Author's Note: This is Part 3 of the Phoenix series. So, fair warning - it is not a standalone story, and certain continuations of plot threads may not make considerable sense unless you have read previous installments.

McCall stared at the gathering clouds over Niger's skyline with an air of resignment. "You know, I remember that Dana Cauldron once told me that no one can film what turns your crank."

Control cocked an eyebrow at McCall, shifting his bound hands behind his back to try to get the blood flowing to his fingers again. "I'm surprised you would put much stock in anything a pimp says, especially Dana."

"And you know," McCall went on, ignoring the comment, "this is exactly what he was talking about. You are getting some sort of bizarre pleasure out of this whole thing."

Control shrugged off the comment, "It could be worse."

"Really? Tell me, how could it possibly be worse?" McCall gestured at the desolate surroundings with a tilt of his head. "We are tied up in the middle of the Sahara, and our captors have disappeared. You're using sick leave to chase after a man who – by your own admission – would probably like to dance on your grave. No one knows that we are here, so no one is looking for us. There's a sandstorm on the horizon, the only water we've had in two days had the delightful taste of gasoline, and you promised last time before Pakistan that there would be no more camels, not to mention that debacle back in Agadez or the fact that I almost died in Mali."

"As I recall this wasn't entirely my idea."

McCall glared at him. "It was entirely your idea after we left Djenne."

Control shrugged, "All right, I admit this particular venture might not have been my best idea."

McCall looked at the sky with an air of disbelief, "That is a rather generous understatement." McCall glanced sideways with a scowl. "Your belief that this is a vacation of sorts is beyond me. Even Bermuda has beaches. Niger is one of the world's poorest countries, it isn't strategically important in any sense, and to say its landscape leaves something to be desired would be charitable, at best."

"Robert, try to keep an open mind. It might grow on you."

McCall looked at the heat waves in the distance and shifted his weight on the sand. "I highly doubt it."

The two men stared at the flat distance, devoid of life or movement, for several moments.

"Well, as long as we are getting things off our chest," Control finally responded, "you don't need to send my goddaughter to spy on me, all right?"

McCall snorted, "That really is the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?"

Control silently stared back into the distance. "I've given you a remarkably free rein," he said quietly.

"Anything else you'd like to discuss?" McCall asked, his tone shaded with rancor. "We do have all day," he added, cynically. "Do you have any sort of plan to get out of here? Did you at least bring along your transmitter?"

Control started laughing. "You're joking, right? After what happened last time? Don't be ridiculous. Of course I didn't bring it. It's attached to a cat somewhere in São Vicente at the moment. The Company is going to think I've picked up a penchant for visiting alleys at strange hours."

McCall licked his dry lips, chapped from the heat of the Sahel's sun. "It's a bit of a blessing and curse, isn't it? Since it had a compass on it, and we have no idea where we are."

Control sighed, "Patience is a virtue out here, Robert."

"Oh bravo," McCall retorted, "I've never felt more like I'm waiting for the angel of death."