Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

his fingers at the ship. “It is currently docked in Baltimore, preparing for a fifteen-day cruise to the Caribbean.”
    “You’re not making us take a vacation, are you?” Ty asked in something close to panic.
    Zane’s chin snapped up in alarm. “Jesus, Grady, we agreed not to even think that word, much less say it.”
    “Corbin and Del Porter,” McCoy said loudly to curtail any more conversation, “were supposed to be on that ship tomorrow. But we finally got enough on these two to detain them.” He slid a file toward Ty and leaned back in his seat with a grin. “There’s a laundry list of no-nos we can pin on them with a little more evidence, and we’ll get it soon enough. What we want from you is something concrete on a few of their contacts.”
    Ty scratched his head absently as he looked over the file. The two men were implicated in numerous high-dollar thefts: art, antiquities, rare gems. All stuff that was hard to steal and harder to fence. It was difficult to tell whether they were collectors or middlemen, but either way, if the FBI leaned on them, it could produce a lot of information on a lot of different high-end thieves and dealers.
    But Ty and Zane weren’t leaners. They didn’t interrogate suspects who weren’t part of their own investigations. They didn’t know anything about this case and would be lost if they were asked to do the interrogation. Information wasn’t why they were here. He glanced to his side, where Zane shrugged one shoulder, having obviously come to the same conclusion.
    “I’m not sure I understand why we’re here,” Ty said in confusion as he gestured between himself and Zane, still looking down at the file.
    “You are here because you two roughly match the physical description of the two men we now have in custody,” McCoy answered with a wide grin.
    Ty looked up at him suspiciously. McCoy seemed to be enjoying himself too much for this to be good news for Ty or Zane. Zane leaned forward in his seat, frowning, though he didn’t speak up.
    “We look like them,” Ty reiterated flatly.
    “Vaguely,” McCoy agreed. “Same build, mostly. Zane’s coloring.”
    Ty glared at the man. “I’m not following,” he said slowly. “You want us to assume their identities? How’s that gonna work?” he asked.
    “Corbin and Del Porter were booked to leave on that cruise tomorrow,” McCoy said again. “We have it on good authority they plan to meet several of their buyers and sellers while on this cruise, taking advantage of somewhat lax security and customs and what have you in the Caribbean. And since this will be the first instance of the two of them ever showing themselves physically in their business dealings, their contacts only have virtual interactions to go on. They won’t know you’re imposters. We can get a lot of information out of this if you two take their places and play your cards right.”
    “I’m not sure I like the sound of this,” Zane said. “We’ve not got word one on the case until today, and now we’re supposed to impersonate these guys?”
    “You’ll be given a crash course. And you’re both professional bullshit artists; you’re perfect for it,” McCoy replied carelessly. Zane frowned at him.
    Ty scratched slowly at his cheek. “Okay,” he said carefully. He still didn’t understand why McCoy seemed to be enjoying the prospect so much. There was a catch coming.
    “You leave at nine in the morning. The rest of your team has already been put in place,” McCoy told them as he pushed another stack of files toward the center of the table.
    “Our team?” Zane repeated. Ty sighed heavily and closed his eyes. There was the catch.
    “You know the drill, Garrett, a team. Team leader, two more field agents, and tech support. Read the files so you don’t end up shooting one of them when you meet them. And Grady, we’ll be needing you to make just a few… alterations… to your appearance before you go,” he said as he studied Ty critically.
    “What the hell are you talking about, McCoy? It’s not like he can gain fifty pounds overnight,” Zane said crossly.
    “Nothing like that. Some hot wax and a little bleach, and he’ll be set,” McCoy continued, barely keeping himself from laughing now.
    “Hot wax?” Ty asked in alarm. He heard Zane stifle a snort.
    “Del Porter is what you would call… arm candy,” McCoy drawled with a smirk.
    “Oh hell,” Zane muttered, leaning back, rubbing his hand over his face, and