I glance around the room, waiting for anyone else to talk.  All morning, we were busy pinpointing locations and calling agents on the phone.  We all understand the importance of keeping this newly-found information private so not to make the citizens panic.  Everyone's faces around the long table are solemn and worried; some shift uneasily in their seats.  Despite a cough here and there, the only sound in the room is the ticking clock opposite of me. 

Areon, at the end of the table, rests his head in his hands while all remain silent.  But what more is there to say?  The meeting has dragged on for two hours, and the only things established were that Russia was in cahoots with Cuba again, and they were sending missiles to the coastline to bomb us.  We haven't discovered any data on where or when they intend strike–which keeps us paralyzed until we do. 

The sound of a chair scooting against the floor pulls all of us out of our dazes.  Areon readjusts himself, clearing his throat. 

"If we intend to launch a counter-offensive, I suggest we strike before they do," he says.    Several murmurs pass throughout the others. 

"And what do you want to do, Sir?" A woman nearby asked over her cat-eye spectacles.  Areon casts me a brief look, but says nothing.  But I wish to occupy this moment of silence. 

"Sir, permission to speak?" I ask. 

Areon nods, returning to his seat. 

"Do we have the general location of those missiles?" I say, glancing at the others.

"Russia," George Peckett says dryly.  I ignore him.

"May I suggest we send out a task force to scout for answers?"

"That's an idea.  But I don't think it will be easy–you know, finding a nuclear plant," another man says. 

"Right.  We need something else," the woman says. 

"Even if we could get the information on where they are launching them, it would help," I suggest.

The room falls silent\ the people's faces strained with thought.  We might take a risk of killing innocent Russians or them killing innocent Americans.  Either way, death comes.  I don't have much of a say in decisions; yet I think I could better plan strategy than some of these board members, only because of my years of field experience.

"Mr. Meyer, Sir?  Permission to speak?" I ask him.

"Granted."

"Do we know how the missiles will be received?" I ask.

"What do you mean?" Karl Warner, Areon's assistant, asks.

"Well, the way I see it, they could send the missiles by plane or by sea.  If by air, then we could send men to the Cuban airport or better yet, find every private military airport in Russia and stop them before they come.  If by sea, same thing–just wait at the coast.  We could use satellite imagery and determine how ad when they ship the missiles."

"Really, we need to think through every possibility before making a decision.  If or when we get more information, we can narrow down the possibilities," Areon says. 

I nod.  I can't say I'm pleased with the plan, but it will suffice.  The others begin discussing other things concerning national security, and when the department of Defense arrive to meet Areon.  By now, I know I'm not needed. 

I walk out of the long, dark room and round the corner to my office.  Ben jumps out from the kitchenette down the hall and runs toward me. 

"Tony, I glad to see you!" He says, wiping his face of chocolate crumbs.  "So guess what?  Go on, guess!"

"Ben, please not now–"

"Come on!  I'll give you a hint.  We'll do it together.  Does that help?" He insists. 

"I said not–"

"And it will be tomorrow night at–"

"I said not now!" I say, turning red.  I brush past him and walk to my office, hoping to find some peace.

"What's the problem?"

Great.  He followed me. 

"Look.  I haven't had sleep for several days now, I need some alone time."  It's a lame excuse, but I try to make it sound convincing. 

"Oh.  Well get some sleep, because you and I are going on a double date to the movies tomorrow night!" Ben cries, tossing two tickets on my desk. It is so quiet, I can hear a fly buzzing against the window. 

"No," I respond, flatly. 

"Why not?  Areon never has to know.  Plus, it's about time we did something fun!" Ben says.  "We can pick up the girls at seven and go to the theatre at seven-thirty."  He waits eagerly for y answer.

"Ben, I cannot–I will not–go against the rules.  You know what he contracts say, no relationships outside of work.  And for a good reason too," I tell him. 

"Yeah, I signed the stupid paper too.  But it never said we had to cut out all personal enjoyment, did it?"

I massage my face in my hands, trying to get rid of the headache that came upon suddenly a few moments ago. 

"Who are the girls?"

"Two front desk ladies," he replies, with an air of pride in his tone.  I shudder.  The woman at the front desk this morning was old Miss Pirwood with the round spectacles that made her cow eyes look ten times larger.  She was nearly fifty years old, and I know she hates me (though I never did anything to her).

"You know, Janet and Casey?" Ben presses.  A part of me is relieved, for his sake. 

"No, Ben.  You go ahead, but I can't.  Especially not at a time like this."  And that is my final answer.  I have no desire to go to a movie, let alone with two girls I don't even know.  In my lifetime, every girl I've ever met either flirted with me, ignored me, or was mad at me.  But I don't mind.  In fact, this is why we aren't allowed to have relationships like this–it distracts agents from their work and puts them in danger too.

The phone rings.  When I answer it, I hear Miss Pirwood on the other end, her whiny voice echoing into my ear. 

"Mr. Corsey wants you down at the lounge," she says. 

"Fine," I reply, perhaps too brusquely. 

"Aren't you chipper this mornin'?  Maybe you should dunk your head in cold water for twenty minutes to wake yourself up."  And with that, she hung up.  I can't even try to understand that woman.

I arrive at the lounge, where the television broadcasts worldwide news and a two agents talk over some coffee.  When I search the room, I quickly spot Markus Corsey, his unusual height giving him away.  Nearly five foot four inches, he he stood to most of the men's chests when he talked to them.  But his small size made him a perfect agent for any team. 

"There you are, Anthony," he says in his usual droning voice.  "I just came from the research department, and they wanted me to tell you that the message was traced back to the Moscow area, so they're working to find anything else."

"So what do we do now, wait?" I ask. 

"Apparently.  Areon told the Secretary of Defense that he was already organizing a team to send to Cuba," Marcus says.

"Wait," I stop him.  "I thought they were going to think the issue through before deciding?"

"I would have thought so.  Usually, I'm right on things like this–but you know, they only listen to you," he drones.  "In any case, be ready for the unexpected."

I nod.  I just heard Areon talk about this in the council room.  Why did he change his mind so quickly?  Maybe the Secretary persuaded him.  And why didn't Areon come to me?  But we can't afford to make any mistakes.

A moment later, I pull away from my thoughts and find myself staring at the TV, along with the others in the room.  The news anchor narrarates the scene displayed, where guns are firing, people fall dead, and fire–all at a shopping mall in Madrid. 

"At eleven twenty-five a.m. today, a bomb exploded unexpectedly in a hotel, causing it to crash down in the city of Madrid.  Reports and footage show people running from the wreckage in flurries, though we are unsure of how many were lost in the building's collapse.  At nearly the same time, a central shopping mall was fired upon by an unidentified mob of terrorists, killing people by the minute."

The report continues, and our eyes are glued to the screen.  The atrocities across the world never seem to end, and things never improve. 

Footsteps come behind us, and I recognize Areon's slow pace on the hard wood floor.  When I turn, I see him shuffling through several envelopes, muttering to himself.  Suddenly, the cellphone on his pocket rings loudly.  I face the screen again, where the newscast is interrupted by a commercial; I hear him answer the phone. 
"Oh hi," he says discreetly.  No one hears the other end clearly, but the sound of muffled explosions and someone yelling can be heard.  We all turn around. 

"What?" Areon gasps.  "When-where-are you okay?  Where are you now?  Alright, just try to leave.  They what?  Honey, speak up!" 

Now that's surprising.  Never in the years I've worked here have I heard him call someone 'honey'. 

"No, leave now–why can't you?  Okay, don't panic.  Take the long route.  I'll send someone to come get you.  Sweetheart, you have to stay calm.  Be safe, I love you."  Everyone stands in silence, too surprised to say anything.  I approach Areon slowly.  Something isn't right.

Instead of seeing his usual gruff expression, I note fear and panic in his eyes which have grown nearly twice their size.  He calms himself and grabs my arm, pulling me into his office. 

"Sir?" I ask.  He's never been this flustered. 

"M-my daughter was just caught in a shooting in Madrid," he says, pacing the office anxiously. 

"I just saw that on TV...wait, your daughter?" I ask, shocked. 

"No time to explain.  I need you to go get her, please.  I want to come with you, but I realize it'd be faster with just you."

I find a glass of water on his desk and hand it to him.  The least I could do was calm him for a minute.

"Alright, I will.  Where is she?"

"She found a sewage tunnel, which is apparently the only way out.  She said the building is completely surrounded and they're killing off anyone who tries to leave.  I need you to get her," Areon grabbed my shoulders, desperately searching my face. 

"I will–right now–I'll get ready.  Give me the address and I'll be on my way.  She'll be fine," I assure him. 

"I had just agreed to let her vacation with friends in Spain.  She's grown, but because of my job–and my position-well, I was too–" tears swell in his dark eyes. 

I feel an intense feeling of urgency when I see this, and I realize how much this truly means to him.  By tomorrow, I'll be on a plane headed to Madrid.  I don't have a plan, but I'll figure something out.  That's how I've always survived.               
 
 

Areon would have issued us a private jet, but he didn't want us to draw any extra attention to ourselves.  I walk down the aisle, I searching for the my seat, which is supposed to be on the right.  Near the middle of the plane, I finally find it and secure my carry-on in the cabinets above.  All of the necessities fit into one bag that hardly takes up any room; I only packed one extra pair of clothes in case something happened.  Of course, nothing will.  The shootings were surely controlled by now and the people freed.

But I know this means more to than the world to Areon, and I'm determined to bring his daughter home.  I pull out the small piece of paper from my pocket and glance at it while I sit.  There is no picture, but the description he wrote of her is enough to recognize her.  A brunette, dark eyes, around 5'7, and fair skin.  I'm sure there are thousands of women this could describe but none of them are in a sewage tunnel. 

"Excuse me, can I get to my seat?"

I glance up quickly, not even realizing there was an empty seat next to me.  The voice was all too familiar. 

"Ben?" I ask, standing up. 

"Tony?" He replies, grinning mischievously.  For once, he looked well-put-together, his light hair was brushed back and his face clean. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Trying to get into my seat," Ben says.  "Can you let me in?" 

"Why are you on the plane?" I ask. 

He takes his seat on my left and shifts to get comfortable. 

"Coming with you.  Why else?"

I shake my head. 

"I was on special orders, you weren't.  Did he tell you too?"

"Of course!  I asked Marcus what was wrong with you and he heard the news from Areon," he says.  "So, I went to Areon and asked if I could help you."

"And he let you?"

"'Course.  You and I always work together."

"Yeah," I say.  "Except if he wanted me to go alone.  Look, please get off.  It'll be quicker if I just go get her and come home."

"Oh, brother.  You need someone with you.  Plus, they've already sealed the doors." 

Sure enough, the plane doors had just been closed and locked.  I am stuck with Ben.  How could he do this?  How could Areon do this?  He knows that I usually work alone.  In fact, I don't even know what Ben does exactly.  Of all people, they chose him–who has never been on the field. 

I pull out a map of Madrid that Areon gave me while preparing.  It will be difficult to find her exact location, since she's not only underground, but under one of the largest malls there.  But then again, who ever said I had a plan?        

"So, Areon seemed pretty shaken-up, huh?" Ben asks, trying to initiate conversation..

I nod. 

"I didn't even know he had a child!"  He continues.  "I wonder if his wife is still alive?" 

"I don't think anyone knew," I say, closing my eyes to relax. 

"True.  But still, how come he can have a family and we can't?" 

"You know why.  He stays here, we don't.  We're all over the place."

"But he can't guarantee their safety, or her's at least," Ben says.

I open my eyes again.  Clearly I wouldn't be relaxing on the trip over. 

"Yeah, but at least he keeps them close.  Plus, the agents are on the front lines.  They're seen first.  They die first.  If any terrorist group found out about an agent's family, they'd use them to stop us," I explain, as the plane begins to roll out onto the runway. 

"I guess that makes sense.  I just don't know how he could keep it a secret from the whole unit for so long."

"There's a lot we don't know." 

We stop as the flight attendants make their way down the aisles to demonstrate how the safety equipment works.  I remember the time I was trapped in a plane with forty other passengers while terrorists held us at gun point.  Luckily, I knew how to land a plane.  To be honest, appreciate the experiences I've had at the NSU; I've done things I never dreamed of.  I remember loving the action movies with spies and top secret agents.  But car chases and explosions are never as thrilling as in the movies.  No, the stuff I deal with is not exciting.  It's dangerous.  Everyday, I walk into work knowing my life is on the line.  But I learn to get used to it. 

Ben says nothing.  My eyelids fall slowly, and soon a world of darkness surrounds me.  I hear only my thoughts, echoing in my head until they're deafening.  My body shuts down and I fall into a deep sleep. 

*****
 

"Wake up, Sunshine, we're there," I jolt awake, Ben giving me a sharp elbow to the ribs.  Groggily I sit up, rubbing my side as the sun pours in through the windows.  I glance at my watch.  12:30 p.m. Madrid time.  The plane is already stopped and people are gathering their belongings.

"You skipped breakfast," Ben says.  "The lady came by three hours ago."

"I'm not hungry," I reply, taking my seatbelt off.  I hate waking up.  If I'm asleep, leave me asleep. 

"So, where to first?  Did Areon give you directions to a specific sewer tunnel?  321 N. Underground Pooty Tunnel?  I mean, come on.  How do we know?" 

I shake my head. 

"Under a certain mall.  He lost connection with her once she went underground, so I guess we'll find out," I reply. 

"Do you ever come up with a plan before you execute it?" Ben asks.

"I thought you said we always worked together."

"You know what I meant," he snaps.  I ignore him, grabbing my bag from the storage container above. 

"Seriously, Man.  What's the plan?" Ben asks.

"Get to the mall," I say, hiding a smug grin. 

"I need something more than that."

"Than you shouldn't have come."  I hoist my belongings up and march down the aisle to the front of the plane.

I always hate going through the airport to find an exit, trying to wade through people all waiting for their baggage.  This will be a short trip, (thank goodness) and before I know it, I'll be back on a plane with Areon's daughter, headed back to America.  I'm not nervous.  This was mild compared to what was going on in Cuba or Russia.  Actually, it's nice to get my mind off of the missiles and upcoming attacks.  But it's always in the back of my mind. 

As I walk outside, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.  It's Areon.

"Tony, I assume you have arrived by now?" He asks over the line.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good.  Look, Elsa isn't going to be easy to find.  I tried to tell her the other day to stay put, but I don't know if she heard me," he says.

"We'll find her.  Which mall did you say she was at?" I ask.

"Plaza Norte Mall.  Don't know the address but that should be enough."  Indeed it is.  I don't wait  for Ben to catch up from the cafe he ordered at.  I call a cab, Ben sliding in at the last minute. 

"Al centro commercial Plaza Norte, por favor.," I tell the driver.  Before I have time to say anything, we are on the busy roads headed to the mall.  We pass the beautiful old buildings and the towering skyscrapers in the downtown area; all I think about is how I'm going to find this girl. 

When I glance over at Ben, he has his arms crossed and his jaw set tight.  I feel bad for being so hard on him, but I can't lie: I work best alone.  If anything, he'll just slow me down.  But since I don't even have a plan yet, I'm sure I'll find some use for him. 

By the time we reach the mall, it's nearly one o'clock.  Ben and I get out of the taxi and I hand the driver his money.  I hear the car pull away from the empty parking lot, but my attention is on the flashing blue and red lights and the hundreds of men around the building. 

Think–quick.  Sewage tunnels.  They're under the building.  We need to find a sewer entrance.  I grab Ben's arm and pull him through the labyrinth of police cars.  Most of the policemen are near to the building. 

I nudge Ben, pointing to the ground so he'll know to look for the sewer manholes. 

"What?" He asks.

"Shhh!" I growl.  If the police find us, there's no telling what they'd do.  And no one would understand or believe us.

"Manholes," I whisper to him.

"What about them?"

"Look for them!"  This was going to be a long day.  Again, precisely why I work alone.  Only I understand me.

I keep looking–under cars, on the sidewalk, or in the middle of the road.  Then I see one.  Under a car–of course–but it would suffice.  I trot briskly over to it and bend down, pulling Ben with me. 

"Cover me," I tell him. 

"Okay, what are you doing?" He asks.

I gesture to the metal disk lying in the ground.  Obviously he's still confused, but I don't have time to explain.  Voices come near.  I scramble to get under the car and roll into the middle where no one will see me. 

"Que haces aqui?" One man cries.  I hold my breath.  But Ben shoots me a worried look.

"Oh, hey-uh-hi," he stands up.  "Um, no hablar espanol?"

"Ah, American?  And what brings you here?  This area is off limits," the officer says. 

"Yeah, well-I-g-guess–I dropped my dollar–money–and its under this car-here.  I'm gonna get it and leave.  No-no!"  I hear him cry.  I see the policeman's feet step closer. 

"I can reach it," Ben crouches down and snaps his fingers behind his back.  He wants me to pay him?  I finger through my pocket as quietly as possible, and find a dollar bill.  It'd work for now. 

"Oh, here, I got it!" He reaches for the money and stands up.  They continue to talk, and eventually the policeman asks him to leave. 

"Uh, well here.  I work for the NSU–the National Security Unit.  I work for the government."

"Where is your badge then?" The officer questions.  I hear Ben pull it from his pocket.  "Fine.  But we have this area covered, so you may leave."

"Sure, no problem, officer.  I'll go right now," he says.  I hear his feet walking away on the pavement, but the officers remain nearby, rattling off in Spanish about their job.  I remain completely still, watching their feet shuffle and eventually step away.  Even though they leave, I decide to stay quiet for two more minutes just to be safe. 

When, after a couple of minutes, I see no shoes, I pull myself up as high as I can and grasp the manhole cover.  The cold metal sends a chill down my spine; I lift up one end and push it to reveal the dark hole beneath.  I hope the grinding metal against the concrete wasn't too noticeable.  Glancing around, I still see no one nearby.  Now is my chance.  I reach for my small backpack, only to find it's missing.  I search for it everywhere, but it's gone.  Great, how can I go without it?  Where'd I drop it–

Ben has it.  Of course, I forgot I gave it to him while I climbed under the car.  Where did he run off to?  Cautiously, I peer out from under the wheels and turn my head either way.  Sure enough, he is walking away.  What is he thinking?  The only things I have in my pocket is some cash and a laser.  He was headed toward a car, so if only I could get his attention...

I point a laser at the side of the car, or at least I try to.  The sun sets a nasty glare on the side, but even I notice it from where I'm at.  From where I can tell, it looks like Ben sees it, the little red dot swirling around on the car door.  He stops in his tracks and turns around.  I point it at his chest, and he jumps back in fear.  Slowly, I pull the dot down onto the ground and lead it closer until he notices me.  I beckon for him.  I see him look around and sprint toward me, diving under the car at the last minute. 

"What?" He pants.  "You heard the guy tell me to leave."

"Yeah, but I need the backpack," I say, snatching it from his arm.  I dig for a small green glow stick, crack it, and drop it down the deep hole.  It hits the bottom about one hundred feet down.  Not too bad.  Grabbing the flashlight in my teeth and the bag on my back, I swing my legs to the hole and find the ladder. 

"Where are you going?" Ben asks.

"To get Elsa.  I though we'd established that by now."

"Wait, what do I do?"     

I refrain from saying what I truly want to.

"Get out of the parking lot and stay in a public place.  But try to look just like a tourist and not an agent, will you?" I ask. 

"Yeah man.  I got your back!" He says. 

With that in mind, I lower myself into the black, damp tunnel and I see Ben's face staring down at me.  Just focus.  The farther down I go, the quieter it gets; every drip of water echoes through the passage like tiny little bells.  Finally, I reach the bottom, where I pick up the glow stick. 

"Close it," I say to Ben. 

"What?"

"Put the cover back on.  QUIETLY."

Then suddenly, all daylight is cut out, leaving my eyes to adjust to my black surroundings.  Alright.  Remain calm, this is what I'm trained for.  I shine the flashlight to either side of the tunnel, deciding which way to go.  Areon said it was the east tunnel under the mall, so I turn to my right and follow the flow of water as it curves along the ground. 

Not only is it stunningly dark, an awful stench permeates through the halls of concrete and clings to the walls.  I don't want to know what I'm stepping in.  Every once and awhile, I pause and call for Elsa, hoping she is close.  But only my own voice answers me. 

I continue to flash my light in every direction, hoping for some sign of her.  Instead of finding her, however, I come to a fork in the tunnel system.  Just what I need.  Both passages seem to go on forever, so I'll just have to decide.  Left.  Since I can usually trust my instincts, I'll just go left.  I raise my foot to go, only to find it half-sunk in mud.  Or at least, I hope it's mud.  With the suction to my boot, I pull out of it and gag at the smell.  Nope.  Thats not mud.

I wipe it off on the wall, leaving a large smear of brown... As I turn to walk, something catches my eye.  My heart begins to pound inside me. 

Footprints.  Several small piles with shoe prints in them are lying in a pattern of broad steps across the ground, with the water barely touching the edge of them.  These must be hers.  Clearly, she was running because of the gap between the steps and the slight smear at the toes.  Next to it, I notice several small drops of red.  Blood.  She's injured–and close by. 

"Elsa!" I cry at the top of my lungs.  I run down the passage, my boots splashing in the water as I go.  Still, after several minutes, I can't find her.  These tunnels wind forever in darkness–she could be anywhere.  I come across many intersections and other openings that lead to a whole other part of the city. 

Finally, I pause to take a rest.  This could go on for a long time.  If only I had some reassurance that I was heading in the right direction.  Doubt kills me. 

"Elsa!"  I yell again, waiting for a response.  The drops of water from the ceiling become so deafening in the silence that I can't bear it.  I have to continue.  My pace is slower now, but my urgency is increasing by the minute. 

A soft echo meets my ears.  It was running water no doubt, but not the small trickle by my feet.  This sounds like a waterfall.  Readjusting my pack, I trot toward the sound and it steadily grows louder.  As I come nearer, I hear a voice.  Yes, an actual, human voice!  They seem to be talking to someone, or to themselves at least. 

"Elsa?  Elsa Meyers, is that you?" I ask in the darkness.  She doesn't hear me, I think, because all I hear is a soft mumble.  The voice continues.  It takes me a minute to pick out the direction of the sound.  From the left.  I walk silently so as just to her her voice. It grows not louder, but more clearly defined as I walk toward it.

I stop.  Sitting against in a tight corner, barely visible, a thin figure with a shaggy appearance lies, muttering to herself. 

"Elsa?" I ask, approaching her slowly. 

"Stay where you are!  Who are you?" She stumbles to her feet. 

"My name is Tony Mason, I work for the NSU.  Your father is my boss," I continue in a steady voice. 

"How can I trust you?" She says.

"Well who else would be down here calling your name?  Look, I have a badge to prove it."  I pull out my NSU license and show it to her.  It is definitely her, but different than Areon had described; her hair was matted in knots, her skin pale.  While she examines it closely, I glance at her leg, which has a makeshift bandage bound around it.  Red liquid seeps through the cloth. 

"We're not down here alone," she whispers, handing back the small card. 

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"When they attacked, I heard them come down.  I haven't seen them yet," Elsa says. 

"Who's they?"

"T-the Russian people–the shooters.  We were all held up and surrounded; luckily, I was able to find the sewage tunnel." 

Now that's news. 

"Russians?  Do you have any clue why they were here?" I ask.

"No," she thinks hard.  "Not really.  They asked for the money, but they seemed to be looking for something...or someone." 

I want more information, but I realize that she is probably still in shock from the incident, so we'll have to discuss it later. 

"Well, the police have controlled the issue up there, but I don't know where the shooters went.  What happened there?" I ask, pointing to the wound.

"Shattered glass.  It broke before I had time to move," she replied. 

"Can you walk?"

"Slowly, yeah." 

Elsa stands up shakily, grasping my arm for support.  Should we return to the same manhole?  We'd have a difficult time getting out of it unless the car has moved.  But surely, by now, we were nearing another entrance.

Standing on her right, I wrap her arm around my shoulder and help her walk.  Unfortunately, her pace is slow–at every step she wives in pain–and we can only make about 20 feet per minute.  I wish I could get ahold of Ben, so we could get her medical attention before we get to the airport.  By this time tomorrow we'd be on a plane headed home, only to deal with all the other problems.

"I've heard a lot about you," Elsa tells me, breathing heavily at each step. 

"Oh?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah, my dad talks about you.  Course, I'm not really supposed to say anything, but I hear you're the 'top agent' over there, right?" She says.

"I guess so," I reply.

"It must be hard, being declared a hero but never getting credit for it in public."

"It's not so bad," I answer.  "Any more publicity, and I might be dead."

I notice Elsa slowing down and we pause for a break.  She doesn't seem the type to ask for a break, but the pain is clearly there–I can read it in her face.  Even though the overall temperature is still cool, I feel sweat forming on my brow.  How much longer until the next exit?  I'm beginning to doubt my choice of direction. 

"We going the right way?" She asks me.  Gulp.

"I think so.  If not, I remember where I came down," I say with more confidence than I truly have.

"Well, the water has to flow somewhere.  Should we go back?"

I hear something.  In the tunnels behind us, the rattling of boots against the concrete.  It sounds like horses, but it's men.  Elsa and I both stop breathing to listen.  I couldn't say exactly where they were; voices draw nearer and louder.  She glances at me in horror, waiting for me to decide what to do.  Run or hide?  Elsa can't run with her deep wound.

"We've got to try and run," I say.  Again, I grasp her arm and try to lift the pressure on her foot.  As quickly as possible, we sprint (well, I run, she hobbles) forward, the flashlight in her hands now.  The steps behind us echo louder above our own.  They heard us.  At this pace, they would catch up to us and probably shoot us down.  Elsa grows weaker by the minute.  Think.  Think.  We continue, but now the sound or running water grows more prominent.  We must be near a drain. 

Around another bend, there is an opening with a ten-foot wide hole in the ground that led to more underground drains.  The gallons of water dropping those few feet was colored a brownish-yellow, and the stench was even worse than before.  Behind us, I hear a gun shot and shouting.  What choice do we have?  I glance over the edge of the hole reluctantly. 

"I hope you're not thinking what I'm thinking," Elsa mutters. 

I smile to myself.

"Any other ideas, then?  You can't run and who knows how long it'll be before the next exit," I say.  We stare at each over for a minute, then at the dirty water.

"But choose quickly, because they're coming," I urge.  

Without notice, I slide into the warm water that comes to my chest then offer a hand to Elsa.  Cautiously, she falls in, biting her lip from the pain in her leg.  I can only imagine how infected it'll be when we get out.  I don't think she touches the bottom, so I pull her to the fall and we duck behind it.  In the back, there is be little breathing room–let alone for two people.  Beside me, Elsa whimpers and seizes my shoulder to keep her neck above the water.   

Then we hear the men right above us.  I slap my hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.  I listen as the mist flutters into our faces and the sound overwhelms our worlds.  Above the rear, however, I make out the men calling to one another.  Although I speak little of it, I recognize their language to be Russian just like she said.  For awhile, they argue above us, yelling at one another and throwing things into the water.  We are dead silent. 

Suddenly a whole barrel of bullets pours into the main hole on the other side of the fall.  Elsa and I press against the back as the machine gun continues to sound.  I hope they don't shoot at our feet.  Finally, they all trail back and I no longer hear their heavy boots.  I signal for Elsa to stay as I wade through the pool and poke my head out into the air again.  No sign of them.

I'm grateful for 'fresh' air as I pull Elsa out of the corner and help her back onto the concrete.  We are both soaked to the bone in smelly, dirty water and blood trickles from her cut again.  But we must go on. 

After what seems like miles, I begin to wonder if we'd have to spend the night in the sewer.  The very thought motivates me to keep searching. 

"Wait," Elsa says, panting.  "Look."  She points to a tall ladder up ahead that extends far into the ceiling.  But I don't see any exit at the top. 

"Here," I ask for the flashlight and walk to the base of it.  It certainly looks like a manhole ladder.  I shine the light to the top, where I see a small disc of metal sitting tightly in its place. 

"That's it!" She says in relief.  I've never been more relieved in my life.  I help her start on the metal bars, and she takes it very slow.  Following her, I reassure that she is safe with me now.  I've noticed she is the type that is calm with someone else talking to her the whole time.  Unfortunately, I'm not much of a talker, but I find anything to talk to her about so it will keep her mind off of the pain and fear.

Suddenly, I look down to see three men clamoring to get to the ladder.  The Russians.  They don't shoot, but they follow us with yelps and shouts.

"Go! Go!" I cry .  Elsa's pace doesn't quicken, and the first man grabs my ankle.  I stop and free my foot, kicking him in the face and scrambling up the ladder again.  We are almost at the top.  Just a little faster.  Elsa stops and presses her hands against the cover.  A flood of sunlight bursts down into the room and near the metal scrape across the asphalt. 

I fend off the shooter with only my feet, since I dare not let go.  But these men are unusually tough and continue to revive.  On the street above, I hear a car zoom over us and Elsa ducks with a gasp.  Of all the manholes, we have to exit the one on a major road.  When it's clear, she climbs out of the hole and I follow at top speed, my wet feet slipping on the bars.  My eyes can't focus in the bright sun, but I'm able to find the cover and slam it back in its place.  At least the guys will be delayed for a little while. 

I pull Elsa off the street, where cars screech to a stop to avoid us, horns blare from all directions.  On the sidewalk, people stare at us in terror–from either the appearance of the smell.  My phone is ruined from the water, so I can't call Ben.  Great.  How will we meet up?  We pass a woman talking on her cellphone and I ask her if I can use it, since it was an emergency.  In fear, she gave it up with no hesitation.  I dial Ben's number.

"Where are you?" He says.

"Just south of the mall.  We need you pronto!" I answer and hang up.  We sit on a nearby bench while we wait for Ben to show up.  the bench is at on end of the building, so we have a few moments of rest.   I look at Elsa.

"It's going to be okay."  After ten minutes, a cab pulls aside and Ben jumps out. 

"What's wro–"

Bullets fly past our heads and crash into the brick building behind us. 
 

"Run, now!" I yell, pulling Elsa behind me. Ben scrambles toward the cab, which drives off in a hurry before he can make it there.  I look around.  Where are the shooters?  Bullets continue to fly, but I couldn't see from where.  They must be snipers. 

"Where?" Ben asks, in response to my command.

"Just run!"

Elsa and I revert to our original position with her arm around my shoulder and we make a run for it.  People along the sidewalks by the storefronts duck down, screaming as the bullets fly past us and hit them and the glass behind them.  Glass shatters into a million shards behind them.  As fast as possible, we dodge around the crowds and rush to find cover.  We can't get into the buildings or we would be trapped. We need a car. 

"Ben," I cry.  "Look for a car!"

At every step, I hear Elsa gasp at the pain in her leg.  I readjust her arm and pull her along with me.  Trickles of blood soak the small bandage and some drip down onto her shoe. 

All I hear is chaos–shrieks and running feet.  At this point, I can't tell if the snipers are shooting at us or at the crowds.  I glance back.  A small girl is lying on the ground screaming over a limp body of a woman on the ground.  No one seems to notice her as they stumble around.  Blood staines her fingers as she shakes the still figure.  The woman doesn't move.

"Tony, in here," Ben says, pointing to an open car door ahead.  I can't just leave all them behind to fend for themselves.  The police haven't even showed up yet.  And the little girl...

"Take her," I tell him, sliding Elsa's arm onto Ben's. 

"What?" She cries. 

"Just go, I'll catch up to you.  Ben, get her medical attention," I call over my shoulder.  In my backpack, I fumble through and find my hand gun.  Since the NSU is a specific division of the Department of Defense, we are allowed only to bring guns on planes if they are concealed and we are legal agents.

  Across the street, from a tall window, I see a gunner shooting down at the street below.  I aim my pistol and pull the trigger, but barely miss his head, hitting the window ledge.  But it's enough to scare him off. 

Waiting no longer, I grab people and push them away from the scene.  The little girl, now by herself, I scoop into my arms and run with the others back where we came from.  Down the road, I hear faint sirens, steadily drawing closer.  That's a relief.  I just need to get these people safe.  All the shopowners fled too, completely clearing the area.  The girl I hold clings to my neck, burying her tears into my shoulder.  No one knows where to go, but the police would be here soon.  People are slowing down, now that the shooting has stopped; but I know it isn't be over.  The sniper disappeared, so someone needs to find him and stop him before he does it again.  And why was he aiming for us?  Is this one of the mall shooters? 

Before long, four police cars and an ambulance come to a screeching halt at the curb, lights flashing and sirens blaring.  The men jump out, instantly grabbing the wounded and giving them medical attention.  The police however, were having much less success.  Everyone was in shock, and few could answer clear-mindedly or even at all. 

A medic approaches me for the young child, trying to pry her off.  I tell her about what happened, and she promises to locate relatives.  The girl, however, grasps for my neck, whimpering as the woman pulled her from me. 

"You'll be fine, you'll be fine, prometo," I reassure her. 

"La polícia!" I call, waving my hand at an officer.  He questions me about the scene, and what happened.  I summarize the events, being as clear and concise as possible. 

"Where are the shooters now?" He asks after I'm finished. 

"I only saw one," I say.  "He backed away from the window when I shot at him."

"You have a gun?"

"I'm from the U.S. Government.  Are your men going after him?  Or am I?" 

The man looks at his fellow officer, surprised–I think–to hear that from me.  Silence falls between us.  

"Do you have a badge, or something to prove it?" He asks.  Growling under my breath, I pull out my wallet and show it to him.

"You may pursue," he says.  I nod and spin around, pulling out the phone which the woman gave to me earlier and dialing Ben's number.

"Tony?"

"Listen.  I'm in pursut.  You got to get Elsa to the airport as soon as possible, okay?" I order. 

"I wish it were that easy, man."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she's sort of-passing out, because of blood loss.  She said she hasn't eaten anything.  And–" he stops short.

"And?"

"Our passports are missing.  So is my ID."  Of course.  Everything bad always happens at once.

"Alright, get her medical help," I say.  "Do not under any circumstance leave her though, Areon  expects her back soon."

I hang up and tuck the gun behind my jacket.  Time to get serious.  I have done this thing before, but it's been awhile.  I need to get up to the room he was shooting from.  Going through the lobby will be difficult, so I round the corner and find the fire escape.  It's rusting and creaking even in the wind, but I hardly care as I leap up the steps to the door.  I shoot the lock and the hinges so I can bust it down, landing with a crash.  By the time I reach the hallway, though, I find it silent and all the doors wide open.  What is this place?  The stillness that surrounds me gives me an eerie chill that creeps up my spine. 

My heart pounds as I step stealthily down the hall, peering into each room as I pass.  But unlike most abandoned places, this building was not abandoned...it was evacuated. There is hardly a speck of dust in some of the rooms, and tables are set for food.  Why is this so empty?

The only sounds in the complex are the natural creaks of an old building in the wind.   
All the drapes are shut, all the blinds closed.  I walk down a flight of stairs and find myself in another hallway, just like the one above it.  On one end, I see the emergency exit sign above a door.  I tip-toe past each room, continually becoming aware of my surroundings.

Nearby a fly buzzes against the window pane.  The gunner was on the second floor, where I am now, next to a window facing east.  I peek into the room on my left and walk in.  It's a bedroom, and quite an inconspicuous one.  One window overlooks the street while the bed is on the opposite wall.  But there are no signs of human life anywhere.  I walk to the window.  As I look out, I feel a gust of cold wind against my hand.  Glancing down, I realize that the window is cracked open at the bottom, as if opened recently.  Heart racing, I push it open and stick my head out.  A small chunk of wood is missing at my eye level on the outside sill.  This is the room.

Why is no one here?  That question keeps resurfacing in my mind I as I fumble through the drawers and closet.  Where would a sniper run to?  Something is wrong.  I feel it.  I peer into the hallway again, looking through the other rooms for any evidence.  In one room, I find food on the table, the stove still warm, and a candle burning.  I dare not call aloud for anyone.  Even if I am sure everyone has left.  A sudden urge compels me to walk to the fire exit, where I attempt to open the door.  It's locked–or barricaded.  Everything but the apartment doors are locked.  I instinctively put my ear to the door, where I hear nothing but a soft metal clicking, beating rhythmically and speeding up the longer I listen to it.

Bomb.  Out of all my years of training, only one device I know makes a sound like that.  I secure my pack and charge back down the hallway toward the window.  A deafening sound explodes in my ears, and the ground trembles beneath my feat.  In the reflection of the window, I see flames licking my heels and I feel the heat enveloping me.  I jump, tucking my head into my chest and plowing through the window.  When I land, the impact on the awning and the concrete sends pain searing through my shoulder.  I groan, staring up at the flaming building as shrapnel flies in all directions. Slowly, I stumble to my feet as people around me watch in horror.  The police cross the street to meet me.  I'm sure I make for a lovely sight. 

To the right, I see a large man with a black beard staring at me, gun in hand.  That's gunner.  I pull out my gun and shoot at him several times, barely missing his head.  He breaks into a run and I follow, blood and sweat dripping from my forehead.  I can't shoot accurately in action, so I decide to get closer before I try.  I found a corner behind him, but it's a dead end and no one sits there.  From behind, I hear policemen starting their sirens. 

When I look up, bullets rain down near me, giving me time to leap toward the metal ladder.  It's like the sewage tunnel all over again–except this time he has the advantage.  I'm nearly halfway up, when he unbolts the top of it and pushes it away from the building.  My whole world tips back and I grasp for the window sill.  My maneuver works, pulling myself back to the brick wall and climbing up. 

As I near top, I feel the ladder tip again, but this time I can't grab the building.  No, the man is no longer above me but several others come below me.  I jump from the top rung to the roof, where I scramble to get my footing.  Bullets skirt past me from below. On the rooftops, however, I have the advantage over them.  I shoot the three guys who were on the ground.  But my goal is the sniper.  I see him leaping between the chimneys and buildings up ahead. 

At full speed, I sprint after him, leaping over gaps and sliding down shingles.  I gain quickly on him, aiming my gun at his constantly moving figure.  I pull the trigger.  It's a good hit.  Instantly he collapses and I run to his side, panting.  Blood drips from his wound and crouch down by him.  The shot wasn't enough to kill him. Only to stop him.

"Who are you?" I demand. 

He smiles. 

"Who are you?" I ask again, raising my voice.  He doesn't answer,  and I pull his gun away from him.  He grunts at the pain but refuses to speak.  I grab my gun and shoot a bullet through his thigh, where it hits a very tender spot.   A painful whimper escapes him as he grasps for his legs. 

"I'm not going to ask you again.  Who are you?  Who do you work for?"

Nothing come.  So I try once more.  I shoot through his opposite leg, and he yelps.

"URNP," he breathes.  "Russia–power." And with that, he stabs himself with his own knife. 

Russia.  Now that's a news.  I don't have time to think, after all, I need to find Ben and Elsa.  Luckily, I find another ladder that leads to the street, which is crowded with fire trucks, police officers, and cameras.  I sneak away, unnoticed.  I grab the phone and call Ben.

"Meet me at the airport, okay?" I say. 

"I don't think so, man."

"Why not?"

"No passports.  Elsa has an infection–I think–and we can't get her medical help." 

"Why not?"

"Dude, she doesn't have an ID.  Plus, the nearest hospital is crowded with people from the shooting," he says.

We are stuck here. 
 

Blood drips from Elsa's wound onto the table, where I apply fresh bandages and rinse it.  The bullet was still whole, so I pulled it out with tweezers before I cleaned it, but now the blood flows steadily.  At every move, she winces with pain and grips the edge of the chair.  I glance over my shoulder at Ben, who is by the sink washing off the grime from his face and hands. 

Between Elsa and I, we stink up the entire hotel room with the foul stench of sewer and sweat mixed with blood.  

"There.  Now try to stay off of it," I tell her, helping her to the bed.  "Ben and I will be right next door."

"Thank you, Tony," she smiles weakly.  "For everything."

I nod curtly.

Back in our own room, Ben and I take turns using the bathroom and cleaning up.  I can barely stand the smell of myself; so we found some extra cash in the bottom of the backpack and used it to purchase new clothes.  Looking up to the mirror, I examine the slash on my forehead, which dry across my brow.  I look nearly four years older between the stress and the dirt, it's a wonder anyone recognizes me. I quickly change into the fresh clothes and walk back into the main room. 

"Tony, look what I found," Ben says, holding up a small black wallet for me to see. 

"Yeah, my wallet.  I never lost it," I tell him.

"Then why don't you go home?  You've wanted out for so long now.  Make a story: you died saving us and we want to go home.  Bam!  You're out of the program," he says.

I sigh. 

"That won't work with Areon.  He'd know it's not true."  Speaking of him, I pull out my phone and dial his number.  It rings several times before he answers. 

"Areon, Sir, I–"

"Tony!  Do you have her?"

"Affirmative.  She has a wound in the leg, but is fine otherwise," I say.

"Thank goodness!" He exclaims.  "Okay.  So I assume you're on your way home?"

"Not exactly, Sir.  She has no ID and neither does Ben," I tell him, peering over at Ben. 

"Oh boy," Areon sighs.  "I'll take care of that.  Just hang tight.  Now what about her wound?"

"Russian snipers.  I caught him, he said something about URNP.  Do you know anything about that?"

A silence fills the line. 

When he speaks, it's quiet and breathy.

"That's the signature on the message we decoded.  The team is working on location is and such.  We don't know what it stands for."

"Shall I pursue them?" I ask.  I might as well since I'm already over here. 

"No.  Tony, I need you to get my girl home.  There are a lot of unanswered questions right now, and a lot of uncertainty.  Just get her home," he says. 

"Will do. We'll stay here until arrangements are made," I promise him.  Deep inside, I feel uneasy about our position.  Who knows what could show up between now and a few days? 

"Tony," Areon begins.  "Remember or conversation before this incident?  About your feelings toward NSU?"

"Yes, Sir." I swallow hard.

"Get Elsa home and we'll discuss this further."  With that, the line turns to static and I hang up.  Does he mean that?  Could this really be my opportunity to leave?  My heart races at the thought as I slump onto a bed. But how can I, especially with the issue with Russia?  I can't get my hopes up. 

With a deep breath, I lay my head against the pillow and close my eyes.  I can't imagine what life would be like without the NSU.  For once, I may be able to get friends or walk around the city without fear.  I remember it.  I was seventeen at the time, still living with my family.  I was on top of the world–at least, my own little world.  I remember seeing the car, screeching down the street, the window down, and a gun pointed out.  I remember the car, bursting in flames  nearby, the people scrambling to escape from the fiery prison of smoke.  I remember the child's eyes in the back, and the burn on my forearms from pulling her out.  A burn is temporary, though.  When I woke up, I was in a hospital room far from home.  Areon was above me.  I had no idea what I was getting into when I agreed to join his 'program'. 

But I never realized that I would never see my family again.

      *****
I wake up, groggily rolling out of bed.  It's already eight o'clock, though I hardly feel rested.  Glancing at the other bed, I see Ben strewn out in every which way. 

"Come on, get up," I tell him, smacking his foot as I walk by.  I smile when I hear a groan in reply.  So far, he has been somewhat helpful.  I still could have done it without him, but since he's here I might as well use him. 

"What's the rush?" He mumbles behind me.

"It's morning.  Time to get up," I say, tossing on my jacket and running my fingers throw my dark hair.  I peer into the mirror, examining my cut.  It looks disgusting, but better than yesterday. 

It takes Ben twenty minutes to get ready; meanwhile I met Elsa in the hallway between our rooms.  Her leg is better, I notice, but sill causing a lot of pain, she says.  hen we bought the clothes, we used a portion of the money to by a disinfectant for it.  For the first time since the drainage tunnel, we are able to have a somewhat normal conversation.

"I didn't know Areon had a daughter," I say, clearing my throat.

"Yeah, well, most people don't know I'm related to him," she says, grimly.  "If you look close enough, you can see some resemblance."

Standing back, I examine her face.  The same dark hair and the same eyes.  But other than that, there's hardly a similarity.

"Why did he never mention he was married?  I mean, none of the agents are allowed to even enter a relationship," I ask.

"His job prevented anyone to know about us.  I guess it's for protection."

I nod.  That's why I haven't seen my family in nine years. 

"But it doesn't matter, anyway," she continues, fidgeting awkwardly.  "Mom and him aren't together anymore because of that.  Oh boy, here I go again.  You don't want to hear my sob-story, I'm sorry." 

Behind me, a door slams shut and I see Ben fully dressed and his same shirt partially tucked in. 

"Where are we going?" He asks, eagerly.

"To get food.  There's a cafe down the road," I say, leading the way down the hall.  The sun shines through the windows and casts a glare on all the cars driving by.  Ben and I help Elsa out of the taxi and into the restaurant where we take a seat at a table and order our breakfast. 
"Voy a tomar un huevo y la leche, por favor," I say.  Elsa orders after me, allowing me to translate it to the woman.  When it's Ben's turn, he is still scanning the menu with wide eyes. 

"Yeah, I'll take three eggs, bacon and some water," he finally says, looks at me. 

"Tres huevos, tocino y un poco de agua," I say. 

"Oh, and two pieces of toast and...oh go ahead and add some-what are those?  Waffles?"

"Horminga dos tostadas y algunas galletas, por f–"

"And coffee!" He exclaims.  Elsa and I stare at him.  "I must have coffee."

"And who's paying for this?" I ask.

"You have the wallet, Bro." 

I shake my head and tell the waitress that the order is finished.  Ben looks sourly at me and turns to Elsa. 

"So, we never officially met.  I'm Ben," he says, smiling and offering his hand. 

"Elsa Meyer," Elsa says, shaking it. 

"Yeah, I know."  

Our conversation is pleasant and upbeat, unlike our previous exchanges.  The food is delicious, and we walk out very full.  Once outside, I gaze around at the street and buildings. 

"What now?" Ben asks. 

I hadn't thought about that, yet. 

"I don't know.  Just wait for Areon.  Do you know where you lost your wallets?" I ask.

"No," the two chime together. 

"Then I guess back to the hotel."  Ben hails a cab and we load in.  From the passenger seat, I hear Ben and Elsa talking again.  I'm glad they get along so well, because I don't feel like talking right now.  So many things are going through my mind, I can hardly stay focused on any one thing.  What Areon told me yesterday still puzzles me.  And the Russians.  That's a whole new story.  What is URNP?  United Russian Nationalist Party?  It's obvious that they know what the NSU is let alone some of their agents.  I don't understand why they attacked Elsa though, unless they know she is Areon's daughter. 

Next to me, I hear the driver rant something something in Spanish, looking in his rear view mirror.  I glance at the outside mirror and watch as a big white van tailgates us.  I can't see the person clearly, but I notice his big figure hunched over in the driver's seat. 

We approach a stop sign, and I turn around in my seat as the van comes toward us.  But instead of slowing, he smashes into the back of our car, sending us flying forward in our seats.  The airbags deploy.  When I raise my head, my world is spinning.  The wreckage isn't too bad.

"You okay?" I ask Elsa and Ben, whose frightened faces were hidden behind the deflating airbags.

"Yeah," they say, looking around cautiously.  The Spanish driver slammed his door and marched up to the other driver angrily, yelling something that I didn't want to hear.  I watch in the mirror as the two stand face to face, the other driver standing nearly seven feet tall.  In one large swing, he knocks our driver to the ground unconscious.  He approaches us.  My heart skips a beat.

"Ben, Elsa, leave through your door, right now.  Be quiet," I order, unbuckling my  seatbelt. 

"We can't, " Elsa says.  "There's two guys over here." 

"Then act dead.  Whatever you do, don't move," I tell them, locking the doors.  Slumping my head to my chest, I close my eyes and take in a deep breath.  I hope this works.  Beside me, I hear the handle pulled and released.  There was silence for several minutes, but I dare not open my eyes yet. 

All of the sudden, the glass shatters onto my body with a bang and I'm pulled out of the window by my shoulders.  My eyes shoot open, and I struggle to get free.  I use all the self-defense tricks I know, but the sheer size of this man was beyond my strength.  His grip felt like it would break me.  He releases me and I fall to the ground, groaning as I try to stand.  But he kicks me back down. 

"Anthony Mason," he grunts. 

"Who are you?" I ask, breathless.  His two companions came around with hands on Ben and Elsa. 

"You are strong man," he says with a thick accent.  Russian.  Ah yes, he's Russian. 

"What do you want?" I ask.

He reaches down and grabs my throat with his monster-hands. 

"Your people got message 'zat was meant for our Friends.  How much do you know?  What is your plan?"

"Let him go!" I hear Ben say.  I can barely breath, let alone talk. 

"Shut up, you imp!" Another snapped. 

"He can't talk until you release him," Elsa says.  Then his grip releases, and I suck in what seems like gallons of fresh air.  Coughing, I stumble to my feet. 

"What we know," I wheeze.  "Is that the Cold War never did end, did it?"

I can barely stand straight as the whole world seems to buzz and tip in every direction.  I tip, but feel two hands press me back to the van.  I glance over where Elsa looks at me in terror. 

I open my mouth to speak again, but notice his fist swinging toward my head.  At the last minute, I duck and he smashes the car door.  His knuckles leave intentions in the metal next to my head. 

"Woah," Ben gasps.

The driver starts again, grabbing my by my collar and tossing me to the ground.  I roll to my feet and return the attacks as fast as possible.  I dodge his punches and reach around to punch back.  But he backs me to the van, where there is no escape.  Blood drips from my arm and legs, mixing with my sweat.  Breathing heavily, I watch his every move.  He swings, but I dive through his legs and leap upon his back with my arms around his throat.  I tighten my grips, but his neck is nearly the size of a bowling ball and is hard too.  He seizes my arm and tosses me over his head onto the ground. 

The last thing I see is Elsa above me, a concerned look in her eyes, in the back of the white van. 

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Ben says as I sit up and rub my head.

"Are you okay?" Elsa asks.  My world swirls back and forth as it comes back into focus.  We're in the back of the van, from what I can tell.  The only windows are those on the back doors, and what little light is left in the day shines through.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Almost seven," Ben replies. 

"Are you okay?" Elsa says again.

"I'm fine.  Where are we?"

"As cool as it would be to have night vision, I don't," Ben says, smiling mischievously. 

"Enough of your useless comments, okay?" I snap. 

"It's true!" He says. 

"I don't need your help if all you're going to do is say some snarky comment every few seconds," I say, turning on him.  I crawl to the doors, where I peer out into the darkness.  All I see is blue and red lights, and flashing white ones.  That's odd.  Where the heck are we?

"How long have we been on the road?" I ask Elsa. 

"We think about ten hours," she says, planting herself opposite me. 

I grab the handle of the door and jiggle it roughly.  No movement.  We're still stuck.  I know everyone is depending on me to escape, but with my head pounding and my senses still disoriented, I can't think straight. 

"The lights are really odd," I say, slumping against the wall.  Elsa takes my spot at the back doors and stares through the glass for several minutes. 

"It's an airport," she says suddenly.  I place my forehead into my hands.  Why hadn't I thought of that?  What other place has lights like those? 

"Why would they want us at an airport?" I ask myself.

"To ship us who knows where," Ben says dully.  "Probably to some prison."

Out of all the missions I've been on worldwide, I realize this has been the most unpleasant one.  Being soaked in sewer water for hours, being shot at, helping a limp woman around the city, and being trapped in a van with Ben.  Elsa isn't so bad.  She doesn't talk much, but I'd rather know someone who talks less than talks too much–like Ben.  At times, I think he improves.  But I can't stand his comments or his general talkative personality.  I feel like he's trying to gain favor with me, but by doing so he steadily loses it. 

Suddenly, the van screeches to a halt, sending us all flying toward the front. 

"What was that?" Elsa says, looking through the windows.  But she stumbles back when she sees a narrow-faced man looking back at her.  When both doors open, we meet the giant Russian man and his two companions who captured us in the first place.  For some time, they examine us and speak to each other in their native tongue.  Then the scrawny man grabs Elsa's arm and drags her out. 

"Let her go.  It's me you want," I say, just as the largest seizes my leg and pulls me.  A hearty chuckle is exchanged between them and they finish by locking handcuffs on all three of us.  My legs are shaky as I stand up.

The icy wind that sweeps through the darkness cuts though our clothes.  Before us, I see a large jet with little to no markings on the exterior  This is suspicious.  The airplane is facing due east, which makes me wonder if they are indeed taking us to Russia.  We are shoved into a small compartment near the back of the plane that doesn't have enough ventilation.  We hardly speak a word. 

After what seems like hours, we feel the craft start to move, and soon we are in the air, I assume, headed East.  We lean lazily against the walls, wondering if or when we will see the light again. 

"You alright?" I ask Elsa.  She heaves a sigh. 

"Yeah, I guess," is her quiet response. 

"I'm going to get you home, I promise," I tell her firmly.

"Don't promise that," she says.  "You can't guarantee my safety, and you never will."

"I promised your father I would."

"Well, that was before all of this happened.  I just don't know how much more I can physically or emotionally handle."  I see a tear drip down onto her pale cheek.

"I guess you never realize how strong you are until you have to be," Ben chimes wearily. 

"I will get you home, both of you" I add, trying to sound confident.  "Plus, if I do–"

I stop short.  I remember what Areon said about leaving the NSU for good.  But I'm hesitant to tell anyone.  For once, I question my personal motives.  Why do I promise to get her home? Is it because I genuinely care for her well-being, or is it because I might be able to leave?  I push the thought from my mind.  Of course I want to get her home to her father.  Convince myself of the best.

"I'm just ready to-go-be..." Elsa trails off and drifts into a sleep.  I watch her for a minute, but then settle in my little corner to try and sleep.  It seems like I just one up, but a little restful sleep won't hurt.

As I close my eyes, the sound of Ben's voice makes me jump. 

"Tony, I'm sorry I came," He says sheepishly.  "I should've just listened to you."

Roll my eyes.  Now he says that?  I shift my body around toward the wall, my back facing him.

"Try to get some rest," I say, closing my eyes and laying my head on the wall.  I don't care to talk to him any longer.  Maybe I should've been kinder–but that doesn't change the fact that we're trapped here and headed away from home.  I could have got Elsa back on the plane, and we should be home by now.  That would have solved a lot of problems.
*****

The crude awakening of a punch in the gut wakes me up with a groan.  I pull myself to my feet, blinking in the sudden flood of light.  Elsa comes beside me, looking horrified.  Breathing hard, I climb down from the plane and out into the frigid snowy air.  Ben, Elsa and I huddle together; I take off my light coat and put it over Elsa's shoulders.  Now even colder, my muscles tense up and I shiver.

A black car drives up to us and we're shoved into the three seats behind the driver.  Once in, however, the warmth thaws us and we breathe normally.  The driver speaks to the jet pilot before he drives off.  He doesn't say a word to us, but ensures the doors are locked and the windows too. 

"Where are we?" I ask him.  It's as if he didn't even hear me, because he doesn't even acknowledge my presence. 

"Hello?" I ask again. 

No answer.  It is potentially possible to knock him out while he drives, but with our hands in cuffs, it would be too much trouble.  Plus, this might lead us to discover more about the message or URNP. 

We are clearly in Russia–all of the billboards and signs are in Russian and the radio is too.  I watch carefully out the window, trying to remember every turn we take and every street name.  I don't know enough Russain to pronounce some of the words though.  The longer we drive, the farther away from city limits we get.  So...they're taking us far out somewhere.  But what old be out this far, but a prison?  Searching the horizon, I see a large complex nearly fifty miles outside the city that sits in the middle of a barren wasteland.  Since nothing else is out there, I assume this is our destination. 

As we drive to the front gate, I study the signs posted outside.  One of them says danger, while another I can only make out two words–Russia and Nuclear.  It's enough to assume that the huge complex before us was a plant of some kind for producing nuclear bombs.  So this here the message came from!  United Russain Nuclear Plant?  Makes sense. 

The gate guards let us in, and after more winding roads and paths through industrial buildings, we pull over to a warehouse.  Several men come to meet us, pulling us roughly out of the car.

"Where are we now?" Ben asks, exasperated.

"A nuclear plant," I say under my breath. 

When I glance over my shoulder, I see Elsa peering around anxiously.  My insides turn.  It doesn't look like a prison, but I don't know why else they would bring us here. 

Once inside, we gaze around at the hundreds of workers in assembly lines below, not even stopping to look at us as we walk by.  There is an eerie feel to this place, but I can't quite say why.  Perhaps it is the systematic clinking of the hammers against metal, or the lack of voices filling the room.  Above us, I see a metal staircase that either leads to an attic or the roof.  I swallow hard.  I nod to the others, assuring them that it well be okay as we march down the hallways until we stop at a door.  A soldier knocks.  The man who answers is nearly my height but with darker features and a sharp nose that reminds me of a scarecrow.  His face lights up when he sees our faces.

"A,  khorosho. Privesti ikh v," he says with a dark smile, ushering us into the small office. 

"So your American, I hear," he says with a thick accent, as the doors close.

"Who are you?" I demand. 

"Ah, it is not time for you to ask questions, Ser.  I've heard you are a strong man, killing off many of my men.  Is this so?"

"Well, they were trying to kill us," Ben says, shrugging  The man studies him curiously. 

"Life.  One minute your alive, the next you're not.  I'm surprised you don't know that, Anthony," he says. 

"You don't know a thing about my life," I say tauntingly. 

"Anthony James Mason, born in Kansas City in the year 1981.  You were to be a successful man, had you not joined the National Security Unit.  You've worked there for nine years now.  What else don't I know?" He asks, leaning forward on his desk. 

"How do you know all that?" I ask, through my gritted teeth.

"Like I said, it's not your turn for questions.  I need to know everything about the NSU and your government."

"What about it?"

"Like, how did you intercept our message?  It's a good thing we still got word to our Friends in Cuba.  Why are you opposing us?" He asks.  His voice is as smooth as silk , yet with an edge to it.  

"If your country was threatened by nuclear attacks, you'd try to stop them too," I answer.

"But my country was threatened, by the filthy Americans," he spits.  "The difference is, we are always right.  For years we fought with your country–and you with Cuba.  How long do we continue existing with this mutual hate for one another?"

"It's not your choice who lives and who dies," I say. 

"A life is a life, Anthony.  Among billions, what does one life matter?"

I clench my fists, trying to control my tongue from lashing out. 

"Why are we here?" Elsa asks.

"Ah, so the woman can speak!" He cries.  "I suppose you think you're honored guests here."

"Hardly," she tells him flatly.  Ben and I share a glance. 

"But you are, indeed.  I want to broadcast your death to your own people.  It's a chance for your families to see you one last time.  And you three already know too much about us anyway to stop now."

"Let them go, it's me you really want.  Only I can answer all your questions," I say. 

"Oh, but the girl is the daughter of the president.  She's a prize.  This one is worthless," he jabs a pen into Ben's side.   

"Well since we are honored guests, suppose you take off our handcuffs for the time being.  They do start to rub," I suggest.  He eyes me closely, but retrieves the keys and unlocks mine only.

"So where shall we begin?  Why don't you tell me the NSU's plan, for starters?" He asks. 

I nod politely.  On his desk, beside his keys, I notice a name plate that reads, 'Isiah Markov'.  It doesn't sound familiar. 

Just then the door bursts open and a soldier marches in, ranting something in Russian. 

"Sorry, Friends, but I have business to attend to," Isiah tells us.  To the soldier, he says,"Take these two to my quarters.  Take the other to the hangar." 

And with that, he walks out of the room with an air of pride in his step.  I turn my back to the door and shove his keys into my pocket.  The soldier doesn't seem to notice my handcuffs are missing, so he escorts us to the private quarters, which is simply a metal building on the north side of the warehouse.  Ben, however, is taken the opposite direction.  I hate to see us separated, but I have no way of stopping it.   

"Great, now what do we do?" Elsa asks, as we are locked in.

"Here, turn around". I unlock her cuffs and she rubs her wrists tenderly.

"Where'd they take Ben"

"I don't know," I say.  "He'll probably just be in a prison cell.  But I think we can get out of here and still save him."

She watches me, confused, as I wander through the other rooms and open every door. 

"Are you snooping?"

"I'm searching for answers."

"There's no way out, right?" She asks, peering out the window.  "The place is surrounded."

"Yeah I know.  But surely he has extra weapons hidden somewhere," I say, digging through every door and cabinet.  I find three guns, fully loaded, in a drawer. I give one to Elsa, though she clearly feels uncomfortable holding one.  I slip mine into my belt.  There's no telling when we'll need these.

"Tony, look," I hear Elsa say.  I turn around, and she's holding a small phone in her hands.  "Why don't we use this to call the NSU?  Mine doesn't work."

I grab it from her and dial Areon's number. It's a good thing I know a little Russian or I'd be doomed for sure.  It rings several times before I hear the familiar deep voice at the other end. 

"Areon, it's Tony.  Yes, yes we're alive, so is Elsa.  We need help–"

"I know where you are," he cuts me off.

"How?"

"Elsa's phone–it must be broken since she isn't answering.  But there is a tracker inside."

"But–"

"Hang tight, we'll get you out of there."

The plan is simple.  Areon causes a disturbance and attracts attention away from guards.  Elsa and I leave, getting Ben on the way.  Then we run.  When I explained it to Elsa, I tried to sound confident in the idea–but I tend to have less confidence than I put on.

Where do we run? 
How far do we go?
Where is Ben and how will we get to him?

Despite my initial doubts, things have gone well so far.  Though we can't be sure what Areon did to distract the guards, Elsa and I are able to shoot the hinges of the door and whoever tries to come at us.  She knows how to operate a gun but is very reluctant in doing so.  I understand for her sake, but I can't run the risk of letting any one of the soldiers get away, especially now that they know we escaped.

As another approaches us, I grab my gun and shoot his leg, causing him to stumble in pain and collapse. 

"Where is the prisoner?" I ask, holding a gun to his chest. 

"Ne angliyskiy!" He whimpers, grasping his bloody leg. 

I growl.  Of course he speaks no English.   I pause for a split second, deciding what to do with him.

"I think that means he doesn't speak English," I hear Elsa say behind me.  When I turn around, I see her singing the gun around her fingers casually.

"Thanks," I say sarcastically, stilling the gun.

Tightening my grip, I glance down at him and then at the explosions in the distance. We must get moving.

"Strelyay v menya," the moaning soldier says beneath me.

I don't understand. 

"Tony, we need to go get Ben," Elsa says softly. 
1
I turn to walk away, but the man reaches up and snatches my n, aiming it toward Elsa.  It takes me a minute before I realize what happened.  Several other soldiers charge at us and I know we're doomed.  How could I have been so careless? 

Glancing at Elsa, I see her trembling hands drop the weapon.  She puts her hands up–but I don't. I refuse to go down without a fight.  Using my foot, I slide the gun to me and scoop it up.  I shoot the soldier's hand.  I point it at the oncoming soldiers, waiting for the perfect moment to pull the trigger. 

"Drop it!" Elsa cries.

"What?" I ask incredulously.  Now is my only chance!

"Drop the gun, Tony!"

In those few seconds that I looked at her, wondering what she was talking about, the men surrounded us.  There is no chance now. LI let the gun fall with a clatter and I too, raise my hands.

Everything in me wants to scream.  What the heck is she thinking?  I shouldn't have listened to the stupid girl.  We wouldn't be in this predicament. 

My face red with rage, I allow the soldiers to grab my arms and escort me back to the buildings.  With the explosions continuing, the streets are in utter chaos.  We weave through, my heart racing, my muscles tense.  This is not the end. 

On my right, Elsa hangs her head–not in shame, but in submission.  I clench my jaw.  There are so many things I want to say to her, that it's a good thing we aren't allowed to talk right now. 

Yet again, this is why I work ALONE. 

We are led to the middle of the complex, where we enter a large metal building heavily guarded at each entrance.  A digital code is entered in and the doors swing open.  An uncomfortable feeling settles in my stomach as we enter. 

This is no weapons factory. 

Down the stairs and through hallways, I study the specimen cages that surround us.  All sorts of creatures: animal mutants and humans, are locked in cages and are experimented on.  Through the glass, I see the scientists working away, as if none of this bothers them.  One cage in particular is all white, with a white chair in the middle.  A young woman sits quietly, strapped to the seat.  But her expression is all but peaceful.  From the outside, I notice her trembling hands as the scientist injects her with a long needle.  We continue on our walk, but I hear screams of agony from her cage that echo through the building.  I swallow hard.

In the depths of the building, we find ourselves in what looks like a prison.  Great.  So we will be imprisoned and then tortured.  This is certainly not the way I expected to die.  Growling, I shoot Elsa a dark glare.  But she doesn't look the least bit bothered by our situation.    I've seen it a thousand times–trying to appear all brave on the outside to...what?  Impress me?  It's not the least bit impressive.

"Tony?  Elsa?"

I spin around to see Ben's pleading face through the bars of a cage. 

"Ben!" Elsa exclaims, an odd smile spreading at the corners of her lips.  Then I notice her wink at him.

What does that mean?  You don't wink for no reason.  What is it she wants?  Does Ben understand?

Then it hits me.

  I briefly scan the hallway.  Two soldiers have left, leaving just one opening  the prison door and the two guarding us.  We needed a quick way to find Ben.  I glance down at Elsa, who meets my gaze only momentarily.  I follow them down to her waist, where I see the outline of my gun tucked into her shirt.  So she really is clever.  I was beginning to think she wasn't.  How she got the gun, I couldn't guess. 

When the guards release their grips on our arms, I jump around and grab the soldier's neck, flipping him over my body.  He lands between the door and the lock, propping it open.  Elsa tosses me the gun and I turn on the other two.  Stunned by the maneuver, the one holding the door collapses as a bullet hits his chest.  Before I can turn around on the other, he wraps his strong arms around my neck.  Not again.  I still have bruises from the last choking incident.  I scramble to loosen the grip, but with no success.

"Ben!" I hear Elsa cry.  On the opposite side, I barely see Ben as he slugs the soldier in the cheek.  But his grip doesn't loosen.  Darkness encloses the corners of my eyes and I struggle to breathe. 

"Gee whiz," Ben says.  Come on already!  I wiggle and kick to get free.  My eyes widen. 

Jumping into the man's arms, Ben wraps his hands around his throat, his knuckles turning white.  Instantly the soldier releases me and I stumble toward the door, gasping for air.  Ben, however, persists in his hold and is literally in the man's arms.  The sight is almost comical as they struggle to the floor.  With several more punches to the face, the soldier lays prostrate on the cold floor, motionless. 

"You alright?" he asks me, patting me on the shoulder. 

I hold a thumbs up.  It's no use wasting any oxygen.  I tenderly hold my throat after passing the gun to Ben.  Every breath hurts, so I try to conserve all that I have.  It wouldn't be so bad, except my throat isn't healed yet from the last choke. 

"Come on, this way," Ben says, running down the empty hall.  Behind us, I hear pounding footsteps on the floor.  Bullets fly past us simultaneously as we charge on, dodging into opposite halls.   Up ahead, I see Ben pull out his phone, which was vibrating and playing a random song.  Who can possibly be calling right now?  He tosses it to me.  It's Areon. 

But I still can't talk, so I hand it up to Elsa, who gives me an exasperated look.  We round a corner into another hallway, but a group of soldiers are running to meet us. The others are still behind us.  As they round the corner behind us, I grab Elsa and Ben and push them to the floor.  Bullets still flying, we cower on the floor, our bodies covering Elsa's. 

My plan works surprisingly well.  Instead of shooting us, like the men expected, they shot at each other.  When they realize their mistake, they stop, but with several already dropping to the ground dead.  Not wasting a minute, Ben shoots a few men.

Then it stops. 

"Awh, crap!"  He says.  The gun is jammed.  With most of those ahead already dead, I dive to grab one of their guns.  How does this thing work, I ask, studying it briefly.   It's not too complicated, since all I do is pull the trigger. 

Still coughing, I toss a gun to Ben and on to Elsa, who looks both stressed and confused at the new weapon in her hands. 

"Will you please stop handing me these without warning?" She cries.

"You–might," my voice breaking up.  "Need it". 

"So what, do I just pull the trigg–" Elsa fires the gun right past Ben's head, almost grazing his ear.  I jump to stop her, but she instantly drops the gun with her eyes open wide and her mouth gaping. 

"I am so sorry," she says. 

"Nah," Ben says, his voice shaking.  "It's all good." 
The phone rings again, and Elsa answers it this time. 

"Dad!  Yes, you called–I'm fine.  Yeah, that was a gun shot.  I can't talk right now, I gotta go!" She hangs up.  Sure enough,  the echo of a gun resounds through the the hallway.  She shoves the phone in her pocket and we start to run.  I take the lead again as we find our way through the maze of rooms.  The exit door we find doesn't lead directly outside, however.  It instead leads up a staircase and into another large warehouse full of guns and ammunition.  I see no evidence of nuclear weapons, though, which makes me wonder if this is really the same Russian plant working with Cuba. 

We round the corner and up ahead lies an exit to the rest of the street.  It'll be best if we can escape unnoticed, so I don't risk sneaking out among the main streets.  The ground trembles and throbs.  Running toward the exit, we stumble and catch ourselves on the wall.

"What was that?" Elsa asks, terrified as she grips my arm.

"Your dad," I reply in a raspy voice, pulling her toward the door.  Just as we approach the it, the lights above us dim and red lights flash to the sound of an alarm.  We stop in our tracks. 

On a small screen nearby, I see a picture of us on it.  Most of it was in Russian, but clearly they know we escaped. 

"Ben," I say.  "Can you shut that broadcast off somehow?" 

He sighs uneasily.

"Uh–yeah.  But I don't read in Russian."

"You shouldn't have to.  We can't get to the edge of the facility while we're being hunted," I tell him. 

A quick expression of fear passes across his face.  Yet, in his eyes I see determination. 

"Okay," he says finally.  "You go on ahead, I'll find a way dismantle their system.  It should be simple: just go in and type the–"

"OK, see you in five," I say, pulling Elsa with me.. 

"Be careful, Ben!" She calls over her shoulder. 

We run.  Luckily we have better guns now, so soldiers around us are no problem to take down.  The air smells like smoke and the echo of guns and explosions travels through the alleys.  The sky darkens as the day goes on. 

But we stop at nothing.  Every once and awhile, I glance back to make sure we aren't being followed.  We near the edge of a building, and in the distance is the front gate.  If we can make it past the main clearing, we should be fine.  Unfortunately, we will be exposed for probably six-hundred feet before then. 

"Wait," Elsa pants, grasping her leg.  Around her ankle, I see a small stain of blood on her pants.  I completely forgot about her wound. 

"Just go ahead," she says.  I open my mouth to talk, but nothing comes out–only the sensation of fire scorching my throat.  We cannot waste time.  But I won't leave her alone.  I peer around the corner, seeing no one for at least a quarter-of-a-mile. 

"My dad is calling again," Elsa hands me the phone.  "You'd better talk to him."

I grab the phone and answer it. 

"Tony, where are you?  I lost your coordinates," Areon says on the opposite line. 

"Northwest entrance," I say, covering the mouthpiece as I cough.  I hope he can understand me.

"Good.  I have a chopper outside of the boundary, but the planes are still in the air.  Get here pronto," he says. 

He hangs up.  I grab Elsa's hand.

Yet again, we sprint as fast as our legs can handle toward the exit.  More explosions occur, but they don't sound the same.  To the right, I see the Russian's firing their own missiles toward the planes in the air.  One bomber barely dodges it.  Another is hit in the wing, sending it spiraling down toward us. 

"RUN!" I scream as loud as my voice will allow.  We're almost there.  The plane tries to pull up.  At the last minute, we dive under the gates and roll onto the cold dirt ground.  We dodge the plane, but it changes course and shoots her final missiles at the building from which we just escaped.  A blast of fire and smoke billows into the air, blinding us with the light. 

I scramble to my feet. 

"No," I mutter, approaching the gate. 

"Ben was still in there!" Elsa cries.  Our faces are pale and my lips dry.  Shrapnel flies and floats in the air, sending dust into our eyes.  There is no way he survived.  My heart pounds inside my chest, and my thoughts scream at me.  But only a gasp escapes my mouth. 

Beside me, I see Elsa's moist face, her lips parted in horrified shock. 

I lower my head just as another blinding flash and deafening blast sends us flying back to the ground. 

When my eyes open, I stare at a dark ceiling with my head lying on a soft pillow.  Where am I?  I jolt up, frantically searching for Elsa.  My heart pounds, my forehead is slick with sweat.  Instantly, a man puts his hands on my shoulder and leans down.

"Agent Mason," he says.  "You're perfectly safe.  Please, you need to lie back down."

I shrug his hands off groggily. 

"Where am I?"

"Safe," he tells me. 

"That doesn't answer my question," I growl, seizing his collar.  "Where is she?"

"Tony," I hear someone say in the doorway. 

I know the voice.  As the figure steps closer, I see the familiar face of Areon Meyer, though darker and more aged than when I last saw him.  Slowly, I release my grip on the man, and he takes a step away from me. 

"Tony, no need to panic," he says.  "Elsa hasn't woken yet, and you're not in danger anymore."

I feel my pulse slow considerably and my muscles relax.  Finally, I got Elsa to safety. 

"Where are we?" I ask.

"We flew you two out of Moscow.  We're right over Lipetsk."  I nod, rubbing my sore neck tenderly. I guess I hadn't noticed how tired my body truly was.  Days of running, shooting, being choked, and being punched truly takes a toll on a man. 

Areon takes a seat on the bed next to me. 

"I didn't realize what a pain it would be to find you guys," he says, with a hint of laughter in his tone.  "I sent search parties, and I tried to send copies of your passports and such.  But, it turns out, you weren't at the hotel or in Madrid at all.  Most of the NSU was busy searching for you.  But then again, you've never liked to stay in one place for too long."

I can't help but smile a little.  True enough.  I never have a plan and I never stay still for long. 

"Well next time I'm being shot at, I'll remember to ask the shooter to wait for you."

"You're very considerate," Areon replies dryly, glancing at me.  "So, Doctor?"

The doctor steps up. 

"Bruised and inflamed trachea, sprained wrist, fractured finger, and some other minor injuries."

"All of which can be treated?" He asks.

"Yes," the doctor hesitates.  "But you must rest.  You need to give your body at least four weeks to recover."

"Four weeks?" I ask. 

"Yes, Sir.  When was the last time you slept?"

"Didn't I just wake up?"

"You were knocked out," he says flatly.  "It's evident that you haven't rested hardly at all, and with all your injuries and physical strains, your body cannot handle much more.  Understood?"

I shoot him a dark glare.  He shakes his head. 

"Look, Tony," Areon says, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder.  "You got Elsa to me.  That's what I asked you to do.  I never expected all this to happen.  It's time for you to go home, your real home.  I told you we'd talk about it, so we'll arrange something."

He pauses, as if waiting a reply or some other sign of joy.  But my face only becomes grim. 

"No one else knows you're here, so it would be easy to slip you out now.  You have served your country and me well for many years now, being the bravest agent that has ever come out of the NSU.  It's time you lived your life." 

I don't know what to say.  Deep inside, I feel a surge of happiness, but something blocks it from ever arising.  I know my job isn't finished here, yet this is an open opportunity to to leave.  This is what I've wanted for years, and it's within my grasp. 

"I can't," I say, staring down at my hands. 

"Why not?" Areon asks. 

I sigh, leaning back against the wall.  Just as I begin to talk, the doctor appears on the doorway again. 

"Mr. Meyer, it's your daughter.  She's awake," he says.  Areon leaps up and follows him out of the room.  I stare at the opposite wall.  Although I didn't notice before, the pain in my body is very noticeable now and seems to spread like wildfire every time I move.  I am both surprised and glad that there is nothing broken.  Dealing with sprains or cuts is manageable, especially if I continue with this mission.  Well, I suppose this mission is over.  But with my mind now focused on the Russians, I can't help but feel it's my duty to stop them, since I've seen firsthand what they store in their warehouses.  Isiah–I wonder if he survived?  Clearly he was part of the plan to attack the U.S. 

My thoughts are interrupted when the doctor returns to my room. 

"The girl wants to see you," he says, coldly.  I am able to scoot to the edge and get to my feet, though all the muscles instantly tense up.  Grimacing, I walk slowly into the room down the hall, where I see Elsa's figure in Areon's arms.  I stand to the back of the room, trying not to draw any attention to myself.  I remember how stressed he was about her, as a good father should be. 

When Elsa notices me, an expression of relief floods her face.  She looks fine, though tired and worn, and her wound is properly bandaged for the first time. 

"How are you?" She asks timidly, getting to her feet. 

"Fine," I reply, clearing my throat.  The room temperature just skyrocketed.  "You look... much better." 

To be honest, I've never really complimented a girl, let alone sympathized with them. 

"I must look better than I feel, then.  I don't even remember what happened," Elsa says, stretching her back. 

"The plane crashed into one building and blew up the other that Ben–" I stop.  Ben.  It seemed like something was missing, now I remember.  Ben is gone.  My mouth becomes dry and I drop my head.  As much as he annoyed me, I was getting used to him.  And actually, he was quite helpful.  He saved me multiple times–and Elsa. 

I glance up at her again, only to see the same, sad expression reflected back at me. 

"Oh yes, Ben," Areon says softly.  "A sad loss.  I wasn't even going to let him go with you, since you usually work alone.  But, he begged to and I didn't see any harm in doing so.  I guess he was just in your way; but he will be honored for his service."

"Sacrifice," Elsa mutters under her breath.  I feel a heavy weight fall upon me. 

"What?" Areon asks.

"It wasn't just a loss," she says.  "It was a sacrifice." 

These words hurt.  It was my fault.  I sent him in to stop the broadcast, and it wasn't even necessary. 

"Sir," another agent enters the room  "You're wanted in the council room." 

Areon nods and gives Elsa one last hug before he exits. 

"Take it easy, you two." 

Elsa and I are left in the room with the doctor, who makes Elsa return to the bed to examine her wound.  It is still red and irritated, but the infection is controlled and she has pain medicine now.  I stand behind the doctor.

"I sent him in," I say quietly, staring at my shoes. 

"Don't start that," she tells me.  "He would have done anything for you.  It was his choice."

"I ordered him to go."

"You can't change what happened, Tony.  The past is the past.  And, even though it is a terrible loss–" her voice quivers slightly.  "You couldn't have known what would happen."

She's right.  I still feel guilty, but I can't let that get in the way of future missions.  But I feel like I have lost a friend.

"You know, I never really did like him," I say.  "I worked alone, and the thought of him coming was everything but exciting.  I didn't want to babysit him."

"He was definitely odd," she smiles.  "But he had a calming manner about him.  I'm so sorry, Tony."

"Yeah, he had a bedside manner when I didn't–I don't." 

Elsa laughs grimly.  I feel like there was so much I should have said to him, so much I should have apologized for.  He refused to leave my side even after I yelled at him, ordered him, and tried to get rid of him.  Ben was indeed a character I will always remember. 

It takes a long time to get clean and changed into fresh clothes.  Areon asked me to attend a meeting with the top agents and council members of the NSU at noon.  I try to get Ben from my mind, but every time someone talks, I hear him adding some snarky comment in my mind.  This cheers me a little.  But I force myself to get into the mindset of business.  There is no time to think about anything else. 

The council room is more like a dining room, with a small table and short chairs around the sides.  Fifteen men sit there, though I only recognize a few from brief meetings in the past.  I sit next to Marcus, who is about as dull as a person can get.  Everything that comes from his mouth is both dry and depressing.  It's as if he likes to joke, but only sarcasm comes out. 

"Anthony Mason, how unexpected it is to see you here," Marcus says in his usual, droning voice. 

"Marcus, good to see you too," I respond, though I don't mean a word of it.  He has always been valuable to the the NSU, so Areon never got rid of him.  I guess he couldn't have anyway.

"I heard you were alive, though how sad to hear about your comrade's accident," he says. 

"Yeah, thanks."  It sure doesn't sound like he means it.  "Yes, I heard that it was a NSU jet that murdered him.  It's a good thing he wasn't committed or anything."

"Committed?" I ask.  I see Elsa take a seat between her father and me.  She immediately leans in to listen. 

"Well, no family.  No friends.  I remember an old friend of mine was stabbed through the back four times by a terrorist, and then he was shot through the head.  He did have a young girl and a wife too.  It was absolutely...dreadful to hear the news," Marcus says, sighing heavily. 

Elsa and I exchange a look. 

"Well I'm sorry to hear about that," I say.  "So, Elsa I–"

"Actually, it was rather relieving.  One cannot hold to the past.  People die every day, whether or not they're remembered or loved," he continues. 

"That is sad," Elsa says. 

"And you.  I didn't know you existed," Marcus turns to her. 

"Well, I-uh-most people don't," she says, offering a courteous smile.

"You could imagine our...astonishment, when we realized you were alive, especially after the shooting." 

Elsa shifts awkwardly in her seat. 

"I'm...glad I'm still alive."

"Well, that depends.

"Excuse me?"

"All the sights of blood and death–all the pain–if I were in your place, I might want to be dead." 

"You're no the only one who thinks that," I say.  He doesn't seem to notice.  I feel a jab in my rib cage, and I look over at Elsa, who scowls at me.  I suppress a smile. 

The meeting finally begins, with Areon talking about the issues back in America.  It sounds as if the Cubans and Russians are becoming even more threatening and hostile toward us.  Clearly, they have no intention of preserving any of our lives.  Others chime in that more reports and secret investigations have discovered that Cuba plans to receive the missiles through a shipment by plane.  But still, no one knows how many missiles will be fired and when they will receive them.

  I mainly stay out of the conversation, since this is all new news to me and if I do want to help still, I'll need to be informed on all the details.  Areon doesn't know about my plans for helping yet, but I want to get him alone. 

As it turns out, Marcus is the one heading up the defensive mission to stop the missiles.  He prides himself in creating the plan to stop the missiles with low casualties.

"We will infiltrate the Cuban military bases and keep spies there.  This will be strictly a defensive position.  Once they arrive, we will be...eagerly prepared for them.  We can disarm any of their missiles or planes before they launch to America," he explains. 

"Yes, and we will have to move very quickly so we can be sure to finish the job," Areon says.  "We already have the spies in action down there, and we will make our way back to America as soon as possible."  Everyone claps in approval, shaking hands with Marcus and Areon. 

But the only person not thrilled is me. 

"You don't approve?" Elsa asks, glancing at me. 

"Hardly.  They're waiting for the Russians to make the first move, instead of us.  That's not going to work.  We need to stop them before they launch.  As far as we know, they haven't sent them off yet.  We're already in Russia–why don't we just attack here?"

"My father said that he plans to gain any extra information from the nuclear base we were just at before we go home," Elsa says under her breath. 

"That facility couldn't have been a nuclear plant," I reply. 

"Why not?"

"The NSU would not have fired on it; it would be too risky.  They don't know where they keep the weapons."

"True.  But, why are we waiting then, if we can't learn anything from the fake plant?" She asked.

"That's just it.  We need to try and discover the plan and stop it before it happens," I say, drumming my fingers

"So, sabotage?" Elsa asks. 

I nod. 
 

"I can't agree to let my top men go, I'm sorry," Areon says as he stands up from his seat.  We are alone in the medical room again. 

"That shouldn't matter right now," I protest.  "If we don't, our lives will be in danger."

"Look, Tony.  I see your logic–I really do!  But this is also against NSU orders to send a group of men on a secret mission without consulting the Council."

I glance down at my hands.  I don't want to be disrespectful, but I don't think he sees this clearly enough.  The Russians are smart.  They will figure out a way to break through our measly defenses in Cuba.   In fact, they probably already know about them. 

"Dad," Elsa says, breaking me from my thought.  "The Russians know that we intercepted the message.  The guy already thinks we are on his tail."

"Your point?" Areon asks. 

"My point is, that they probably know about our men down there."

I smile to myself. It sounds better coming from his own daughter.  Areon lets out a heavy sigh  and rubs his forehead. 

"I was afraid of that.  So, who is this guy you mentioned?"

Elsa casts a fleeting look at me. 

"Isiah," I answer. 

"Russian?"

"Yes, though he spoke good English.  Sir, that nuclear plant wasn't real," I say. 

"We know," Areon says quickly.  "We wouldn't have fired on it–for safety reasons, of course.  No, they don't make nuclear weapons.  They do make other things though, so technically it isn't fake." 

"Do you know him?" Elsa asks her father. 
    1

"Who?  This Isiah?  No–never heard of him."

Everyone sits in silence for several minutes.  We're off-topic, but I'm somewhat hesitant in bringing it back around.  Elsa, though, continues.

"So, where are we, exactly?"

"We flew you to Orsha, Belarus.  This was an old safe house that the NSU used at one time.  They don't need it anymore, but might as well stop while we are over here," he smiles weakly.  He hasn't slept much. 

"Do you think the Russians know where we are?" she says. 

"Doubt it," Areon replies, patting her hand.  "You're safe now." 

Safe.  That's a word I'm hardly familiar with now.  The way he said it makes me wonder what sort of security is on the outside.  With the upcoming technological advancements, it's becoming harder and harder to stay hidden or safe. 

Elsa looks up at me.  Her eyes have a look of doubt in them.  I know what she's thinking–probably the same thing I am.  Every time someone guaranteed her safety, something happened.

But being unsafe never made me fear.  It's something that I have faced for years, and I will face it again.  The lives of millions are at stake, and everyone is treating it like it's no big deal.  Well, I wont take that chance.  I've already decided on what I must do–though I hate that I have to do it so secretly.  I will find the plant.  I will stop the launch.  And if I do it alone, then so be it. 

"Areon, Sir," I clear my throat suddenly.  "You mentioned that I might take leave after I got Elsa to you.  Do you still hold to that?"

Elsa looks at me in surprise.  Well, surprise mixed with contempt. 

"Yes.  I intend to get you out.  I'm not sure how yet, but I will," he says. 

"What if I went rogue?  What if I started my own mission and because of that, you have to release me?" I ask him. 

"You would go to prison.  Why?" Areon says, his brow furrowing.

"I can't sit and do nothing, sir.  I am going to stop those missiles from ever leaving the country.  I don't know where they are, but I will find them."

Both of their faces stare blankly at me.  I'm not sure what Areon is thinking. 

He takes a step closer to me. 

"You're not in authority to start missions."

"I know–you are.  But we both know this is what needs to happen," I tell him.  "If I went off, you wouldn't be charged for any offense against the NSU." 

Areon paces the room, thinking as he stares at the ground.  An odd silence fills the room, only the sound of his shoes against the floor echo.  Elsa refuses to look at me, though I don't know why.  I didn't say anything to offend her...did I? 

"If I were to release you, it would be my duty to put you in prison for treason," Areon speaks up. 

"Treason?"

"Yes, it's the law."

I nod. Being in prison certainly doesn't sound fun.  But what does it matter?  I'm in a prison now, and Areon would still be in charge of the unit if my plan worked. 

"That's a price I'm willing to pay, sir."

I glance up, and our eyes lock on each other's.  Then his harsh expression breaks into a slight smile. 

"That's why you're our top man, Tony.  Fine.  I will permit you to do this, but only if you make me one promise," he says while slowly approaching me. 

"Sir?"

"Come back in one piece," he puts a heavy hand on my shoulder, smiling grimly. 

I give a slight nod.  But that is something that I cannot promise. 

*****

In the small storage room, I find two small guns and load them up.  This is the last thing I must do before I leave.  Marcus has agreed to join me, along with a few other men.  They all understand the plan and the cost.  As much as I dislike the man, Marcus is very good at what he does and is dedicated to his goals. 

Areon was able to get us the best guns in the warehouse, and supply us with basic needs in a backpack that one of our men will wear.  I know he was hesitant to auction the plan, but he feels the same as I do–so we are 'unofficially' going.  All that is left is my weapons and the final goodbyes. 

Marcus and I talk for some time about the plan (ugh–he wants to plan every detail out!) and decided where we will be heading first.  I'm glad he has it all memorized, because I don't.  I'd rather just go start the search, but I realize that perhaps that isn't the best strategy. 

I tuck the two guns into my belt.  As I do so, I sense a presence in the dimly-lit room with me.  Spinning around, I see Elsa.  Her dark hair is pulled back in a dark braid that falls limply on her back.  But the hair isn't what stuns me.  Very much like her father, her jaw is clenched shut and her dark eyes piercing through me. 

"Here to say goodbye?" I ask.  As soon as it slips out, I wish I could reel it back in. 

"Hardly," she says, tossing her head. 

"What's wrong?"

"There's no problem with me," she retorts. 

I stop what I'm doing and stare at her. 

"What's wrong then?" I ask, confused. 

"I wanted to thank you, actually, for saving my life and protecting me these past weeks." 

That certainly isn't what I thought she would say.  Not that I've talked to many women over the years, but I sense she might be mad. 

"I also want to know why you never told me about the little 'deal' you made with my father," she continues.  "Yeah, I pieced that together." 

I stand in stunned silence. 

"Look, I had been wanting out for years, and your dad mentioned something about it before I even left," I stumble over my words slightly. 

"I don't really care!  I just thought I could trust you for once.  What with never seeing my father and his breakup from my mom, I thought just maybe we had a chance at a genuine friendship.  I thought I could trust you!  But you're just like every other man I know," she says, nearly shouting. 

"So, you think I protected you simply for the deal I made with your father?  That if I could get you home he'd let me off?" I clarify. 

"That is exactly what you did, Mr. Mason.  And I just want you to know that I know what you're like and what you did.  I bit my tongue earlier, because I know how much my father likes you."

"How can you say that?  You haven't seen what I've seen, or felt as I have.  My life is ruined because of the NSU, okay?  And your dad asked me personally to find you and bring you back," I say, my cheeks flushing. 

"I was your mission, then?"

"Yes–no!" I shake my head, frustrated at how quickly this escalated.  "America is in danger and lives are at stake right now.  I shouldn't have come in the first place, but I respected you and your father so I took time to come save you."

"Well, so sorry I inconvenienced you," Elsa say sarcastically.  "Next time I'll be sure not let anyone know I'm in danger."

"Elsa, if you would just let me explain everything , I–"

"Explain what, Tony?  You've made yourself perfectly clear.  You don't care about anyone but yourself!  You treated Ben like dirt.  I guess I thought you were more than that.  You save people for your own benefit, not their's."

I take a step nearer, but she backs to the door. 

"Good luck," she mutters, walking down the hallway and into another room. 

What have I done?  She wouldn't even let me explain myself.  Anger surges through my body as I grind my teeth.  This wasn't even an issue until she brought it up.  If this is how relationships are, then I might as well stay away from them.  Yes, I did my mission.  I assure myself that I did nothing wrong; after all, she was the one who was angry.

But then a thought comes to mind.  Did I really protect her because I wanted out?  She's right about Ben, I suppose.  But my job is about protecting my people.  Of course I care about them!

I need to stay focused on the mission now.  Nothing can distract me.  Not Elsa.  Not Ben.  Not Areon.  I grab my things and head back to the council room where I find Areon, Marcus and a few others talking in the darkness.  Elsa's door is shut and probably locked too.  I don't care.  I can't focus on silly misunderstandings.  It's her fault she didn't understand what happened.  I'll let her deal with it. 

"There you are, Tony," Areon greets me.  "I was just reviewing the plan with Marcus.  Do we need to go over it again?"

I shake my head.  I understand well enough to function. 

"You okay?" He prods, seeing my dark expression. 

I straighten up immediately. 

"Yes, Sir."

"You know Marcus," he says, (sometimes I wish I didn't though).  "This is James Kronk–weapons expert; Tori Reeler, and Ryder Weiss.  We don't have time for formalities, but you'll get to know them soon enough." 

I shake the men's hands briefly.  I glance over at Areon who is staring at his fidgeting hands. 

"I don't know what else to say but..thank you.  You men are saving your country.  That's an honor that we can never award enough, and one that no one can ever know about.  This mission is between me and you; keep it that way."

Areon shakes hands with the four others but stops when he comes to me.  Before I say anything, he gives me a large hug.  I'm so shocked, that I hesitantly pat him on the back. 

"Thank you for saving my girl," he tells me softly.  I clench my jaw shut.

"It was my duty, Sir," I reply. I don't mention anything about our argument.  It's not worth the wasted breath.

"Alright then.  We probably won't have much contact these next few weeks or months or–" he pauses and takes a deep breath.  "I expect to see you all back in America very soon.  I wish I could do more to help.  Now–go, please.  You need to leave before anyone comes."

Areon says his final farewell and bids us to leave as soon as possible out the back door, where a car will be available to get to the airport.  As we walk quietly down the halls, James Kronk sneaks beside me, leaning in closer until I feel his breath on my ear. 

"They call me Kronk," he says.  I jerk away.  His large, probing eyes were locked on my own and a perfect smile–almost too perfect–gleams at me in the dim light. 

I offer a half-smile and nod.  Get away from me, please. 

"And that one they call Tori.  And Ryder," Kronk tells me, leaning back in and pointing to each one. 

"Yeah, I know.  I met them," I say, shifting the backpack to my other shoulder to offer some distance between us. 

We step out into the darkness where the stars shine down upon us across the vast sky.  The wind blows softly but cuts through our jackets and chills our skin.  Glancing back at the team, I see their determined faces staring back at me.  Out of a window, I see Elsa peering out at us.  Our eyes meet, but she turns before I can move.

I turn back.  Here we go. 
 

When I look out, all I see is darkness.  The moon is covered with a thin layer of clouds that wisp across it gently.  I see nothing below–besides an occasional town or a house.  We have been in the air for nearly twelve hours, only stopping during the day and to fill up our gas tank. 

For being such a large helicopter, it flies unusually quiet, which makes it all the better for us.  Tori is piloting while the rest of us sit comfortably in the back seat.  Glancing up at Kronk, I see him smiling mysteriously at me. 

"What?" I ask.

"I'm just so eager to work with you!" He exclaims.  "It has been my dream to serve next to you."

I can't help but smile a bit.  I never thought anyone would truly want to work with me.  But the man disturbs me. 

I look around at them.  Five of us to sabotage a Russian mission.  In my mind, it seems highly unlikely.  If Ben were here, he would lighten the whole situation up with one of his stupid remarks.  As much as I disliked him at the time, I surprisingly miss his companionship more than anything.  Yeah, he frustrated me and I probably worked better alone.  But he was resourceful and adapted quickly to a situation.  I only wish I could go back and tell him that he was a friend.  The only friend I ever had.

"Eh, man," I hear someone say.  I glance up to see Ryder staring at me intently, his dark eyes fixed on my own.

"You don't look to good, Mon," he tells me.  I sit up straight.

"I'm fine, thank you."  This comes out sharper than I want.  "So, where are we now?" 

"One mile from our landing point, Anthony," Marcus drawls.  "We will have to walk a mile to get to the base again."

"How do we get in?" Ryder asks.

"Most of the gates should be destroyed after the NSU fired on it," I answer. 

"Good, so that way we can just head right in," Kronk says.  

"Good point," Ryder says, with his middle eastern accent becoming stronger than ever.  "How will we get in?"

I look at Marcus.   

Suddenly we feel a lurch and the aircraft starts to descend.  We're here.  I can hardly see the ground but as we draw nearer, I begin to see trees and the hard earth.  Each of us grab our packs, Ryder grabbing the heaviest one.  Mine straps firmly on my back after I slide a few necessities inside. 

After the helicopter touches the ground, the black lights turn on inside and the engine shuts off almost instantly.  The bitter wind howls around us as the rain splatters on the windows.

I peer over my shoulder at Marcus.

"Ready?" I ask.

"After you." 

Adjusting the back strap, I slide the door open and step outside.  A rush of cold wind and rain blasts us.  I finger the gun in my hand.  I have no idea what lies out here or what we will face.  Before we landed, Marcus told me the direction we needed to head, and Tori walks alongside me to help.  Marching silently as a group, we head toward the nuclear plant, where we had previously been confined. 

As we draw nearer, I feel my heart racing and my breathing too.  The rain soaks us to the bone, and I shield my face from the torrents.  The sky is light enough to see the facility as we approach it.  Taking a deep breath, we squeeze under the front gate into the base.  Any smoldering wreckage is drowned in the rain, and the eerie stillness sends chills down my spine. 

"Where do they keep computers and files at?" Ryder says, reaching into his pack quietly. 

"That building held offices, and Ben went into that one, the one that's got the plane wing sticking out," I tell him.

"Ah," he says.  I turn around, trying to hide the hurt that I feel; Ben is in there, but I can't help him. 

"Ryder, you will take Tori and go into those buildings," Marcus orders.  "Use all you can–retrieve all you can.  Tori has a good gun.  Kronk, get somewhere high where you can see the entire camp.  Use the flares only if necessary: one if someone is spotted, two if they're nearby, and three if we need to escape immediately.  Anthony, follow me."

Everyone spreads out into their positions, completely hidden as they sneak farther into the interior. 

"Marcus, what are we doing?" I ask.

"We are going to scout the perimeter."

"The perimeter?  Shouldn't we be covering for them?"

"Trust me, Anthony, my men are skilled.  We will cover for them on the outside in case something happens," he tells me as we step through the muddy streets.

"You do what you want," I say. "But I can't just watch and wait for something to happen."

"Anthony, you're being irrational.  Think this through–"

"I have thought it through, okay?  Last time I just watched and waited I lost my friend.  I'm not going to go through that again."

Marcus stares at me blankly, unsure of what to do or say.  I roll my eyes, grasping my gun and walking toward the maze of buildings. 

"And another thing," I hiss over my shoulder.  "Don't call me Anthony; I don't like the way you say it."

Focusing my sights on the building ahead–the one where Ben died–I check my surroundings and press forward.  At this point, I plan on returning to America only when I finish this mission.  I've given so much up since I first arrived in Madrid and I won't stop until I'm finished. 

I press my back shoulder against the cold cement wall of a building as a I round the corner.  The open streets were empty but cluttered with debris.  I look up at the watchtower to the south, where I see the outline of a man in the moonlight.  It's just Kronk.  He hasn't lit any flares, so I glance around and proceed toward the door.  These buildings look alike–thank goodness the plane wing is lodged in the roof of this one. 

Swinging open the heavy door, I grab my flashlight in hand and the gun in my other.  I'm not taking any chances.  My small light does little to illuminate the hallway, luckily the sky is getting brighter by the moment.  I let the door shut quietly behind me as I step forward.  Nothing looks out of the ordinary.  Some damaged rooms still smolder with the fire that once raged through the rooms when it was fired upon.  Nearly half of the building is destroyed; but I still continue to search.  Search for what?  I don't really know.  I feel the need to find information, so I suppose if I find anything I will take note of it. 

As I pass each door, I lean in to see what lies inside.  All of the ones still in tact are mainly labs and storage rooms.  This isn't what I need.  I need information relating to America or Cuba or nuclear weapons.  The prison cells are downstairs, I know.  As I pass the experiment chambers, where we saw chemical tests on the animals and humans, I hear something clatter and shake on my right.  When I flash my light, I don't see anything.  I take a deep breath.  I've got to keep my cool. My hand is sweaty and sore from holding my gun so tightly, but I don't loosen the grip.

I turn to walk, but I stumble and fall to my hands and knees.  Something is wrapped around my ankle.  Kicking it off, I scramble to my feet and hold my gun toward the floor. 

A blood-stained hand reaches out from under a pile of shattered glass and metal.  Syringes lay scattered on the floor among them, along with broken test tubes. 

Someone is still alive.  I shove off what lay on top of the body.  A woman with messy blonde hair lies stretched out, her face looking desperately up at mine.  I recognize her from somewhere.  She looks Russian, for sure.  Her body is bruised and her eyes sunken in while blood trickles from the pieces of glass embedded in her flesh. 

"Who are you?" I demand, keeping my gun pointed toward her head. 

All I receive is a groan as she tries to move her legs.  A breathy scream escapes her lips, though it doesn't sound fearful–but painful.  The woman.  The scream.  This was the woman who was being tested on when we saved Ben a few days ago.  I lower my gun and bend down.  She isn't a threat.

"Can you stand?" I ask, grabbing her arm carefully to help her up. 

As soon as I touch her, she jerks away with a shriek.

"I won't hurt you–I promise.  I'm here to help," I assure her.  

She turns her bloodshot eyes up to me.  Her cheeks are hollow and her face pale and bloody.  I don't know what those injections did to her, but she clearly suffered greatly from them.  And to think–I didn't even come to check on the other prisoners.  But if the girl escaped then that means...

I hear another crash from down the hall, followed by a growl and several loud thuds.  I swallow hard.  The woman grabs my forearm with her trembling hand. 

"Lion-wolf-bear," she says, gripping me so hard I cringe.  What does she mean?  She continues to repeat it, and I shine the light in either direction.  Nothing there.  But I hear another growl and the wall I lean against shakes as a booming sound echoes through the rooms. 

"Lion-wolf-bear," she says, her eyes widening every time she says it. 

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Lion-wolf-bear."

Another growl. 

"Lion, wolf–" I pause.  "You mean the creatures?"

Her thin face grows serious and dark as she glares at me.  I take that for an answer. 

"Come on, we've got to go.  Do you know if anyone else survived?" I ask, lifting her carefully into my arms.  At each movement, a moan escapes her.  The serum they gave her is probably still wearing off. 

I find a lab room down the hall and set her down on an operating table.  Trembling, tries to move away from me.  The glass shards, surprisingly, were only in her upper back and in the back of her arms.  Even then, they were large enough to see but small enough to remove without too much blood loss.  The largest one is lodged in her lower arm, is nearly eight inches long. 

"Look, I need to know if there's anyone else here."

She shakes her head slightly. 

"Are you sure?"

The woman stifles a sob.  

"It's going to be okay," I tell her softly.  "We will get out of here.  But I have to remove some of this glass before it's too deep."

The woman hardly moves as I carefully use what clean supplies I can find to remove the glass.  Twelve pieces total were in her skin, and blood now flows steadily from the wounds.  Occasionally, I check her pulse to see if she is still alive.  Every time, I feel her heart racing though her skin is clammy to the touch.  She didn't even wince when I pulled it out–so either she can't feel it, or the serum counter-acted the pain.  I don't know. 

With as much speed and tenderness as I can muster, I bandage the cuts with the cloth in my pack.  It's a good thing Marcus packed these, because I wouldn't have brought bandages at all. 

A loud crash out in the hallway causes me to freeze.  It must be the beast.  I check to see if my gun is loaded.  It is–so if it comes by, I can just shoot it. 

"Lion-wolf-bear," she whispers, rolling to her side and staring at the door. 

"Yeah, yeah," I answer.  "Lion, bear, wolf.  I won't let it get you." 

She hobbles to an upright position, but her gaze doesn't leave the door. 

"Take this," I offer her a pill from my kit.  Marcus said it was a pain killer. 

The woman doesn't accept it, so I have to shove it down her throat.  She stares at a the entryway. 

"Look, nothing is going to get you.  The beast is still trapped and I have a gun.  Do you even understand me?" I ask.  Clearly she knows some English.

She doesn't say a word, but fixes her eyes on me. What is that supposed to mean?  This woman has mental issues.  It's a good thing I know what I'm doing, because if I didn't we would both be dead–

Suddenly the door flies open, the hinges bending from their normal position, and a creature leaps in.  She was right.  It had the mane and teeth of a lion, the strength of a bear, and the body of a wolf.  Never have I seen such a horrific, powerful creature in all my life.  Slowly, I reach for my gun.  It snarls.  I feel the woman slide off the table behind me.  The beast looks around suspiciously and sets its eyes on her.  

As it leaps forward, I grab my gun and fire four shots into it: one to the head, two to the side, and one in the leg.  The lead sinks into its flanks but doesn't seem to affect it at all.  Panic floods through me as we duck out of the way.  Four bullets should have killed it or at least slowed it down.  We need another way.  I push the woman into a corner and motion for her to stay.  Running to the other side of the room, I see the beast turn to face her, it's jowls dripping with thick saliva.  It was supposed to follow me!

Think.  Quick.  Come on, Tony!  Yet again, I have no plan–but I charge toward it at full speed.  I notice a long coil of chain underneath a cabinet.  I grab it with both hands and jump onto the beast a jumps toward the woman.  She lets out a scream and tucks her head into her arms for protection. 

With the chain in hand, I wrap it around its neck and pull as hard as I can.  It resists, and I know I'm no match for its strength.  It growls and pulls back as I straddle it and pull even tighter.  The woman runs from the corner and over to the table where my bag is.  I don't know what she's doing, but I don't think to ask.  The beast rears up and slams me against the hard wall, knocking the wind out of me as I collapse to the floor.  I try to stand, but it knocks me back down with its powerful paw. 

Suddenly I see a ball of fire thrown toward me.  I dodge, but it whizzes past my head and hits the creature's side, making it yelp in pain.  She used my matches.  Smart girl.  I stand up and grab the chain again, this time I plan to stop it.  I glance up, where I see several beams with hooks screwed into them.  The beast starts to charge at us again, and I jump on its neck and tumble to the ground.  Snarling and pawing, it reaches its powerful jaws out to bite off my head, and we struggle for nearly a minute with each other.  At this point, I just avoid all of its blows. 

Finally, I'm able to get the chain links around its neck and secure it.  If I can just reach up and attach it to the hook, we could leave.  But it's resistance is so overpowering, I can't make it budge. 

Again, it plasters me against the wall, but this time I don't fall and it doesn't move.  I refuse to let go, even though I grow weaker by the minute.  I pull so hard, that the beast's neck is near to my own but neither of us move. 

All of the sudden, I see the woman slide under the beast with the large chunk of glass in her hand.  The creature lets out a howl and its muscles weaken and it stumbles to the floor, leaving a trail of blood and guts as it struggles to stand.  Then, it stops. 

I fall to my knees, panting and sweating profusely.  Glancing over her, I see blood all over her shirt and a huge gash in her palm.  But the blood on her shirt wasn't her's–it was the creature's.  I try to stand, but my muscles are still recovering from the fight.

  When I look up, she is offering a hand up.  I get to my feet, my legs shaking at each step. 

"You okay?" I ask, leaning against the table for support. 

She nods.  I can't imagine how much it hurt, moving the way she did after I just extracted glass from her body.  Using what bandaging I have left, I wrap her hand–which is no longer trembling.  I'm glad she is alive and understands me.

"Lets go," I say.  I don't know if there are any more beasts, but I really don't want to find out.  The woman offers me a blank stare and she starts to sway back and forth.  No, no.  Please don't pass out–

It's too late.  Before I even finish my plea, she slumps into my weak arms.  The only way I can carry her and still use my gun is to toss her over one shoulder and hold her legs.  I put the flashlight in my mouth and the gun in my left hand.  It's just now that I remember why I came into the building in the first place: to find any information on the Russian's next move.  I hope Tori and Ryder have found some helpful information. 

I trace my steps back to the the door and I kick I open with one foot.  The rain is only a drizzle now.  I feel so weak and off balance.  Where is Marcus, I wonder?  Glancing up at the watch tower, I can barely make out three red dots.  Three flares.  Everything swirls around in my head.  Hopefully, I won't pass out–then we'd be in major trouble.  Three flares means...ESCAPE IMMEDIATELY. 

Scrambling, I hoist the woman up farther on my shoulder and walk as fast as I can under the weight.  As I walk in the darkness, I see a figure coming near me.  I hold the gun up and c*** it. 

"Tony–Tony it's me!" I hear Ryder's distinct accent.  "We need to leave now.  Let me help you."

Ryder takes the body from my shoulder and we both make a run for it.  I trip several times–not because something is in my way, but because my whole world spins and my legs grow weaker and weaker at each step.  I haven't slept enough and my body groans from the bruises and fractures.  I didn't have the time to rest and heal.

We pass the gates and run for the helicopter.  As I look down at my feet, the entire ground shatters from underneath me and I collapse.
                                                    
 

My eyes shoot open.  My heart pounds.  I heave. 

I look around.  I'm in the helicopter again–thank goodness.  I must have blacked out while I was running.  It's not like me to be blacking out at random times.

Glancing up, I notice the blonde girl sitting up, the cut in her hand is being treated in the dim morning light that peeked through the windows.  Ryder softly bandages her hand and talks to her, almost as if he were talking to a child.  Marcus, on the other hand, is leaning against the seat with his arms crossed, staring at the opposite wall. 

"Hi," a voice inches from my ear causes me to jerk away in surprise.  Kronk.

"They said to keep it down for her sake and your's.  But now that you're awake–"

"You ," a woman says.  We all look up.  It's the Russian woman.  I sit up even farther as I see her eyes locked in on mine. 

"You–feeling better?" I ask awkwardly. 

"Yes," she says.  But her accent is anything but Russian.

"You're not Russian?" Ryder asks.

The woman looks sideways at him, as if uneasy. 

"The animal?  Was it real?" She asks me, completely ignoring Ryder's question.

"Yeah," I say.  "It was all real."

"Who are you?"

"Tony Mason."

"And your men?"

I look around.  Technically, they aren't my men. 

"This is Ryder, Marcus...Kronk, and Tori's up there," I gesture to the pilot seat.  He gives a quick wave. 

"No, no. Who are your men?" She asks. 

I look to Marcus, who is evidently as confused as I am. 

"We are Americans," I respond.  "Part of the security unit in the Department of Defense."

"You're military?" She asks, as if surprised.

"Well, not really–"Marcus begins.

"So you knew about what they were doing?  With all the tests?"

"No one knew.  We passed you on the way to Isiah's office–"

"Isiah–" her pale features darkened.  "He's not dead."

"What do you mean?  How do you know?" I ask, excitedly.

"The girl–she isn't here," the woman says distractedly. 

"Wait-what girl?  What are you talking about?" I press, raising my voice only to emphasize the importance of her answer.  I startle her, and she cringes against the seat.  "I'm sorry...what girl?"

"Dark hair and–" she trails off, staring past my head as if she just had an epiphany. 

"What?  What is it?" Kronk asks.  I shush him. 

For several minutes, she stares past me, not saying a word or moving.  I need answers, but there is no use trying to extract them from her.  Even if she isn't mental, who is to say her information would be right anyway? 

Ryder looks at me and sighs. 

"Well, we got the information we needed.  Tori and I discovered the offices and were able to read some of the maps.  It looks like that wasn't necessarily a fake plant, it was just a smaller one."

"Yeah," Tori speaks up. "It was more of the offices and the experimental labs than the factory itself.  I still don't know why Areon wanted us to fire on it..."
Areon fired those?  So he was the one who gave the order to kill?  He was the one to kill Ben?  I feel a surge of anger rising, but I press it down for the time being.  The last thing we need is more fighting. 

"So why the three flares?" I ask.

"As it turns out, a whole squadron of men were hiding and started to fire at us,"Marcus says, rolling his eyes. 

"And where are we headed now?"

"St. Petersburg," Ryder replies.  "Isiah's office was mainly destroyed.  But we found their communications with Cuba and their plans.  We think they sent the message originally, but it got in the wrong hands."

"See, one address continued to pop up on all the papers about the newest weapons and the reports," Tori explains.  "We looked it up, but no information about it.  So, Ryder and I eventually discovered what it was."

"He does not need an entire second-by-second rundown of what you did," Marcus snapped.  "The plan is simple.  Go to the factory, get in, and stop the missiles from being launched."

"How do we know they haven't launched them yet?" I ask.

"It's due to launch in three days, according to their letters.  This 'Isiah' was to meet them there and help send it off," Ryder tells me.   "Tori said that they were sending it by jet to land in a base in Cuba."

"They killed me you know," the woman says suddenly, staring back at me.  "Several times.  The shots they give me were toxic.  But they brought me back to life each time only minutes after I was gone." 

Everything is silent but the blades spinning overhead.  I don't know what to say to this.  It was evident from her screams that the tests were painful and harmful.

"What was the purpose of these shots?" Ryder asks, gently. 

She runs her finger over the several scars on her arms. 

"They believed they could make human race better, stronger."

"What'd you say?" Tori yells over his shoulder. 

"I said they wanted it better and stronger," she says a little louder.

"What?"

"Better and stronger," she repeats. 

"Better and wha'?" Tori asks again. 

The woman shakes her head and turns away while Ryder pats him on the back. 

"Just keep going," he assures Tori. 

"What's your name?" I ask, attempting to be polite. 

"Ana–but I can't remember my last name."

"What do you mean?" Marcus asks.

"Parts of my memory are...gone."

She stops and clenches her fists,  gritting her teeth in what looks like excruciating pain.  Ryder leans over to her. 

"What will we do with her?" Marcus asks. 

"I hadn't thought about it."

"So you bring a mentally insane woman who is in intense pain on a top secret mission?  What were you thinking?" He says in disgust.

"She was nearly dead," I tell him.  "What did you expect me to do, Marcus?"

"I would have left her.  She might survive, but she might wish she hadn't.  We can't use her, and we don't have room for her."

"So if someone is useless and there isn't enough room, you'd just leave the to rot and burn?" I say angrily.

"Yes." 

I start arguing, but I hear Tori shouting above the blades that we have arrived. 

"And by the way, don't call me Marcus, I don't like the way you say it."

It is ten minutes before we finally land and get prepared for the mission; we need to pack lightly but bring plenty of guns and supplies.  Kronk carries most of it on his back.  I look to Ana. 

"You stay here, alright?  Be quiet and don't move from this spot," I tell her. 

"I don't want to stay," she answers, flatly. 

"You can't come with us."

"Why not?"

"You're in a lot of pain, and your cuts aren't healed all the way."

"The pain comes in throbs.  You don't want me to come because you feel you will have to protect me," Ana says.

"There's no room," I tell her. 

"I'm coming.  I don't expect you to protect me.  But I'd rather die stopping the Russians than die in a helicopter by myself."

"Who says you will die?" I say.  She stares past me again. 

"No one knows when they will die," she tells me. 

"Do it your way," I say, spinning around and following Ryder. 

Tori parks the helicopter far enough to avoid detection by the new nuclear plant we are visiting.  Five miles doesn't seem very long until you have to walk it in the early hours of the morning.    Marcus runs though the plan again, and we set on our course.  I've never been to St. Petersburg, but I hope it will be a quick trip.  This is it.  This is where we stop them.

  Ryder brings up the rear, and I walk up front with Marcus by my side.  On the way, I realize this may be the end.  I don't mean to sound pessimistic, but like Ana said, no one knows when they will die–including me. 

As we draw near, I let Marcus lead the way since he is the one with the plan.  He leads us to the back, according to Tori's map, where a shipment entrance is wide open.  The shipping area is more like a small airport, with one small tower but lots of jets.  But there isn't one obvious plane that is being loaded–four jets were all being loaded with large crates.

  We wait quietly, crouched low to the ground.  Ana is right beside me with her hand on my shoulder.  By her expression, she looks terrified.  I feel her trembling.  Is she having a pain episode?   No, she doesn't look like she's in pain.  Just scared.

"Follow me, and do try to stay quiet," Marcus says, louder than normal.  A stifled laugh chokes someone into coughing.  I glance at the others, only to see Kronk lowering his head to hide a smile.  I smile too. 

I help Ana up and grab her hand.  I feel bad for her, and I understand her not wanting to be alone.  She looks at me evenly, clenching my hand even tighter.  I know she's afraid, but I was never good with people, especially in comforting them.  I didn't want her to come.  But I'm clearly the only one she trusts right now.  It's never too late to help someone, though.  It happened with Elsa, and it happened with Ben–I push people away.

We tread softly though the grasses surrounding the facility, still remaining low but making progress.  Then they stop. 

"How do we get in?" Marcus asks, to himself–I think. 

"We look for the largest jet and see what's inside," Tori responds. 

"I don't see any one big plane anywhere," Ryder says, crouching low with the others. 

I stare at the runways, most of which are empty.  The main hangar is full of large crates and shelves of equipment.  Men filter in and out, some loading planes and others just talking.  About twenty men.  Five jets. A building full of crates.  What if we are too late for the launch?  According to the papers at the other facility, we are just on time–but some things may be ahead of schedule.  The thought makes my stomach churn. 

A small figure leans closer to me as I search the distance.

"That one–Isiah," Ana whispers.  I follow her finger, toward a group of men. 

"The one on the left?"

"No, there."  She turns my chin to the right.  "The limping one."

"How do you know?" I ask, noticing a small figure hobbling along toward a plane. 

"The limp.  He interrogated my father and me when we were first captured," Ana answers softly.  I glance over at her.  I'm interested in her story: how an American–and her father–ended up at a Russian factory in captivity.  But we don't have time. 

Not letting my eyes wander from Isiah, I watch his path as it leads toward a group of three or four jets.  But he disappears before I can see where he goes. 

"Okay, so the plan is–"

"Wait, you have a plan?" Tori asks incredulously. 

I ignore him. 

"In that group of jets, is the one with the missiles. 

"How can you be sure?" Marcus asks.

"Look at the labels on the crates" I say.  "We get in their cargo holds, hide, and then take over the controls when they're in the air."

"I don't think it'll be that easy, Tony," Ryder says, stuffing his map into the backpack.  "Getting to the back alone will be difficult."

"Yeah, I know.  Marcus?" I look to him for support.  But he only stares at his hands and looks back uneasily. 

"The helicopter!" Ana cries suddenly.  We quiet her. 

"What about it?" Tori asks. 

"Use it," she says, shrugging. 

"For what, shooting down the plane with the nuclear missiles on it?  Brilliant idea, Princess," Marcus sneers.

"Shut up, Marcus," I say.  "She's got a point though.  Kronk and Tori go back to the helicopter and fly it to get their attention."

"They'll shoot it down," Ryder says quickly.

"Not if they're careful.  Watch, the Russians will scramble to get their jet out of the area if there is a threat.  We'll be waiting closer in."

Everyone is silent as they think it over.  I don't see any major problems yet.

"Works for me," Tori says, spitting into the grass and grabbing Kronk's arm.  "Come on, Squirt, let's get going."

"Wait–" Marcus starts.

"No, Marcus.  We don't have time to wait any longer.  They leave now." 

My words startle Marcus and he meets me head-on.

"You have no right to order my men," he growls.

"And you have no right to disobey orders from a superior agent," I snap back. 

"A house divided against itself cannot stand," Ana says nonchalantly behind me, fiddling with a piece of grass. 

I take a deep breath and let it out.  There is no use in arguing.  No time. 

*****

Tori ad Kronk pilot the helicopter into the air.

"There they are," I say, watching them rise above the camp.  Alarms go off.  Men run.  Guns fire. 

Turning my attention back to the shipment area, I notice one last crate being loaded into a jet on the far right.  There it is.  Men were running between the hangar and the plane.  When they run back to grab their pilot gear, we move. 

I can't say I've ever run so fast in my life.  Ana crouches between Marcus and me as we charge toward the open end of the jet.  I pull my gun out.  A soldier emerges from the tail end, totally unaware of our presence.  We all screech to a halt, panting.  The man and I stare at each other for a few seconds, inches away. 

"Hi there," I say.  "Sorry to ruin your day."  I slug him so hard that he falls to the ground in a heap instantly.  We scramble into the back, Marcus carrying the limp body of the Russian. 

"Get down here, and stay," I tell Ana, as I let go of her hand behind a stack of cages in the corner.  No one else is in the back, thank goodness.  There is a door that leads to the c***pit, and I figure I might as well try to fly away before anyone can come.  Marcus stays behind as I crawl into the small space under the glass window top.  Instantly, I'm overwhelmed with the amount of buttons and controls.  Think.  I start to press buttons, not knowing what they control.  There's got to be some start button and one to close the back. 

I continue pressing them randomly, looking specifically for ones that might work.  Of course, it's all in Russian and I only speak a few words in Russian.

Then I hear a large explosion, sending a shudder through the ground and into the plane.   I pause, looking out of the Windows above me. 

It's the helicopter.  The tail has been hit, and it bursts into flame as it falls to the earth.  I hold my breath.  There's no way I can go back for them–but who is to say they would even be alive?
There's no use.  I couldn't even turn on the lights to a jet this size.  We will have to wait until it's in the air to take over it and divert it's course.  At this point, I abandon my strategies and decide to operate the way I do best: coming up with it as I go. 

Stumbling into the back again, I position myself opposite Marcus and Ryder, and next to Ana, checking to see if any men are coming.  They emerge slowly from the hangar and approach the plane. 

Peering over at Ana, I see her shaking and hugging herself in fear.  I reach my hand out and touch her arm–she jumps.  When our eyes meet, I simply offer her a hopeful smile and nod.  Saying anything would mean jeopardizing our whole mission.  She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.  That's probably best for her to do. 

With a lurch, the tail of the plane folds up and pushes out every last bit of sunlight in the cargo hold. All is silent for a moment.  No one breathes.  The jet engines roar to a start.  I feel Ana slide closer to me.

  The plane lifts off.
 

I check my watch.  We've been in the air for forty-five minutes.  Ana is still next to me, trembling over my shoulder.  I don't know if she is scared anymore, considering nothing exciting has happened since we lifted off. 

It's time to act.  I need to open the crate and get Marcus and Ryder to start diffusing the missiles while I go up front and take control of the plane.  Where should I land it?  Where do I fly?  I push these questions from my mind.

"Marcus, let's move," I say hoarsely. 

He nods. 

We stand up quietly, heading toward the crate. 

"Pull your way, I'll push," I order, gripping the top. 

At the count of three, we slide off the top piece of wood and it makes a large squeak.  I cringe.  No one comes yet.  Marcus sets it quietly to the side and we all lean over the box. 

Four of them, two in each stack, are lined inside and bound with some sort of electrical tape.  I reach in, feeling the cold metal against my fingers.  There it is–a small slit, big enough to get my fingernail under.  I pull it open.  Inside, lies hundreds of colored wires all twisted around each other with greatest precision.  Although I am trained enough to diffuse a small bomb, I've never dealt with something quite this large. 

"Ryder?" I say, glancing up at him. 

"Of course," Ryder replies, hesitantly. 

I turn to walk away, but stop.

"Be careful," I say, patting his shoulder.  I trust him.  He has a fearful confidence, that even though it's a serious job, I know he can diffuse them.  Don't know what he plans to do, but maybe just switch around a few wires...I'll leave that to him. 

"Marcus, I'm going up to the c***pit.  I need to get control of the plane.  Cover me?" I ask him. 

"Isn't that why I'm here?"

I step toward the door.  But someone reaches it before I do.  It swings toward us, and a flood of light pours in.  A Russian guard, double my size, looms in the doorway with his massive gun in hand. 

"Narushiteli!" He cries, aiming his gun at us.  I leap out of the way, tumbling over the dead body of the other soldier.  The soldier sends bullets flying in all directions, one hits Marcus in the chest.
Ana gasps.  With one powerful swipe, he knocks her to the floor with his elbow.  He needs to be stopped. 

I lunge toward him, pulling out my gun and shooting through his middle.  Then I knock him around until he falls to the floor.  As I stand up, a shock of searing pain hits  my shoulder and I stumble down.  Another gunman.  Blood flows from the bullet hole in my shoulder, and I know I won't be able to use it.  The pain is almost unbearable. 

In those few minutes of me crouching in pain, he drew closer until he was above me.  I look up, my jaw clenched shut.  Smiling at me, he kicks my chest so hard I lose my breath and roll across the floor.  But instead of finishing me off, he heads toward Ryder, gun in hand. 

"No!" I grunt, trying to stand up but with no avail.  If I can just shoot him, it'll be better.  I aim my gun carefully, and pull the trigger.

But nothing happens. 

What's wrong?  It was working just a minute ago.  I try to c*** it again and shoot.  Nothing.  I don't have time to fix it, so instead I crawl toward his feet and grab him by the ankles.  He just kicks me off like I'm a bug. 

With all the strength I have left, I stand up and wrap my arms around his neck as tight as I can, forcing him to turn away from Ryder.  I must keep Ryder alive.  We struggle for a bit.  The soldier turns around and slams me against the metal wall, where bolts and sharp metal edges cut into my back.  A gasp escapes me.  But I don't let go.  Oh no, here he goes again.  He is about to slam me again.  But right before he does, I let go and he smacks into the wall with a yelp. 

Scrambling to my feet, I grab the other soldier's gun and shoot him several times through until he collapses. 

"You okay?" Ryder asks me, leaning out from behind the crate.  I give him a weak thumbs up.  Every breath sends pain shooting through my ribs and back.  I gasp for air.  Ana is standing over Marcus's corpse in the middle of the room. 

Had I not dodged, it would have been me to die.  I stare down at his lifeless face.  That's three down already.  Ryder has to stay alive, above all else.  And Ana–I glance up.  Though her face is ghost-like and her eyes bulging, she looks determined.

"Ana–" I begin.

"You have to finish this," she tells me.  "No matter what, you have to." 

I close my eyes.  She's right.  It's up to us to save America.  I vowed to protect my homeland when I joined the NSU, and I will to the end. 

With a gun in hand and the other one dangling by my side, still trickling with blood, I march toward the door. 

"Ana, you have to stay here and guard Ryder.  Don't leave this room unless it's an emergency," I order.  She nods.

The narrow hallways of the plane lead up to the c***pit, with only two other guards wandering the halls.  All my attention is focused on the goal, and anything standing in the way will have to move or be knocked down. 

When I open the c***pit door, however, I'm surprised to see no one in the room.  Where did the pilot go?  I look around frantically for any sign of him.  There is no one up here.  Why is the plane still going?  Auto pilot.  Hundreds of buttons now light up at me, and the steering device is locked in one position.  I jerk it, but it doesn't move.  Great.  We just killed everyone on the plane, and now it's locked on auto pilot.  What happens if we pass Cuba?  The plane will eventuall crash. 

I swallow hard.  Unless Ryder gets the missiles diffused, we would just explode into oblivion–never to be seen again. 

An alarm sounds.  I search for its source.  A red flashing light shows the symbol of a gas mask. That can't be good. But as I study it, an odd odor trickles through the door.  I cough.  Someone gassed the plane.  In an overhead compartment, I find two gas masks and strap one around my head.

When I open the c***pit door to leave, fog surrounds me in every direction, causing me to stumble as I walk down the halls.  I carry the other mask in hand. 

I stop suddenly.  Someone is up ahead, and I don't think it's Ana or Ryder.  Dangling the mask around my good arm, I hold up the gun and step stealthily down the hall. 

Before I can make out any figure, I'm showered with bullets coming my way.  I fall flat on my chest, (that hurts) and crawl forward.  Apparently the shooter doesn't find me, as I make my way to the back room.  Just before he steps on me, I grab his foot and he falls to the floor.  It's one of them.  I shoot him twice to ensure he is dead.

The fog is becoming so blinding, that I must feel my way to the back.  I don't recall seeing any gas masks in the back so at leas one of them can breathe.  A flashing light to my left indicates a lever should be pulled.  According to the diagram, it releases the toxic gas out into the atmosphere.  I pull it, and a sucking wind draws out the fog, clearing my vision considerably.  I leave the vent open on top to air it out. 

Meanwhile, I run to the cargo hold where Ryder and Ana are.  It's entirely sealed off.  A large metal door with a square window has slid over the opening and locked.  It won't open.  I try slamming into it, banging on it.  It will not budge.  Inside, I see swirling blue-green fog filling the room.  There must be another vent for the back room, but I see the flashing light and lever on their side. 

Pounding on the door, I scream Ana and Ryder's names repeatedly, trying to get their attention.  Finally, I see Ana's head poke up to the glass.  She's not wearing a gas mask.  Choking on the air, she presses her hands against the glass and looks at me with fearful eyes. Behind her, as the gas clears for only a moment, I see Ryder working away at the nuclear weapons–but he's wearing a mask.  There must be only one. 

"Ana, open the door!"  I scream at the top of my lungs. 

All I hear is coughing.  She shakes her head, banging against the glass.

"Don't panic, I'll get you out," I yell, pressing my forehead against the glass.  Her big eyes begin to droop and her head disappears out of sight.  I hear a thud. 

"No!" I scream.   I cannot lose them too.  I pound on the door; I pull on it; bang against it.  I finally resort to shooting the glass, which lets all the gas leak into the rest of the jet.  At least that's a start.  There must be some way to open it. 

I sprint back to the front, where I scan over the buttons to find one indicating an open door, or something.  The controls are still on auto pilot.  But after minutes of searching, I see a tiny black button on the ceiling above the pilot seat.  Flipping it the opposite direction, I turn back to see the door on the opposite end wide open with gas pouring out of it.

After a quick glance out the windows, I run to the back where the toxins billow out and suck into the air outside.  I see Ana's limp body, convulsing on the floor, and I scoop her into my arms.    Pain shocks my shoulder, but I ignore it.

I take Ana to the front, where I sit her in the reclined copilot seat and strap an oxygen mask around her nose and mouth.  She is still breathing, thank goodness, so I leave her to check on Ryder. 

"Ryder," I say, running up beside him.  "You okay?"

"Yes, but I don't know about Ana.  She insisted I wear the mask," he says, wiping off his forehead.

"I think she'll be fine.  But we have another problem."

"Now what?" He asks? 

"The plane—it's on a set auto pilot, and everything is jammed up.  I can't fly it," I tell him. 

"Is there anyone else on the plane?"

"No," I respond, biting my lip.  "They're dead."

"Oh, bad!  Tony, some modern jets are equipped with what we call a Air-Lock device, where the coordinates are set to a certain destination, and auto pilot will lock all of the controls so nothing can divert the course."

"How do you stop it?" I ask.

"Usually it will turn off a certain mile-radius from the landing site.  It can be anywhere from ten to thirty miles out," he says. 

Great.  How will we stop it now?

"Is there any way to reverse it?"

"Not that I know of.  Even if I knew how, I don't know that we would have time," Ryder leans his head back into the box to work on the missiles. 

I sigh.  Until I figure something out, I don't know what to do.  Ryder doesn't need help, so I head back to the c***pit, where I find Ana lying in the seat. 

She's not breathing. 

Dragging her to the floor, I lace my fingers together and pump her chest.  She has a pulse but it's exceedingly low. 

"Come on," I mutter, pressing harder and harder. 

Suddenly she jolts awake, coughing and grasping her throat. 

"Hey, hey, calm down.  You're fine," I reassure her. 

With my arm supporting her, I help her to the seat where she continues to choke.  In between coughs, I hear her trying to say something but can't make it out. 

After about the fifth time, I understand. 

"Water," she says.  Where do I find water?  There wouldn't be any in the cargo hold, and surely not in the c***pit–at least, I don't see any signs of it.  I walk down the narrow hallway, opening any storage units I can find.  There is only one half-used water bottle in all the cabinets.  It'll have to do.  I wipe the mouthpiece and hand it to Ana, who guzzles it down within seconds. 

Grasping her throat still, she takes deep slow breaths. 

"You just rest, alright?" I say, patting her shoulder. 

Now.  What to do, what to do?  I look over the controls with a frown.  Grabbing the steering sticks again, I jiggle it back and forth as hard as I can.  No movement.  Why did I kill all of the pilots?  No time to think about that now.  What are my options?  I can land it and then hope Ryder has totally ruined the missiles.  Or I can just try to crash it.  Or–

Blue lights start flashing, and the radar beeps as another dot appears on the screen, moving toward us.  I lean in closer.  It aligns itself with us–flying head on to meet us.  But I can't move it!  I don't even know where we are, since this jet seems to be moving unusually fast.  

"Ryder!" I yell above the engines.  "Ryder!" 

He comes running up. 

"What, what is it?"

I point to the radar.  He stares at it, open mouthed with surprise, then looks out the front windows.  Nothing but clouds. 

"That's not good," Ryder mutters under his breath, tugging at the wheel.  He pokes around on some of the buttons, but they are all 'jammed', so to speak. 

"We can't move, so they'll have to," he says; I notice a hint of panic arising in his voice.  This could it. 

Then it hits us.  The entire aircraft trembles and shakes.  More lights flash and alarms sound as we tumble to the ground.  I look at Ryder and he looks at me. 

"They're firing.  We need to establish communication!"

Scrambling to our feet, we search for a radio, but even those controls are locked.  I'm no expert, but that seems idiotic to me.

They fire again.  This time, it misses us–but we see the flaming missile fly past the tip. 

"Are there guns on this thing?" I ask. 

"Probably.  Look for them." 

I dig through every cabinet, push every button, but still can't find them.  When I hear Ryder calling my name, I look out.  The clouds have not only cleared out, but have revealed a massive jet barreling for us, straight on.  We freeze in terror. 

"Get to the back!" Ryder yells to Ana and me. 

I don't budge.  A few hundred feet before it collides with us, the other plane pulls up toward the sky, revealing its belly.  Painted on the bottom side, is a distinctly familiar sign. 

That's an NSU plane.  I recognize the star. 

"Ryder, wait," I tell him.  "Look."

He comes beside me, barely catching sight of the star before it disappears above us. 

"Of course, they must have tracked it or chartered it or something.  Where are we?" He says, remaining unusually calm as he studies the radar.

"I don't know," I reply.  "Is that really important right now?"

"Yes.  The closer we are, the sooner we have control of the jet.  Did you find the guns?"

"We can't shoot, Ryder," I say.  "There with us."

"Right now, they are against us."

"We need to show them that it's us," I say.

"And what do you propose we do?" Ryder asks, growling.  Things are becoming heated. 

"I don't know what it is with you guys, but you have to stop fighting," Ana moans, her voice barely audible above the engines.  She's right...again. 

"Well do you have any ideas?" I snap.   Instantly, she backs down lowering her head. 

"Don't take it out on her," Ryder says, stepping closer to me.  "She has nothing to do with it."

It takes every ounce of self-control not to reply, but I simply glare at him shake my head. 

"Just get back to the missiles," I order, lowering my voice.  He turns around and I watch him walk down the hall to the cargo room. 

"Sorry," I mutter, glancing down at Ana.  When she looks back up at me, I see her sympathetic expression glowering at me. 

"It's not you," she says.

"What?"

"You're working under stress.   You're not the type to say mean things, I don't think," Ana says comfortingly.

I recall my last conversation with Elsa.  Or–rather, the last fight with her.

"I do things for myself, not for other people.   I'm now what everyone says I am," I say, sitting in to the pilot seat.  "I can't do this."

Ana looks at me incredulously. 

"Excuse me?"

"I said I can't do this.  Okay?  I-I haven't slept for days, my body is aching and I can barely move my shoulder.  Most of the team is dead because of me.  I. Can't.  Do. It."

Ana laughs a little. 

"Tony, I don't think you have an option at this point.  Millions are going to die if you don't.   You have to," she says firmly. 

"It'll probably be for some selfish reason anyway," I say, laying my forehead in my hands.  Speaking of my head, it is throbbing so much it causes me to cringe.  My shoulder is immobilized.  My body is wearing out.  My mind is wearing out.  My world spins and glistens as if in a dream. 

"You know, I didn't even want this job.  How did I get stuck with this?"

"Because you're the only one who can finish it.  Look, we all make mistakes, we all are put in these situations–or, at least, similar ones.  But you need to weigh the consequences if you give up.  Think of how this will affect the rest of people's lives." Ana says.  "I know you're in pain, and I know this is hard.  But suck it up."

I look at her, startled. She shrugs.

"But don't listen to me.  Just let everyone die, no big deal."

Her voice echoes through my head.  Suck it up.  Blunt enough to grab my attention.  I smile a little. 

Another explosion rocks the plane.  The NSU jet is still firing at us.  What to do?  I look at the coordinate readings on the screen.  Small chunks of land are on the radar now, though barely on the edge.  It says that we are fifteen miles out.

Only fifteen?  I check my readings again.  The clouds clear out again to reveal the beautiful ocean beneath us and a faint black land mass on the horizon.  Cuba.   Assuming Ryder is right, this thing could give up automatic control at any moment. 

"Ryder, we're fifteen miles out," I yell at the top of my lungs.  He comes running up, sweating profusely. 

"Good.  But I can't get the missiles unwired.  I'm almost out of time, and it's more complex than I've seen.  They have it set up to go off at a very specific time," he tells me. 

This isn't what I want to hear.  I close my eyes and swallow hard.  When I open them, Ana's eyes are locked on mine, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  It's up to me. 

"You know more about guns than I do," I say to Ryder.  "Try to find them–we can't be blown up in air."  He nods and walks off. 

"You have a plan?" Ana asks.

"No."

"Great–just what I was hoping to hear," she mutters.  "What can I do?" 

"Tony, I need some help!" I hear Ryder say from the back room. 

"Ana, I need you take the pilot seat.  If, before I get back, the manual controls come back on, you have to take over the flight.  Try not to press any buttons..."  Though she looks terrified, she nods and takes her new position. 

I run to the back.  Ryder is trying to lift some tall, narrow crate down to the floor before it flies open.  I run to help him, just as another blow smacks the side of the plane, knocking us to the ground.  When I look up, smoke is billowing in the room and beams of sunlight filter through the wall.  There is a gaping hole in the side.  Great. 

"Ryder, we need to–"

I look down at him.  He is lying on his back, with the box and tools strewn out around him.  His eyes are wide as if he had seen something horrifying.  I shove the crate off, and see a giant metal rod sticking out from his middle.  My jaw drops. 

"No!  Ryder–" He looks at me, struggling to breath and coughing out blood.  "Just stay with me, I'll fix this." 

I get ready to stand up, but he grabs my wrist. 

"N-no time.  You can't fix me–just finish the mission," he stutters as blood drips from his mouth. 

"We have to–"

Another lurch takes us by surprise.  Ryder cringes.  This doesn't feel like an impact from a missile. 

"Tony!" Ana screams, as loud as her voice will allow.  The manual control is on.  I feel the plane wobble.  When I look back down to Ryder, his eyes are staring off somewhere in the distance. He's gone.  Anger swells in me.  I didn't know him well, but he seemed like a good man.  Ben, Ryder, Marcus, Kronk, Tori–I must finish this mission; if not for America, then for them.

I can't let Ana die.  I trot down the hallway to the c***pit.  Ana gladly gives me the control, and I have to support my left arm on the top, since my shoulder can't hold the weight.  I breathe deeply.  This is in my hands now. 

The jet automatically starts to descend, and I see land much clearer now.  A radio transmission starts talking to us, but I don't understand it even if I did speak Russian.  Looking around, I only see water–and the coastline of Florida.  That's hope to me.

"Ana, there's home," I point to the dark shadows on the horizon.  She smiles, a genuine honest smile. 

"Will we get there?" She asks me. 

"Eventually." 

My insides are churning.  I don't know what to do.  For once in my life, I can't decide.   Part of me knows we won't make it–I need to crash the plane.  As we draw nearer, I can see the coast where the airport is and the ship port.  The jet's coordinates are set for that exact location.   

I order Ana to go to the cargo hold.  The plane flies toward the shore, though we're still six miles out.  I tune the radio, trying to get ahold of the signal for the NSU plane.  Static.  I try again–someone's muffled voice answers, but cuts out as the plane extends out of reach.

I position the controls down where the rocks and water meet, and I set the autopilot again.. 

When I head to the back, Ana is standing above Ryder's body in shock.  I grab a parachute pack and strap it around myself. 

"What are we doing?" She asks, shaky. 

"Jumping."

"Out of there?" She points to the gaping whole in the side. 

"Yep."

I grab another pack and strap it to her, securing it tightly.

Once we are situated, I glance down at her.  She grips my hand tighter than ever. 

"On the count of three.  One–two–" I jump on two. 

The wind hits us like brick, and before we know it we are falling through the air toward the large ocean below.  My eyes water like a flood as the sun blares down on us.

We pull our tassels.  Our bodies jerk upward and everything slows down.  We watch as the plane barrels down over the island, barely missing the island.  It smashes Ito the water with an explosion that sends us flying back.  Ana and I shield our eyes as the water quakes and the light and fire erupt into the air like a volcano. 

We float farther down, picking up speed as we near the water.  Smoke billows on the horizon and blocks out the sun. 

We sink into the water.  When my head rises, I paddle with one arm over to Ana.  We're both torn and bruised.  We're both in pain and suffering. 

But we survive. 
 

My heart races as we draw near the beach.  Glancing down at my feet, I see Ana curled up and sleeping on the bottom of the boat.  I close my eyes.  Not only did we survive, but we may have a chance at living the rest of our lives in peace. 

After we jumped, I remember my feet touching the water, and suddenly I was sinking in the deep.  I remember paddling over to Ana.  I remember us watching the smoke billow into the air.  How long we were treading, I can't say.  We were both so exhausted.  Then waves started to pick up, and we heard a motor in the distance.  Ana spotted him–the little fishing boat coming toward us.  He saw us fall, he said–in broken English.  He said his name was Santonio. 

At that point, I wouldn't care if he were a Nazi–I was so tired.  But here we are, staring into the deep sunset, watching it fall behind us with an array of color like I've never seen before.  The sun, although tucking itself behind the oceans as a hazy black smoke crossing it.  The little village on the beach, Santonio says, is a quiet fishing village where we can find medical help.  Other than telling us this, he hasn't said much.  But I hardly mind.  This is one of those nights that I could just enjoy the quiet lapping of waves, the warm wind tousle my hair, and the rich colors that the sun paints on the world. 

When I look up again, I see the shore just yards away from us. 

"You–hop out," Santonio says from behind me. 

"What?" I ask drowsily.  I must've misunderstood him.

"Out," he says. 

"Why?"

"You–free ride.  Now you pull in."  He offers me a toothless smile.  Sighing, I swing my legs over and slide in.  The water is cool, sending a chill down my spine.  With my good arm, I pull the side of the boat to the sand bank.  How good it feels to have my feet on solid ground again! 

"With me," Santonio tells me.  He ties his boat to a wooden post driven into the ground and grabs his nets as I nudge Ana to consciousness. We have nothing to bring with us.  We only have the clothes on our backs.  But I won't complain.

Santonio leads us half a mile to the town, which is made up of shabby buildings and dirt roads, with bungalows on the beach.  Everything seems like a daze as I walk.  My body screams for rest at every step.  My eyelids start to droop...

"Tony!"

I jolt back up.  Beside me, Ana steadies me with her hands. 

"We're almost there," she says, putting my arm around her shoulder for stability.  We keep walking, though my legs drag at every step. 

Santonio leads us into a shabby building where a dark woman meets  us.  There is a small table in the corner, and candles light up the interior.  Dirty rugs lie on the floor, mismatched and overlapping one another.  I haven't ever seen a place quite like it. 

Our guide and the woman, who apparently owned the place, talked for some time–with many glances at us.  We wait silently as they discuss.  Finally, the woman walks away to another room and Santonio turns to us.

"Eloise–get you room–bandages," he points to my shoulder. 

"Thankyouss–" my speech slurs. 

"Thank you," Ana jumps in.  "Thank–you."  With another toothless smile, he puts on his straw hat and walks out. 

The heavy-set woman–Eloise, I think he called her–marches back in with a scowl.  After staring at us for several moments, she waves for us to follow her upstairs into the rooms.  Giving each of us a key, she walks back downstairs, each step creaking under the weight. 

"Here, your room is here–I think," Ana opens the cracked door and helps me to the bed.  It's stuffy in here.  I slump down against the pillows and let out a groan.  Ana opens all the windows, letting in a stream of cool air.  I breath it in.  The place certainly is not five-stars, but like I said earlier–I'm not complaining. 

My vision is slightly blurred, but I see Ana rolling up her sleeves and washing her hands in the small trickle of water that comes from the faucet.  She fills up a bowl and tosses a towel over her shoulder.  At my side, she wets the cloth and folds it neatly to lay on my forehead. 

"Ana–" I start.

"Quiet," she tells me, looking over her shoulder curiously.  A doctor walks in–or at least, I guess he is a doctor.  He looks like a homeless man, but he carries a briefcase that makes noise at every time he steps. 

"Hi, I assume you're the one who needs medical attention?" He asks, in surprisingly good English.  His accent indicates he is from Britian, or some other British colony. 

"I'm a doctor, don't worry," he says, smiling.  "I know I don't look like much.  But golly, it's been a time since I've seen any visitors." 

He sits on the bed, examining my overall state.  I'm sure it looks terrible. 

"Nasty bullet wound–that'll hurt to cure.  Lots of bruises, scars, and some other minor wounds.  Any broken bones?" He asks.

"Don't think so," I say quietly.  "Take her first."  I point to Ana.

"No, doctor.  He doesn't know what he's saying–please get him taken care of," she replies earnestly.  He looks confused. 

"Well, if you insist..." 

The last thing I remember, is him wetting a cloth with something and putting it over my nose and mouth.

****

Early sun rays creep over the horizon and pour into my small room.  I sit up sluggishly, grasping my shoulder.  Thankfully, it's been treated and bandaged.  As for my other injures, I hardly recognize them.  Rubbing my neck, I sit on the edge of the bed, my stiff body opposing any movement. 

When my eyes adjust to the bright room, I see the doctor standing in the doorway, smiling. 

"Glad to see you up.  You slept hard, Mate," he says. 

"Where am I?"

"Just east of Cuba.  Don't worry, we'll get you home.  Do you have anyone you want to call?" He asks. 

"What?  No–yes.  I need to call my boss," I tell him. 

"You're boss?" He asks, clearly surprised.  He laughs.  "Why not your family?  Wife?  Parents?"

"I don't know my family," I admit. 

"Oh–sorry," the doctor says, his bright face darkening. 

"Where is Ana?" I ask him.  I watch as his gaze drops to his fidgeting hands.  This can't be good.  "Where is she?"

He opens his mouth to talk, but no words come out.  I stand up forcefully, approaching him face-on. 

"If you touch her–"

"Woah, Mate," he steps back.  "No need to get upset.  She's in the other room.  But–she's not in the best health."

"Come on, just tell me what's wrong!" I shout, grabbing his collar.

"A combination of lots of things, there's a lot wrong!  Look, Mate, she had cuts all over her back and small pieces of glass in them.  Her skin isn't only irritated, it's infected.  She has a soaring fever, a fractured wrist, and hasn't had good sleep for who knows how long."

"Can you fix it?"

"Well, I took some blood–turns out she has some weird acid-stuff in her bloodstream that is stopping the infection from spreading to the rest of her body, which is good.  But..."

"But what?" I press on.

"But if I can't stop the infection, she might not make it.  Whatever stuff she has in her bloodstream apparently helped, but with the glass and everything–what I'm getting at is, well–I think she is bleeding internally," he says, hanging his head.  I let go and swallow hard. 

Brushing past him, I open the adjacent door and walk softly to the bedside.  Ana's limp body lays motionless, besides her slow, steady breathing.  She lies on her stomach, so there is little pressure on her back.  Pulling up a chair next to her, I grab her cold hand in between my own.  Yes, she was odd at times and sometimes a little difficult.  But she went through more than I ever had–being tortured for who knows how long, then barely surviving her escape.  Yet she didn't complain.  She never asked for a break.  She never questioned where we were going.  She suffered silently. 

I close my eyes.  What now?  The plane was down.  The missiles destroyed.  Everyone else was dead though.  What would I tell Areon?  How could I explain everything that happened?  How could we go back to our normal lives?  I can't.  I realize that I can never have the life I dreamed of for so many years–after all I've been through, I can't imagine what I would do with myself.  The open opportunities would usually excite me, but now they terrify me.  I will never get away from all that happened.  It will always be a part of me. 

"Tony?" Ana whispers.  I wake from my thoughts instantly. 

Offering her a hopeful smile, I lean down closer. 

"Yeah, I'm right here," I say. 

"You're all patched up, right?" She asks. 

"Yeah.  And you're almost there."

She laughs. 

"Don't kid me, Tony.  I know I won't last long," she says.  Her voice sounds confident yet sorrowful.

"How do you know that?  You've lasted this long," I assure her. 

"I can just tell sometimes.  I don't know–I've always been able to tell when someone is lying."

I don't know what to tell her.  I want to offer her hope, but what is there to hold on to?

"What are you going to do when you get home?" She says, changing the entire mood of the subject.

"I-I don't know.  I don't think I can ever go back," I say, fingering her hand slowly. 

"Sure you can."

"After all of this–the death, the pain, the things I've seen.  No one will ever understand."

"Elsa will," she says comfortingly. 

I remember Ana mentioned her earlier.  I haven't given her a thought for days now.  At one time, I thought I may have liked her–very much.  Yet, I don't miss her–I don't think about her–I don't want to see her again.

I sigh.

"I don't know about that.  You will understand though." 

Ana watches me in silence after is say this.  I can't tell if she is resolving herself to be hopeful, or trying to figure out what to say without hurting me. 

"If I survive, I don't have anyone to go to.  My mom died when I was born, and my dad died when we were captured.  I don't know anyone else anymore.  You're the only friend I have," she says with a smile. 

"You still have your whole life in front of you, Ana.  You can do whatever you want to do," I say, squeezing her hand harder.  "Don't just give up."

"I won't if you won't," she says. 

She's right.  Look at me, a little hypocrite.  Neither of us say anything for some time.  Finally, the doctor comes in behind me. 

"Excuse me, Mate, but I need to check 'er.  Do you mind–"

"Not at all," I say, letting go of Ana's hand and standing up. I wink at her.  "Hang in there."

I shut the door quietly as I leave.  I want to get out.  I want to see the ocean again.  A powerful sensation hits me like I'm being trapped, and I stumble down the stairs and out the doorway.  The little town has come to life, with people walking in all directions and merchants selling their goods on the side of the street.  Breathing in the salty air, I stand in a fixed position with my eyes on the horizon, where the smoke continues to float in the air. 

In the corner of my eye, I notice a familiar figure approaching. 

"Ello!" Santonio greets cheerily.  I smile.  "The arm?"  He points to my injured shoulder. 

"Oh, it's just fine, thanks," I reply.

"Girl?  Yellow-haired?" He says, waving his arms around to indicate long hair. 

"She's up there," I say, tossing my head toward the building.  By his expression, I see he's a little confused.  But he doesn't seem to care a minute later. 

"Food?" He asks. 

He leads me back into the shabby building, where the housekeeper lays two wooden plates on the table.  I glance down at what was on them.  I'm not sure what it is.  It looks like brown scrambled eggs mixed with oatmeal, but it tastes–surprisingly–good.  I finish within minutes and gulp down three glasses of water.  Santonio watches me curiously. 

"You want phone?" He asks, offering me a small device. 

Thanking him, I grab it and walk back outside to call Areon.  The reception is terrible, but we are able to connect finally.  It's good to hear his voice again.

"Hello?" he asks cautiously. 

"Areon!  Yes–this is Tony.  It's good to hear your voice."

"Where the heck are you?  We just got word that the plane transporting the missiles crashed into the Cuban base.  How they weren't detonated, we may never know.  Are you back yet?" He says, excitedly.

"We're on some island just east of Cuba.  Yeah, I know.  I saw the plane crash," I say.

"Are all the boys still alive?"

"No–they were all lost." 

Areon doesn't say a word. 

"Sir, you have to believe me, I did everything I could–"

"I don't accuse you, Tony.  I think we need to have a meeting soon, and you can fill me in on everything that happened.  Are you by yourself then?" He asks.

"No, there is a woman here too.  I found her in one of the buildings, barely alive.  I don't know if she'll make it," I tell him, my voice dropping. 

"Hope for the best," he says.  "I need to tell you something though.  I can't admit you back into the states just yet.  Remember when you organized the mission with the boys?  Well, the government thought you went rogue, which is what they were meant to think.  But things got worse, and they were planning your capture and execution for violation of some stupid rules–blah, blah, blah.  Anyway, your name is cleared now.  But I would just hang out wherever you are for a few years–it'll give everything a chance to settle down."

"How is my name clear?"

He pauses.

"Let's just say I told the truth," Areon tells me.  "But you're good hanging down there for awhile?  I won't be in much contact for awhile.  So I'm transferring all communication to William Stanford, the new President of the NSU.  Okay?  You call this same number again, and you'll get him."

"Why is he the new President?  What happened to you?" I ask.

"Too long to explain now.  You're off the charts now–only William knows you're still alive, as far as I know.  I'm glad you're alive, and I only wish I could give you the proper credit you deserve.  You saved your country.  Thank you again, for bringing my daughter home.  Bye, Tony."

And with that, we are disconnected.  I shut the phone.  I'm concerned about him now–what does he mean, 'he told the truth"?  Does that mean he's in trouble now?  I can't do much about it though.

But one thing is for certain, I never have to go back to the NSU.  I can do anything now.  I can be anyone.  Butterflies erupt in my stomach at the thought.  Oddly enough though, I'm not as excited as I was months ago.  So many dark memories haunt my mind now, and I never wanted any of my friends to die. 

My friends.  Now there's a term I've never used before.  Ben.  Ryder.  Marcus.  All of them, dead–because I was determined to stop Russia so I could leave.  For years I looked forward to the days when I could be free, but now that I'm here, I don't know what to do.

For one, I hardly know anyone on this tiny island.  How could I live here for a few years? 

I need someone.  I need someone to be with me, to talk to on the sleepless nights, someone to laugh with.  I need someone to help me get through the bitterness, the anger, the horrifying images that replay in my head day and night.

  I need her.

Someone comes running up behind me.  It's the doctor. 

"Hey, Mate, can I talk to you?" He says. 

I swallow hard.

"Yeah, sure."

"Well–I don't know how to say this.  Maybe-well, I don't know–do you believe in miracles?"

"Yes," I respond.  My stomach is uneasy. 

"Well you might be praying for one then, Mate.  I'm sorry," he says, placing his hand on my shoulder. 

I'm speechless.  My mouth goes dry.  For several minutes, I stare down at my feet.  But when I look up again, he is chuckling heartily.

"What?"

"I had you going!  You totally thought I was serious, but I'm joking.  No, her fever just broke.  You can go up and see her," he says, his smile gleaming.

I don't know whether to smack him or laugh.

"That's not funny," I say, jabbing my finger at his chest.  He only laughs more. 

"Hey, but you'll have to probably stay here for awhile until she gets better.  There's no way you can transport her home yet, Mate." 

I smile to myself.

"I was planning to stay awhile anyway," I say, walking into the building and up to Ana's room. 

When I enter, I see her on her belly still, but her forehead is glistening with sweat.  I take a seat in the chair again, with her hand in my own.  As she sleeps, I watch her peaceful expression–something that I haven't seen on her before.  

I don't know where the future will take us–how long we will be here, or if we ever return home.  But I believe that we both need each other for the same reason as friends need each other, for support through the hard times.  New friendships always take a long time to develop, (so I've heard) but the way I see it–we have plenty of time now.  I will be here for her.  I will learn to trust her.  I will be the friend that she needs and the man I always wanted to be.

But then again, I've never been very good at making fri