All Disclaimers Apply


Billy Sage was running on pure adrenaline. Since hooking up with Malcom Freeman and his right hand man, Josh Quinn, he'd had nothing but excitement. They'd taken the ex-con under their wing and molded him into the first class criminal that he could now proudly claim to be. So when Quinn had asked him to help out on their leader's liberation, he'd had no reservations about saying yes. That was until he'd been forced to work as a fry cook for the likes of Frank Gallapagos for three consecutive weeks of hell. The nineteen year-old was ready for a change in careers and when the moment came he wasn't about to let anything or anyone stand in his way.

Especially, some punk cop he'd pegged as a pig the moment he'd walked in the door, despite the amusing attempt at a disguise. It didn't help the man any that Billy recognized the black dude he was with. Sergeant Victor Boone had busted him when he was just a kid, and now Billy was going to get the chance to repay him. By killing his partner.

Boone didn't go down when Ezra punched him, instead he stumbled once and shook his head, giving the southerner a confused look when they both heard the gunshot go off.

When Vin had seen the flash of metal that had quickly emerged from the fry cook's smock, he'd plowed into Van Halen with enough intensity to send them both crashing towards the small bar that separated Athena's into two distinct sections. They hit the marble floor hard and then slid to a halt beneath the plant-lined divider. At first, Tanner had thought that by some miracle things had worked out as he'd planned, but the fiery pain slowly igniting along his side screamed in protest against that foolish notion. As an agony free darkness fought to claim him, one thought chased him into oblivion. Chris was going to be pissed.

"Shit!" Boone swore loudly as he watched the two men in front of him hit the floor and land in a tangled, non-moving heap. He glanced up in time to see the suit that had hit him move towards the gun he'd just dropped and he reached out to stop him, when another shot echoed around them and shouts followed.

Ezra didn't pay attention to the cries and screams around him. He had only one thing on his mind. Only one image burned into his brain. Vin was down, and Standish needed to help him. Getting to Boone's gun would be one way to do that.

Unfortunately, one voice did penetrate his confused thoughts.

"I said get down or I blow this kid's fu**in' brains all over the godd**m floor."

Buck Wilmington's shouts were too hard for Ezra to ignore. "Let him go, you son of a bitch!"

Standish looked up in time to see a tall, lanky blond in a black suit reach down and jerk JD up from where he'd apparently been lying on the floor near the doorway.

The question of why JD was lying on the floor just barely had time to register in Standish's mind when he saw the ever growing stain of crimson spreading across the front of the kid's shirt.

It matched the one maligning Vin's back, and Ezra had to fight the wave of panic that threatened to shatter his perfected facade of neutralism.

"I'd advise you listen to Quinn, pretty boy." A red-headed kid younger than JD, the one Ezra had inadvertently 'saved' in fact, now stood behind Boone, a gun pressed to the black man's side . He grinned at the ATF agent. "Unless you want to witness a little redecorating."

Standish let his hand hover slightly above the gun he was reaching for, but a gasp of pain from JD as the terrorist gave him a violent shake, and a soft moan in the direction of where Vin was lying had him standing up and stepping away from the weapon. Away from his one chance of retaliation.

Forced from his one desperate attempt to regain control, Ezra straightened his jacket and pulled his mask of security back into place. "If I were going to go to all this trouble to commit an act of armed robbery, I do believe I would have chosen a more wealthy establishment than a diner. No offense to Mr. Gallapagos, but I dare say he has enough funds here to justify delivering a black eye, less on committing murder." Ezra smiled at Billy. "I could point you to the bank around the corner, if you'd like."

"Shut up!" The order came from the blond and Ezra refocused his attention on the man who still had a death grip on JD. "We aren't here for any penny ante pot, we have bigger fish to fry. We're just securing our entrance fee into a much bigger game."

Ezra knew exactly what was going on. He'd know from the moment he got a good look at the suits. That was after they had already gunned down Vin, of course, but he'd deal with that apology later. Besides, after seeing the look on Boone's face, he was sure Chris wasn't going to be the only one he'd be answering to. "So, are we to take it that we've just became a part of some elaborate scheme of intrigue?"

"You could say that. You are going to help us free a very important man from a wrongful imprisonment." The blond motioned for one of his men to retrieve the weapon Ezra had been after and then shoved JD roughly towards Buck. "But we'll have time to discuss that later. Right now, I want some things taken care of."

Buck, who'd easily caught his best friend and eased him to the floor, glared up at the man. "We have people who need to be taken care of. We need a doctor."

The blond ignored him. "I want anyone who is not a cop or agent, or judge," feral blue eyes swept towards Judge Helms, "to go with Mr. Meyers, here."

Quinn motioned to a short, balding man on his right, who stepped forward and began herding a few older customers and a pregnant woman towards the back of the diner.

"Don't forget pops, here." Billy laughed as he motioned to Mr. Gallapagos who was being helped from the floor by one of his daughters. "I don't think we'd get much for him."

Quinn addressed the boy with an icy stare. "Billy, start collecting ID's. I want to know who exactly we do have before we make contact. Do you understand?"

"Right boss."

With that, a flurry of activity began around them. Two of the terrorists pulled all the shades in the restaurant and locked the door as two others gathered what was left of Athena's customers together and moved them to one side of the diner.

"What about the wounded?" Buck spoke again. JD was conscious but in shock and the dazed and confused look on the kid's face wasn't helping the incredible worry building in his big brother. Not to mention the fact that Wilmington was sure that Vin had been hurt too. Right now, his only concern was helping his partners, his family. He could care less about what was going on around them. Quinn didn't answer his question, but Wilmington was startled from his thoughts when a fellow patron placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm a doctor." A black man in a three piece suit, with graying hair and a beard knelt in front of JD and handed Wilmington a handful of cloth napkins. "Hold these against the wound while I get my bag. I'll be right back." He had a slight southern accent, not as strong as Ezra's and his reassuring smile reminded Buck of Nathan. With another pat to Buck's shoulder , the man pushed himself upright once more and started for the booth he'd been sitting in before the commotion started.

"Where do you think you are going?" Quinn reached for the doctor's arm as he strode past him, but stopped as if he'd been burned before making contact with the older man.

"Mr. Freeman?" Surprise registered on the henchman's face and he took a reflexive step back. "My God, I had no idea that you were in here."

"And would it have made a difference if you had known, Josh?" Lawrence Freeman shook his head at the befuddled look on the fool's face, but kept moving. He could not believe that his son was yet again a part to more bloodshed, even from behind bars.

"Did he say Freeman?" JD asked softly, trying to ignore the intense burning in his left shoulder, that had only been made worse by Wilmington's necessary ministrations.

"Shhh, kid, don't talk." Buck rested his free hand on his partner's forehead, and met the anxious eyes of Neil Harris, who was kneeled beside them. "Doesn't matter who the man is as long as he helps us."

"He might do more harm than good." Neil glanced from Wilmington to his own partner, Sam. If Freeman was related to the Malcom Freeman they all knew, he couldn't be nothing but trouble.

"Like someone with a gun who doesn't know when to keep it holstered." Buck's words were low but deadly.

In his heart he knew that Harris, being the ATF agent that he was, wasn't thinking when he'd pulled his weapon and aimed it at the five gunmen who'd barged into Athena's, but merely reacting out of instinct. Still, seeing his best friend take the bullet that was meant for the over zealous man hadn't helped solidify that notion any.

"Easy Wilmington," Sam started, taking a quick glance at the chaos around them before meeting the mustached man's dark gaze, "make sure you choose your battles wisely. We're on the same side here."

"Yeah, Buck," JD moved his head so that he could look at his roommate, "ain't Neil's fault I can't dodge speeding bullets like some people we know."

Leave it to JD to be able to make Buck laugh in the middle of a goddamn hostage situation. "Yeah, well we can't all be star of the show, kid." Wilmington winced in sympathy as a slight shudder ran through the younger agent. "Next time, I'll lend you my cape."

JD glanced at Harris and then smiled at Buck before finally let his eyes close. "Nah, next time, I'll just let them shoot Neil."

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

Ezra and Boone had finally made it to their friends after Billy had sauntered off to follow orders. Both men carefully eased Vin from atop Van Halen and Ezra inwardly flinched as he took in the even larger crimson stain on the front of Tanner's shirt.

The sharpshooter groaned and his eyes fluttered open as Ezra slid him away from Boone so he could lay him out flat on the floor. "Easy, Vin."

"Ez? Wh..what happened?"

"Your friend got you shot, that's what the hell happened." Boone growled, as he tried to assess what injuries still had his friend unconscious.

Standish ignored the comments and quickly stripped his coat off, which he used to press against the exit wound on Vin's lower abdomen.

"Shit!" Tanner hissed, and tried to push his partner's hands away.

"I'm sorry." Ezra gave his friend a sympathetic smile. "Just be glad Mr. Jackson isn't here to tell me to apply more pressure."

Vin tried to smile. "Or Chris." His smile faltered some at the mention of his best friend's name. "He's worse than Nate."

"Ah yes," Standish returned the weak grin, "I think he tends to get a little riled when you find yourself in need of medical assistance."

"He's gonna be 'really riled' ..this time, huh?"

Ezra knew what his friend was asking, and he rushed to reassure him. "Nonsense, our fair leader may be a little perturbed, but once you're up and around I'm sure he'll return to his normal jovial self."

"Uh huh."

"If he has to work with you, I doubt that he is ever in a very good mood." Boone had located the source of his partner's injury, and despite his relief at not finding a bullet wound, but a nasty gash on the side of the head instead, he was still not happy with Standish.

"How's Van Halen?" Vin asked weakly, straining to see the other man. "Did I get him out of the way in time?"

Boone looked up from his task of trying to stop the free-flowing wound centered above his friend's temple. His expression softened some when he met the pale blue eyes of the man who'd just saved his partner's life. "His name is Tray, and you did good. Especially, considering what the cowboy here pulled." Dark, angry eyes now locked on Ezra. "What the hell did you think you were doing? Was that your idea of playing hero? I could have taken Billy out."

Ezra's green gaze met the other mans and then he nodded towards Tanner. "Vin's the cowboy and the hero, I'm the resident fuck-up. Just ask our boss."

"Not your fault, Ez." Tanner shook his head. "We didn't know they were cops."

"Detectives actually," a slurred voice replied, and both Boone and Ezra looked at the man who had spoken.

Trayven Mackalister managed to force both his eyelids open despite the fact that they suddenly seemed to weigh the equivalent of gold bars.

"Damn it, Tray! How many times I told you not to jump head first into things. I swear I'm applying for a transfer as soon as we get out of this mess." Boone appeared in the younger man's field of vision, his anxious face belaying his harsh words.

Tray struggled to push himself up, while trying to figure out why there was now two Victor Boones leaning over him instead of the one and only original. "You've been saying that for three years now."

"Yeah well, this time I mean it." Boone reached out to steady the younger man. "How's your head?"

"About as good as it was that time I let you talk me into going to Marti Gras with those two college girls and I ended up with nothing but a stolen wallet and a hangover form hell."

Victor rolled his eyes. "I think you've got that backwards, Mackalister. I tried to talk you out of that little fiasco."

"Gentlemen, I do hate to interrupt your little reminiscing session," Ezra kept his voice low as he split his energy between Vin and focusing on the situation at hand, "but it seems to me that we have found ourselves in a rather delicate predicament, to say the least, and that it might be to our advantage to procure some sort of course of action if we are to escape this without further scathing."

Tray raised one eyebrow and tried not to think about how his skull seemed hell bent on splitting apart or the energy that it took for the slick-spoken man to say what he had. "Huh?"

"We're in deep shit, and we need a plan." Vin managed the words between clenched teeth. His side was killing him, and right now he'd have given anything to be sitting back in the boring courtroom with Larabee watching Buck and JD make suggestive shadow puppets on the wall.

"I've seen how your friend works and I'm not so sure I care to join up on any team he's playing for?" Victor looked skeptically at Standish. "What are you anyway, a lawyer?"

Vin would have laughed at the detective's deduction, if he hadn't known how bad it would have hurt.

"Considering my lack of judgment earlier, I will let that slanderous comment pass without retribution, but I happen to be a federal agent." Ezra didn't try to hide his displeasure with Boone's assumption and his over use of extravagant words told Vin all he needed to know about the amount of patience the southerner had left.

"FBI?" Victor shook his head. "I should have known. That's even worse."

"ATF," Standish countered.

"Nice to hear it," a voice rang from above and all four men glanced up to see Quinn standing over them. "I always felt that a little variety was good."

"I know he's a cop, Quinn." Billy had joined his boss now and pointed an accusing finger at Victor. "He works for the Denver PD. His name is Victor Boone, and this schmuck is probably his partner."

"It's Detective Boone," Tray replied with a serious look in Billy's direction. "And that's 'Mr. Schmuck' to you Chef-boy-ardee."

The kid's face flushed with anger and he raised his gun in Tray's direction, but Quinn put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "He's just trying to push your buttons, Bill. We have work to do, remember? Malcom's counting on us. Get the rest of their names and move whoever you can back to the cooler. I think it's time we let some more people in on our little secret."

***********

"Where the hell are they? I told them 30 minutes to get lunch, then we had 30 minutes to eat. It has now been 45 minutes and still...no food!" Chris paced the lobby of the federal building frantically, stopping only briefly to glare at the two remaining members of Team 7.

"Look Chris, I'm sure they'll be here soon. You know how crowded Athena's can be this time of day." Josiah stared calmly at the man in front of him, having already heard this particular tirade for the past fifteen minutes. Testifying in a hearing to persuade jurors as to why a man who'd been responsible for countless deaths, including that of two federal officers, should be sentenced to the most severe penalty possible was enough to weigh on any man. But to a man like Chris Larabee, who often viewed the world in the stark colors of black and white, in clear cut terms of right and wrong, it was extremely frustrating, to say the least. To describe Team Seven's leader as annoyed would have been a grandiose understatement.

"Josiah's right. They know better than to keep Judge Reinhart waiting." Or you, Nathan thought, pulling slightly on the blue tie around his neck and glancing hopefully toward the double doors leading to the outside.
"He's so strict about time he doesn't even leave the courthouse for lunch."

"I know how crowded the cafe can be, but I also know those four. Buck's flirting with every female in there, JD's trying to get him to leave, Ezra's trying to get away from Mr. Gallapagos before he finally gives in to the man's plea for marriage to one of his daughters, and Vin is waiting for the ungodly amount of food he's ordered."

Larabee stopped as he realized that although what he said could be true of his men under other circumstances, none of it was likely given their current situation. His team could be goof balls sometimes, hell, most of the time, but when it came to their jobs, there wasn't a bunch of more professional men anywhere. No, he somehow knew deep in his gut that things were amiss or his team would have been here on schedule. They knew Judge Reinhart's policy on punctuality, and they understood the importance of this hearing. Something was definitely wrong. But before he could voice his concerns to his early rampage, a bailiff exited the judge's private chamber and headed their way.

"Gentlemen, excuse me for interrupting, but the judge needs to see you in chambers immediately." The husky man took a half turn back the way he had came and waited for the three ATF agents to follow.

"What about our other men?" Larabee gave the officer a suspicious look, hoping for some kind of explanation before following.

"I'm sorry, but their presence is not expected. Please...this way." He motioned slightly with his hand, then began walking.

Josiah and Nathan stood up, giving their leader a bewildered gaze. "What did he mean, not expected?" Jackson turned from one man to the other.

"I'm afraid we're going to find out." Sanchez patted the ex-medic on the shoulder then fell into the lead.

"Damn, I have a really bad feeling about this." Chris shut his eyes quickly, trying to erase the horrible images threatening to bombard his brain. "A really bad feeling."

The three walked slowly in the bailiff's wake, trying to forestall news they were confident wasn't good, but their curiosity and concern was able to outweigh the fear, and so they went.

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

The chamber was spacious and comfortable but the tension that emanated from it as the three agents walked in was thick enough to cut with a knife. They were not the only ones awaiting to hear from the judge. As Chris let his gaze sweep the room he recognized all but two of the other men.

Captain Juan Santos, DPD SWAT; and Agent Fred Deakens, FBI; were well known, but the two young men dressed in SWAT attire were unfamiliar faces.

"Judge, you wanted to see us." Larabee stepped forward, extending a hand to the elderly man behind the desk. Judge Reinhart was a personal friend of Judge Travis. They had come through the ranks together, even gone to law school together, and Team Seven had worked with the veteran judiciary many times before.

"Yes, and I wish it was under better circumstances." The judge shook Chris's hand. " I assume you have identified the others here, so I'll get straight to the point. We have a hostage situation on our hands. It seems Malcolm Freeman's followers have taken over Athena's cafe. At least two men are injured." Reinhart paused, wanting to give the members of Team Seven a chance to take in what he had said. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to break the news to them gently. He cleared his throat before he continued. "Agent Deakens has already spoken to the terrorists and has heard their demands. He was also able to get the identifications of the two wounded. Agents Vin Tanner and JD Dunne." The explosion wasn't unexpected by the occupants of the room, but the intensity behind the exclaim had them all flinching.

"WHAT!!!!" Larabee knew that he should stay calm, but right now his temper was doing all the thinking. He couldn't believe what he was hearing and was even more astounded at why his men and he had been kept in the dark. "How long ago did this happen?" He leaned towards the judge's desk, but stayed far enough away as to not touch it.

"About 20 minutes." The answer came from the captain of the SWAT team. "We wanted to gather as much information as possible before alerting you." Santos knew this man's reputation and also knew that a damn badge didn't matter if someone he cared for was involved.

"Excuse me if I don't thank you. What I want to know is how bad?" Chris stood up to his full height and approached the man.

Santos cleared his throat, glancing at the dark -haired man to his right before answering. "We haven't been able to obtain the extent of your mens' injuries, but we do know that they're four to five gunmen inside the cafe. They are holding at least 15 hostages, all ranging from beat cops to a federal judge, to innocent bystanders."

Larabee sighed, raking a hand over his face, hating that the feeling he had earlier was correct. "What exactly is their demands?"

This time the FBI agent, Deakens, was the one to answer. "I'm afraid that information is on a need to know basis, and Mr. Larabee, you don't need to know." A small smirk crossed the man's face, which quickly vanished as Chris stepped towards him.

Luckily, Josiah and Nathan had expected something like this, so were prepared to grab their leader as he moved forward. It took Josiah's strong grip to keep Chris from the FBI guy's throat, but it was the judge's words that stopped him cold and brought him back to his usual calm demeanor.

"He's right Chris. I hate to do this, but you and your men are ordered to not get involved in this. I only asked you here out of respect." Reinhart got up and turned to face Deakens. "I want this dealt with soon, Mr. Deakens. I don't plan on letting Freeman or his men get away with such an act of terrorism. They will not set an example for others. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, your honor." Fred nodded once and with another satisfied glance in Larabee's direction left the room.

"And Mr. Santos, I expect you to make sure this doesn't turn into a blood bath." The judge grabbed his robe and slipped it on, then pinned the captain with a hard look. "All I need is for those Civil Liberties activists to get a hold of this and make it out to be some sort of Waco, or Ruby Ridge. Do you understand?"

"I'll do my best, your honor." Santos nodded and then turned to Chris. "We'll keep you informed, Larabee." With that said he also left, followed by the two men younger men flanking his side.

Reinhart finally stepped toe to toe with Chris. "As for you Mr. Larabee, I do know how you must feel right now and I also know you will not sit back and watch. Oren has shared enough stories with me that I'm not foolish enough to believe that you'll 'actually' listening to what I'm saying. So, I'm only going to tell you this once. Do not, I repeat, do not let this turn into a departmental war. Those men that just left here are professionals, much

like you. So as a respect to me, give them a chance. Let us try to find a way to get all of our people out safely."

Larabee stared at the man in front of him, weighing the words said carefully. "All right your Honor, but I can't promise you anymore than that." The two men shook hands, then Reinhart left.


Chris glanced over his shoulder to Jackson and Sanchez, motioning for them to follow him. The three exited out of the chamber into the now empty courtroom.



"What are we gonna do?" Josiah had seen the wheels turning behind his friend's smoldering green eyes and knew that a plan was brewing.

But Sanchez wasn't allowed an answer, as another voice broke in, "Whatever it is, I want in."

The three men swung their attention towards the unexpected intruder, hands hovering over their weapons. They were surprised to find one of the SWAT men from the chamber standing there.

"What'd you say?" Chris looked the young man up and down. He was definitely the SWAT member that had been in the chambers with Santos. He didn't look much older than JD, but he didn't look as 'young' as JD either. His dark hair and black eyes gave him an ominous look, especially with the SWAT uniform he was wearing.

"If you have a plan, I want to help you."

"What makes you think we have a plan? We were just ordered off the case, or are you hard of hearing?"

Chris turned back to Josiah and Nathan, dismissing the officer with a snort of disgust.

"I know 'who' you are." The young man pushed his way in, not about to give up. It wasn't in his nature. "I know about the Magnificent Seven. Everyone on the force knows your reputation." He stepped closer to Chris. "I also know it would be out of character for you to sit back and let the FBI risk the lives of part of your team."

Chris raked a hand through his short hair. "You seem to have all the answers."

Despite the young features, Nathan caught a glimpse of something dangerous behind the glare thrown in his leader direction.

"So why would you want to help us?" Jackson glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one else had entered the room without them noticing.

"There are hostages in there. I want to see them get out alive. It's my job."

"I thought your job was to follow Captain Santos' orders." Josiah crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow in the officer's direction. "It seems to me by working with us, you'd be in direct violation of your sworn duty."

The man didn't say anything at first, but something in his confident stance changed and it was as if he removed the perfected mask of stoicism that seemed a permanent part of his wardrobe. Worry filled his face and his voice lowered. "My brother's in there."

"Your brother?" Josiah asked, his own countenance softening.

"Trayven Mackalister. He's a detective with special crimes."

Nathan glanced from Chris to Josiah and then back to the SWAT member. "How do you know that he's in there?"

"The same way we know about your team. These men knew what they were doing. They pulled every ID in there and gladly gave us a detailed list of the hostages."

"Why are you telling us this?" Larabee still didn't appear interested.

"I told you. My brother's in there."

Josiah rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "We heard you the first time, son. I think what Chris is trying to say is what do you think we can do about it."

"And why aren't you working with your own team?" Nathan added.

The officer turned on Chris. "They wouldn't let you all in on this operation and you aren't even related to the hostages. Do you honestly think that they will let me any where near that place."

"Probably not." Nathan sighed, when Larabee didn't reply.

"But why should we want you with us?" Chris was not known for holding anything back, especially in a crisis situation.

The officer didn't look put off. "Because I know what the demands are. I know that the FBI boys are not going to be able to come up with them in time, even if they were willing to. Which as you've seen, they're not."

"That's information we can get from any lackey."

"But can you get five million dollars and a chopper from your lackeys?"

Chris gave the man a disbelieving look. "And I'm suppose to believe that you're capable of providing those things?"

"I am."

"You're either the best paid cop, or a really good liar, son." Josiah scratched at his chin. "You want to let us in on which one it is."

"I never lie."

"Wait a minute." Nathan held up a hand, and stared at the dark-haired man for a moment. "What did you say your brother's name was?" Something was tugging at the back of the medic's mind. Something he remembered reading just that morning.

The serious expression on the younger man's face never wavered. "Tray Mackalister. I'm Ethan Mackalister."

"Mackalister!" Jackson snapped his fingers. "As in Davis Mackalister. The business mogul that just purchased T& R Airlines with the pocket change from his takeover of Billings Industry."

"The same," Ethan answered calmly as if being the son of one of the richest men in the world was no more unusual than, well, being a police officer.

"Even if you can get what these idiots want, what makes you think that Deakens is going to let us anywhere near these men." Chris was more willing to listen now, but he still wasn't convinced.

The first hint of a smile tugged at Mackalister's face. "I know that nobody 'lets' the Magnificent Seven do anything."

"So, Jeeves, I guess no matter what we throw at you, you're going to have an answer for us." For the first time since the meeting in the judge's chamber, Chris was starting to see a way out of this situation.

"If it means getting my brother out of there alive."

"Don't have much faith in the system, do you, Ethan?" Josiah laughed shortly.

Mackalister shook his head sharply. "I'd rather put my money on a sure thing."

"Learn that from your father?" Nathan asked.

"No." Ethan gave the medic a hard look. "The black jack table."

Part 3