take a couple of minutes, I’ll have to override a few-” The loud sound of an explosion nearby shook the entire van.
And after just one hundred meters, and two turns, they found the Hummer. What was left of it.
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***
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Nate went to check the burning ruin, ordering the others to stay in the van.
“Nothing. It’s empty,” he said immediately, and heard Sophie’s sigh of relief. He checked everything around it, finding nothing important, and went back into Lucille.
“The last time he changed cars, he burned the orange Toyota to take the Hummer instead.” Sophie turned in the driver’s seat. “Maybe he did this, to cover the tracks, to leave no traces behind him.”
“We still don’t know what his next car is,” said Parker.
“And we won’t know,” Hardison said simply. Sophie and Parker turned to him, expecting him to say something about Hardison’s objection, but he stayed silent. “I redirected a satellite to cover this area to find the eventual switching of cars, now when we could finally catch him imobile long enough to do it. There was none. I saw a shadow getting out and disappearing in these ruins, can’t even say if that was him or not, and that was pretty long ago. If he found a car, he found it somewhere in this radius… and in that time a lot of cars left this circle that I kept monitoring. He could be in any of them. Far away by now. We. Have. Nothing.”
Nate watched the hacker who straightened his back and slowly stood up, looking thoughtfully at all monitors before him, with a slightly tilted head. After that he carefully took the first monitor at hand, and smashed it into pieces against the van wall.
He was right when he thought that Hardison’s break down would be spectacular; damaging his equipment was something unheard of. He tried to grab him before he could take another monitor and throw it onto the floor, but Hardison ducked, swayed and avoided him.
“Back off!” Hardison hissed, visibly half ready to slam the monitor into Nate’s head instead of the floor, but he lowered his hands when Sophie quickly slid between them.
“We’ll need those later, Hardison,” she softly said, taking the screen from him, but that softness seemed to rile him even more.
“For what?!” he yelled. “Are you people blind?! We can’t find him, he is probably already dead, and now we have nothing we can follow… do you understand that?! Nothing!! That Hummer was our only trail!” he slammed his hand into the wall, with a sickening loud sound. “I am able to find everything, every lousy motherfucker… except when it’s the most important!! When one of us is in danger, dying, I - can’t - find - him!!” He looked around wildly, and turned around, jumping out of the van.
Sophie shot a significant look at Nate, and went after Hardison. Stay with her. He received the message and looked at Parker; the thief was sitting stiffly, hugging herself as if she was cold. At least she wasn’t able to run. Maybe.
Dear God; Hardison wandering aimlessly through these ruins and the garbage, and Sophie after him - that was screaming for trouble. They had no idea who else may be near. The numerous advantages of working without a hitter, Nate sighed grabbing the bag and taking a gun. “Stay here, and start the van at the first sign of trouble,” he said to Parker before he went out after them.
He didn’t have to go far; Hardison had just sat by the first wall, twisted into a giant pretzel, clutching his head with his elbows resting on his knees. Sophie stood above him.
“Go away, all of you, and leave me alone,” he whispered.
“You think it’s your fault we couldn’t find him?” Sophie said quietly.
“Last time I checked, that was my job.”
“Well, you’re damn right. It is your bloody fault,” she smirked, leaning on the wall with one shoulder. Nate stood silently when the hacker looked up at her.
“For five years I was waiting for this moment,” she continued lightly. “Five long years, to see one of us using everything he had learned from watching the others. Just like you did just a moment ago, when you blocked Nate’s hands and turned around in a semi-circle, ruining his balance, leaving him exposed for the blow that should follow. All of that with one elbow, in one second. Does that sound familiar to you?”
“What… I did not…”
“Oh, yes you did. You’ve learned that from Eliot, not knowing about it.” She took a step closer to him. “It is your fault we can’t find him, Hardison, because he learned from you, from watching you searching for the lousy motherfuckers, how to go under your radar, how to stay low. And you are the best. What to avoid, where he can be seen, how he can be tracked, all the tricks you used these past five years, he learned watching you doing it. Just like you didn’t notice what you did in the van, I bet he doesn’t know why he knows where he can be spotted with a camera, and why he avoided that place. You both just do it, without thinking about it.”
“And he is using it, right now. That knowledge kept him alive through this night.” she went on in a gentler voice. “As long as we can’t find him, that means he is still using it, and he is still alive. If he was dead, we would find him, and you know that.”
That was enough; Nate slowly retreated back into the van when she hugged the hacker and whispered something almost silent. His presence wouldn’t add anything important, it could only hinder Sophie, and a quick check of the surroundings showed him they were in no immediate danger. He pulled out his earbud, leaving them alone completely; they were close enough to the van.
Parker raised her eyes to him, with an unspoken question, still sitting strangely stiff, clutching the wheel with both hands. He almost answered that question with a light ‘he’ll be fine’, but he didn’t. No one was, or would be ‘fine’, until this ended.
The burning Hummer was sorted all out, and he felt almost relieved, knowing what to do next.
“You said you’re able to drive,” he stated calmly.
“Can you shrink zombie’s heads too?” She grinned, that familiar crazy grin that had always caused the rolling of four pairs of eyes. Yet this time he felt an effort beneath it and he looked directly in her eyes, finding again the Parker that had hugged him when he’d bandaged her bruises, finding, for the one short second, the same sorrow hidden deep under the usual crazy smile. And he said nothing, he let her continue hiding it, because he knew that was what she needed now.
“How fast?” he smiled again.
“I can press the pedals with my right foot, no problem, it doesn’t hurt. Moving my foot, however, hurts like hell.”
“So, if your foot is on the gas pedal…?”
“Yep, no way I could move it to the brakes,” she said, with that smile again. “You’re the one who should explain that to them, okay?”
“Thought so.”
He left her sitting there and collected the pieces of the broken monitor, pushing them out.
Sophie came into the van first, Hardison followed a few steps behind.
“No zombies?” Parker chirped, but Nate noticed her arms were again clutched around her.
“No zombies, mamma.” Hardison produced a smile for her, and reluctantly sat on his chair again, turning his back to them all.
Sophie helped in shaking out Parker’s pillow and blankets, and in few minutes no traces of the plastic could be found. The time was priceless, yet Nate let those minutes stretch, to give them all a little time for composure, for settling down.
Hardison broke the silence. “Rojas’s phone is in Marco’s Tavern.”
“What?” Nate looked at him.
“You asked me to find their cars and phones. Before the explosion.” Hardison explained tiredly - that tone showed him that he too must have been visibly stressed, if the hacker thought he had to spell it out for him. “Barclay’s Lamborghini was here, in this circle, and that’s probably the cause for Eliot’s coming here. He flew by one camera, heading for the upper town, very, very fast. I’ve lost him after that, but he’ll show up again. So much about the cars,” he rubbed his face with both hands and stayed in that position for a moment before he continued. “However, their phones show a different picture. Tapia is not dead, he obviously wasn’t in his Lamborghini when it exploded. His, and Barclay’s phone are together. Going somewhere, doing something, I don’t know. Maybe going to Villacorta and Bugueno who are together as well. Or going to attack someone.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Hardison darted a glare at him. “You’re welcome.” His response was dry and pissed at the same time, and Nate knew how close to the verge they all were. The toll on their back was a heavy fourth day and the distress he was feeling around him was a thick, suffocating wall. He had to get them together, and he knew there was only one way to do it - shaking them to the point of breaking, one more time.
“Listen to me.” Yep, that voice worked, their attention focused on him instantly. Parker turned in the driver seat. “Can we now continue with our work?”
“What do you have in mind?” Sophie asked. “Some new way of finding him?”
“No. We quit the search, we can’t find him anymore.” Nate smiled at their frozen faces. “We have nothing now, now that we lost the Hummer as a trail. We are leaving Boston.”
“Wh-” Hardison tried to form a question, but failed even in the second try. “Wh-”
“You see…” Nate leaned on the wall, in a position he could see them all in a semi circle. “I know where he will be, the exact place, and the exact time, in…” he glanced at his watch. “…exactly one hour and 27 minutes. If he is alive. We have no means to know if he will be alive at that time, so it’s slightly unfair to ask... Will you return with me, not knowing whether or not we are coming in vain?”
“You know, you’re really annoying with these official questions.” Sophie hissed. “Details! Now!”
“If we return, Sophie, we are not returning to walk on the edges of the web, trying to not get caught - no, we are going deep, deep into the middle of it, into the very core. Directly to the Spider.”
“Like the attack on the Death Star,” Hardison whispered. “Lucille as The Millenium Falcon. Yep, I can definitely live with that.”
Or, maybe, shaking them further wasn’t such a bright idea. “Erm, yeah, right.” Nate glanced at him. “Like I said, if Eliot succeeded in what he is doing, we’ll be able to pass. If he failed, we will get strangled in it, and killed. Is that clear?”
“I knew it was Jedi business after all.” Hardison murmured. “Bunch of brave rebels fighting the big Evil Empire, and it’s the Dark Emperor-”
“Hardison.”
“Yeah, clear. All clear,” he blinked and exhaled a long breath. “Wait. Okay…web, net, danger, us killed, all clear. But return from where? What leaving Boston? Have you lost your mind?”
“We have exactly one hour and 27…no, 25 minutes to put Villacorta down. And we are losing our time here. Parker, now is the time to use your foot. Take us on I - 90 W highwa-”
It was good thing the blankets and the pillow were now clean, he thought when he crushed on them losing his balance after the violent jerk when the van started. Hardison saved the rest of the monitors that danced all around him.
He kneeled, holding himself with both hands.
“How? And why now?” Hardison went on.
“We could have done it two hours before, when the red dots started to emerge on your map - Villacorta’s counterattacks. But I couldn’t… I didn’t want to leave this search as long as there was a hope we could find him. Now, we have nothing that we can do for him until this time passes, and I’m not going to spend it opening the bodybags in the hospitals. Yes, he might be dead… but if so, he died so we can do this. I won’t let that be in vain. We are going to use this opening he has created.”
“What damn opening he’s created? The streets are now even more dangerous for us than before - all of Villacorta’s men are out, armed, shooting at… basically everything that moves, because everything that moves shoots back at them! It’s not an opening, it’s a damn clusterfuck, there’s no way we can get through it! The entire city of Boston is one huge war zone!”
“Exactly.”
Hardison just stared at him.
“All of Boston is one large war zone. A carefully arranged war zone, with many little wars that have swallowed and involved everything that Villacorta has and can use. The war zone that engaged and pulled into the chaos every single Chilean. And when you have to use all your armies in the war that someone brought directly to your door step, you have to make a mistake… and leave something else unprotected. Eliot made a whirlpool knowing that everyone’s eyes would be riveted on it… except mine.”
Hardison drew a slow breath, and let it out equally slow.
“It won’t help us. It won’t solve anything - but it will cause Villacorta to lose everything that he has, even if he managed to kill us,” Nate continued with a smile. “Eliot had told me that I couldn’t con a fired bullet. He was right. I can’t. But neither can Villacorta.”
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***
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The morphine was disappearing too slowly from his veins - the poor stuff didn't have much means of traveling in there, and he could almost imagine the little molecules of morphine that were jumping, cursing him, trying to jump over the gaps in his bloodstream.
He slowly raised his right hand, not looking at the right side of the car, and Tapia closed his mouth.
It was his third attempt to say something in the last twenty minutes, but Eliot didn’t regret that he let him out from the trunk when he had heard the screaming and tossing. Fighting the morphine was a lot easier when he had someone beside him, when he could concentrate on his simply being there. He wasn’t clean yet - the pale shadows had returned at the moment he dismissed all the voices from his head - they weren’t around him when there were only two of them. They were following the Hitter. And he knew why.
He was waiting.
Except for the occasional raising of his hand, he remained completely still, staring right in front of him, keeping both hands on his thighs, with his palms up and fingers slightly bend. Every five minutes he slowly looked down to check; they were still not shaking. He couldn’t say if it was a good or a bad sign.
Betsy’s advice helped with his breathing a little, returning it to the level just before his impact with Barclay, but it couldn’t help with his bleeding out. The former was more important now- in this phase, he had to be able to speak, not run. Then he realized how much she would be pissed… dear god, just imagining explaining to her how he got killed almost made him flinch, and it took fifteen seconds before he figured out what was wrong in that sentence. Focus, Spencer.
He felt the opening of Tapia’s mouth again, and again raised his hand. His tries were more frequent, and maybe it would be less difficult to listen to him, than to move his hand.
“What?” he said, the word coming out painfully rasped. Yep, he should speak as well, to smooth the edge.
“Can you park the car at some different angle? The sun is hitting directly in my eyes, and guess what, I have a headache.”
Poor Princess had a fucking headache. Jesus. He said nothing, he didn’t move nor turn his head to look at him. The sun was warm, and he had no intention of moving the car. He was freezing in spite of the fact that he kept a jacket over the suit. Besides, they were facing the park and the small patch of green right in front of the Challenger was helping his eyes.
“You’re scaring me.”
“Good.” Of course he was scaring him. Tapia sat beside a crazy guy with a gun, who was staring down into the meadow, still as a stone. As a matter of fact, he was scaring himself, too.
“You’re preparing yourself for something. Killing me?”
“That doesn’t need preparation.” The gasp that came from another side reminded him of the desperate measures and danger from desperate people. “No. I won’t kill you. You’re safe. Sit here just for a while, and after that you’ll walk free.”
Tapia shifted and sighed.
“What are you staring at?” he continued after just two minutes of silence.
“Invisible people. I’m drugged, remember?”
“Are they naked?”
“Wh-” he slowly turned his head to look at him, for the first time. “No. They’re dead.”
“Oh.”
Tapia said no more, and the blissful silence spread again.
He checked his fingers again. Nothing. Slowly, he returned his eyes to the grass in front of the car, keeping them low, only half open. Three small bushes surrounded the grass, shaped like triangles, and he made them a barrier for his eyes. Just grass, Spencer, nothing more for now. Just grass.
He should send a text message with instructions to Betsy - all this green reminded him of George and his inevitable withering. The only problem was that she would immediately send that number to Bonnano, and Patrick would find him before this all ended, and he didn’t need further complications. Besides, he had more important things to think of right now.
How to entwine all the loose ends.
How to play out every possible move on the board, both the black and white pieces.
How to control the pain and stop it from showing.
How to keep breathing for one more hour.
How to stop realizing what he had done.
How to stop counting how many people died.
How to stop wishing he was already dead.
Yep, one could say he was pretty busy.
The Challenger moved a little when Tapia shifted, trying to sit more comfortably, but it didn’t bring the nausea, a sure sign that the morphine was decreasing. The pain wasn’t a relevant sign, it remained the same no matter what the amount of morphine he had in himself. He spent the last fifteen minutes on only feeling it, analyzing it, trying to even the edges, and smoothing it a little… the occasional sharp stabbings that came without warning were dangerous. Even completely focused just on the pain, rigid and wary, he barely managed not to wince at the sudden ripping. He had to close it into one ball - a burning ball of red and orange pain whirling inside, with occasional outbursts, like the sun eruptions. Concentration would help him control those outbursts. If he was distracted, he might not be able to hide it in time. If he concentrated a little harder, he might manage to lessen it to simply unbearable, instead of the agony, and he might-
“Dead-dead, ugly dead, dead you’ve killed, half dead, something else, or all of the above?”
Thank you, Matio Tapia. The burning ball disappeared before his eyes with a silent ‘plop’. He slowly lowered his eyes, watching his hands. He wished he was able to sigh.
“What’s pretty dead?” he asked returning his gaze on the grass.
“What?”
“You said, ugly dead. Where did you see the pretty dead?”
“I was just trying to mask my real question - you killed those people?”
“Nope.”
“And you’re just seeing random dead?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Nope.”
Tapia heaved a frustrated sigh, and much to his surprise, Eliot smiled. He carefully turned his wrist and looked at the watch. Almost there. And he was still breathing.
The pale shadows were almost invisible now, they were quickly dissolving, but he could still feel their eyes. Tapia had no idea. These weren’t the ghosts of the people he had killed. They would come later. They were never scaring him.
Those who were now standing at the edges of his vision… they had the power to destroy him.
“No, Tapia, I don’t see people I’ve killed,” he whispered. “I see people I’ve failed to save.”
He slowly raised his eyes from the watch to the wheel, then to the grass.
He kept them on the bushes for a moment, taking a careful deeper breath that stirred the burning ball.
Then he opened them completely, looking above the bushes, and as his eyes rose, the building on the edge of the park emerged slowly from the green that surrounded it, glittering in the morning sun.
He moved his right hand carefully, controlled, and put his sunglasses on.
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***
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Thank god it was a Sunday morning, and Lucille wasn’t facing dense traffic and jams full of people that were trying to get to work. Hardison was pretty sure Parker wouldn’t even notice it, much less slow down because of it, but it was easier this way.
They were all sitting at the back of the van, where the sun was coming only in reflections, and he still felt like they were stuck in the middle of the night that was still haunting them, sticking closely to every one of them, not letting them go.
He peeked outside only once, and was stunned when he saw daylight.
When he returned to the monitors, where all the info that Nate asked for was displayed, he again felt the stirring of the anxiety that shook him when he had noticed the first look that Nate and Sophie exchanged after Nate’d told them where they were going. There was… nothing in it. Two utterly empty stares, without any message and meaning, just two pair of eyes that met for one second. Yet, he knew that was an entire conversation in it.
Nate had called Patrick immediately upon their departure, and Bonnano was on his way, too, just five minutes behind them.
“Nate…” Hardison called reluctantly, and waited for him to draw his eyes from the data. “Without any preparation or any plans, you’re planning to take down a guy who outsmarted the FBI and IRS, with their year of preparation, in just one hour?”
“Nineteen minutes,” Nate said. His eyes were dead. “We have to calculate traveling back to Boston.”
“We entered Worcester, we are almost there!” Parker yelled from the front seat. “Do you want me to stop a block away, just in case?”
“Yes, Parker, that’ll be great.” Nate was checking the gun as he spoke, and Hardison swallowed. “You two will stay in Lucille. Sophie and I are going in there alone.”
“Bonnano clearly said there’s twenty Chileans that guard the man, day and night, and you two will just-” Hardison stopped and sighed, then went on quietly. “There would be twenty Chileans guarding him, and waiting for us, if they weren’t drawn back into Boston, into the whirlpool.”
“Precisely.” Nate put the gun in his pocket and smiled, a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.
“But what are you going to do? Find the evidence in his papers that will put Villacorta in prison? In nineteen minutes? The FBI combed through all of his papers, for months, and they’ve found nothing!”
“FBI has aggravating circumstances, Hardison. They are the law, and they have to play by the rules.” Nate exchanged another empty look with Sophie. “We are not. We are the bad guys.”
“No, Nate, this is wrong… you’ll do something wrong, I don’t like it.”
“No, it’ll be only strange.” Nate smiled again, the smile cold almost as his voice was. “We have a hitter who is doing the Danse Macabre - I’m thinking of telling him who, precisely was the real spider in this play, and whose webs were the most deadly… but I’m afraid he would be just pissed. As usual. And, on the other end, we have the mastermind who is running out of time, who now has only seventeen minutes to bring down a man who may later kill us all. Some sort of postponed revenge for our part.”
“Damn,” Hardison slowly exhaled. “Leave Sophie here and take me instead.”
“Don’t be silly,” Sophie tilted her head, but she didn’t smile, and her voice sounded strangely unknown for a second. “It’ll be over in a bit.”
Nate sounding resolute and deadly calm was sometimes terrifying thing to watch, Hardison thought watching her eyes… but seeing Sophie cold and stern was… brutal. Seeing Sophie plucking the bag, and taking a gun herself, was… indescribable.
“The thing is….” Nate continued. “Someone has to play out the Occam’s Razor, right? And now I only have time for the shortest way from A to B, so it’s the best solution. No plans, no cons… a simple in and out. Hit and run.”
“We’re here,” Parker said while stopping Lucille. “Trev Steel’s house is the fifth in the row, with a huge yard, that dark yellow one separated from the others. I would check those back yard buildings along the wood, that’s the place where his guards-”
“I know, Parker, thank you.”
Much to Hardison’s dismay, Nate nodded, and they both pulled their earbuds out.
“When Bonnano arrives, keep him here.”
Without any further word, they left, leaving him blind, deaf, and scared as shit.
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***
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The first two minutes Hardison spent biting his nails and searching through all the data they had on Trev Steel, reminding himself of Nate’s speech with Bonnano about the man who held all Villacorta’s business transactions in his hand, leaving a visible paper trail, full of clean and regular numbers. The FBI’s one year long investigation finished as a fiasco; the IRS was helpless. Villacorta was safe, completely safe.
The second two minutes he spent with the door of Lucille half open, listening, expecting to hear gunshots. Or much worse, bursts of a machine gun fire. How could they be sure Villacorta had pulled all of his guards? He would leave at least five, no matter how bad things were going around him in Boston - damn, this sounded like something that Eliot would say, maybe he learned more than he thought. Besides, the night was over, the fights would slowly cease, early morning wasn’t a common time for gang shootings, and everything would soon calm down. They’d be back on their duty. He took a gun and a kitchen knife, just in case, and prepared himself for running quickly. And killing, if necessary. Okay, maybe not killing, but certainly shooting and probable wounding of someone.
The third two minutes were interrupted when Bonnano arrived, swore and took the gun and the knife away from him, looking pretty desperate and pissed. He spent those minutes on explaining where Nate and Sophie were, and going around what they were going to do. Bonnano looked like they all felt; spent and pissed off at the same time, with all the traces of the grueling night carved into his face.
“Okay, and now repeat that, slowly,” Patrick rubbed the back of his neck, and sighed. “They are going to do what? Is tonight something special for your Leverage Inc? Do you have one night of the year reserved for utter madness, all of you, or there’s maybe more of it coming my way? Should I prepare myself for the next one, if any of you stay alive for that long? What on Earth he was thinki-”
“No time for thinking, Patrick,” Nate’s voice sounded harsh, and Hardison almost squeaked, stopping himself at the last moment. He quickly opened the door completely, revealing Nate and Sophie. “Time, Hardison.”
“Seven minutes,” he quickly checked. “But, what-”
“Patrick, this is Trev Steel.” Nate pulled before him a middle aged, fat man, and Hardison just blinked when he saw his eyes glazed with horror. “He would like to ask for your protection, for him and his family. His wife is in the house, and two kids are sleeping upstairs. If I may suggest a safe house first, and then going into a witness protection program?”
Bonnano just stared at him for almost a minute. Hardison knew exactly what he was thinking; the same incoherent thoughts were jumping around wildly in his head, too.
“Protection from what?” Bonnano asked quietly.
“From me.” Nate didn’t smile, and Steel shivered, taking an unsteady step back.
“In exchange for his safety,” Sophie said gently and for some reason, Hardison found her tone more vicious than Nate’s coldness. “He is willing to give you everything that the FBI and the IRS couldn’t find. Congratulations, Patrick, you’ve just put Villacorta behind bars. Will you now excuse us; we are in a little bit of a hurry.”
“Oh, btw, there are two Chilean…gardeners, that are sleeping in the back building. Maybe you should check on them, too,” Nate said while pushing Steel into Bonnano’s hands, and jumping into the van. “Move, Parker, I’m driving.”
A quiet squeak was heard from the front seat, and Bonnano blinked again. “Well, maybe I should take him away, before he changes his mind.”
“He won’t change his mind.” Sophie’s smile was brilliant this time, the most beautiful smile Hardison had seen in ages, and Trev Steel’s eyes rolled up and he fainted. Bonnano swore under his breath, pulling the man away from Lucille, waving to his men to come and take him away.
“See you later, Patrick,” Sophie nodded gently and got in the van, and Hardison pulled the door shut.
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***
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Nate ordered them all to go to the back, to sit in the dark and to try to rest while they could, if only keeping their eyes shut, but Hardison joined him in the front seat, leaving Sophie to sit with Parker. The thief was paler than ever. Driving might have been a pure joy, but it certainly hasn’t helped to ease the pain in her leg.
Nate glanced at the hacker who slurped the last drops of the orange poison from the bottle.
“That stuff really keeps you awake?”
The hacker squinted, staring directly into the bright sun that was low, right in front of them.
“What have you done?” he dismissed his attempt.
“Something that the law enforcement agencies couldn’t. Scared him and threatened him with his life. And his wife’s life. And with the lives of his children.”
“You didn’t-”
“No, we didn’t. But he thought we might, and that was all that took to break him.”
He watched the young man processing what he had said.
“Hardison…” he said a little softer. “Never underestimate desperate people.”
“You think he might-”
“No. I was talking about Sophie and me.”
Hardison thought about it for a while, then sighed. “I guess you’re right. But you should have taken me, not Sophie.”
“Sophie was the one who broke him. I was playing the good cop at the beginning.”
“And what now?” Hardison waved towards Boston, where they were heading.
“We started something that will take a long time to show any results, maybe even months. Patrick will simply make Steel disappear, Villacorta won’t know what happened to his accountant, but it has nothing to do with our problems. I’ve told you this wouldn’t solve anything, so just forget it happened at all. Though, if he manages to kill us, you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing he is going down soon.”
“I’m delighted,” Hardison murmured. “And how the hell are we getting out of this shit for good?”
“Two options. The first, Eliot will kill Villacorta.”
“And risk even deadlier revenge on us because of that? I don’t think so.”
“It’s all in the context, Hardison. A quiet assassination by Eliot Spencer would result in that, you’re right, he won’t do that. He’ll go to him, politely explain to him that Eliot Spencer doesn’t work with that bunch of losers anymore, and that he is there because it’s personal, and kill him. Eliot will either be killed by his men, or let himself get killed. The only way to bring closure to this.”
Hardison said nothing.
“The second option?” he quietly asked after a minute.
“There is one more thing that may end this, but… it’s impossible to say if he is even considering it as an option or not, because I don’t have insight in his detailed doings through last night. If he does… well, he is crazy enough to try it,” Nate smiled to himself. “Go into the back, Hardison, close your eyes for few minutes, we’ll need them very soon.”
“You told me about Eliot’s options. What about yours?”
“Just one. If he’s dead, and Villacorta alive, I’ll give Villacorta a real reason for wishing us all dead. He made a mistake - he made this personal.”
“If he’s dead… you know, I have problems with accepting that as a possibility,” Hardison hesitated. Nate’s phone rang and the hacker sighed, not finishing what he was going to say next.
“It seems you’re not the only one who has problems with accepting that possibility.” Nate gave him the sign to go back to the computers. “Good morning, Eliot.”
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***
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Hardison almost stumbled across Sophie, hurrying to put Eliot on speakerphone, but Nate stopped him, showing him his earbud. Eliot might hear the difference in the sound. He continued to drive with one hand, keeping his eyes on the street, knowing they would remain silent whatever they heard, and even if they did say something, he would be the only one to hear it.
“Damn. You shouldn’t… are you alone?”
“Yes, they’re not around, you may speak.” He quickly reminded himself why Eliot called him; Eliot knew that he wouldn’t buy the things he'd said to Hardison and Sophie, and that he would know why he had done it. For a few seconds, the only sound from the phone was the chirping of blackbirds in the background. “I presume you’re not calling us to pick you up somewhere?”
“Us, Nate?”
He bit his tongue, reminding himself to be more careful; the relief was making him reckless. “Cut the paranoia, will you? They are with Bonnano, Hardison is sorting Steel’s data for him. You don’t have much time, and you’re aware that retreat is now the best option. You should-”
“Worcester. Good. I was pretty sure you’d do it, but I had to check.” The first long sentence finally gave him the opportunity to listen to the way he spoke, finding his voice surprisingly steady. Yet, the sentence felt carefully formulated, as if Eliot had arranged what to say, taking into the account of amount of air that was needed for that. If Nate didn’t know the state he was in, he would surely be deceived. If he didn’t know the usual strength of his voice, he would surely think these spiritless, shallow words were normal for him. The only thing that reminded him of Eliot was the complete dismissal of his last sentence.
“You didn’t call to check that, Eliot,” he said, hesitating. Why the hell couldn’t he express the relief he felt? Or even the fear? Maybe Sophie was right in her bitching about words and feelings, and all that shit.
“No. I have one more thing to do to finish this. If I call you after one hour, I’ll explain everything. If I don’t… I’ve sent all the important things to one phone at my place - you’ll know all details of tonight. You’ll be able to use it later. Though, if I don’t call you, I suggest you take them, run away, and wait to see the results of taking Steel down. And when I say run, this time, for god’s sake, I don’t mean sneak into town and buy a fucking apartment.”
“You have to admit it was a smooth move,” he said lightly, with a smile, listening. After every sentence there was almost two seconds of silence.
“You sound too cheerful for this situation.” There was clear suspicion in Eliot’s voice now, and he could almost see him narrowing his eyes. “Where are you, indeed?”
Damn, he wanted to end this charade, finally, to speak with him freely, not having to think about every damn word, but he couldn’t. For his sake. If ever, now he had to maintain this, to keep him concentrated. Because he knew where he was, and what he was preparing himself to do, and every distraction, every twist in his thinking, could be deadly. So he smiled. And lied. “Relax. It’s not where I am, it’s what I hear. You don’t sound like someone who should have been dead for the last three hours.”
He didn’t like the hesitation before Eliot’s words. “I’ve solved a few problems with that-” he broke off. “How… Damn, I knew I should have erased those papers from the computer.” He liked his suddenly lighter tone much less. It sounded almost like a whisper.
“If I start on things which I should have done, your head will explode. But we can exchange our notes later.”
“Nope,” his reply was soft. “Not gonna happen.”
Nate stayed silent, pulling Lucille out of the traffic and stopping her, not sure if it was the best time to ask for clarification; he turned around to glance at the three of them, sitting in the back, in semi darkness. They were listening breathlessly.
His mouth went dry. “I guess the solving of those problems was just temporary?”
“It gave me a few more hours… I had to stretch them very sparingly. I met certain obstacles that needed removing, and it didn’t go as well as it should.”
“How long?”
“One hour… maybe. Still enough time to finish this.”
“Or still enough time to go and have some help?”
“It’s FUBAR, Nate, you can trust me on this. Too late for help,” he hesitated a moment. “Don’t tell them the truth, Nate. Let them think I’ve just left, and got killed somewhere, not connected to the team. You know why, I don’t have to explain.”
“In fact-”
“Nate! You know it’s the best for them. I want you to promise me that you won’t tell them.”
“Okay. I’ll let them think whatever they’re thinking about it.”
“Thank you. Remember, the phone at my place.”
“Eliot, don’t hang-”
It was too late, the line was dead.
He slowly lowered the phone, looking at the three pale faces. He cleared his throat, returning his voice into controlled shape.
“Cheer up.”
They just continued to watch him, not bothering to reply to that.
“What? Yes, it sounded bad. It is bad. But we’ve been through worse in these three days, almost four now, and it’ll be over and finished in the next hour. You should be relieved.”
Their stares became perplexed.
“I didn’t mean to say it’ll be finished because he’ll be dead in an hour,” he tiredly rubbed his forehead. “I was trying to say… well, my bad.” He got up and opened the side doors of Lucille, letting the sun hit them all. “I forgot to tell you.”
The first thing they noticed was the sound of the chirping blackbirds that entered along with the sunshine.
The second, only fifty meters away, parked in the same line as Lucille, was Eliot’s Challenger, glowing red orange in the light. It was empty, but it was finally there.
Nate smiled. “I think this is the time when I say: Let’s go steal ourselves an Eliot.”
Characters: Nate Ford, Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison, Parker, Sophie Deveraux, Patrick Bonnano
Fandom: Leverage
Spoilers: The Lonely Hearts Club Job, The Boy's night out Job
warnings: Dead people, language, violence, medical bullsh*t, extreme violence in later chapters, and extreme angst
Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah
Special, special, special, special thanks to trappercreekd for Betaing :D
Chapter 30
***
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Sophie turned off the headlights when they entered the circle that Hardison said the Hummer hadn’t yet left, and no one objected. They slowly drove among the ruined and abandoned buildings, ready to turn around at the first sign of danger.
“No wonder I couldn’t find any camera inside this circle, and all the working ones are far away,” Hardison murmured when he peeked between Sophie and Nate. “This is zombie apocalypse material, people, mark my words! If you see people with outstretched hands that-”
“Go back to monitors, Hardison, you’re scaring Parker,” Nate said knowing that that statement would make them both look at each other, asking themselves if he had lost his mind, and stop the zombie metaphors that were threatening to continue endlessly.
Unfortunately, that made Parker crawl to the front seat to peek for herself, dragging her leg, eager to see what would scare her, and the hacker squeaked, “See? She’s turning into-”
“Hardison!”
“Okay, okay, I was just trying to lighten up the atmosphere, geez.”
“Just… do your job. Search. Hack. Type. Something.”
“I have nothing to search now, he is here.” Hardison’s light tone dropped too quickly, a clear sign he was keeping it with an immense effort, and Nate turned to look at him, regretting that he stopped him. “But without any cameras, and if I may say, a very little signs of civilization in general, all we can do is go back and forth and try to find the Hummer.”
“You’re keeping an eye on the outer cameras, and if he leaves here, you’ll see him?” Nate asked a little softer.
“Yep, everything is covered. Just a few cars have gone in and out by now, I won’t have problems locating the Hummer.”
Nate followed him into the back of the van to check the dots on the map, letting Parker climb up next to Sophie. The thief was restless, and he was surprised how well she was doing by now; her temporary disability must have been driving her crazy.
He looked at all of them: Sophie was rubbing her eyes and he could see the dark circles beneath them when she felt his stare and looked at him in the mirror. Hardison’s fingers were trembling on the keyboard; he was dead tired hours ago and his concentration was slipping.
Nate knew it was a mistake to let them listen to his conversation with Betsy at the moment she had asked to hear the numbers in the fourth group of Eliot’s papers; they’d gotten a cold, professional assessment that dumped all spirits. What the fuck was a massive tension hemothorax anyway? Sophie had almost stopped the van; Hardison stared as if he knew what it might be; Parker was pretending she wasn’t listening at all. At the end of a disturbingly long tirade, when Betsy had stated that he was probably dead by now, they’d all heard the ‘but’; she paused, murmured something that sounded like ‘damn idiot’, and said she would come when she arranged with Patrick to drop her, and everything that she needed, at their place.
That reminded them all that seven hours had just passed, the seven hours they believed was the outermost limit he could survive. That was the main reason everybody carefully avoided mentioning why the Hummer might have stopped, and was not moving anymore, in the middle of nowhere.
“Hardison, sort out all the information you have on Villacorta and the lieutenants, find out if there is any connection with them and this place. There must be a reason why he had come here. Cars, phones, everything you can track. We already know he took Rojas’s Hummer. What if he took his phone as well? You have the number, can you track it?”
“It would take a couple of minutes, I’ll have to override a few-” The loud sound of an explosion nearby shook the entire van.
And after just one hundred meters, and two turns, they found the Hummer. What was left of it.
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***
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.
Nate went to check the burning ruin, ordering the others to stay in the van.
“Nothing. It’s empty,” he said immediately, and heard Sophie’s sigh of relief. He checked everything around it, finding nothing important, and went back into Lucille.
“The last time he changed cars, he burned the orange Toyota to take the Hummer instead.” Sophie turned in the driver’s seat. “Maybe he did this, to cover the tracks, to leave no traces behind him.”
“We still don’t know what his next car is,” said Parker.
“And we won’t know,” Hardison said simply. Sophie and Parker turned to him, expecting him to say something about Hardison’s objection, but he stayed silent. “I redirected a satellite to cover this area to find the eventual switching of cars, now when we could finally catch him imobile long enough to do it. There was none. I saw a shadow getting out and disappearing in these ruins, can’t even say if that was him or not, and that was pretty long ago. If he found a car, he found it somewhere in this radius… and in that time a lot of cars left this circle that I kept monitoring. He could be in any of them. Far away by now. We. Have. Nothing.”
Nate watched the hacker who straightened his back and slowly stood up, looking thoughtfully at all monitors before him, with a slightly tilted head. After that he carefully took the first monitor at hand, and smashed it into pieces against the van wall.
He was right when he thought that Hardison’s break down would be spectacular; damaging his equipment was something unheard of. He tried to grab him before he could take another monitor and throw it onto the floor, but Hardison ducked, swayed and avoided him.
“Back off!” Hardison hissed, visibly half ready to slam the monitor into Nate’s head instead of the floor, but he lowered his hands when Sophie quickly slid between them.
“We’ll need those later, Hardison,” she softly said, taking the screen from him, but that softness seemed to rile him even more.
“For what?!” he yelled. “Are you people blind?! We can’t find him, he is probably already dead, and now we have nothing we can follow… do you understand that?! Nothing!! That Hummer was our only trail!” he slammed his hand into the wall, with a sickening loud sound. “I am able to find everything, every lousy motherfucker… except when it’s the most important!! When one of us is in danger, dying, I - can’t - find - him!!” He looked around wildly, and turned around, jumping out of the van.
Sophie shot a significant look at Nate, and went after Hardison. Stay with her. He received the message and looked at Parker; the thief was sitting stiffly, hugging herself as if she was cold. At least she wasn’t able to run. Maybe.
Dear God; Hardison wandering aimlessly through these ruins and the garbage, and Sophie after him - that was screaming for trouble. They had no idea who else may be near. The numerous advantages of working without a hitter, Nate sighed grabbing the bag and taking a gun. “Stay here, and start the van at the first sign of trouble,” he said to Parker before he went out after them.
He didn’t have to go far; Hardison had just sat by the first wall, twisted into a giant pretzel, clutching his head with his elbows resting on his knees. Sophie stood above him.
“Go away, all of you, and leave me alone,” he whispered.
“You think it’s your fault we couldn’t find him?” Sophie said quietly.
“Last time I checked, that was my job.”
“Well, you’re damn right. It is your bloody fault,” she smirked, leaning on the wall with one shoulder. Nate stood silently when the hacker looked up at her.
“For five years I was waiting for this moment,” she continued lightly. “Five long years, to see one of us using everything he had learned from watching the others. Just like you did just a moment ago, when you blocked Nate’s hands and turned around in a semi-circle, ruining his balance, leaving him exposed for the blow that should follow. All of that with one elbow, in one second. Does that sound familiar to you?”
“What… I did not…”
“Oh, yes you did. You’ve learned that from Eliot, not knowing about it.” She took a step closer to him. “It is your fault we can’t find him, Hardison, because he learned from you, from watching you searching for the lousy motherfuckers, how to go under your radar, how to stay low. And you are the best. What to avoid, where he can be seen, how he can be tracked, all the tricks you used these past five years, he learned watching you doing it. Just like you didn’t notice what you did in the van, I bet he doesn’t know why he knows where he can be spotted with a camera, and why he avoided that place. You both just do it, without thinking about it.”
“And he is using it, right now. That knowledge kept him alive through this night.” she went on in a gentler voice. “As long as we can’t find him, that means he is still using it, and he is still alive. If he was dead, we would find him, and you know that.”
That was enough; Nate slowly retreated back into the van when she hugged the hacker and whispered something almost silent. His presence wouldn’t add anything important, it could only hinder Sophie, and a quick check of the surroundings showed him they were in no immediate danger. He pulled out his earbud, leaving them alone completely; they were close enough to the van.
Parker raised her eyes to him, with an unspoken question, still sitting strangely stiff, clutching the wheel with both hands. He almost answered that question with a light ‘he’ll be fine’, but he didn’t. No one was, or would be ‘fine’, until this ended.
The burning Hummer was sorted all out, and he felt almost relieved, knowing what to do next.
“You said you’re able to drive,” he stated calmly.
“Can you shrink zombie’s heads too?” She grinned, that familiar crazy grin that had always caused the rolling of four pairs of eyes. Yet this time he felt an effort beneath it and he looked directly in her eyes, finding again the Parker that had hugged him when he’d bandaged her bruises, finding, for the one short second, the same sorrow hidden deep under the usual crazy smile. And he said nothing, he let her continue hiding it, because he knew that was what she needed now.
“How fast?” he smiled again.
“I can press the pedals with my right foot, no problem, it doesn’t hurt. Moving my foot, however, hurts like hell.”
“So, if your foot is on the gas pedal…?”
“Yep, no way I could move it to the brakes,” she said, with that smile again. “You’re the one who should explain that to them, okay?”
“Thought so.”
He left her sitting there and collected the pieces of the broken monitor, pushing them out.
Sophie came into the van first, Hardison followed a few steps behind.
“No zombies?” Parker chirped, but Nate noticed her arms were again clutched around her.
“No zombies, mamma.” Hardison produced a smile for her, and reluctantly sat on his chair again, turning his back to them all.
Sophie helped in shaking out Parker’s pillow and blankets, and in few minutes no traces of the plastic could be found. The time was priceless, yet Nate let those minutes stretch, to give them all a little time for composure, for settling down.
Hardison broke the silence. “Rojas’s phone is in Marco’s Tavern.”
“What?” Nate looked at him.
“You asked me to find their cars and phones. Before the explosion.” Hardison explained tiredly - that tone showed him that he too must have been visibly stressed, if the hacker thought he had to spell it out for him. “Barclay’s Lamborghini was here, in this circle, and that’s probably the cause for Eliot’s coming here. He flew by one camera, heading for the upper town, very, very fast. I’ve lost him after that, but he’ll show up again. So much about the cars,” he rubbed his face with both hands and stayed in that position for a moment before he continued. “However, their phones show a different picture. Tapia is not dead, he obviously wasn’t in his Lamborghini when it exploded. His, and Barclay’s phone are together. Going somewhere, doing something, I don’t know. Maybe going to Villacorta and Bugueno who are together as well. Or going to attack someone.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Hardison darted a glare at him. “You’re welcome.” His response was dry and pissed at the same time, and Nate knew how close to the verge they all were. The toll on their back was a heavy fourth day and the distress he was feeling around him was a thick, suffocating wall. He had to get them together, and he knew there was only one way to do it - shaking them to the point of breaking, one more time.
“Listen to me.” Yep, that voice worked, their attention focused on him instantly. Parker turned in the driver seat. “Can we now continue with our work?”
“What do you have in mind?” Sophie asked. “Some new way of finding him?”
“No. We quit the search, we can’t find him anymore.” Nate smiled at their frozen faces. “We have nothing now, now that we lost the Hummer as a trail. We are leaving Boston.”
“Wh-” Hardison tried to form a question, but failed even in the second try. “Wh-”
“You see…” Nate leaned on the wall, in a position he could see them all in a semi circle. “I know where he will be, the exact place, and the exact time, in…” he glanced at his watch. “…exactly one hour and 27 minutes. If he is alive. We have no means to know if he will be alive at that time, so it’s slightly unfair to ask... Will you return with me, not knowing whether or not we are coming in vain?”
“You know, you’re really annoying with these official questions.” Sophie hissed. “Details! Now!”
“If we return, Sophie, we are not returning to walk on the edges of the web, trying to not get caught - no, we are going deep, deep into the middle of it, into the very core. Directly to the Spider.”
“Like the attack on the Death Star,” Hardison whispered. “Lucille as The Millenium Falcon. Yep, I can definitely live with that.”
Or, maybe, shaking them further wasn’t such a bright idea. “Erm, yeah, right.” Nate glanced at him. “Like I said, if Eliot succeeded in what he is doing, we’ll be able to pass. If he failed, we will get strangled in it, and killed. Is that clear?”
“I knew it was Jedi business after all.” Hardison murmured. “Bunch of brave rebels fighting the big Evil Empire, and it’s the Dark Emperor-”
“Hardison.”
“Yeah, clear. All clear,” he blinked and exhaled a long breath. “Wait. Okay…web, net, danger, us killed, all clear. But return from where? What leaving Boston? Have you lost your mind?”
“We have exactly one hour and 27…no, 25 minutes to put Villacorta down. And we are losing our time here. Parker, now is the time to use your foot. Take us on I - 90 W highwa-”
It was good thing the blankets and the pillow were now clean, he thought when he crushed on them losing his balance after the violent jerk when the van started. Hardison saved the rest of the monitors that danced all around him.
He kneeled, holding himself with both hands.
“How? And why now?” Hardison went on.
“We could have done it two hours before, when the red dots started to emerge on your map - Villacorta’s counterattacks. But I couldn’t… I didn’t want to leave this search as long as there was a hope we could find him. Now, we have nothing that we can do for him until this time passes, and I’m not going to spend it opening the bodybags in the hospitals. Yes, he might be dead… but if so, he died so we can do this. I won’t let that be in vain. We are going to use this opening he has created.”
“What damn opening he’s created? The streets are now even more dangerous for us than before - all of Villacorta’s men are out, armed, shooting at… basically everything that moves, because everything that moves shoots back at them! It’s not an opening, it’s a damn clusterfuck, there’s no way we can get through it! The entire city of Boston is one huge war zone!”
“Exactly.”
Hardison just stared at him.
“All of Boston is one large war zone. A carefully arranged war zone, with many little wars that have swallowed and involved everything that Villacorta has and can use. The war zone that engaged and pulled into the chaos every single Chilean. And when you have to use all your armies in the war that someone brought directly to your door step, you have to make a mistake… and leave something else unprotected. Eliot made a whirlpool knowing that everyone’s eyes would be riveted on it… except mine.”
Hardison drew a slow breath, and let it out equally slow.
“It won’t help us. It won’t solve anything - but it will cause Villacorta to lose everything that he has, even if he managed to kill us,” Nate continued with a smile. “Eliot had told me that I couldn’t con a fired bullet. He was right. I can’t. But neither can Villacorta.”
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***
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The morphine was disappearing too slowly from his veins - the poor stuff didn't have much means of traveling in there, and he could almost imagine the little molecules of morphine that were jumping, cursing him, trying to jump over the gaps in his bloodstream.
He slowly raised his right hand, not looking at the right side of the car, and Tapia closed his mouth.
It was his third attempt to say something in the last twenty minutes, but Eliot didn’t regret that he let him out from the trunk when he had heard the screaming and tossing. Fighting the morphine was a lot easier when he had someone beside him, when he could concentrate on his simply being there. He wasn’t clean yet - the pale shadows had returned at the moment he dismissed all the voices from his head - they weren’t around him when there were only two of them. They were following the Hitter. And he knew why.
He was waiting.
Except for the occasional raising of his hand, he remained completely still, staring right in front of him, keeping both hands on his thighs, with his palms up and fingers slightly bend. Every five minutes he slowly looked down to check; they were still not shaking. He couldn’t say if it was a good or a bad sign.
Betsy’s advice helped with his breathing a little, returning it to the level just before his impact with Barclay, but it couldn’t help with his bleeding out. The former was more important now- in this phase, he had to be able to speak, not run. Then he realized how much she would be pissed… dear god, just imagining explaining to her how he got killed almost made him flinch, and it took fifteen seconds before he figured out what was wrong in that sentence. Focus, Spencer.
He felt the opening of Tapia’s mouth again, and again raised his hand. His tries were more frequent, and maybe it would be less difficult to listen to him, than to move his hand.
“What?” he said, the word coming out painfully rasped. Yep, he should speak as well, to smooth the edge.
“Can you park the car at some different angle? The sun is hitting directly in my eyes, and guess what, I have a headache.”
Poor Princess had a fucking headache. Jesus. He said nothing, he didn’t move nor turn his head to look at him. The sun was warm, and he had no intention of moving the car. He was freezing in spite of the fact that he kept a jacket over the suit. Besides, they were facing the park and the small patch of green right in front of the Challenger was helping his eyes.
“You’re scaring me.”
“Good.” Of course he was scaring him. Tapia sat beside a crazy guy with a gun, who was staring down into the meadow, still as a stone. As a matter of fact, he was scaring himself, too.
“You’re preparing yourself for something. Killing me?”
“That doesn’t need preparation.” The gasp that came from another side reminded him of the desperate measures and danger from desperate people. “No. I won’t kill you. You’re safe. Sit here just for a while, and after that you’ll walk free.”
Tapia shifted and sighed.
“What are you staring at?” he continued after just two minutes of silence.
“Invisible people. I’m drugged, remember?”
“Are they naked?”
“Wh-” he slowly turned his head to look at him, for the first time. “No. They’re dead.”
“Oh.”
Tapia said no more, and the blissful silence spread again.
He checked his fingers again. Nothing. Slowly, he returned his eyes to the grass in front of the car, keeping them low, only half open. Three small bushes surrounded the grass, shaped like triangles, and he made them a barrier for his eyes. Just grass, Spencer, nothing more for now. Just grass.
He should send a text message with instructions to Betsy - all this green reminded him of George and his inevitable withering. The only problem was that she would immediately send that number to Bonnano, and Patrick would find him before this all ended, and he didn’t need further complications. Besides, he had more important things to think of right now.
How to entwine all the loose ends.
How to play out every possible move on the board, both the black and white pieces.
How to control the pain and stop it from showing.
How to keep breathing for one more hour.
How to stop realizing what he had done.
How to stop counting how many people died.
How to stop wishing he was already dead.
Yep, one could say he was pretty busy.
The Challenger moved a little when Tapia shifted, trying to sit more comfortably, but it didn’t bring the nausea, a sure sign that the morphine was decreasing. The pain wasn’t a relevant sign, it remained the same no matter what the amount of morphine he had in himself. He spent the last fifteen minutes on only feeling it, analyzing it, trying to even the edges, and smoothing it a little… the occasional sharp stabbings that came without warning were dangerous. Even completely focused just on the pain, rigid and wary, he barely managed not to wince at the sudden ripping. He had to close it into one ball - a burning ball of red and orange pain whirling inside, with occasional outbursts, like the sun eruptions. Concentration would help him control those outbursts. If he was distracted, he might not be able to hide it in time. If he concentrated a little harder, he might manage to lessen it to simply unbearable, instead of the agony, and he might-
“Dead-dead, ugly dead, dead you’ve killed, half dead, something else, or all of the above?”
Thank you, Matio Tapia. The burning ball disappeared before his eyes with a silent ‘plop’. He slowly lowered his eyes, watching his hands. He wished he was able to sigh.
“What’s pretty dead?” he asked returning his gaze on the grass.
“What?”
“You said, ugly dead. Where did you see the pretty dead?”
“I was just trying to mask my real question - you killed those people?”
“Nope.”
“And you’re just seeing random dead?”
“Nope.”
“You’re not helping.”
“Nope.”
Tapia heaved a frustrated sigh, and much to his surprise, Eliot smiled. He carefully turned his wrist and looked at the watch. Almost there. And he was still breathing.
The pale shadows were almost invisible now, they were quickly dissolving, but he could still feel their eyes. Tapia had no idea. These weren’t the ghosts of the people he had killed. They would come later. They were never scaring him.
Those who were now standing at the edges of his vision… they had the power to destroy him.
“No, Tapia, I don’t see people I’ve killed,” he whispered. “I see people I’ve failed to save.”
He slowly raised his eyes from the watch to the wheel, then to the grass.
He kept them on the bushes for a moment, taking a careful deeper breath that stirred the burning ball.
Then he opened them completely, looking above the bushes, and as his eyes rose, the building on the edge of the park emerged slowly from the green that surrounded it, glittering in the morning sun.
He moved his right hand carefully, controlled, and put his sunglasses on.
.
***
.
.
Thank god it was a Sunday morning, and Lucille wasn’t facing dense traffic and jams full of people that were trying to get to work. Hardison was pretty sure Parker wouldn’t even notice it, much less slow down because of it, but it was easier this way.
They were all sitting at the back of the van, where the sun was coming only in reflections, and he still felt like they were stuck in the middle of the night that was still haunting them, sticking closely to every one of them, not letting them go.
He peeked outside only once, and was stunned when he saw daylight.
When he returned to the monitors, where all the info that Nate asked for was displayed, he again felt the stirring of the anxiety that shook him when he had noticed the first look that Nate and Sophie exchanged after Nate’d told them where they were going. There was… nothing in it. Two utterly empty stares, without any message and meaning, just two pair of eyes that met for one second. Yet, he knew that was an entire conversation in it.
Nate had called Patrick immediately upon their departure, and Bonnano was on his way, too, just five minutes behind them.
“Nate…” Hardison called reluctantly, and waited for him to draw his eyes from the data. “Without any preparation or any plans, you’re planning to take down a guy who outsmarted the FBI and IRS, with their year of preparation, in just one hour?”
“Nineteen minutes,” Nate said. His eyes were dead. “We have to calculate traveling back to Boston.”
“We entered Worcester, we are almost there!” Parker yelled from the front seat. “Do you want me to stop a block away, just in case?”
“Yes, Parker, that’ll be great.” Nate was checking the gun as he spoke, and Hardison swallowed. “You two will stay in Lucille. Sophie and I are going in there alone.”
“Bonnano clearly said there’s twenty Chileans that guard the man, day and night, and you two will just-” Hardison stopped and sighed, then went on quietly. “There would be twenty Chileans guarding him, and waiting for us, if they weren’t drawn back into Boston, into the whirlpool.”
“Precisely.” Nate put the gun in his pocket and smiled, a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.
“But what are you going to do? Find the evidence in his papers that will put Villacorta in prison? In nineteen minutes? The FBI combed through all of his papers, for months, and they’ve found nothing!”
“FBI has aggravating circumstances, Hardison. They are the law, and they have to play by the rules.” Nate exchanged another empty look with Sophie. “We are not. We are the bad guys.”
“No, Nate, this is wrong… you’ll do something wrong, I don’t like it.”
“No, it’ll be only strange.” Nate smiled again, the smile cold almost as his voice was. “We have a hitter who is doing the Danse Macabre - I’m thinking of telling him who, precisely was the real spider in this play, and whose webs were the most deadly… but I’m afraid he would be just pissed. As usual. And, on the other end, we have the mastermind who is running out of time, who now has only seventeen minutes to bring down a man who may later kill us all. Some sort of postponed revenge for our part.”
“Damn,” Hardison slowly exhaled. “Leave Sophie here and take me instead.”
“Don’t be silly,” Sophie tilted her head, but she didn’t smile, and her voice sounded strangely unknown for a second. “It’ll be over in a bit.”
Nate sounding resolute and deadly calm was sometimes terrifying thing to watch, Hardison thought watching her eyes… but seeing Sophie cold and stern was… brutal. Seeing Sophie plucking the bag, and taking a gun herself, was… indescribable.
“The thing is….” Nate continued. “Someone has to play out the Occam’s Razor, right? And now I only have time for the shortest way from A to B, so it’s the best solution. No plans, no cons… a simple in and out. Hit and run.”
“We’re here,” Parker said while stopping Lucille. “Trev Steel’s house is the fifth in the row, with a huge yard, that dark yellow one separated from the others. I would check those back yard buildings along the wood, that’s the place where his guards-”
“I know, Parker, thank you.”
Much to Hardison’s dismay, Nate nodded, and they both pulled their earbuds out.
“When Bonnano arrives, keep him here.”
Without any further word, they left, leaving him blind, deaf, and scared as shit.
.
***
.
.
The first two minutes Hardison spent biting his nails and searching through all the data they had on Trev Steel, reminding himself of Nate’s speech with Bonnano about the man who held all Villacorta’s business transactions in his hand, leaving a visible paper trail, full of clean and regular numbers. The FBI’s one year long investigation finished as a fiasco; the IRS was helpless. Villacorta was safe, completely safe.
The second two minutes he spent with the door of Lucille half open, listening, expecting to hear gunshots. Or much worse, bursts of a machine gun fire. How could they be sure Villacorta had pulled all of his guards? He would leave at least five, no matter how bad things were going around him in Boston - damn, this sounded like something that Eliot would say, maybe he learned more than he thought. Besides, the night was over, the fights would slowly cease, early morning wasn’t a common time for gang shootings, and everything would soon calm down. They’d be back on their duty. He took a gun and a kitchen knife, just in case, and prepared himself for running quickly. And killing, if necessary. Okay, maybe not killing, but certainly shooting and probable wounding of someone.
The third two minutes were interrupted when Bonnano arrived, swore and took the gun and the knife away from him, looking pretty desperate and pissed. He spent those minutes on explaining where Nate and Sophie were, and going around what they were going to do. Bonnano looked like they all felt; spent and pissed off at the same time, with all the traces of the grueling night carved into his face.
“Okay, and now repeat that, slowly,” Patrick rubbed the back of his neck, and sighed. “They are going to do what? Is tonight something special for your Leverage Inc? Do you have one night of the year reserved for utter madness, all of you, or there’s maybe more of it coming my way? Should I prepare myself for the next one, if any of you stay alive for that long? What on Earth he was thinki-”
“No time for thinking, Patrick,” Nate’s voice sounded harsh, and Hardison almost squeaked, stopping himself at the last moment. He quickly opened the door completely, revealing Nate and Sophie. “Time, Hardison.”
“Seven minutes,” he quickly checked. “But, what-”
“Patrick, this is Trev Steel.” Nate pulled before him a middle aged, fat man, and Hardison just blinked when he saw his eyes glazed with horror. “He would like to ask for your protection, for him and his family. His wife is in the house, and two kids are sleeping upstairs. If I may suggest a safe house first, and then going into a witness protection program?”
Bonnano just stared at him for almost a minute. Hardison knew exactly what he was thinking; the same incoherent thoughts were jumping around wildly in his head, too.
“Protection from what?” Bonnano asked quietly.
“From me.” Nate didn’t smile, and Steel shivered, taking an unsteady step back.
“In exchange for his safety,” Sophie said gently and for some reason, Hardison found her tone more vicious than Nate’s coldness. “He is willing to give you everything that the FBI and the IRS couldn’t find. Congratulations, Patrick, you’ve just put Villacorta behind bars. Will you now excuse us; we are in a little bit of a hurry.”
“Oh, btw, there are two Chilean…gardeners, that are sleeping in the back building. Maybe you should check on them, too,” Nate said while pushing Steel into Bonnano’s hands, and jumping into the van. “Move, Parker, I’m driving.”
A quiet squeak was heard from the front seat, and Bonnano blinked again. “Well, maybe I should take him away, before he changes his mind.”
“He won’t change his mind.” Sophie’s smile was brilliant this time, the most beautiful smile Hardison had seen in ages, and Trev Steel’s eyes rolled up and he fainted. Bonnano swore under his breath, pulling the man away from Lucille, waving to his men to come and take him away.
“See you later, Patrick,” Sophie nodded gently and got in the van, and Hardison pulled the door shut.
.
***
.
.
Nate ordered them all to go to the back, to sit in the dark and to try to rest while they could, if only keeping their eyes shut, but Hardison joined him in the front seat, leaving Sophie to sit with Parker. The thief was paler than ever. Driving might have been a pure joy, but it certainly hasn’t helped to ease the pain in her leg.
Nate glanced at the hacker who slurped the last drops of the orange poison from the bottle.
“That stuff really keeps you awake?”
The hacker squinted, staring directly into the bright sun that was low, right in front of them.
“What have you done?” he dismissed his attempt.
“Something that the law enforcement agencies couldn’t. Scared him and threatened him with his life. And his wife’s life. And with the lives of his children.”
“You didn’t-”
“No, we didn’t. But he thought we might, and that was all that took to break him.”
He watched the young man processing what he had said.
“Hardison…” he said a little softer. “Never underestimate desperate people.”
“You think he might-”
“No. I was talking about Sophie and me.”
Hardison thought about it for a while, then sighed. “I guess you’re right. But you should have taken me, not Sophie.”
“Sophie was the one who broke him. I was playing the good cop at the beginning.”
“And what now?” Hardison waved towards Boston, where they were heading.
“We started something that will take a long time to show any results, maybe even months. Patrick will simply make Steel disappear, Villacorta won’t know what happened to his accountant, but it has nothing to do with our problems. I’ve told you this wouldn’t solve anything, so just forget it happened at all. Though, if he manages to kill us, you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing he is going down soon.”
“I’m delighted,” Hardison murmured. “And how the hell are we getting out of this shit for good?”
“Two options. The first, Eliot will kill Villacorta.”
“And risk even deadlier revenge on us because of that? I don’t think so.”
“It’s all in the context, Hardison. A quiet assassination by Eliot Spencer would result in that, you’re right, he won’t do that. He’ll go to him, politely explain to him that Eliot Spencer doesn’t work with that bunch of losers anymore, and that he is there because it’s personal, and kill him. Eliot will either be killed by his men, or let himself get killed. The only way to bring closure to this.”
Hardison said nothing.
“The second option?” he quietly asked after a minute.
“There is one more thing that may end this, but… it’s impossible to say if he is even considering it as an option or not, because I don’t have insight in his detailed doings through last night. If he does… well, he is crazy enough to try it,” Nate smiled to himself. “Go into the back, Hardison, close your eyes for few minutes, we’ll need them very soon.”
“You told me about Eliot’s options. What about yours?”
“Just one. If he’s dead, and Villacorta alive, I’ll give Villacorta a real reason for wishing us all dead. He made a mistake - he made this personal.”
“If he’s dead… you know, I have problems with accepting that as a possibility,” Hardison hesitated. Nate’s phone rang and the hacker sighed, not finishing what he was going to say next.
“It seems you’re not the only one who has problems with accepting that possibility.” Nate gave him the sign to go back to the computers. “Good morning, Eliot.”
.
***
.
.
Hardison almost stumbled across Sophie, hurrying to put Eliot on speakerphone, but Nate stopped him, showing him his earbud. Eliot might hear the difference in the sound. He continued to drive with one hand, keeping his eyes on the street, knowing they would remain silent whatever they heard, and even if they did say something, he would be the only one to hear it.
“Damn. You shouldn’t… are you alone?”
“Yes, they’re not around, you may speak.” He quickly reminded himself why Eliot called him; Eliot knew that he wouldn’t buy the things he'd said to Hardison and Sophie, and that he would know why he had done it. For a few seconds, the only sound from the phone was the chirping of blackbirds in the background. “I presume you’re not calling us to pick you up somewhere?”
“Us, Nate?”
He bit his tongue, reminding himself to be more careful; the relief was making him reckless. “Cut the paranoia, will you? They are with Bonnano, Hardison is sorting Steel’s data for him. You don’t have much time, and you’re aware that retreat is now the best option. You should-”
“Worcester. Good. I was pretty sure you’d do it, but I had to check.” The first long sentence finally gave him the opportunity to listen to the way he spoke, finding his voice surprisingly steady. Yet, the sentence felt carefully formulated, as if Eliot had arranged what to say, taking into the account of amount of air that was needed for that. If Nate didn’t know the state he was in, he would surely be deceived. If he didn’t know the usual strength of his voice, he would surely think these spiritless, shallow words were normal for him. The only thing that reminded him of Eliot was the complete dismissal of his last sentence.
“You didn’t call to check that, Eliot,” he said, hesitating. Why the hell couldn’t he express the relief he felt? Or even the fear? Maybe Sophie was right in her bitching about words and feelings, and all that shit.
“No. I have one more thing to do to finish this. If I call you after one hour, I’ll explain everything. If I don’t… I’ve sent all the important things to one phone at my place - you’ll know all details of tonight. You’ll be able to use it later. Though, if I don’t call you, I suggest you take them, run away, and wait to see the results of taking Steel down. And when I say run, this time, for god’s sake, I don’t mean sneak into town and buy a fucking apartment.”
“You have to admit it was a smooth move,” he said lightly, with a smile, listening. After every sentence there was almost two seconds of silence.
“You sound too cheerful for this situation.” There was clear suspicion in Eliot’s voice now, and he could almost see him narrowing his eyes. “Where are you, indeed?”
Damn, he wanted to end this charade, finally, to speak with him freely, not having to think about every damn word, but he couldn’t. For his sake. If ever, now he had to maintain this, to keep him concentrated. Because he knew where he was, and what he was preparing himself to do, and every distraction, every twist in his thinking, could be deadly. So he smiled. And lied. “Relax. It’s not where I am, it’s what I hear. You don’t sound like someone who should have been dead for the last three hours.”
He didn’t like the hesitation before Eliot’s words. “I’ve solved a few problems with that-” he broke off. “How… Damn, I knew I should have erased those papers from the computer.” He liked his suddenly lighter tone much less. It sounded almost like a whisper.
“If I start on things which I should have done, your head will explode. But we can exchange our notes later.”
“Nope,” his reply was soft. “Not gonna happen.”
Nate stayed silent, pulling Lucille out of the traffic and stopping her, not sure if it was the best time to ask for clarification; he turned around to glance at the three of them, sitting in the back, in semi darkness. They were listening breathlessly.
His mouth went dry. “I guess the solving of those problems was just temporary?”
“It gave me a few more hours… I had to stretch them very sparingly. I met certain obstacles that needed removing, and it didn’t go as well as it should.”
“How long?”
“One hour… maybe. Still enough time to finish this.”
“Or still enough time to go and have some help?”
“It’s FUBAR, Nate, you can trust me on this. Too late for help,” he hesitated a moment. “Don’t tell them the truth, Nate. Let them think I’ve just left, and got killed somewhere, not connected to the team. You know why, I don’t have to explain.”
“In fact-”
“Nate! You know it’s the best for them. I want you to promise me that you won’t tell them.”
“Okay. I’ll let them think whatever they’re thinking about it.”
“Thank you. Remember, the phone at my place.”
“Eliot, don’t hang-”
It was too late, the line was dead.
He slowly lowered the phone, looking at the three pale faces. He cleared his throat, returning his voice into controlled shape.
“Cheer up.”
They just continued to watch him, not bothering to reply to that.
“What? Yes, it sounded bad. It is bad. But we’ve been through worse in these three days, almost four now, and it’ll be over and finished in the next hour. You should be relieved.”
Their stares became perplexed.
“I didn’t mean to say it’ll be finished because he’ll be dead in an hour,” he tiredly rubbed his forehead. “I was trying to say… well, my bad.” He got up and opened the side doors of Lucille, letting the sun hit them all. “I forgot to tell you.”
The first thing they noticed was the sound of the chirping blackbirds that entered along with the sunshine.
The second, only fifty meters away, parked in the same line as Lucille, was Eliot’s Challenger, glowing red orange in the light. It was empty, but it was finally there.
Nate smiled. “I think this is the time when I say: Let’s go steal ourselves an Eliot.”