"Damn it, Buck," J.D. muttered, retrieving his cherished headpiece. Buck hadn’t put the youth’s bowler into the food disposal unit. He’d put an old hat he’d bought at a second hand store in it - of course, J.D. didn’t know that at the time and believed his friend had indeed ruined his prized bowler. The young agent had chased the older man down the elevator, through the parking garage and out onto the training fields before Buck confessed the hoax. The many spectators - who consisted of some of the countries most important security personnel - had watched the pair with raised eyebrows.

"Weren’t they members of the elite E.M.6?"

"You know, Bat Masterton wore a hat just like this one," J.D. insisted, leaning back in his chair and lifting his feet up onto the desk. Cowboys were J.D.’s heroes. He loved them. Loved reading about them. Loved watching them on television.

"Yeah, well you know Bat," Buck spat back sarcastically.

As J.D. grinned up at the older man, he lost his balance and toppled backwards out of the chair, disappearing behind the massive desk.

"You alright down there?" The two continued their playful banter, the rest of their colleagues looking on with amused smiles.

Chris shook his head as he sipped his third cup of coffee for the day. He would never forget the day J.D. and Ezra had been introduced to the team some fourteen months earlier. Larabee’s unit had just returned from Katinda. Thanks largely to their contribution, the war had been brought to a successful conclusion. A team of international peacekeepers had been left in the country to ensure peace was maintained and to date, they’d been successful.

With the war over, Larabee and his men found their unit was to be disbanded. Buck had received orders to report back to Katinda to take up a position in the peace-keeping force. Nathan’s orders were sending him to a unit in California - Josiah was being posted to Canada as part of an international exchange program and Chris was to head up a new training facility. Larabee had a few choice words - none of which could be repeated in polite company - to say about the army’s way of rewarding his men for a hard job well done. Chris was determined to keep his unit together and so he put an interesting proposal to General Travis - leave the STF1 operational. Travis had found the suggestion tempting and following some pretty fancy negotiating with his superiors, the way was cleared for the STF1 to continue to operate, but under a new name and with some minor changes - changes that included the inclusion of a computer expert and the international ‘terrorist’ known as "The Gambler."

Chris hadn’t been impressed. He didn’t welcome interference in his unit and had reservations about both men proposed - but particularly about Dunne. J.D. Dunne was a green horn - full of enthusiasm, but without any practical experience. Chris insisted the young agent receive some basic army training before he would even consider him. J.D. had agreed and passed the training course with flying colors.

As the E.M.6 leader watched his oldest friend and youngest team member, he realized what an important role J.D. played in the unit. The youth had proven his worth more times than Larabee could count. In a technological world, J.D. gave E.M.6 the edge... and he’d given Buck a purpose in life. The rogue had taken on the role of surrogate older brother to the highly intelligent, but largely naive agent.

Chris flicked his hard green eyes to the other newbie. Ezra P. Standish - a con man with exceptional talents in numerous areas. Standish had been stealing military and security secrets and selling them to the government. His luck had run out one day when he was double-crossed and apprehended in the act. Suddenly, Ezra had found himself on trial for treason.

The fact that the man was an apparent cheat and traitor had not sat well with the STF1, especially Nathan.

"What do we want with a cheater?!"

"We might need one," Chris replied calmly.

"But he’s a damn traitor. What’ll stop him selling us out?"

"I resent that, Sergeant Jackson. I may be a man of less than stellar character, but I am no traitor to my country."

"You’ve been stealing military secrets and selling them!"

"Exactly. I’ve been stealing military secrets from our enemies and offering them to our government - for a small fee which I felt was warranted to offset my own costs, you understand. I am capable of many things, my friend, but never treason."

"You aren’t my friend!"

"This isn’t going to work," Josiah growled. To men like the STF1 – neb who had served in another country and seen the insidious impact traitors could have - a traitor was the lowest form of being. Buck, Josiah and Nathan struggled to keep their guns holstered and fists from rearranging Ezra’s face.

"Easy, boys. There’s a lot more to this than meets the eye," Chris stated.

Ezra had, in fact, been working for an independent company founded by a former CIA agent who had recognized the need for a private institution that traded in secrets. Bill Freeman personally recruited Ezra Standish because Ezra had a sharp mind, quick reflexes, and a gift when it came to conning people and unquestionable loyalty to his country. The company, aptly christened ‘SeCReTs’ – Special Collection and Retrieval Taskforce - consisted of ten men, who like Ezra, traveled the world stealing information that would be beneficial to The United States and her allies. ‘SeCReTs’, while unofficially despised by the government, actually had its blessing. Using the independent organization, the various official security associations could obtain the information they needed without appearing to breech any international laws. For some reason, it was deemed acceptable for countries to buy secrets but not to obtain them themselves. This idea of ‘spying’ on other nations had been frowned upon since the end of the Cold War and so ‘SeCReTs’ found itself a very lucrative niche in the market.

Ezra had thoroughly enjoyed the work. He was left to do as he wanted and he didn’t need to rely on anyone. Ezra found it difficult to trust others. Depending on himself suited him just fine and made him ‘SeCReT’s’ most successful agent. Unfortunately, it also made him an easy scapegoat. On his final mission, things went horribly wrong due to a major bungle on the part of someone else. Neither ‘SeCReTs’ nor the CIA were prepared to shoulder the responsibility and so Ezra found himself carrying the bag. Before he knew what was happening, he’d been arrested by those he worked for, incarcerated and charged with terrorism and treason. Any wisps of trust Ezra had entertained were destroyed that day.

Thankfully, there was one man who knew what happened and wasn’t prepared to stand by and watch a good man lose his life for serving his country. General Travis intervened and offered Standish a deal. If the con man agreed to work for E.M.6, the new organization Travis was setting up, the general would arrange a full pardon for Standish. Not agree and the former agent of ‘SeCReTs’ would end up in front of a firing squad. Ezra’s response? "Where do I sign?"

However, on the team’s inaugural mission, Ezra had taken the first opportunity to abscond. The lure of gold had beckoned him from his post. After all, he felt no loyalty to the men he was forced to work with. They could look after themselves, which was what Ezra had decided to do. His motto had become, look after number one. No one else gave a damn about him, so why should he give a damn about them? It was time to put himself first and find a nice spot in the Bahamas to retire. Unfortunately, ‘The Gambler’ discovered he was a better man than he wanted to be and returned to save his new team from certain death.

Chris had warned him that day - "Never run out on me again." Fourteen months later, Chris Larabee - a man who trusted but a handful of people - trusted this international ‘terrorist’ with his life. So, for that matter, did the other four men in the team of six. As for Ezra, he had found a place he belonged and friends he trusted and valued more than his own life.

**********

Not far from the Pentagon…

In a large open warehouse two men approached each other. One was dressed in faded fatigues, the other in a dress uniform.

"Did you get the file, Mr. Winston?"

"Yes. Where’s my money?"

"Give me the file."

"When I see my money."

The high-ranking officer’s eyes narrowed with anger, but he lifted up the suitcase and opened it to reveal the $200 000 the thief had requested.

"The file?"

Smiling, the second man fished his hand down into his jacket and withdrew the plain manila envelope. "A pleasure doing business with you," he stated, handing the file to the thin man across from him while at the same time, grabbing the suitcase that would change his life.

The security officer opened the file, scanned the contents and then spun on his heels and left the building.

The thief lowered the suitcase to the ground and opened it. For several seconds he just stared at the money. Two hundred thousand dollars! The easiest money he’d ever made. He’d been given access to the office. The alarms had been turned off for him. He had walked in and opened the safe and retrieved the goods. Why the man who had hired him hadn’t done it himself, he didn’t know.

Just as the traitor was about to close the case, his eyes narrowed. Reaching out, he picked up a bundle of money. Carefully concealed under the bills was a small counter.

7... 6... 5... 4... John Larry Winston’s eyes widened. He’d been double-crossed. The explosion that ripped through the warehouse caused a fireball that could be seen from the other side of the city.

**********

"Any more information on that explosion?" Chris asked Josiah.

"No, Sir," the huge sergeant replied, covering the mouthpiece of his phone as he answered. "I’m talking to a member of the bomb squad on the scene."

"Keep me informed."

The colonel made his way through the center of E.M.6’s outer office area. The unit had their headquarters on the top floor of the main security facility in D.C. Chris had selected the top floor for a number of reasons - not the least of which was access to the helipad on the roof. The group’s headquarters took up the entire 16th floor. In the center was a large open area that housed the men’s individual desks. Off this room was a corridor leading to the kitchenette. The colonel’s office and a small shooting practice range lined one side of the hallway and the unit’s conference room was on the other. At the opposite end of the desk area, dubbed the doghouse, was a second open room the men used for working out. Chris had insisted they remain separated from the other military and security groups they worked along side. For this reason, the unit was largely self-sufficient.

As Chris entered his office, Buck poked his head in behind him.

"Colonel, I’ve just had news that situation in Luskaton is getting worse."

"Keep me informed."

"Sir." Buck ducked back out of the room.

Seconds later, J.D. raced in clutching a print out. "Colonel, this just came over the net."

Larabee reached for the piece of paper, his eyes narrowing as he read the contents. "Fifty million? That’s a hell of a contract. We got a name?"

"No, Sir, but fifty million dollars! I mean it’s got to be someone important if someone’s prepared to put up a bounty worth that much."

"Find out who, J.D."

"Yes, Sir."

Before Chris could begin work on the hundred-odd jobs he had planned, he heard the elevator doors open. The Six’s leader glanced up, peering through the two-way window that afforded him privacy, but also full view of the doghouse. General Travis stepped out of the elevator. Chris rose to his feet and walked out to meet his immediate superior. The rest of E.M.6 had leaped to their feet to salute the general - true Ezra was giving Travis a scout salute, but then Ezra wasn’t in the army and flatly refused to salute anyone... except Larabee - and he did that because he chose to.

"We have a situation," Travis informed Larabee.

"What a surprise," Ezra muttered.

"And we thought you were here to enjoy our stimulating conversation," Josiah quipped.

The men retreated to the conference room. Travis handed a disk to J.D. who uploaded the file. Instantly, the specially designed table in front of the seated group sprung to life with a map of the compound they were to infiltrate.

"The Luskaton Embassy," General Travis stated. "As you know, Luskaton and the United States have just signed a treaty that should prevent all out war in that region."

"But?" Chris prompted.

"There is a significant element within that country that does not welcome the treaty or our interference in their affairs. In order to place the treaty under threat, we have reason to believe one of their diplomats is intending to smuggle 10 million dollars worth of heroin into this country. We believe the drugs have already arrived in the States and are being held within the Luskaton embassy."

Larabee was nodding thoughtfully. "Any idea where?"

The General pointed to the image on the illuminated map. "According to our source, on the second floor of this building," the General stated.

"J.D., enhance," Chris instructed. The young agent’s fingers danced on the keyboard. The map zeroed in on the second floor of the building, revealing a floor plan. "Which room?"

"The one near the stairs."

"Makes it difficult. Anyone down stairs or along this corridor can see the door," Nathan muttered.

"Which is why they have chosen that room," Chris agreed. "What exactly do you want us to do, General?"

"Those drugs can’t hit the streets?"

"So why has this been brought to us? Surely one of the other agencies could handle it?"

"No, the political climate is explosive. The treaty between Luskaton and The United States is important and we can’t afford to endanger it. We’re talking about breaching diplomatic immunity. If we are seen to be breaking into the Luskaton Embassy, imagine the reaction from their country and the rest of the world? Questions of trust, mutual respect and international law. This could easily blow up in our faces. The President himself has requested your help on this. Besides, according to our source, drugs weren’t the only thing brought into the embassy."

"Oh?"

"Fourteen fully armed soldiers now patrol the premises and while they stay there they have the privilege of diplomatic immunity. To say we aren’t particularly happy about this development is a gross understatement."

"Marvelous," Ezra drawled. "Fourteen soldiers. That should make life exciting."

"How solid is your source?" Buck asked.

"As solid as they come."

Larabee frowned. "J.D., give us the entire compound again. General, has your source given you any idea of where these soldiers have been posted?"

Travis nodded and handed Chris a sheet of paper that contained a crude mud map.

"J.D., mark these in," Larabee instructed, handing the sheet to the youth. Within seconds, twelve crosses appeared in various locations over the compound that filled the table.

"There’s only twelve, Sir."

"Travis?"

"That’s all he sent us."

"Great. So we’ve got two mystery men lurking around," Nathan muttered.

"Plus their regular security," Travis added.

"What’s the force call on this?" Chris asked. The leader of E.M.6 was asking if his men had permission to use deadly force.

"Whatever you deem necessary," General Travis stated, turning and heading for the door. The situation was now in Larabee’s hands. The most capable hands in the world for a situation like this.

Chris watched as the general exited the room. "Alright, Josiah, talk to me."

"A simple 320 kit should blow the front gate. But it will depend on whether you want to advertise our arrival, otherwise we’ll have to find some other way in."

"Buck?"

"Yeah, I can probably land my gray between those two buildings, but it’ll be tight." Buck’s gray was a small combat helicopter the team often used to affect their escape after an attack.

"J.D.?"

"From the looks of this, all of the security is run from one central station," the boy commented, examining the data provided. "I can take out the communications using a simple jamming code, but the moment I do that, the security system is likely to kick in."

"Ezra?"

"Mr. Dunne, are you able to ascertain if their system is running on a three or five pulse scheme?"

"Three."

"No, problem. Three pulses per second are easily put out of commission through the insertion of a piece of reflective paper. Of course, timing is imperative. The paper must be inserted between pulses. Strike the pulse and alarms will go off everywhere."

"Can you do it?"

Ezra Standish smiled. "My dear Colonel Larabee, is the sky blue?"

"Only on a clear day. Let’s hope it ain’t raining," Buck chuckled.

"Alright, Josiah, we’ll go with the 320 but I’ll need at least another two diversions to divide their force into three groups. Ezra?"

The con man’s eyes narrowed. "When are we going enact our strategy? Day or night?"

"Either."

"According to this," J.D. informed his companions, "there’s a reception there tomorrow evening to celebrate the signing of the treaty."

"Catering?"

"Yep, the ‘Eat All Catering Company’."

Ezra’s right eyebrow arched. "I have always been partial to catering vans erupting with fireworks. Distraction enough?"

"Works for me," Chris agreed. "Ezra, you go in with the catering team. Places you on the inside."

"May I suggest that Mr. Dunne join me?"

Larabee nodded. "You two are responsible for destroying the drugs. Josiah, Nathan and I will keep the troops busy. How long do you think you’ll need to take care of the heroin?"

"10 million dollars is a lot. A fire extinguisher each... three minutes."

"You’ll need three to get there, three to destroy it, five to meet us outside."

"So we’ve got to keep the troops occupied for eleven minutes," Nathan reflected.

"Buck, wait seven minutes from the time of the first explosion, then fly in and pick us up."

The pilot nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Josiah, you take this path," Chris stated, tracing it on the map with his finger. "Take care of the soldiers on the right and the guards on the gate."

"Sir."

"I’ll go through the center. These soldiers are mine. Nathan, those six are yours. Now, the hardest one is going to be the one posted up there on the roof. Best spot to take him will be from here," Chris stated, indicating on the map.

"Hell, Chris, I’m no sharpshooter."

Silence.

In that split second the atmosphere changed.

Ezra and J.D. exchanged a look. It was the third time in the fourteen months E.M.6 had been operating that such an incident had taken place. It was as if the former members of the STF1 stopped breathing. Josiah’s, Nathan’s and Buck’s eyes all snapped to their leader... almost afraid, definitely pained.

"Actually, Colonel, we could use a sharpshooter on the team," Ezra postulated carefully. "There have been several times in the past when the talents of such an individual..."

"No," Chris growled. Without anything further, Larabee strode from the room.

Ezra had used the phrase, "you could have heard a pin drop," but he’d never actually experienced such a moment - until now. "Did I say something amiss? Surely you agree a sharpshooter would be beneficial to our little group?"

"No," Buck’s voice was hollow, as he struggled to find voice. "We can never have a sharpshooter join us." Wilmington’s eyes clouded with anger and shock... maybe even grief.

"Why?" J.D. asked, eyeing each of the former members of the STF1, bewilderment reflected in his youthful face.

"Because... because we can’t." Buck stood and left the room. Both Josiah and Nathan followed, leaving J.D. and Ezra seated at the table staring at one another.

Ezra shook his head and tried to control the boiling anger he felt. They were a team - but it seemed the other four men only trusted he and J.D. to a certain point. There was no question of the others’ faith in the two ‘newbies’ when the bullets started to fly, but Ezra still sensed Larabee and his men were weary of him.  That hurt. Sometimes, Standish truly felt like he was on the outside looking in. J.D. didn’t and would never experience that. The youth’s close relationship with Buck seemed to give him a security of belonging Ezra just didn’t share.

"They shut us out," J.D. muttered.

"Yes, they did."

"I don’t get it."

"Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die." With that, ‘The Gambler’ rose, tipped his imaginary hat and made his way back to his desk. The ‘doghouse’ was empty. The annoyed man glanced toward his leader’s suite. The door was closed, which was rare. Both Larabee’s physical and literal doors were always open to his men.

Ezra dropped down into his seat and set to work on planning the con that would be essential in the unit’s plan to infiltrate the Luskaton Embassy, but he couldn’t focus on the task at hand. Special Tactics Force 1 had not been a four man team, he knew.  It had consisted of five members. Larabee and the others had never admitted such a fact, but Ezra Standish had discerned the information early on. Actually, Buck had let it slip one day when he was mercilessly teasing J.D...."Hell, J.D., in Katinda, the five of us used to..."

"Five?" J.D. had asked innocently. The shutters had automatically fallen into place at that moment, just as they had today. Buck had looked so shocked and enraged by J.D.’s question, Ezra thought the captain was going to hit the curious younger man.

There had been five of them in the STF1 - but no one mentioned the fifth man. No one breathed a word about him. The very thought of this mystery entity seemed to enrage the former members of the Special Tactics Force 1.

Ezra decided it was none of his business. Such uncontrolled and pure emotion was dangerous and in Ezra’s experience, usually only associated with disloyalty or betrayal - and if there was one thing Larabee demanded of his men, it was loyalty. Whoever the fifth member of the team had been, he had marked the other men powerfully by his actions.

After the short hostile incident just past, Ezra was certain the missing fifth man had been a sharpshooter. What the hell had this man done to provoke such an intense response from four soldiers who usually kept their emotions in check?