The Cutting Demon

Rating: PG

Author's Notes: I started this back in 2001, it went on the back burner and I have recently been revisiting the M7 universe and my muse decided it was time to finish this one. HUGE thanks to my beta, Tipper. This is dedicated to Susan (SFulton229), for always saying she revisited my M7 OW fic "The Devil's Night" around Halloween. Somewhere, up there, she's at a card table...winning strip poker against the boys.

Disclaimer: Nothing owned by me (except the ATF universe, but I let everyone play in the sandbox so it doesn't matter).

...

PART ONE

-March 1983, San Diego-

"Good Evening, I'm Bree Bushaw and this is KGTV-10 News Live at Eleven. In our top story tonight, local police are investigating the deaths of two unidentified men whose mutilated bodies were found in a park near State Route 52.

"The Medical Examiner's office stated that the two male victims, both in their early to mid-thirties, were found around one p.m. Saturday by three tourists who were horseback riding at the Mission Trails Regional Park. Though not confirmed, an anonymous police source indicated the bodies showed signs of electrocution and possible torture, and that the deaths may be connected to recent drug and weapons trafficking activity and an on-going joint investigation between the FBI and the DEA.

"At the state capitol today…"

...

-Present Day-

-Wednesday, morning-

"Well, paint him yellow and call him the sun!" Buck announced, making a show of looking at his watch as Ezra walked into the bullpen. "Look who's here!" Reclined in his office chair with boot heels propped up on his desk, his exuberance flaunted the fact that he was perfectly fine with mornings. He called out to Josiah and Nathan to be witnesses, "Chris owes me a dollar."

Buck popped up from his chair and strode forward to meet Ezra as he made his way to the cluster of desks from which Team Seven operated. He fell in step beside the southerner and lightly laid a hand on the other man's forehead. "You feeling alright?"

Ezra swatted Buck's arm away and mumbled non-threateningly, "Get away from me."

The offending hand, however, entangled and inspected Ezra's wrist. "Your watch broke, pard?" Buck smiled wider as his friend pulled away. "You do know it's only 7:50, don'tcha?"

Ezra dropped his leather portfolio on his desk and slumped into his chair, not bothering to remove his wool, charcoal-colored overcoat. He addressed the young man exiting the small conference room adjacent to their team leader's office. "JD, will you collar him, please."

JD offered an apologetic wince. "I would, Ez, but I hear Buck actually likes that sort of thing."

Buck waited for his friend to pass by, and then attempted to swat the ever-present, backward newspaper boy cap from JD's head. The youth deftly ducked out of the way and Buck looked impressed. "Finally putting them quick reflexes of yours to good use."

The youngest member of Chris's team flashed a cocky grin. "Just call me 'Lightning' Dunne."

Buck eyed him with mock sincerity. "That's your nickname? And all this time we've been calling you 'Lights Are On But Nobody's Home' Dunne."

Ezra took a sip from the tall, stainless steel Starbucks travel cup wrapped in his hand and sunk lower in his chair, closing his eyes. "If I didn't know better, I would honestly believe Chris schedules briefin's at this hour simply to annoy me."

From his computer, Nathan responded to the comment without bothering to look away from the document he worked on. "I'm sure that's what it is, Ezra, a personal attack against you."

The southerner replied in a sleepy voice. "Ya see, even Nathan agrees with me."

Seated at the desk facing Nathan's, Josiah glanced up. "Hell has frozen over."

The elevator at the far end of the room chimed and seconds later Chris and Vin navigated the same path Ezra had taken through the bullpen, each of them carrying a large cardboard storage box.

"Morning, ladies," Chris said. The team leader glanced down at Ezra's slumped form. "Buck, looks like I owe you a dollar."

Ezra opened his eyes just long enough to answer. "Oh, ye of little faith."

Josiah clarified, "That would be 'Oh, ye of much experience.'"

Chris smiled at the reply, his expression sliding into a mischievous grin as he hefted his records box onto Vin's. The other man buckled slightly under the added weight and shot his friend a caustic look.

"Well my experience," Chris said, "tells me that I'm sure by the time I grab my coffee and get into the conference room you boys will have already gotten yourselves there." He started for the breakroom and Buck lifted a coffee mug toward him.

"Get me a refill?"

"I ain't nobody's mother."

Buck withdrew his mug and waited until Chris was farther away before muttering under his breath, "He may not be anybody's mother but for years people have been calling him a motherfu-"

Without turning around, Chris called back a warning. "Buuuuuck…"

Buck rolled his eyes in disbelief. "What's he got… dog ears?"

...

Chris slid a thick manila folder with a handful of black and white photographs in it to the middle of the conference room table. "Alright, Standish, you're about to earn those four months easy detail you just had."

The southerner looked vaguely put-out. "I thought I 'earned' those four months in the twobefore them that I logged workin' u.c. on the Stocker assignment while you all had that cush arson case in Albuquerque."

Josiah pulled a couple of photos from the dossier on the table and replied to Ezra. "Feast or famine, brother."

"I see nothin' wrong with a plague of locusts."

"Bullshit," stated Buck, "you're driving us nuts."

Vin, seated across the table from JD, Buck and Ezra confirmed the statement. "Sorry, Ez. He nailed ya. You're itchin' for 'the zone.' Ya get all twitchy."

Ezra's expression of incredulity only increased. "You make it sound like I'm…I'm some sort of…adrenaline addict. I do not get 'twitchy.' What…what is that? 'Twitchy'…what does that mean? Help me out here, Nathan."

Nathan offered an apologetic look to the man sitting diagonally from him. "That is twitchy. And they're right."

"Which brings us to why we're here…." Chris gestured to the two boxes stacked on a chair behind him. Buck, seated to the right of Ezra, reached forward and spread the remaining surveillance photos from the manila folder around the table.

The moment Ezra saw one of the pictures, he leaned forward in his chair and stared at it but seemed unwilling to touch the photo. "My, my…I see we're feelin' ambitious, Mr. Larabee." The southerner's brow furrowed and he glanced at the team leader. "He's back in the country?"

"Who is 'he'?" asked Buck.

Chris answered both men in the same sentence. "Yes, he is, Ezra, and 'he', Buck, is Ian Maxwell Vargas."

Buck studied the man in the photos as Chris talked. Well-defined cheekbones, a thin nose and an angular jawline combined with gray, slicked-back hair to produce an image of harsh indifference.

"Dutch national, born 1947, his mother was American. He also goes under the names Ian Maxwell and Ian Vargaschott. Inherited the family import/export business from his father, who is said to have made the company very successful thanks to dealing with the Nazis. Vargas capitalized on those connections and used them to build the business after he took it over from his father."

"I'm hatin' this guy already," Vin said.

"It gets better," Ezra quietly drawled.

Chris continued. "He expanded into light weapons and small arms; and eventually showed up on a lot of international law enforcement radars in the '90s when he, like a lot of the lesser players in the small arms market, sucked all they could out of both the government and the guerrillas in Rwanda."

"I take it he didn't stay small," Nathan said.

"We don't get that lucky," Chris answered. "According to the FBI, his dual-citizenship has made it very difficult to keep track of him, which has made it tough to get enough evidence to build a case against him. Apparently, he's very popular with the South Koreans, the Colombians, and apparently, the entire country of El Salvador."

"What does he do," JD dryly asked, "offer a '10th Gun Free' punchcard?"

Chris didn't dismiss the question. "It's looking more like get the sixth one free. FBI started building a new case because, according to them, he's been very active since showing back up in their sights about four months ago. They've been working with the DEA, following lines between Colombia and Telluride, which brings everybody to our neck of the woods."

Ezra leafed through the dossier, as if looking for something specific. He closed it with a deliberate motion and added a piece of information to Chris's summary. "He's been out of the U.S. scene since the early '80s."

Josiah eyed the southerner. "You were barely in your teens in the early '80s."

Ezra didn't look at the man seated across from him. His eyes were back on the surveillance photo he had viewed a moment earlier. With a fingertip, he slid it closer and studied the face in the grainy, enlarged picture. "The only reason I know of him is because of Academy case study. As in, what can happen if you screw up when you're under."

His brow creased briefly and he ran the tip of his tongue along his lower lip. A second later he took a sip of coffee. Judging from those actions, Josiah wondered if Vargas represented some sort of boogey man for Federal u.c. agents.

JD leaned forward on the table. "What do you mean?"

With his focus still on the photograph, Ezra answered, "Long story short, around '82, '83 a couple of DEA agents out of San Diego were involved in an 18-month-long multi-agency investigation. They got careless, the case went up in smoke. Autopsies determined the pair was tortured with beatings and electrocution before being castrated and having the flesh from their backs skinned off, all while they were still alive."

Ezra's tone remained detached as he continued. "Nothin' hard linked the murders directly to Vargas but it's strongly suspected he was an active participant. By the time the bodies were found he was believed to be somewhere in the Netherlands. Like Chris said, he's supposedly still quite active in Southeast China and South America but this is the first I've heard of him comin' back here."

Ezra caught the eye of the team's youngest member. "Lesson for you, JD, never under-estimate the enemy."

Nathan tapped his pen on the notepad in front of him. "So why's he back now?"

Chris shook his head. "Nobody's sure. Maybe he thinks things have cooled off enough, thinks no one will notice him."

JD shrugged and pulled his hat off to run a hand through his hair. "Maybe he's jonesin' for a decent burger."

"Hardly the best time," Vin said. "Tightened airport security, not to mention anybody with a badge is gonna be hypersensitive to any deals larger than a case of Mac 10s."

Buck tossed a paper clip harmlessly across the table in Vin's direction. "Like the saying goes, junior—Ya only catch the stupid ones."

JD pushed out a soft breath of air in reaction to his roommate's know-it-all attitude. "Newsflash, Buck, he ain't been caught yet."

Josiah folded his arms across his chest and rubbed his chin with one hand. "Has someone decided it's our job to do so?"

"Yes and no," responded Chris.

Ezra laid the photo of Ian Vargas on the table and mumbled a retort. "I hate answers like that."

Chris elaborated for his men. "The Fibbies asked if we could help and the Powers That Be said yes."

Nathan raised his eyebrows. "Was that 'we' like in ourBureau or 'we' like in us."

"Us," replied Chris.

Vin rolled his eyes. "C'mon Chris, ain't we got nothin' better to do than clean up the FBI's messes?" He glanced at his teammates. "I hate workin' with them uptight suits." He looked at the man seated on the other side of the table and flashed an apologetic grin. "No offense, Ez."

"None taken, I agree with your argument." The team knew any connection he still had with the FBI was solely on paper. His place was in Denver now and none of them believed otherwise.

Vin folded his arms across his chest. "Why do we gotta get involved?"

The team leader raised his brows. "Well last time I checked, Tanner, the 'F' did still stand for 'firearms'. And the territory of this task force does cover the four corners states and the Gulf region. 'Course, if I have to take on this case with a bunch of old ladies…."

Buck spoke up. "Hell, Chris, it ain't that. Communication sucks with C-A cases, you know that. How often does it go down smooth when you're working with another outfit?"

Chris shot his friend a dry look. "I don't know that cross-agency has anything to do with that, Buck. Your communication is lousy when it's just us working a case."

He showed a rare, sympathetic face to his men. "Look, I know all the arguments. FBI and DEA are hoping to use what they got from the case in the '80s to build something that will stick now. We're just being used for the legwork because this team has the jurisdictional freedom to move. If Vargas leaves Colorado, depending on the state he goes to, we can follow and continue to help out. We can do things faster and easier."

He lifted the file storage boxes, one at a time, from the chair to the table. "Senior Agent Tyler Desmon from the FBI's San Diego office was nice enough to assemble copies of the pertinents. I suggest you familiarize yourselves. If you have any questions, that's his card taped to the top of the boxes."

Nathan continued to tap his pen to paper in an absent fashion. "Don't suppose we've been given any information as to what's gonna constitute 'legwork'?"

"As a matter of fact," replied Chris, "Agent Desmon was very specific. They're looking for an insider. Neither FBI nor DEA have anybody—employed or informant—established in this area to set up an initial contact meeting with someone who can get us to Vargas."

Buck leaned back in his chair. "So they come running to us to pick up the slack. Nice."

A dry laugh escaped Nathan's lips. "Wait a minute, if Vargas is such a gold star, how come the FBI is willin' to share? It's more like them to just request our contacts and use their own u.c. people."

"Let's just say I made some stipulations," Chris said, showing a bit of a grin. "They may just be looking for Rent-a-Goons but I'll be damned if somebody is going to come into my territory, use resources we've worked hard to establish, and waltz out without giving us a shot at that gold star."

Ezra smiled at Chris's use of the FBI's own derogatory term for outside Bureau assistance. He raised an eyebrow. "Always the diplomat, our intrepid leader is."

Breaking from a thoughtful state, Vin offered a suggestion. "Terrence Smith may be able to get us a meet-an'- greet."

"Smitty the Weasel?" retorted Buck. "That little freak?"

Ezra, however, nodded in agreement. "I think Vin's right. While I wouldn't put it past the Weasel to sell his own mother, he is afraid of us and has been a good source in the past. He's been keepin' a low profile as of late—somethin' to do with an entanglement in Salt Lake City is what I'd heard—but he is well-established in the upper echelons, as it were, of our fair region's higher-volume illegal trafficking industries."

Chris consented with a nod. "All right. Vin, see what you can put together for our Mr. Simpson, here. I'd like to be able to move on this in the next day or so." He tapped one of the two boxes on the table. "Till then, study up on Vargas, boys. He's slippery enough to have done some serious damage in the past and gotten away. The better we know him, the easier it will be to see to it that never happens again."

Nathan rose from the table first, grabbing up one box and looking to the others as he headed out. "Now don't none of ya'll be shy about comin' to grab some of this for yourselves."

Vin followed behind his tall friend. "Oooh yeah, Nate. I'll be right there. Ya'll just wait for me at your desk."

Ezra spoke quietly, not pulling his eyes from the photo of Vargas that rested on the table in front of him. "So we're really goin' after him."

Chris seemed to pick up on the seriousness of his undercover man's tone. "It's not just us."

Ezra didn't look up and Chris caught the tiniest hint of a sardonic smile, a brief closing of the eyes and the nearly imperceptible shake of the southerner's head. It was a silent response, as if to say, 'Yes, of course. I'll be sure to keep that in mind during my first meeting with Vargas.'

Buck and JD, both now standing, seemed unaware of anything. Buck proclaimed his confidence. "Who needs the rest when you got the best!"

The two bumped fists in a bravado-charged display. JD responded to his roommate's claim as they hit.

" 'Los Siete Magnificos'!" The young man addressed Ezra, nudging the southerner's shoulder from behind. "Why're you sweatin' it, Ez? Nobody's gonna convince me you aren't one of the best."

Ezra showed a bittersweet smile, as if embarrassed and flattered by the boy's sincere belief in his talents. He answered without turning around. "JD, in this business 'the best' sometimes constitutes nothin' more than knowin' how to bullshit long enough to stay alive." He rose from the table, took up the remaining records box and nodded to Josiah and Chris. "Gentlemen."

Buck and JD followed Ezra as he left the room, but the two seemed more intent on figuring out whether to run out to Starbucks than on anything else.

Chris addressed Josiah as the large man stood and prepared to leave. "Not sure I ever recall seeing Ezra show such a reaction to a case subject."

From the first time Chris met Ezra, he had often wondered what thoughts and emotions ran behind the southerner's carefully controlled outward expressions. To someone who didn't know the undercover agent, it would not have appeared that Ian Vargas held much interest to him.

To Chris, however, Ezra had been rattled. And the group leader didn't like it. He sought insight from the member of his team most able to define the response. "Don't suppose any of your psych background can tell me what that was."

Josiah pursed his lips in a philosophical manner. "Le Démon Taillant..."

Chris shot back a puzzled expression and the profiler elaborated. "The Cutting Demon—a boogeyman of French folklore. Stalked those who traveled alone at night. If a man wasn't alert, the demon would leap upon him from the shadows and, with razor-sharp talons, it would cut the flesh from his bones and disembowel him in order to feed its hunger."

Chris's perplexed look hadn't changed. "I really don't get you sometimes."

Josiah smiled and seemed to take the statement as a compliment. "As a young agent, Brother Ezra was taught about the ugly things that can happen when the good guys don't keep their eyes open. And up until now, he's managed to keep his eyes open, and his skin intact. Now he's just been told to go put himself smack in front of the devil's claws. Talk about facing one's demons."

Josiah drifted from the room, leaving only a string of Latin hanging in the void. "Libera nos a malo."

Chris didn't need a translation, having heard it before. 'Deliver us from evil.'

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