Fifteen Years Later

by Kate D.

Mickey parked his van behind Robert's Jag. He had hoped this was not where he was going to find it. He began to make his way into the Company offices. Inside, he paused. There were too many people hanging around for this to be good.

"It's not my fault," he overheard someone protest. "He's done something to the elevator." Mickey started toward the stairs but stopped when said elevator began its descent. He could feel eyes turning toward him, and recognized the looks behind them. Yes, whatever had happened, it was McCall.

"Everyone." The weedy official in the suit got their attention. "Clear the way. He is to be allowed to leave." His eyes rested on Mickey. "Kostmayer," he walked over and dropping his voice said, "McCall is on his way down. He shot up Justin's floor. I strongly suggest you take him home and make sure this doesn't happen again."

"Why don't you take it up with McCall yourself?" he suggested, knowing the type, and that he wouldn't. The man scuttled away as the elevator opened and Robert walked out. He just shook his head at Mickey as he passed and made his way back to the car. Mickey followed, a pace behind. Robert got into the driver's seat and Mickey helped himself into the passenger seat. He'd come back for the van. They sat in silent contemplation.

"Just wish you had invited me. At least for the milk and cookies." Mickey offered. For a moment more they sat, then Robert started the engine and drove them home.

*****

Saturday

Robert awoke to the ringing of the phone. He dragged his eyes open and sat up to answer it.

"Scott is alive," a voice said before hanging up.

"Hello?" The caller ID was blocked. Stunned, he listened to the tone for a few seconds. Recovering himself, he pressed the button a few times, then rang Jonah. "I need to get the last number that called here."

"McCall, it's five o'clock in the morning." Jonah did not sound as if he had been asleep.

"They know about Scott."

There was a long silence.

"Okay, McCall. I'll call you back."

*****

Scott sat at the front of the cell trying to keep his eyes on the guard through the maze of walls and bars that surrounded him. He was still dressed in the white shirt and black suit pants he wore for performing, although now they were thoroughly covered in dust. The shirt had been ripped open, his jacket and coat were long gone. The cell was bare. It was very hot. The air was filled with a thick dust that reflected the shafts of light that fought to illuminate the room from a series of barred brick-sized vents in almost even intervals at the very top of the outer wall. He was reasonably sure the cells were underground. He listened again for the guard climbing up the stairs. He didn't know how long he had been there, he didn't remember how he had got there and he had no idea where 'there' was. He imagined his father was going nuts trying to find him, but he had seen nobody except the ever-changing guards. The longer he stayed there the less certain he felt that anyone was going to be able to find him.

The guard was gone. He was alone with the lady again. He looked through the bars to his left, over at the ragged heap. She was propped against the opposite wall of the neighboring cell. She had barely moved since he had regained consciousness. She was a sickly white and, at first, he had spent hours staring at her, trying to figure out if she was breathing. She wore cargo pants, tee-shirt and leather boots. Her hair looked as though it had been hacked off at shoulder length with a knife and it lay oily and matted across her face. Most of the time she just stared into the middle distance, unmoving, the rest she slept. This had gone on for days: if he was going to take a chance, it might as well be now.

"Lady, we've got to get out of here," Scott urged her. He grabbed the closest bar and shook it in frustration. It did not move any more than it had the thousand other times he'd tried. He had explored every way out of the small cell. He couldn't shift the bars. He couldn't chip out the mortar that held them. The lock was fast. The guards didn't speak to him and he was growing tired of the sound of his own voice. "They're not that careful," he whispered at her. "They only come down one at a time." It was evening. There was half a chance they'd give their captives food and water. "We could grab one of the guards and get the keys. I don't think I can hold him and knock him out through the bars, but we could do it together." There was still no response from the woman. "I need you to help me get out of here." He heard a guard come down the stairs. "Do you at least speak English?" he sighed desperately. Briefly, she focused her eyes on him.

The guard wove though the cellblock. He stopped outside the lady's cell. He hadn't brought any food, but this didn't surprise Scott. They seemed to be feeding him at whim, but something about this visit was different. Scott went cold. She must have met her jailer's eye, somehow attracted his attention because, unlike other nights, he seemed to consider her. Smiling slyly to himself the guard peered back, through the bars, at the entrance. He took out his pistol and, making his intention clear, pointed it at Scott's head. He held it there for a minute threateningly, then he lowered the gun, took out the keys and let himself into the lady's cell. Scott watched, horrified. He had no doubt that if he did anything, the guard would kill him. Cautiously, the guard approached her, then gleefully leaned over her, touching her blank face and sliding his hand down her body. Suddenly he jolted, then slumped on top of her. She rolled him off of her and stumbled awkwardly to her feet. She signaled for Scott to be quiet, removed the guard's knife from his chest, took his pistol, checked it and stuffed it in her belt, grabbed the key from the lock and opened the cell door.

"Security camera, stairway," she whispered to him as they made their way toward it. She looked briefly at him for some kind of consent then defiantly slipped through its path. She checked that the corridor was clear and signaled for him to approach. She moved to the next intersection, waited for the guard to approach, and neatly rendered him unconscious with a blow to the chest swiftly followed by the knife butt to the back of the skull.

Scott disentangled the gun strap from around the guard and took the weapon as the lady checked the next corridor and signaled for him to follow. She stopped at the next intersection, looked back at him, then at the gun, reached over and flicked a switch.

"Not unless you have to."

"I won't," Scott replied. She turned into the next passage and moved up to a doorway halfway along before indicating he should follow. She had not gone five paces further when the alarms went off. She threw the knife at the appearing oncoming guard, before putting herself between Scott and harm, whilst taking out the pistol to take care of those rapidly approaching from behind. Scott and the lady broke into a run, twisting randomly through the white walled corridors. They ducked through the next available door and soon found themselves running into the darkness. Searchlights covered the compound. Armed men searched as far as the lights reached.

"Bring the men back," Marco ordered. "Do not bother with them; they'll come back because there is nowhere they can go." With a look of superiority he surveyed the lit compound from the window as he dismissed his second-in-command. He was not pleased.

*****

At dawn Scott and the lady found themselves sitting, exhausted, under a rocky outcrop. If they had some binoculars they would have had a decent view of the installation from which they had just escaped. Except for the occasional rocky outcrop, sand dunes cascaded as far as the eye could see in every other direction.

"Where on earth are we?" Scott asked.

"You said you wanted out. You're out."

"I wanted to go back to New York."

"You didn't say New York." The lady glared at him stupidly.

"We need some transport. If there was at least a road going out of here and a truck," Scott observed the great expanse of bare sand, "we could steal a truck." He sighed in desperation.

"They have a helicopter," she offered. "We could steal a helicopter."

Scott stared at her for a long time. There was something wrong with that plan. "Can you fly a helicopter?"

The lady's smile said 'yes'.

Scott produced a surprised and exhausted laugh. "How are we going to steal a helicopter?"

*****

Mickey got out of his van and hurried up the stairs with more enthusiasm than he had had all week. It wasn't much, but finally he had something positive to offer. He knocked on the door.

"Did Jonah find out who called?" Robert greeted Mickey before he so much as got inside.

"No, but I think we caught a break."

"What?"

"We managed to ID the driver from the surveillance video outside the concert hall."

Robert looked at him expectantly.

"The driver's a gun for hire: Lance Lysaght. Here's his address, but he hasn't turned up there. Wanna go looking?" Mickey said. Tapping the notebook in his pocket, he added, "Here's a list of his usual haunts."

"What the hell are we waiting for?"

*****

Sometime later Scott awoke to being shaken by the shoulder. He was tired and thirsty. His newfound lady friend was standing close by, attempting to argue with a man in desert gear. The man pointed the gun at her, said something that definitely wasn't English, and pointed in the direction he wished her to move. Two other men dragged Scott to his feet and pushed him after her. Quickly the recent prisoners found themselves marching away from the rocky outcrop and out into the open desert. There were six of their new captors; all of them armed and they appeared to be in a hurry to get wherever they were going. They made no attempt to bind Scott or the lady, but offered them water at regular intervals.

"Who are they?"

"Do we care? They've got food, they've got water, they've got guns and that's what we need at the moment."

"They're pointed at us." Scott gave her a look of concern.

"Well, they haven't shot us yet."

"Do you think they speak English?"

With warning in her eyes, she nodded and they continued to walk, this time in silence.

*****

Robert and Mickey found Lance Lysaght at a bar. He was chatting up a couple of women, his interest in them plain in the hungry look on his face. He was a man who obviously thought much of his ability with the ladies. Robert inserted himself between Lance and the woman who was holding his immediate attention while Mickey placed heavy hands on his shoulders, holding him in his seat from behind. The women took one look at trouble and moved on to someone else.

"You are going to tell me about this." Robert took out the filled-in composite print Louis had constructed from the surveillance video and a file photo. Lance took half a look at the print and tried to get up.

"I don't think so." Mickey forced him back onto the edge of his stool. "We just want some information."

"That is a very clear picture of you driving that van," Robert barked. "That man is my son and you are going to tell me what you did with him or I'm going to kill you."

"I can't help you," Lysaght spoke his unconvincing dismissal. Mickey pulled his unbalanced chair from underneath him and Lance hit the ground drawing the attention of the surrounding patrons.

"Sorry, our friend seems to have had too much to drink. Don't worry, we'll help him home." Robert assured the onlookers as Mickey helped Lance to his feet and through the door. By the time Mickey had him out the door, he had Lance in an arm lock and forced the taller, bigger man into the van.

The abandoned building they took him to was nearby and isolated enough for their purpose. Mickey roughly forced Lysaght inside and cuffed his wrists to the metal legs of the molded plastic chair while Robert parked the van and marched in behind.

"Where is my son?" Robert demanded.

"I don't know," Lysaght insisted.

BANG. Lysaght jerked, his eyes widening, as Robert, standing about a yard away, shot the edge of the plastic chair between his knees. He hadn't expected to be shot at and it was noticeable in his startled expression.

"Wrong answer," Mickey observed.

"Look," a tremble manifested in his voice, "I've got nothing against you or your son -- I was hired to do a job."

“Who hired you?” Robert's voice cut through his assertion.

"I can't tell you that."

BANG. Robert put another bullet through the chair, further up between Lysaght's thighs.

"Three strikes and you're out," Mickey suggested.

"I didn't touch your son. I didn't do anything to him." Lysaght looked down at his crotch then up at Robert; sweat beading his forehead. "I tell you who hired me and you let me go, right? ‘Cos' that s all I know."

"We'll consider it." Mickey watched Robert until he unwillingly nodded his agreement.

"Kensington," Lysaght breathed, "Lowe Kensington."

"And how do we find Lowe Kensington?" Mickey asked.

"I," Lysaght's eyes bulged out of head and he was breathing heavily, as he answered, "I don't know -- I met him at a bar."

"My son was alive when..." Barely containing his rage Robert threatened him with the gun.

"I don't know what they did to him once they drove away in the car. I just drove the van."

"If," Robert advanced upon Lysaght, "if anything has happened to my son. I will hunt you down and kill you. That is a promise. So you had better pray, and pray very hard, indeed, that I find him alive." Mickey moved quietly in from behind and put his hand on Robert's shoulder. Robert backed up and walked out the door. Mickey took one look at Lysaght, shrugged and left him there.

"I'll see what I can find out about Kensington," Mickey said catching up to Robert as he reached the door of the van.

*****

Sunday

Scott and the lady had been marching through the sand with the six men all night and into the next morning. Ahead of them lay an encampment. It came up out of the desert, so well hidden that they hadn't noticed it as they approached. There appeared to be little over a dozen men camped here. Some had been injured, apparently recently. They were directed into a tent. A man sat behind a desk.

"A tent," the lady observed.

"Who are you?" the man asked. He wore desert camouflage gear and his voice carried no particular accent.

"Lost," she answered confidently. "We would greatly appreciate transport to the nearest outpost of civilization."

The man appeared amused.

"You have no I.D., no papers, only guns. For all I know, you could be terrorists." He walked around and sat on the desk.

"Then what the hell are we doing out here?" the lady interrupted. "We took the guns from the assholes who took our stuff. We just want a ride home."

"I am afraid that, thanks to the worldwide quest to rid the world of terrorists, we will not be visiting civilization for another seven months." He seemed less amused now.

"Then can I have some supplies, a compass and a map?"

"I cannot spare any. Besides, I cannot have it reported that we are here until our mission is complete, so I'm afraid I have to detain you."

"Some of your men are injured. Can I buy supplies in exchange for my services?"

"Services?"

"As a soldier," she added before he got any funny ideas.

"You're not reporters," the man observed. This succeeded in making the lady angry.

"That man is my meal ticket." She pointed at Scott. "I was hired to get him home and I don't have seven months to do it."

"All right." The man ran his fingers through his thinning hair. He stood up and offered his hand. "Peter Wise."

"Darkness." The lady shook it. "Most of the people I work with call me The Lady."

"And the rest?"

"That bloody bitch."

He smiled and dragged over a seat, indicating for her to sit. "Write down your wish list and we'll negotiate."

*****

Peter Wise himself led them to their bed. It was a communal sleeping area and the only ‘bed' remaining was a pile of blankets.

"You sleep first," she ordered Scott. "I'll wake you up and you can watch over me." The Lady picked up one pile of blankets that had been piled into a mattress and piled it on top of the other.

"You don't trust Peter."

"Oh, I trust Wise. I know who he works for; but I don't trust his mercenaries." She sat down on a crate next to the makeshift bed. "Right now, Peter Wise is trying to think of some way of checking my credentials without tipping off his quarry that he's here."

"I'm a musician, not a soldier. " Scott lay down on the uncomfortable pile. "Just thought you might want to know"

"How'd you end up out here, then?"

"My father owns a security business."

"And that gets you kidnapped?"

"Repeatedly."

"Well, in payment for me getting you back to New York which, on the whole, is what I do, you'll get me tickets to see you perform. Your trade, for mine."

"That's all?"

"That's all I have need for," she replied. "Don't talk to these people. We don't want to know what they're up to and we don't want them knowing anything much about us. What do I call you?"

"Scott McCall."

"Just Scott from now on. Try to sleep."

*****

It was late afternoon by the time they awoke. Scott watched the Lady while he ate what he guessed he could term breakfast since he had had nothing to eat since he had traded sleeping shifts with the Lady and she had decided they should be up. She had slept little and had sat motionless, staring blankly across the bare landscape for some time. Wise and his men were busy with their daily duties. Four were shooting in a makeshift training maze hidden in a small steep-sided valley below the camp. The Lady brought her eyes back into focus onto Scott.

"If we are to get out of here," she said deliberately, "then I need to know how well you can defend yourself." Her eyes held a dark expression of deep regret. Her manner implied she did not want an answer. She stood and led the way down into the valley. Scott followed her.

Less than an hour later, she left Scott shooting targets and went back to watching him from the vantage point above the valley. This man had surprised and confused her. He could defend himself, he could probably do better than that but, as he said, he was no soldier. She studied him, trying to figure him out.

"Some of the gear on your shopping list I don't have or I can't spare." Peter Wise made a show of approaching her. "This is what I'm willing to trade and what I'm willing to trade for. You and your friend will take a regular guard shift, roster is on the notice board," he informed her. Her eyes were intent on Scott. A couple of Wise's men had joined him and decided he needed to do something more interesting. She watched him move through the maze with them. "If you tell me what you're going to hit, I might even trade you a floor plan." Peter Wise stopped and watched. "He moves well. I thought he was untrained."

"Watch carefully," the Lady replied. "He's not." The sun was setting.

"Take him with you. I can use every man I can get, and I can't spare one to back you up." He handed her the list.

"Food, clothing, basic kit in exchange for a night's work of surveillance. It's a fair start." She turned her head to watch the men pack up. "You have a deal."

"And him?"

"I'll consider it," she dismissed Wise.

"What do I call him?" Wise took two steps backward.

"Scott." She stood to meet Scott as he clambered up the hill.

"And his surname?" Wise added.

"Scott," the Lady smiled and raised her voice slightly so Scott heard her answer.

"Oh. I see." Peter Wise left.

"I thought you said you hadn't done this before?" the Lady addressed Scott.

"Lady, a long time ago I made a decision that I would not stand by and let someone hurt someone I love. I learned to take back what was mine," Scott explained. She retracted slightly at his words. Then she seemed to consider them.

"You made a decision," she stated. "And it was your decision?"

Scott indicated yes although confused at her question.

"Wise will trade us a basic kit in exchange for a small surveillance job tonight," she stated. "We sit on a rocky outcrop pretending we are a hole in the air. I watch whatever is out there for eight hours, you watch my back, then we report to Wise. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to and I can't guarantee that the next job he asks for will not have greater risk."

"If I do it, then we get our stuff and get out of here sooner?"

"Yes. And know that I will not allow you to attempt anything I do not think you are capable of achieving."

"Let's do it, then," Scott agreed.

"Right." She started toward the maze. "We have four hours to learn how to work with each other."

*****

Mickey let himself into Robert's apartment but had barely crossed the floor when Robert awoke from his restless slumber on the couch.

"Jonah's file on Kensington." He put a disk on the coffee table as he sat on the couch. "Kensington arranges small stuff, usually kidnappings aren't his thing. He paid everyone, including Lysaght, in cash but the payment for the job we eventually tracked down as being from Jacques Marco."

"What do we know about him?" Robert rubbed his face with his hands.

"Marco is a private jailer," Mickey continued gently. "Most of his clients are African, Middle Eastern. His last outfit was out in the middle of the Sahara, but he moves around a lot. He's described as an arrogant, sadistic control freak. Total nutcase. I'll have more in the morning."

*****

Monday

It was not until the following evening that Mickey returned, carrying a cardboard tube and some take out. Robert was still reading the files he had dropped off the night before. The grim look had settled on his face.

"Forget those. You have to eat."

"In a minute, Mickey."

"I found Marco," Mickey held up the tube, "GPS coordinates, satellite imaging." Robert looked up at him, surprised. "Now come over here and sit down with me."

Robert got up from his chair by the window and sat at the larger space on the couch as Mickey unrolled the first image.

"This is Marco's installation. It was taken three days ago, so it isn't current." He took out an enlarged image. "These are Marco's cells. He's got two cell blocks and it looks like he's holding three prisoners." Robert took the image from Mickey's hand. "Two in the lower block and one in the upper."

"That's Scott," Robert said quietly.

"You can't be sure from a thermal image but, yeah, there is someone about Scott's build in that cell. The other two are hard to distinguish." Mickey had asked the same question when he had seen the print. "I have more information coming."

"We," Robert stared at the image. "We have to get out there. They can send us the rest of the intelligence. We have to get out there now."

"I've already arranged it. We leave tomorrow evening. The Company has a base nearby but I've arranged things so we keep under Justin's radar, but right now, you have to eat and sleep."

*****

A week later the Lady stood at attention before Wise's desk.

"You wanted to see me?"

"These are the plans to the installation we found you and your meal ticket outside." Wise studied her for a reaction. "Call it a trade for a job I need you to help me pull off tonight. I also can get you satellite photos and limited intelligence, but it's not on my target list so I won't offer you personnel." He watched the Lady step forward and glance over the papers on his desk. "Do you have a plan? I think it is more than you two are capable of handling." He waited for his words to sink in. "Look, Lady, stay to the end of the tour and I'll pay you both what you're due. You're worth it and you're not going to be able to take Marco's installation on your own."

"It's not my decision."

"Then I suggest you start teaching Scott Scott something a little more challenging than watching your backside or you are going to get it kicked," Wise warned her. "He's not up to it."

"You're suggesting we take a more difficult assignment." It was not a question. "What is it?" Wise gave her the brief and she looked it over. "I'll put it to him, but tonight is too soon."

"Fine. But those plans don't leave this tent and my safe," Wise informed her, "and I assure you, what I'm asking you to do will be the most help to you."

"If I was after Marco," she insisted, not willing to confirm her intentions. "Any of your targets have a chopper?"

"Not permanently," Wise informed her.

"Then the trade is for the plans, location satellite photos and any information you have," she proposed.

"Tonight's backdoor and two man team for the second job, you teach him the particulars."

"I'll make the proposal." The Lady stood up and left.

"You do that," Wise commented as soon as he was sure she was out of range.

*****

It was a month later at the Company base that Robert compared the two satellite images of Marco's installation. Finding Marco's base and getting to Marco's base had proved to be two different undertakings, not to mention acquiring men and supplies. The original image showed three cells occupied, two on the basement level and one in the upper level isolation cells. The more recent image was more disturbing. There were so many people in the image he could not distinguish those in the cells. Their information on Marco himself was poor but they had a fair idea of his hired army's strength and the security within his installation. It was well guarded and, knowing where Scott was, they took time to prepare. He had been over it too many times: the plan was good. He got up. Time to make the final preparations.

The station was kept by a man named Smith and could only be described as being in the middle of nowhere. It consisted of an airstrip and a hanger, which contained a small shooting range and a gym, attached to the main building. It was run by a skeleton staff and Mickey had called in a few favors and had them smuggled in on the supply plane. The main building was an insulated tin shed and was much too hot for Robert's comfort. It consisted of a main dormitory, a mess, a second smaller room, a smaller dormitory with six beds where Mickey and Robert were situated, and Smith's quarters and communication room. Oddly enough, McCall had been there briefly a good too many years before. From the outside it looked very little different. Inside, however, the communication equipment seemed to be state of the art. There was a border fence which was even guarded some of the time. Outside there was rock, sand and more sand.

Smith had rustled them up a small team. Neal was an experienced helicopter pilot a few years older than Mickey and seemed to be just marking time, "passing through" he said "on my way further north." Although Smith had arranged to get them there, he really had only worked with Neal. Except for Ramirez, Neal had recommended the rest. Keao and Ace were an odd couple of security experts. By the look of him, Keao would be judged as the brute force asset but claimed expertise with software while Ace took hardware. They boasted that they could ‘reason' anything open quickly and quietly. Robert had no idea how Smith had arranged to have them stationed there, but instinct told him they were there to disappear. Ramirez had joined Smith after committing a faux pas and was hiding out until his tactlessness was forgotten. William, whom Mickey had affectionately nicknamed Will, seemed a little young for Robert -- then again they all did these days. He had been put there to recover from something, or at least that was what Neal claimed. The man had talent and, after watching him with Mickey, Robert was comfortable that Will was watching Mickey's back

"Why don't you wait here and have dinner on? I'll be back with Scott in two hours, tops, this'll be a walk in the park."

"Mickey." Robert gave him a exasperated look and then slowly shook his head as he continued to check the gear. Mickey shot Robert a covert glance as he checked on his own gear -- the glib statement had had its desired effect on Robert; he looked a little more relaxed and at ease, not as tense as he had been.

It was not long until they were flying into the night. Neal set the helicopter down a decent march from the installation. Its occupants exited into the night. Ace and Keao had no problem convincing the door to give them access to the main building, the guard to the control room was silently dispatched. They made sure there was no obvious indication that they redirected the security and disabled the electronic lock system.

As soon as his watch indicated it was time, Robert pushed the door. It yielded, and Ramirez quietly shot the guard. They proceeded up the stairs and began to systematically search the upper level cells.

At the other end William led the way down the stairs, stopping at the cell block door, the dead guard at his feet, and waited for Mickey. Mickey signaled a reminder to wait and cautiously entered the door, checking the cellblock over before dragging the guard in behind him. He carefully navigated the maze of barred cells to the ones that their intelligence had indicated were occupied. He pushed the door of the left cell open and cautiously stepped inside. There was no movement. There was a pile of blankets and rubble against the back wall large enough to conceal a man. Mickey approached it and flipped it back. He spun around gun ready as he heard the cell door slam.

Robert ushered Ramirez back into the cell they had been checking. Something had set him on alert then he heard it -- a number of men were approaching. Quietly, he closed the door as the guards passed by. He counted them, four. If they noticed the absence of the exit guard they would sound the alarm. He signaled to Ramirez, take them out on three.

Mickey rushed toward the door. It was locked. The cell doors had an electronic signature on the key. If he tried to pick it, he'd set off every alarm in the place. Where was William?

"Will?" Mickey said to his com as he decided to have a go at the lock anyway.

"I really wouldn't try that if I were you." The main door opened and a number of heavily armed men entered where William should have been.

"Blown," Mickey said into the com in the hope of warning the others.

"Give that to me," the man ordered, indicating the tool in Mickey's hand. "Think about it. I have four men with submachine guns out here and you are locked in a cell. You are not going to open that lock or shoot us all before we kill you. Now, give it to me." Mickey dropped the tool from his hand. The man giving the order was something out of a bad novel. He was wearing what looked like a silk shirt, sand colored slacks and matching hat covering peppered gray, ginger hair and steel blue eyes. This had to be Marco. A silk shirt in the middle of the desert, bet he sweated something awful. Mickey stared back at him defiantly. The four men with machine guns were backed up by another four at the entrance.

"Put down your weapon," Marco continued. Mickey obediently placed the visible gun slung around his shoulder at his feet. "And the pistol in your jacket," Marco instructed. Mickey took the gun out of his shoulder holster. There was no answer from Robert on the com. He hoped Robert had heard him. He carefully put the pistol on the ground. "Now, place your hands on the back wall," Marco ordered. Mickey calmly walked to the back wall and placed his hands on it. "Take our guest's coat." He nodded to one of the guards.

The guard handed the man his machine gun and unlocked the cell door with his key. This guard was big and roughly stripped off Mickey's gear down to his t-shirt by tearing it from Mickey's body with help from his knife. There was no room to maneuver. Mickey could feel the guns outside the cell trained on him. He glared at the wall. The guard backed out of the cell and the door slammed shut.

*****

After the guards had passed, Robert pushed the door. It rattled soundly in its lock; almost simultaneously he heard Mickey's voice in the com "Blown." He stepped back from the door. Ramirez stared at him with slight confusion.

"We have a problem," Robert announced.

*****

"Let go of me." Keao, cuffed, struggled against a number of guards as he was dragged across the cellblock and flung in the cell left of Mickey. It appeared as if he had been in a better position to put up a fight than Mickey, and had done so. He wore the evidence on his face, but there was no sign of Ace. He took one look at Mickey and shook his head. Ace was dead, and by the look on Keao's face, William too. There had been no gunshots. How had they got Will without Mickey noticing, and Keao and Ace without anyone getting off a warning?

Marco peered smugly over his inmates, then headed up the stairs to the upper cells. The guards dispersed to their designated positions, two at each of the entrances and two watching the new inmates. Mickey and Keao heard the resounding clang as the cellblock door locked shut. Mickey watched the guards as he slowly sank to the floor and sat down. When they didn't react, he asked, "What happened to the others?"

"They knew we were coming." Keao dropped his voice to barely audible. Mickey waited for him to continue. "They were very quiet. Took our gear, coms first. Then they knelt us down, looked each of us over and shot Ace." He had to pause. "I thought I could make some noise on the way in but it just ended in too many guards and punching match."

"What about William?"

"You didn't hear it? He's dead on the ground just outside that door. All head shots, Mickey, these guys are not taking chances." Mickey's dark look conveyed exactly what he was thinking. They were screwed and they both knew it. His radio had disappeared with his jacket, as had Keao's. Guards were posted so they couldn't try to escape, even if either of them had still had anything to help with that. Robert might be loose or he might have already been killed; they had no way of knowing. Mickey stretched, then stood up, and deliberately set about searching the cell. If Marco was watching them, he wanted to know it.


Marco knocked twice on the door of the cell in which Robert and Ramirez were hidden. He grinned. His targets had both locked themselves up for him. He could not help but enjoy the situation. He may have lost the son and the woman, but he was ahead. Marco was always ahead. The only thing he was not happy about was that his target was not alone in his cell and that he was still armed.

"I think you two are outnumbered." Marco started counting off his six guards at the cell door and additional four split between the exits. "You will put down your weapons and put your hands on the back wall and I will let you out of there, or I will send my men in guns blazing."

"Why don't you try just that?" Robert invited him, his gun ready.

"Fine by me." Marco said irritably. He reached over and took an item from the nearest guard's kit, unlocked the door and tossed it in. Robert kept his eyes on the doorway as he heard the can clatter and bounce against the opposite wall. Keeping his gun ready with one hand, he attempted to cover his nose and mouth with his jacket with the other. Ramirez was attempting to do the same, crouching low to the ground in the hope of avoiding the rising fumes. Robert propped himself against the wall, slowly sliding to the floor as he succumbed to the gas.


Mickey stared balefully at the guards. Marco's surveillance system appeared to be limited to the camera over the exit stairs but all had not been in vain. He turned the fabric over in his hand. He was almost certain it was from one of Scott's performance shirts. He had also found the disturbing remains of a pool of blood. He and Keao turned as they heard the cellblock door unlock. Mickey braced himself; for what, he wasn't quite sure. Two guards dragged an unconscious figure between them. As they came to the cell opposite, Mickey saw that it was clearly Ramirez. The guards dropped him unceremoniously inside the cell and locked it. *And Robert?* he wondered to himself. Perhaps he'd found Scott and got him out of here. Maybe, just maybe, Neal had flown back and was getting Smith to raise a rescue mission.

The two guards headed back up the stairs to the upper isolation cells. They dragged the unconscious Robert down the stairs and through the maze of bars to the bare cell next to Mickey. Less than gently, they dropped Robert in the middle of the cell and left, securing the door behind them.

Marco had followed them down gloating. He surveyed the room gleefully. He met Kostmayer's icy eyes and basked in their threat. They heard the outer cell door unlock and a nervous guard marched up to Marco. The guard lowered his voice as he made his report. "The pilot resisted," was overheard.

Marco was suddenly angry. "I thought I told you that no-one was to be killed without my permission!" Marco shouted at the guard. He drew out his gun, looked at Kostmayer, then at Keao considering, then aimed the gun at Keao and shot him in the forehead. Marco turned on his heel and walked out. Ramirez dragged open his eyes, took one look at what had happened and collapsed to the ground again. Mickey froze. Keao, Ace, Will, Neal - what had kept him alive? Involuntarily, the blood drained from Mickey's face as he contemplated how close he had come, yet again, to death only to see another team member die in his place. Ramirez looked as though he'd survive and he tried not to think about whether Robert was injured. There was no back up. He had to find Scott and get them out of there. Trying to shake off the mood, he hissed "McCall." There was no response.

*****

Scott set about the task of cleaning his gear. Time had melted into routine. Sleep, watch the Lady sleep, her patient voice repeating to him the essentials of some new task or the repetition of an old one while they practiced, and then the work for Wise. He could feel the man standing at the flap.

"She's asleep," Scott stated. Normally no one bothered him, and he did not encourage them.

"It's not her I'm after." Wise put his head inside. "The Lady is a soldier, she follows orders. I would have sent someone if I wanted the Lady's attention."

"Well, I'm busy," Scott replied.

"I won't ask you to stop," Wise pulled over a crate as he entered and sat on it, "nor will I ask you to abandon your post." He looked over at the sleeping Lady, trying to assure himself she was unconscious. He did not expect that she'd be the type to sleep soundly. "I want you to know what I know about Darkness." Wise lowered his voice and did not wait for Scott to answer. "She was a freelance gun. Had a reputation for undertaking risky operations for good causes. Very good at it, too. " He waited for Scott to take it in. "But she has seen too many battles and now she is just looking for a cause worthy of her life. I've seen too many of her kind here." Wise watched Scott's attempt to ignore him. "She will give her life for you, that I can assure you. But she is a bomb looking for somewhere to explode and if you are not careful she'll take you with her. She will do whatever you decide. You are her only reason for being. Stay to the end of the tour, and I'll pay you out at the same rate as the others."

"If you're right, then if I stay, she's at greater risk, or are you hoping that she'd find a nice safe place for me and turn around and follow you back here?" Scott put his gear aside. "Someone crazy enough to commit suicide for you." He looked for an answer in Wise's expressionless face. "I need to get home. My parents will be searching for me."

"Fair enough," Wise conceded. He smiled to himself. He had not expected this man to be interested in his rescuer's welfare, but he was not surprised to find he was. "I do fear that the she will overestimate your capabilities in an effort to do as you ask, and that will get you both killed." Wise got up from the crate. "It's up to you," he stated, leaving. Scott looked over the sleeping woman as he considered Wise's words. Only this morning, she had told him that she did not believe they were ready or able to steal that helicopter. He trusted her to make that decision.

*****

Mickey sat on the cell floor studying his friend in the next cell. McCall was in his seventies, for goodness sake: What the hell had he been thinking? Marco wasn't a pack of street thugs. Robert moved slightly.

"Robert?" Mickey asked quietly, so as not to disturb the guard.

"I'm fine, Mickey." With great effort Robert pushed himself into a more comfortable position.

"Yeah, well can you be ‘fine' over here so I can speak to you."

Robert made the effort to sit up but moving the six feet to where Mickey was sitting would have to wait until his head cleared. Things had obviously not gone well. He was in a bare cell and Mickey was sitting against the bars in the next. Ramirez lay on the floor unmoving in the cell across the aisle, where a guard sat watching them. He dragged himself to where Mickey sat. It took less effort to sit against the bars.

"How are we doing?" Robert rasped.

"Keao said he saw Ace and Will go down. Keao's dead. Guard told Marco they got Neal but I haven't seen a body. Ramirez hasn't moved since just after you were brought in." Mickey had dropped his voice to a hurried whisper. "As far as I can tell, he's not listening in. The video surveillance covers only the two exits. We have one guard at the moment but sometimes two sitting at the end of the L here directly outside your cell, and one outside each of the exits. The walls are underground to about seven feet, then we have some small barred vents for air and lighting. The bars down here are pretty secure, and the locks are electronic and set off the alarms if opened without a key."

"Sounds like we need a key."

"I'm working on it. There are other possibilities."

"Scott?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," Mickey said softly.

"We didn't finish checking the cells."

"He might have been down here." Mickey slipped the torn fabric to Robert. "I found it about where you're sitting but I don't know if it's his or if it was planted."

Robert looked at it with contempt.

"Keao suggested they knew we were coming," Mickey added. Their whispering had attracted the guard's attention and he began to walk to the cell door.

"Not really a surprise, if they had him here."

"Another interesting thing." Mickey glared at the oncoming guard. "Marco executed Keao because he doesn't like his guards killing without his permission." Mickey got up to meet the guard. He leaned forward, hanging off the door. "Thought I'd get up and say hi."

"Get away from the door," the guard said slowly, aiming his weapon at Mickey.

Mickey shrugged, giving the guard a huge grin. The guard stepped forward menacingly. For a minute they stared each other down, then Mickey obediently took his hands off the door but didn't step back. The guard turned to leave. Mickey reached through the bars and grabbed the guards hair, pulling him off balance and back into the bars. He caught and held him, making sure he was unconscious before letting the man slip to the ground.

"Did I mention Marco's guards aren't too smart?" Mickey looked through the bars to the exits to see if the noise had attracted any unwanted attention while he searched the guard for a key.

Robert smiled in response, quietly getting to his feet as Mickey cautiously unlocked the cell door. Mickey removed the guns from the guard, handing the pistol to Robert before letting him out of the cell. He locked the guard in his cell as Robert unlocked Ramirez and quickly, quietly shook him awake.

They carefully proceeded to the exit to the upper level cells. There was no choice. They had to get in sight of the surveillance camera to take out the guards. Ramirez still looked dazed. Mickey handed him the guard's gun, briefly checked they were all ready, and then entered the camera range, burst through the door and silently took out the unsuspecting guard. Ramirez was already up the stairs and past him covering the corridor, Robert not far behind, closing and securing the door.

Mickey helped himself to that guard's gun. He and Robert glanced briefly into each cell as they passed, hurrying to the exit. If anyone was looking at the surveillance cameras, it would not be long before they had company.

Ramirez went though the door and Mickey opened fire on the two guards stationed there. There was already a group of Marco's men heading their way and they scattered them to the sparse cover as the three of them headed the opposite way along the outer wall. They found themselves at an alley between two buildings and headed down it. Marco's men were not far behind. They turned the next corner into a storm of gunfire. Forced back into the alley, Mickey looked desperately for another escape.

The building at their back that they had just come out of was three stories high, featureless. The building on the other side of the alley was a little higher and had an open, unreachable gallery on the second floor. If some of Marco's men found their way to the gallery, the three were sitting ducks. Both ends of the alley were now surrounded.

"I'll slow them down. You see if you can get to the next alley." Mickey checked his clip, "If I remember correctly, we'll have a more covered run clear from there."

"And then what?" Ramirez shot back at the men advancing from behind.

"I don't know." Mickey knew they were running out of time. "Just be ready to go."

Mickey rounded the corner, spraying the courtyard with bullets as Ramirez and Robert hurried along the building. Robert turned into the alley behind Ramirez and stopped. It would not have been wise to bring up his weapon. They were far too outnumbered to attempt shooting his way out. Maybe in the split second they had come round the corner, but not now.

"Drop it." A large guard ordered. Robert thought about delaying until Mickey came and then realized he no longer heard shooting behind him. He dropped the gun and, after a moment, Ramirez followed suit. The large guard kept his gun on Robert while others produced cuffs and chained them.


Mickey looked up from the ground into the barrel of a gun. What the hell had hit him? He'd been making a fighting retreat to where Robert and Ramirez ducked into the alley, turned to sprint the last few yards and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground struggling for breath. It was obvious now, of course. This big, burly guard had come out of the doorway and struck him across the ribs with his gun. Perhaps that crack about Marco's guards being none to smart was a little over-generalized. He was weaponless and surrounded.

"Hands on head." 'Big and Burly' nodded at one of the dozen men surrounding Mickey as he complied. The man squatted beside Mickey as he took out the cuffs. Mickey shifted his weight, slamming his shoulder into the man with the cuffs, knocking him off his feet. Mickey froze as guns came from everywhere. 'Big and Burly' didn't bother speaking this time. He grunted to another of the men, who came from behind and shoved Mickey face first to the gravel.

"Hands on head," 'Big and Burly' repeated as he put his gun to Mickey's head. He didn't move as the guard with the cuffs yanked his hands behind his back and cuffed him. Roughly, he was dragged to his feet and shoved in the direction they wished him to move. As he was thrown around the corner down the alley, he was not surprised to see Robert and Ramirez captured and cuffed. Ramirez was forced to kneel as the man closest to Mickey tripped him into the same position. Robert had been allowed to remain standing against the wall.

"Well?" Marco removed invisible lint from his white shirt as he casually walked over to them. He studied Ramirez, briefly looked over McCall and then came to Mickey. "This will not do."

"Just don't enjoy a challenge, do you," Mickey drawled.

"Mr. Kostmayer." Marco stood over him. "I think it is you who are not enjoying the challenge." He signaled one of the guards as he backed away and returned to Robert. He smiled gleefully at Robert as the man struck Mickey down with the butt of his gun. "Do you have anything to say?" he asked Robert.

"No." Robert gazed at him in cold anger.

"Another strike, I'm afraid." Marco got out his gun. "Find him a stake in the courtyard." He indicated Ramirez. "Take those two to my office."

Marco's office was in a pokey little corner of the building reached by a blind staircase, which housed an armed guard with access to the surrounding surveillance footage. Robert was led to a barred cell in the corner next to a large glassless window. They dragged Mickey in behind, knocking him to his knees. Marco perched on his rather ordinary looking desk while one of the guards secured a short chain between a ring embedded in the middle of the room and the chain section of Mickey's cuffs.

"Mr. Ramirez is ready sir." A new guard stood in the doorway. Marco considered him with great attention.

"I am sorry, gentlemen, but this cannot wait." Marco followed him out, leaving a handful of guards in the room. There was a long wait and then a single shot. The two prisoners looked at each other. Rage fired in Mickey's eyes, but only sadness in McCall's. Marco returned momentarily, flecks of blood spoiling his sand-colored suit.

"Now, where were we?" Marco studied his fingernails. "Yes, your son," he shook his finger at McCall, "is not in the cells downstairs."

"Then where is he?" McCall asked quietly, although now his calm expression was edged with anger.

"You know better than to ask questions to which you do not know the answers. Besides," Marco took a few steps toward Mickey, "this will be far more entertaining." He took out his gun and held it to Mickey's head. "Take his shoes." The guard knelt, hacking Mickey's boots loose and yanking them off one by one. "And his shirt." The guards were none too careful carrying out the order by cutting Mickey's t-shirt from his body with a sharp knife. Mickey stared defiantly at Marco's gun as they sliced. The burly one sent him doubled over to the floor with a parting kick to the groin. The short chain from the cuffs to the floor pulled him back on the slippery floor as his unprotected face struck. Marco gave him a swift kick to the ribs as Mickey struggled to curl up to protect himself.

*****
Robert sank against the bars as the last of Marco's men departed, leaving him with a solitary guard. Mickey lay unconscious, chained, just out of his reach. His eyes fell on him, searching for some sign of relief. This had gone terribly wrong. Marco had aimed to cripple Mickey, to make him a burden instead of a threat. There were no questions, no wants, no promises, and no threats. Marco's agenda was to slow them down and with that he realized that if Marco did have Scott, he would have displayed him with all his cruelty. A thousand what ifs entered his head, if Scott were not here, what had Marco done with him? The door opened and two of Marco's men entered. The first unlocked Mickey's handcuffs from the chain and then they dragged him away. With effort Robert got to his feet.

The room was a gallery that had been converted to an office of sorts. Marco's simple desk and chair sat below a large open window overlooking the walled courtyard. There was an electrical control box on the opposite wall. The single guard was backed up with a security camera. Aside from the desk and the chair, the room was bare as was Robert's corner cell. Marco strutted through the door and surveyed his prize.

"As I said, much, much more entertaining." He planted a smug smile across his face and began toward his desk. "And I so enjoy the entertainment of a decent beating."

"Very brave of you, having a helpless man beaten senseless."

"If I was to have a helpless man beaten senseless I would have you beaten, but that would not have been entertaining." Marco proposed superciliously. "Do you not agree?" Robert didn't reply, just stared at Marco, a look of loathing clear in his eyes "Well. It is not for everyone. We all have different tastes." Marco adjusted his hat. "I will not have you beaten. You are a different type of entertainment." He swept to his feet and walked to the window. "I like the desert. It proposes so many challenges. The heat and the cold, such beautiful extremes, the constant need for water." He said slowly. "Think of your friend. I have put him in the heat and the cold but I have not put him with your son." Marco turned back to Robert for a reaction. "I do not think I should let you see either of them again." Marco smiled. "Well, maybe once." He put his hand in his pocket and brought out a slim, decorative pocketknife as he turned back toward the window.

"I rather doubt you have my son," Robert said. "You haven't paraded him in front of me."

"He's a fine man," Marco's smile dried up, "so handsome in that pretty suit, all dressed up. I think I would have liked to hear him play. That also would have been good entertainment. It was the violin usually, was it not?"

"It is the violin, yes."

"I do not think he will be playing it for a long while." Marco's eyes shone with malice, but his fingers clutched at the knife. "I should have thought of that earlier, but then I don't have a violin."

"So you had him and he got away from you, did he?" Robert propounded. "Must have been terribly embarrassing." Robert didn't like the alternative reason why Marco was not parading Scott in front of him, so he pushed it out of his head.

"Such hope." Marco laughed. "You are going to be entertaining. I was hoping you would be." He shook the closed knife at Robert. "You are not going to escape, you are not going to see your son and you are not going to save your friend." He swaggered a few steps into the room. "For the most part, my men are happy. They are paid a large sum of money to sit around here doing little work with good food, decent entertainment and keeping their mouths shut. You will be most entertaining." He took a flask from the desk drawer. "Until I get bored and kill you." Marco held up his drink. "Yes, until I get bored." Marco smiled at Robert. "I think that you will find you will be my guest for a long time." He toasted, drank, and left.

*****

Hard concrete pressed into Mickey's face, hindering his lungs' effort to keep him breathing. His first reaction was to move, but this merely shifted the focus of the agony from his head to his chest, neck and shoulders. He relaxed as the roaring in his head subsided. He was face down and cuffed. It was dark and he was cold. He heard his breath gasping, catching in his throat. Blackness. He was shivering. He was shivering because he was cold and he was cold because the concrete was cold and he was lying on it without a shirt. That did not explain the pain in his head or in every other part of his body. He forced his eyes open. Dim light came from somewhere; now all he had to do was focus.

Something moved near his eyes. He stared groggily at the movement as it drew closer to his face. He jerked back as his mind and eyes regained focus on the large rodent. Pain shot through him as he came up against the cuffs and he sat there panting as the memory of Marco's beating flashed though his brain.

He surveyed the room. It was night. The dim light was for the benefit of the guard who did not so much as twitch at his awakening. He was back down in the basement cellblock but this time he was in the bare cell that Robert had occupied. Involuntarily, his eyes flicked to the cell to his left containing the blankets he had been searching the first time he'd been here. Robert was not there.

He looked back at the rat as it scampered off into the adjacent cell. His eyes rested on a small trough attached to the bars. He noticed it now contained a couple of inches of water. He was thirsty, desperately thirsty. He glared at the guard.

"I don't suppose you'd take these off so I can get a drink?" he rasped. The guard glanced over him and then went back to his staring at his magazine. "Asshole."

Mickey shuffled to the trough. His bare feet scratched against the concrete. He knelt beside the trough, staring defiantly at the guard. At least they had not taken his pants; he felt for the wire he had threaded into the hem and began to ease it loose. He could smell the water. He decided to remove the cuffs; the worst that could happen was that they put them back on after he got to stretch. He concentrated on the wire and almost sighed with relief as the cuffs relinquished their hold on his wrists. He bent down to put his hands in the water and stopped. He had almost not noticed it in the dim light and disturbed it. In the film of dust that covered the water trough was written ‘Scott McCall was here' Mickey stared at it, dumbfounded. There were also some bored scribblings that he recognized as the type of thing he found on Robert's telephone notepaper after Scott had borrowed the phone. It would only have been visible if there were water in the trough.

*Christ, only Scott,* he thought, *kidnapped, halfway around the world and still writing graffiti.*

Mickey cupped the shallow water to his dry lips until it was too shallow for him to get any more. He was still cold and he hurt, but the headache was subsiding and Scott had at least been here. Now what he had to do was find a way out. Damn, the guard was looking at him. The guard got up and walked to the cell door.

"Throw the cuffs out of the cell," he instructed, pointing his gun at Mickey. Mickey considered for a moment, then he picked up the cuffs from the ground behind him and put them just through the bars. "And the pick you used to unlock them," the guard added. Mickey considered what he could offer instead of the wire. The locks used an electronic key so it probably wasn't going to help him out of his cell anyway. Regretfully, he placed the wire with the cuffs. He waited for the guard to retrieve them.

"Back away," the guard ordered. Mickey stared back at him and then took a few steps backward. "Against the back wall," he insisted. This guard was not going to give him a break. He backed away to the wall and the guard retrieved the goods. There was nothing he could do. Mickey sank painfully to the ground and rested.

*****

"Catch! Catch?" Scott grabbed the Lady and threw her to the ground as they entered. "You bloody bitch, you almost got me killed!" Things had gone badly last night -- very, very badly, Wise had lost four men and their entry to the sleeping quarters was less than silent.

"The gun jammed. What would have me do, stand there until he shot us?" she shouted back as she jumped to her feet. "You're still in one piece, aren't you?" She ducked as Scott took a second swing at her and suddenly they found themselves measuring off against each other. They had been sparring partners for months but with the night's near miss, furious and so full of adrenaline, short of him fouling she wasn't sure she could stop him easily. She dodged his punch and swept his legs from beneath him. Not losing control, Scott rolled and came up to meet her in one fluid motion. Just as smoothly, she flung a nearby crate between them. He threw it back at her. What were left of Wise's men scrambled out of the way. His next punch connected with her shoulder and several were exchanged before she threw him to the ground. Again, he got up and they met each other. For a moment she stared him down, then she smiled and started to giggle. Breathing heavily, Scott started to giggle too, collapsing on the floor, all the anger replaced by sudden exhaustion. "Feel better?" she asked when he had lapsed into silence.

"Take me home." Scott's expression turned cold, then longing under her gaze. He knew it wasn't an easy request. "Whatever Wise will give us, you'll make do, but I've had enough. Lady, my parents will be waiting for me. I need to go home."

*****

"You wished to see me?" The Lady entered Peter Wise's tent. Two packs sat separate on the floor to one side. Two glasses of some kind of clear alcohol sat on his desk.

"Help yourself," Peter offered as he brought a pile of documents to his desk. The Lady took a sip of the liquor and put it back on the desk with the barest change of expression; it was not to her taste. "Latest satellite photographs." He laid them out on the table. "Everything I promised you. Do you have a plan?"

"Get the man home in one piece." She admired the sniper rifle behind Wise. She had no right to ask for the deceased man's tool but it was a fine weapon and she couldn't see anyone there but Wise using it well. "I need Lefte's rifle."

"Now you're pushing our friendship." Wise turned to look at it. "I guess no one here has your ability or your need." He took a deep breath. "I really don't want to lose you. Are you sure you won't stay on for the remaining four months?"

"It's not my decision to make."

"Yeah." After the incident in the sleeping quarters, Scott had made it clear he'd had enough and Wise knew there was nothing he could do to change her mind. "If you change your mind after you get him home, I'd have you back." Wise took the glass and drank. "I wish you luck."

*****

Scott had slept an exhausted sleep. He sensed there was something different; it was what had woken him up, but at first he did not know what put him on edge. The Lady was not there. He dragged himself to sit on the crate and began to clean his gear. It felt about noon and he was the only person left in the tent. He had no wish to go outside and greet the day. The work was somewhat comforting. Despite himself, he found himself humming.

"What is that?" The Lady slid in the entrance placing the packs she carried on the ground.

"What?"

"La, da, ah, lada da." The Lady sang the tune he had been humming. "You've been humming it the whole time I've known you."

"It's nothing." Scott did a double take; it was the first personal thing she had said to him. She spoke little, usually only for information or instruction. "I wrote it," he added.

"You play it in your concert."

"No." Scott smiled, amused.

"There is no-one waiting for me back in New York," she stated. "No one that cares anyway. Perhaps there are some who might think back in a few years ‘I wonder what happened to the Lady' but nobody waiting. I did not consider it for you. I am sorry." It was an apology. "I'll sleep and then we leave at nightfall. We're going to have a long couple of days."

*****

"No, I haven't actually been there," Robert leaned against the bars, chatting with his only guard, "but I hear it is a lovely place." Marco had lost interest and had not visited to claim his superiority for a few days, so he had struck up a conversation with this guard.

"Yes. I look forward to going back there once I have the money. Then I will show them how I deal with their kind." The guard took a photograph out of his pocket and dusted it off. He offered it to Robert to look at, but instead of taking it, he leaned close to the bars and made a show of peering at it. The guard drew nearer and angled it so it was easier for Robert to see. Robert hung his arm through the bars. In one movement, he straightened up with the guard's gun and shot him. Quickly, he pulled the guard to him and fished out his keys. He was out of the cell before the guard watching the surveillance camera entered the room, and downed him too. He marveled at Marco's organization. All Marco's men carried a standard kit. All his guards carried silenced weapons. That had worked well for him once. That was how Mickey hadn't heard Will's demise and had not been warned of his impending capture. It was not going to work well for him now. Robert retrieved the second guard's gun. He opened the locked door out on to the gallery and quickly made his way to the watch station. He dispatched the three guards playing cards and then looked through the feed. Mickey was in the cell he, Robert, had originally been locked in. He flicked through the locations again. There was no Scott. As he suspected, Marco didn't have him. Robert looked over the map of the installation. It was time to leave this place.

Mickey sat with his back against the rear wall of the cell. His legs were curled up against his chest, his crossed arms resting on his knees, providing a place to rest his head. He tried to relax. He could feel the warmth draining from the room as the sun disappeared. Another cold night following the soaring heat of day. The cold ate at his bruised chest. He needed an opportunity, just an opening, something to get him out of the cell so he could find Robert and Scott. Their absence stuck in his mind but he would not think of it. There were too many possibilities and he could not change them. His immediate problem was getting out of this cell. Normally, he'd attempt to create an opportunity, play to the guards but these would not be baited and Marco had made it clear the penalty if he failed: summary execution, no mercy, just like those poor bastards, Keao and Ramirez.

He listened for the guard, his eyes slit open to study him. Like before, there was one at the post at the end of the L, directly outside his cell and one outside each of the other exits. They obviously didn't consider likely his chances of escaping his cell, as the defenses were for an outer attack. Not completely disregarded though, he had noticed that the video surveillance camera had been redirected toward his cell. When he got out he had numerous problems. The first was to find Robert, then find Scott and then get out of there. Getting out of there was going to be the biggest problem. He was sore and he had no idea what condition the others were in. Marco's installation was a couple of weeks' walk in the open desert from anywhere and he hadn't noticed Marco owning a truck. Getting recaptured was not an option.

He observed the guard listening to the earpiece that linked to the radio he wore on his belt. The guard stood up, looked him over and abruptly left the room. A few seconds later, he heard a jingling crash as something hit the concrete wall outside his cell. Then something flew through the barred vent and landed on the floor. Mickey looked at the object, then at the surveillance camera and finally at the lack of guard. He stumbled quickly to it. There was a note containing a guard's key. In the dim light he read Robert's clear, capitalized handwriting. 'Camera's off, meet me at the west gate, tug twice for ok.'

*One problem down,* he thought, trying to contain his soaring hope. He knew it wasn't going to be easy to get out of there. He took the string and tugged twice, knowing that anything else would throw Robert off. Now he had to get to McCall and tell him about Scott's graffiti.

He looked over at the lack of guard as he cautiously got to his feet and walked unsteadily to the door. He kept a look out to the exits as he quickly unlocked the door and stepped outside his cell. No alarm. He carefully made his way to the door. He listened for a moment to get a fix on the position of the guard outside as he put the key in the lock and then rammed through the door and efficiently knocked out the guard. He checked to make sure there was no guard visible from the bottom of the stairs as he dragged off the guard's coat, boots and weaponry. He wasn't going to get far without some decent protection. He paused briefly as if it could alleviate the pain of having to stand, then headed up the stairs.


Robert smiled in relief as soon as he felt Mickey's tug on the string. He dropped it immediately and hurried to the door, listening to make sure the next room was unoccupied before he entered. Marco's guards were looking for him at ground level and Marco was working on the theory that he was heading toward Mickey. Marco was going to be disappointed. He came up to the next doorway. There should be a single guard, hopefully with his attention at ground level. Robert pushed open the door and shot him. He shut the door behind him and continued west.


Mickey moved along the corridor. Up ahead two of Marco's men guarded the exit. It was the entrance he had used originally to get in and he was glad to see it. The guards were alert but both were facing away from him. He wondered if there was a second pair outside. He took out the silenced weapon he had liberated from his jailer and disposed of both of them. He slipped through the door and the two outside soon joined them.

Mickey moved into the shadows by the wall and crept west. The next guard also had his back to him. Carefully, he approached from the shadows. The man took a couple of steps forward, his attention alerted by some imagined danger in the courtyard. Mickey froze. The searchlights swept along the opposite wall, then he heard the crack of gunfire across the top of the west wall. With the guard distracted by the noise, Mickey hurried to knock him out with the butt of his gun. The gunfight was a good hundred yards ahead of his position and on top of the fortification wall. If he made a break across open ground he could get to the west gate a lot quicker. Then, he might have a chance of getting up to Robert. He took the guard's machine gun; he no longer needed to be silent, and pushed across the field.

Robert sprayed the walkway with bullets in an effort to slow the advancing guards, then backed into an alcove opposite one of the searchlights' support structure for protection. This was not exactly going as well as he had hoped. If he didn't move soon, then Marco would get ahead of him and he would run out of bullets. A guard broke cover to come at him and he replied with another burst but not long enough move from the alcove to the door leading down to the west gate. So damned close.


Mickey ran toward the west gate. Marco had a troop down there and they were heading up to outflank Robert. He opened fire. He wasn't going to get in range in time but he was certainly going to get their attention. The effect was immediate. The moonlit sky blazed with streaks of fire. Mickey hit the ground and rolled to some decorative rocks, the only pathetic bit of cover in Marco's courtyard.


Robert used the distraction to make the guards advancing on him duck for cover and eliminated a few while he was at it. The next reply came from behind him as he dodged back into the alcove.

"Damn!" he swore. There was nowhere to go and Mickey was pinned in the courtyard. That he could fix. He moved under the searchlight and took aim at the group advancing on Mickey below him and opened fire.


Mickey heard Robert run out the clip as he reached the relative shelter of the west gate. He stopped shooting as his back hit the wall and covered the enclosed area with the weapon. Robert was captured, there were too many guards on the wall now for it to be anything else, and Marco had a pretty good idea where he was to come down and get him. He needed to disappear long enough to go back for Robert. He looked up. The gatehouse had no ceiling, just open wooden trusses. He climbed the gate and pushed himself into the darkest corner, freezing as the first group entered. They assumed he had gone through the door and suicidally up the stairs after Robert. Most of the group headed that way, but two stood guard and another checked on the fallen former guards. He tried to quell the sound of his breath.


"All right, all right." Robert obediently dropped the gun as the guard stuck his pistol in the back of his neck. He figured that Marco's order not to kill him was still valid. He turned around and faced the group of anonymous guards as they yanked him around after relieving him of his weapons.

"Find the other one," Marco said to one of the guards as he strolled up to Robert. "Very amusing." He touched his lips in consideration. "Take him back to his cage and chain him to the chair."

"I hope your employers are making this worthwhile," Robert remarked as they cuffed him.

"Don't think I won't shoot you to stop you from leaving." Irritation was evident in Marco's order. "Gag him this time." The leading guard indicated for Robert to move back the way he had come. Marco turned to meet the troop coming up behind him as the group of six men led Robert away.


The trusses above the gate were not a comfortable place to sit. Quietly, Mickey checked over the weapons he had confiscated during his escape. It appeared that Marco supplied his mercenaries with a standard kit: they all carried silencers, which explained why he hadn't heard Will being shot. He had three shots left in the pistol and eight in the automatic. He fixed the silencer to the gun and waited patiently for the traffic at the gate to disperse.

The guards at the west gate took the occasional look at each other and then went back to watching the rest of Marco's men pass by, searching for the escapee. The big and burly guard who'd decked Mickey on his last escape attempt came by with his troop.

"He was last seen here."

"He was not here when we were assigned, sir," the one on the left replied.

"Search the outer perimeter." He indicated half of the group. "He shouldn't get far on foot. If you see him, shoot his legs. Marco still wants this one in one piece." The group headed out the gate and 'Big and Burly' added, "He's already taken out four of ours tonight. Marco should let us kill the bastard." He nodded for his men to move through the doorway and up the stairs.

Mickey considered blowing him away but 'Big and Burly' would be missed. He waited until they were well out of hearing range before he shot the two remaining guards and lowered himself to the ground. He relieved the two guards of their weapons and radios and stole into the stairwell. He needed a quiet place to gather his strength and come up with a plan, and standing over two recently deceased bodies probably wasn't it. He briefly wondered if one of them had a better fitting pair of shoes than the ones he had stolen as he slipped down the abandoned corridor. The inside of the fortification wall seemed to be used as an access route, with most of the traffic on top rather than inside. He heard voices echoing a fair distance ahead and slipped into the next room. It was a closet and contained building material and rubble, nothing really useful.

"Marco's orders are to concentrate on the area north of the west gate. The best radio reception is in the area..." The man's voice faded to a murmur as he passed Mickey's hiding place. Mickey felt himself relax as they passed. Marco was focusing his efforts outside the installation, thinking that Mickey would radio for backup before trying to rescue Robert. He slipped out of the closet and continued down the corridor. The next door he hid behind was far more useful.

He checked the room over carefully with his gun, then with a sudden attack of paranoia looked for the video surveillance camera. Once convinced that there was no obvious, immediate danger he locked the door and walked into the room. He caught a look at himself in the guard's uniform in the mirror. Even one of Marco's men blind drunk after a brawl would look better than he did. If he were going to pass for a guard, he'd better clean himself up a little. As he filled the sink with water he broke open the cabinet with the white and green cross. The first aid station was barely what one might call equipped but he found some antiseptic to add to the water and a cloth. Still wary of the door, he gingerly cleaned up his face. He needed to find the control room for the surveillance system and locate Scott and Robert and he was going to do that by passing for a guard. Then, he needed to get out into the desert and radio for help from Smith. Quickly, he cut the beard as short as practicable. He stared in the mirror once more before leaving.

Moving as naturally as possible, he made his way back into Marco's fortress. He kept his eyes down and his features shadowed on the few occasions he had to pass some unenlightened guards. He entered the watch station, remote from the main building, on the heels of a group of guards. Hoping that whoever was watching the surveillance footage wasn't that observant, he concealed himself in the first open room. It was going to be pure luck from here. The watch station and the main building were well lit and anyone passing him was going to notice he didn't fit in. He waited for the walls to be silent again and moved on.

He did not draw out his gun until he was outside the door he remembered from the plans. There should be three men in the watch station and the surveillance camera was above his head to the left. He burst though the door. They did not have time to draw their weapons. It would not be long before somebody radioed in. He took a step back as he noticed three bodies laid out and covered out of the way on the floor. Robert had been here. As quickly as he could, Mickey checked over the surveillance screens. Robert, he found quickly in Marco's office. Marco was there too, chattering away. The controls for the locks were controlled from a box in that room as was the cellblock surveillance. Mickey quickly scanned though the cameras. For a moment his expression fell in confusion, then he scanned through the camera set again. There was no Scott. Hurriedly, he made his way to the door and moved on. Robert's room was too heavily guarded. He was going to need a diversion.

He ducked into the next room. The first guard almost got his gun up to shoot; the second never knew what happened. He relieved them of their weapons, keys, hat and the first guard of his shoes. Then he broke open the nearby cabinet and helped himself to some tools before hiding the bodies inside and locking the door. At least this guy had better fitting shoes. He pulled the cap down over his face and made his way down to the utility room.

He passed several of Marco's men without a sideways glance. He stopped at the door he was looking for and waited for the corridor to clear. Then he patiently worked though the keys. It did not take long to find the right one and open it. Mickey walked calmly down the three flights of stairs and wove his path between the equipment. He placed his hand on the pipes and followed them down to the valve. These were sewage pipes. He took out a spanner and tightened it. He figured that the shit had to go somewhere and since it was pumped here from the various facilities around Marco's base, this was going to be messy. Next, he moved on to the smaller water pipe. Following the pipe to a join, he unscrewed it until it began to leak and water gushed to the floor. As for the gas, he undid the connection at the tap. 'Guess Marco's guys are going to have a cold dinner.' He walked back up the stairs. He might have nothing to blow it up but he was sure he would create a distraction. He stole out the door, locked it with the key and, breaking the key off in the lock, began his journey to barracks.

He had to time his arrival at the barracks with a group because he hadn't the time to acquire an I.D. card, but it wasn't a problem for him to blend into the crowd. It did not take long for his 'distraction' to be noticed. He made his way to the locker room as they started to file out to investigate the effects of his vandalism.

"The sewage is overflowing behind the lower barracks and the mess hall and there is no water pressure. I sent down that maintenance idiot to fix it with..." Mickey overheard the man crow into the radio as he passed. Enough was said to arouse the curiosity of most of the population and the rest followed to escape the smell. Mickey grabbed an almost full kit from a nearby locker and blended in with the rabble as they left.

Keeping his head down, he broke away to cross back to the main building. He noticed the feet standing still in front of him first and glanced up into 'Big and Burly's' fixed eyes.

'Should have killed him when I had the chance,' Mickey thought as he changed his tack slightly in the farfetched hope of avoiding the confrontation. He reached into his jacket and brought out one of Marco's standard kit smoke bombs. 'Pity he didn't supply grenades.'

"That's him!" 'Big and Burly' shouted as he realized their escapee had seen that he had noticed him.

Mickey tossed the bomb at 'big and burly' and bolted for cover. He tore around the wall with almost the whole group on his tail and headed for the west gate. It was much better guarded than on his last visit, and the entire contingent trained their weapons on him.

"Shoot him."

Mickey heard the order and hit the gravel. He could aim at them or behind him but he could not shoot all of them.

Surprisingly, nobody fired their guns.

*****

"My, my, Mr. Kostmayer, you are making a pest of yourself." Marco fanned himself with his hat as the burly guard set Mickey heavily on the floor. This time, Mickey was cuffed and hobbled, with the long chain from the hobble looped through the cuffs to prevent him from standing. Forced into kneeling and pulling against the chains behind him, Mickey's eyes briefly met Robert's. Robert was back in the barred cage, his wrists and ankles chained separately to the chair and gagged. Marco wasn't taking any chances -- the chair was chained to an eyelet secured on the wall. "I am getting sick of people trying to escape." Marco stood over Mickey. "I have decided you are expendable," he declared. "Unless Mr. McCall, here, can find something to tell me that's worth your life, I am afraid you will be shot at sunset."

"I thought dawn was traditional," Mickey croaked.

"I am an impatient man." Marco shrugged. "Besides, that would give you too many dark hours to try again. No, I am afraid it will have to be sunset." He gestured for the guards to drag him away. "Gag him. Find him a nice stake in the compound. Enjoy the last few hours of your life."

*****

"You awake?" The Lady asked Scott. It was mid-afternoon and she was still lying beside him, staring at the compound through the gun-sight.

"Why?" Scott barely stirred.

"Something unexpected." She rolled aside. Scott turned onto his elbows and moved up to the rifle without touching it. He looked through the sight.

"Mickey." He peered over the top.

"Absolutely not." The Lady cut off his train of thought. "I said I would get you back to New York. There is no way I can rescue him, as well."

"If he's here, then my father's here, and there is no way I'm going back without them," Scott stated.

"I don't care." She sat up. "The chances of us getting away with this were poor at best without trying to pull off a rescue as well."

"What about my father?"

"We stick to the plan, Scott. There are only two of us. Marco has a whole army."

"I'm not going without them."

"Fine," she said irritably "If they're still there at three in the morning, we'll pick them up on the way, but if he's shot before then, too bad." She pushed back to looking down the sight.

*****

As the sun lowered in the sky, it fully illuminated Marco's balcony room. He walked to the glassless window and looked down on Mickey in the courtyard. Strictly speaking, his employers had asked him to distract and detain McCall and Kostmayer indefinitely. Well, dead was detained indefinitely, and at least he would have McCall to hand back to them. Marco admired his catch.

"Can't think of anything to trade for your friend's life?" Marco gloated wickedly as he leaned on the railing. "Don't worry; I wasn't really interested, anyway, and I would have to go in there, untie that gag and I really cannot be bothered." Robert stared at him coldly. Marco looked down to the courtyard again. "I don't have a really good view from here. I think I will have to find a better vantage point. Enjoy the sunset." He wandered out of the room. With the wretched man gone once again, Robert struggled with the spring he was gradually working loose from under the chair.

Mickey struggled desperately to pull his cut hands out of the cuffs by pure brute force. This prompted the guard to strike him across the face. He was gagged and blindfolded and was not paying enough attention to hear it coming. The big burly guard had driven a log into the ground. Mickey's back was up against it and his shackled hands and feet on the other side. The long hobble chain was still looped through the handcuffs forcing him to kneel. The top of the log came to the middle of his head and the corner smacked him hard with the guard's blow. He had spent the first few hours trying to work loose the log or break it, but the damn thing refused to budge. His feet had no feeling from hours of kneeling and he could feel the warm sunlight draining out of the air. When he got loose, he was going to kill that prissy bastard. He felt the shadow hit his knees.

The second-in-command handed Marco a message as he made his way down to the courtyard. Marco stopped in his tracks as he studied the message. "How unfortunate. I need to answer this now. I must not be disturbed." He folded the paper. "Kill that pest," he said simply as he turned and walked back up the stairs.

The second-in-command marched out to the stake in the courtyard. There were four others guarding the bound and gagged man and he noticed that several more had gathered to watch. Suddenly, he felt very important. Unlike Marco he was not one for words. He took out his pistol.

"Your time is up," was all he said.


The remaining sunlight had stretched its final rays across the balcony room's ceiling. Robert still tried vainly to break a loose wire from the chair. Then he heard the shot. He froze as his heart missed a beat.


(to be continued)

On to Part II