mrwubbles: (ST Once Future Captain)
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Title:Behind The Shield
Author:Yuma aka [livejournal.com profile] mrwubbles
Betas:[livejournal.com profile] myfieldnotes and [livejournal.com profile] penfold_x
Artist:[livejournal.com profile] squarededdie
Fanmixer:[personal profile]epershand
Series: ST XI
Character(s):Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy
Rating:PG-13
Word Count:38,000+
Warnings: (if applicable) strong language
Summary: GEN - F.B.I. Special Agent Leonard McCoy of the White Collar Division wants to catch the Dutchman. But can the infamous James Kirk, a reformed young con artist, really help him? Or is this one big con, too? A revisit of White Collar's pilot episode, Star Trek Reboot style.

Previous Parts: Master Post| Teaser| Act 1 (1/2)| Act 1 (2/2)| Act 2 (1/4)| Act 2 (2/4)

Act 2 (3/4)
International Arrivals, LaGuardia Airport, New York City

The moment Uhura stepped in front of them, Leonard could feel Kirk taking notice.

"Who's that?"

Leonard smirked. "That's Uhura. Uhura was my probie."

"Uhura?"

Leonard nodded. "She was a probationary agent, now awaiting assignment. She does everything I don't, she's very good at her job, and she can do way better than you."

Kirk shot him an annoyed look. "I know what a probie is. I'm asking what's Uhura's name?"

"Just Uhura," his probie said when they were within earshot.

Kirk smiled expectantly at her. "Uhura? Is that some F.B.I. custom to go with just a last name?"

Uhura rolled her eyes. "You must be James Kirk."

"You can call me Jim," Kirk offered helpfully. "And I should call you…"

"Uhura," Uhura replied primly. Her dark eyes flicked up to his head. "Nice hat."

"Don't get him started," Leonard warned. "What've we got?"

"His name's Tony Field. Customs flagged him coming in from Spain in response to our Snow White BOLO."

"Customs playing nice?" Leonard drawled.

Uhura smirked. "Ah, the usual chest pounding. He's in their custody, not ours."

Leonard shrugged. "Less paperwork for me. What's he carrying?"

Uhura's smile broadened. "Oh, you're gonna love this."

--

The suitcase packed full of old, thin books wasn't what he was expecting.

"This is what triggered our alert?" Leonard said, his eyebrow arched high.

"Blancanieves y Los Siete Enanos?" Kirk read, his accent perfect. "Snow White and her Seven Little Men?"

"I'm impressed," Uhura commented.

"Really?" Kirk beamed.

"No." Uhura turned to Leonard. "He says he's a rare book dealer."

Of course he is. Leonard harrumphed. "Anything wrong with his paperwork?"

"Nope. He brought in the same books in the same quantity on three previous trips. He declared them each time."

Leonard gestured towards the suitcase. "All right. Are we wasting our time?"

Kirk scrutinized the books with an intensity that unnerved Leonard; everything else seemed to have disappeared for the con artist. Kirk's palms hovered over the suitcase's contents with a reverence before he pulled one book out. The pages rustled as Kirk thumbed through them, not reading but his blue eyes darkened as he examined them. To Leonard's amusement, Kirk even pressed his nose to the book to give it a whiff.

"They're not limited runs or special editions," Kirk murmured as he ran careful gloved hands over the binding. He chewed his lower lip. "Can't be worth much."

"So why go through all the trouble of flying them in?" Leonard wondered out loud.

"He sure was nervous for having all the right paperwork," Uhura remembered.

Leonard grunted. "I want to talk to him."

Uhura nodded. "I'll set it up." She checked her watch. "Hey boss, I'm grabbing some coffee before we do that. You want some?"

God, yes. Leonard nodded his head empathetically. "Yeah, anything but decaf."

"Uh, could you make that three?" Kirk spoke up.

"Not really," Uhura drawled as she gracefully turned on her heels. "The coffee shop's outside."

Leonard shook his head as he watched Kirk grinning after her. "I like her; she makes things exciting."

"You are way out of your league."

Kirk looked miffed at that. He shrugged seconds later. "Oh, harmless flirting." He winked at Leonard. "It's like a dance."

Leonard snorted. "No, there is no dance. You're not even on her dance card. No dancing for you." Leonard gave Kirk a little pat on the arm. "She already has a dance partner."

Kirk sighed. He pulled up his pants leg. "It's the jewelry, isn't it?" he said mournfully.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Dino."

--

The narrow-faced bald man sitting by the table looked about ready to yell at someone but his hands shook slightly as he cleaned his glasses. His mouth pursed, his eyes slits on his face, Field acted all in part like an indignant businessman. He glared as Leonard approached him.

"Leonard McCoy, F.B.I." Leonard sat down across from Field.

"F.B.I.?" Field sniffed at the badge flashed to him. "Oh, you're really kicking it up a notch."

The urge to grab the weasel by the head and use it as a hammer was surprisingly overwhelming. "So," Leonard said in a deliberate voice, "you're a book dealer."

Field folded his arms in front of him. "Yes, well, as I told everyone here, repeatedly, my business is the import and sale of rare books."

Leonard shrugged. "How rare can they be? You've got six hundred of them."

"Like me to go the crime lab, help you dust for fingerprints?" Field jeered.

Leonard smiled tightly. "I get it. 'Cause I'm telling you how to do your job."

Field grunted.

"So...Snow White. In Spanish."

Field sneered. "Snow White was not created by Disney, detective. There are a few stories the predate Steamboat Willie."

"I'm a federal agent, not a historian," Leonard corrected him with a tight smile, "By the way, you mean the folklore about the virginally pure queen? Like Alexander Pushkin's 'Tale of the White Princess and the Seven Knights.' Is that what you mean?" Leonard smirked at the wide-eyed gape Field gave him. Leonard leaned in and stared hard at Field.

"What are the books for?" Leonard asked low.

Field, for the first time, couldn't meet his eye.

"Hey!" Leonard slapped his hand to the table and enjoyed some satisfaction when Field jumped.

The dealer nervously bit his lower lip. He opened his mouth when the door opened behind them.

"I'd appreciate if you didn't talk to my client." The newcomer filled the doorway with his tall frame. There was nothing friendly about the smile the lawyer gave him. "You know. Constitution and all."

Leonard pulled an equally welcoming smile to the lawyer one that dripped Southern Comfort. "Were y'all chasing the ambulance or did your sugar daddy give you a ride?" Leonard rose to his feet and circled the designer suit, he eyed it the way he'd seen Jim Kirk do to his own wash and wear Macy's version. "Huh," he murmured, "I'm supposin' not. Those wrinkles are evidence you must've thumbed it."

Unfazed, the lawyer merely smirked back at him. "Thank you, agent," he said in a syrupy voice before he closed the door to Leonard's face.

--

Kirk gave Leonard a sympathetic look from his seat as he took a sip of coffee.

"Scary federal agent face didn't work on the bookseller, huh?"

Leonard gnashed his teeth. "I almost had him." He glowered at the cup Kirk held. "Is that mine?"

Kirk wordlessly handed it over.

Leonard took a long guzzle rather than answering. He glanced over to Uhura. "Where's that Customs Inspector?"

Uhura bade the Inspector to come over. "Jim was right, the books aren't worth much. You can pick them up for a few dollars on Ebay."

Leonard scowled at the officer as he approached. "Hey," he barked as the inspector came up to them, "why didn't you tell me that guy lawyered up? The second he makes that call, I can't talk to him."

The Customs Inspector gave him a baffled frown. "He didn't call anybody."

"Then how did his lawyer know that he—" Shit. Leonard spun around, his cup crashing to the floor when he bolted. He could sense the officer, Uhura and Kirk behind him and he was about to warn Kirk back but he was already at the door. He flattened against one side, his arm out to pin Kirk back. Uhura immediately positioned herself on the other side with the inspector.

"One," Leonard mouthed as he balanced his gun in his grip. Uhura nodded curtly as she raised her weapon.

Two. Kirk strained against his arm—curiosity, stupidity, who knew—driven to edge closer despite Leonard nudging him back to safety.

Three.

Pivoting around, Leonard kicked the center of the airport security door, sending it swinging open. His gun was up, pointed at chest level as Uhura and the Customs Inspector rushed in.

"Boss!" Uhura called out sharply.

Kirk exhaled sharply behind them.

"Damn it!" Leonard swore as soon as he spotted Field. He holstered his gun and crouched by the body. He neatly avoided the hypodermic needle jutting out of the side of Field's neck and checked for a pulse.

"I need paramedics in here now!" the Inspector bellowed into his radio.

Kirk dropped to his knees beside him. "I know CPR. I can help."

Leonard closed his eyes briefly. "Don't bother. He's dead, Jim." He got to his feet and growled.

"Nobody frisked the lawyer?"

--

There were times Jim hated the acuity of his memory.

Field's vacant eyes stayed with him as he circled the suitcase. He chewed on his lower lip and tried not to think about the fact that the suitcase was probably the last thing Field had touched.

It's not like he'd never seen a dead body before. The opposite, in fact. He hadn't understood it when he was thirteen and his mom had sent him and Sam to live with relatives. He still didn't understand it now.

"Got a dead book dealer, a killer lawyer and a bunch of worthless novels. All right, come on, as a reformed professional counterfeiter, what is the Dutchman's interest in these?"

Jim wondered if the killer was the last thing Field saw. Was that what every murder victim saw with their dying breath? Was Kodos's face the last thing his aunt and uncle saw when they were forced to kneel on bloody straw in front of the cameras and ATF—

"Hey."

Blinking, the ghost of Texan trees morphed into stark white walls and overly lit spaces. Jim found himself inches from McCoy's face. The agent's brow furrowed, his eyes studying Jim. His mouth crinkled, understanding lightening his gaze. It was a bit unnerving.

"Okay?" McCoy asked in a low, gruff tone.

Jim nodded quickly. He averted his eyes to the books. He was grateful his hands were steady as he held one. He scanned the front page and the grain.

"Published in 1944 in Madrid." Jim flipped through the book. The paper held a sweet, wet pulpy smell that almost made him smile. The texture was rough, rippled of spun fibers, braided together into a pattern unique to its own. Jim loved the sensation of ink raising paper, drawing beauty in what was otherwise ordinary, discounted, disregarded. Each paper had its own scent, its own special—wait.

"This is what he's after," Jim announced.

Jim grabbed a ruler and slid it carefully under the blank cover sheet of the book.

"The top sheet?" Uhura said doubtfully.

Jim nodded. His heart pounded as his mind raced. First piece of the puzzle. He just needed a little more to make a picture. "More than that." He held up the sheet. "This is a piece of 1944 Spanish press parchment."

McCoy hemmed thoughtfully. "That's what he wanted. Good. This is good."

"He's going to counterfeit something that was originally printed on paper like that," Uhura guessed.

Jim slid a look at McCoy grinning. "That's what I would do."

McCoy rubbed a knuckle under his chin, too distracted to do anything more than scowl half-heartedly at Jim. "Field made three prior shipments with these."

"Two blank pages a book is six hundred sheets," Jim calculated.

McCoy grunted. "Too many for paintings."

"Not enough for currency," Uhura added.

McCoy's eyes zeroed in on Field's jacket, the one he'd left folded on the table. "I bet our dead book dealer knew." he muttered as he rifled through the wallet. Jim stared at the coat, his stomach churning, until McCoy, for whatever reason, stepped in front of him. The agent gave a soft "Ah ha" and pulled out a card. "This is where he went, the day before he left for Spain."

"The National Archives," Jim read over McCoy's shoulder. He brightened. "I know this place. They have a great collection of Gregorian chant books right by the window…" Jim smiled cheekily at the twin glowers shone his way. "Or so I heard."

"So he's been to the Archives," Uhura concluded, "But was that enough to kill him for it?"

"Too bad we can't ask Field," Jim muttered, sobering. He glanced over at the coat again.

"But we can ask his lawyer," McCoy said thoughtfully. He quirked an eyebrow at Uhura. "How do you suppose the guy got here?"

--

Fashion District, New York City

"I think I like the car better."

Kirk grumbled as he sat on the stool and yawned behind Sulu and Chekov. Kirk gave the innards of their utility van a look of disgust. "Why does it smell like cabbage? Does anyone ever clean in here?"

"Not since the Carter administration," Sulu muttered out of the corner of his mouth as he flicked a Twinkie wrapper off the shelf in front of him.

"Are you volunteering?" Leonard added as he squinted at the images Chekov was fast forwarding on his screen. He grimaced. Kid wasn't even blinking. "I think there's a mop and bucket in here somewhere."

"I think you need a flame thrower, not a mop," Kirk grumbled.

"That's him," Chekov declared as he leaned back from his hunched position over his computer. He stretched his arms above his head. "His car. Definitely." He waved towards all the airport footage he's been searching for over an hour. "That is him getting out and getting in the vehicle."

"Yeah," Kirk murmured. Leonard noted the frown as Kirk stared intently at the screen. "Definitely the man who killed Field."

"License plate leads back to here," Sulu reported as he hung up his phone. "Uhura says the plates are registered to an Aye…Ayel Collins. He has an office here: an auditing firm."

Leonard squinted at the surveillance video of the building across from them. It was a plain, box shaped old factory, converted to luxury offices back in the real estate boon. He grimaced at the loud colored vertical banners draped from top to bottom on every corner announcing there were spaces still available. It was like that with most of the renovated high ceiling buildings here: sweat shops reincarnated into prime real estate at thousands of dollars a square foot.

"Attorney and an auditor," Leonard remarked. "A Renaissance man."

"I doubt he gets a lot of business here crunching numbers," Kirk murmured as he squinted at the screen. He tilted his head up at Leonard. "What now?"

"Now," Leonard decided as he levered out of his chair and motioned Sulu to follow. Together, they checked their weapons and clips. "Sulu and I are going to pay our attorney a visit." He caught Kirk making a face when he tucked his Sig into his shoulder holster. He tugged his jacket closed. "Chekov, you monitor the situation. Kirk…" Leonard paused at the expectant look. "Stay in the van."

"Seriously?" Kirk's outraged yelp was cut off when Leonard slammed the doors as soon as he hopped out.



| Act 2 (4/4) |

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