Being that hauling oranges into Willoughby made no sense, Gene and Charlie did more investigating and managed to learn they were injecting the fruit with some sort of drug…and unlikely anything good. Without knowing exactly what drug was being used, determining what the patriots' end game was would be next to impossible.
When a small group of patriots left Willoughby—likely to restock the drug—Gene and Charlie (mostly Charlie) decided to follow them. Her mom and Miles couldn't be too mad at them, Charlie figured. They were actually staying away from most of the patriots and finding answers wasn't stupid. Really, her mom and uncle should have been more specific with their warnings before they left.
The further south they got, however, the more concerned they became. If they didn't reach a destination soon, they were going to end up in South America soon. Maybe even the Antarctic.
x ~ x ~ x ~ x ~ x ~ x
Getting across the Mexican border could have been very difficult. Apparently a few days ago there had been an incident with some day workers so the border patrol personnel were scrutinizing everyone crossing into Mexico.
While trying to come up with a workable plan, Gene noticed that many of the border guards looked…unwell. Carefully, Gene approached one of the more sickly looking guards and gently asked her, in fluent Spanish, if she was OK. She tried to look strong, but once he mentioned he was a doctor in Texas, she relented and explained something was going around, but no doctor was going to be available to administer whatever healthcare they had in terms of supplies.
Realizing this was a possible means into the country, Gene offered to help. The guard motioned her supervisor over and explained the situation. While the man wasn't sick himself, he knew it was a bad idea to have so many sick underlings, especially on patrol on the border.
Gene had to endure questioning and suspicion from the man accusing him of subterfuge…helping these guards out of the goodness of his heart, he had added sarcastically.
"Look, I am a doctor and I do help people when they are ill. But no, I am not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. My granddaughter and I are looking for her mother…my daughter. We know she is in Mexico and we just want to make sure she is safe. We haven't heard from her in a while."
Appreciating the American's honesty, the man nodded his assent.
After about an hour of administering shots, taking temperature, and doing other doctorly duties, with the help of his trusty new nurse, they were on their way in Mexico.
"A word of advice," Gene began to his granddaughter. Upon gaining her attention, he continued, "whenever this war ends and you have the ability to actually have a normal life…stay away from the medical profession. Your bedside manners are horrible."
The two smiled in easy agreement.
x ~ x ~ x ~ x ~ x ~ x
Later that day, the patriots had reached their destination and picked up a new batch of drugs. Gene and Charlie bedded down for the night, with plans of more investigation in the morning. Charlie took first watch and decided to do a quick perimeter sweep. Gene had just put his head down when he heard a commotion. He crept over to the slight ridge they had camped near, just in time to see Charlie being dragged away by some men.
He went to follow, but realized, as they threw her onto a horse, that he may not be able to keep up. The current occupier of the horse—a young fairer skinned man—sat behind Charlie, holding the reigns in one hand and a gun in the other…both his arms around her. Fortunately for Gene, not all the men had horses, so the group had to travel at a man's pace. He just hoped she didn't try to escape on her own and get killed in the process.
Lately he had come to realize that she had changed greatly from the five year old little granddaughter he knew before the blackout, and not for the better he believed. She was still forgiving, more so than the others, but she was colder, unfeeling and much too comfortable and efficient when it came to killing. Even more disturbingly, she had seemed to change further still over the last weeks since her return to Willoughby with Monroe. He was sure he was to blame.
As he tracked the group from upon his position on the ridge, he noticed a small campfire not too far in the distance. The group who had Charlie couldn't see the fire from their vantage point and Gene couldn't be sure if the campfire was part of them, or just some other travelers. Unfortunately, investigating the fire meant breaking off from Charlie's trail and he just couldn't do that.
Suddenly he felt the muzzle of a gun on him and he froze. He just wasn't really cut out for this stealthy soldier stuff. He put his hands up and felt his gun taken from him.
"What is your business here?" asked a menacing voice Gene swore he knew. He slowly turned around for confirmation, which he got when he saw one confused Miles Matheson.
"Dad? What are you doing here? I thought I told you three to stay put?" He was about to answer his daughter when Miles added in "I thought I told you not to do anything stupid?"
x ~ x ~ x ~ x ~ x ~ x
As Rachel, Miles, and Monroe gathered around him, Gene very quickly recounted the last few days…Aaron leaving, the discovery of what the Patriots were hauling, finding that the food was being drugged, and about them following the patriots down to Texas.
"Where are Charlie and Aaron?" Rachel could feel the pit in her stomach forming.
Completely ignoring the Aaron question, Gene continued, "Charlie went to do a perimeter check. They took her," pointing in the direction of the traveling group. "I don't know who they are or what they want…" Gene explained as he felt someone, Monroe, walk behind him towards the ridge, "but considering what Charlie and I've seen here so far…I don't even want to consider what is going…"
"What are you doing, Bass?" Miles whispered loudly, though they were far enough from the compound to make even the pretense of whispering unnecessary.
"Where do you think?" He impatiently tossed back as he started down the sloping ridge. As an afterthought, he added, "I know what I'm doing. Trust me."
"You know what you're doing?" Miles was incredulous. He couldn't keep the sarcasm dripping from his voice. His niece was in trouble and Bass was just going off half cocked. "Somewhere in your vast experience of battle you have knowledge in saving Charlie from prostitution or gang rape or whatever they have in mind for her?"
Bass stopped his descent abruptly. He turned most of his body back towards the group and addressed them, with a little more melancholy in his tone than he wanted: "Yes. I do." He just as suddenly turned back around to continue his descent towards Charlie without waiting for a response.
The gravity of that simple declaration hit the group. Rachel, stunned, looked at Miles for confirmation that she had drawn the correct conclusion. Monroe hadn't just saved Charlie's life back in the Plains Nation; he had protected it on a level she truly didn't think him capable of. Before anything could be said, Bass had already made it several hundred yards from their camp.
Bass approached the traveling band of assholes and slowly raised his hands. Connor recognized him immediately and smiled. A rather calculating, cold smile. He should have known his father wouldn't give up on a goal so easily. Not General Sebastian Monroe. Connor realized he should have had scouts further out…then Monroe could have been spotted and captured or killed and he would have no longer been the pesky loose end he has quickly become.
Charlie saw Monroe, too, and immediately a sense of confusion then relief washed over her. How in the world could she end up in a mess like this in the middle of Mexico and then have none other than Sebastian Monroe waltz in, no doubt to rescue her. Again. Actually, she didn't care how unlikely it was, she was just incredibly thankful.
"Hey…dad."
Charlie was momentarily stunned. Not that Bass had a son…she knew that. It was that his son was someone like this. Then the situation really hit her and she did the only thing that made sense. She laughed.
"Is there something in your family's DNA that requires you hold me hostage at least once?"
Monroe was relieved that although she looked appropriately concerned about the situation, she still had her wits about her. It would make any escape attempt easier.
Connor was intrigued. So, these two knew each other. Small world. Wondering what this girl was to Monroe, Connor decided to probe a bit. "So, have you gone from the terrifying leader of the Monroe Republic to knight in shining armor protecting the virtue of every fair maiden in the land…or does this one in particular mean something to you?"
Bass smirked and replied in a non-committal tone, "What makes you think those two are mutually exclusive?"
Connor smiled. At least his dad was the type of jackass who wouldn't be manipulated or pigeonholed by a sarcastic comment. "So?"
"I know her." Bass began. A knowing smile ghosted his face. "You do not want that headache. Trust me."
Really? Connor was surprised by that comment. Reappraising the girl, he still couldn't see it. Not really. "She doesn't look like too much." He replied, shrugging.
Sighing, Bass clued his son in on something. "If you plan on leading your own personal army, you need to learn to read people a little better. Looks can be deceiving. Our current affiliation, " Bass continued, absent mindedly using his hands to indicate himself and Charlie, "may be more amicable than in the past, but she is still one of the few people on this planet that causes me to look over my shoulder once in a while. Hell, she nearly assassinated me in New Vegas. If it hadn't been for a fortuitously timed encounter with a bounty hunter, I would have had an arrow right through my chest." Bass paused, giving Connor time to consider the warning.
"Actually it would have been through your stupid face." Charlie grumbled.
Leave it to Charlie to add some needed comic relief. Except that Bass was completely sure she wasn't joking. Smiling, he continued. "So you can see, when we go on patrols, I prefer to keep her in front of me so I don't have to worry about a knife in my back."
"And not so you can stare at her ass? Or are those two not mutually exclusive, too?"
At least the kid pays attention to a conversation.
Connor was enjoying this tête-à-tête, but decided it was getting a little too light hearted.
"So, dad, I've really enjoyed this impromptu rap session. I guess I could learn some things from the great General Monroe. Don't expect me to stay for every, but I guess I could spare some time for you."
Bass was elated…then immediately suspicious. He narrowed his eyes towards his son. There was no legitimate reason for the sudden change of heart in his son.
"Let's go." Connor motioned and began walked towards his dad. He suddenly came up short. "Oh, but the girl stays."
And there it was.
"No."
No begging, no pleading, nothing but damned near an order issued from the General of the Monroe Republic.
"You can't have everything, General. Either I go with you…or you take the girl…but not both. And I promise you, if you choose her over me right now, you will never see me again." There was a great deal of conviction in the young man's eyes.
What is this, Sophie's Choice? Bass thought to himself. Whoever he leaves behind is doomed to a violent, albeit a likely short, life. How was he supposed to choose? Actually, he realized, this wasn't much of a choice at all, not when he really thought about it.
Connor was concerned he might have overplayed his hand. He shouldn't push too hard or his father might realize he was being manipulated. For the past eight years, Senor Nunez had been telling him he had a tendency to just overdo everything. A little too over the top. He suddenly wondered if he got that from the man standing in front of him.
He was, however, enjoying the pain that was evident on his father's face. Now he truly did want to know what was between these two. Before he could probe any deeper, he noticed the look of pain disappear on the man's face. So a decision had been made. He'd have to spend some time with his dad; just enough to get some Intel on what was going on north of the border. Then he'd kill him. Or order one of the Nunez cartel men to do it.
Bass just stared at Charlie. Not wavering for even a moment. "I'm sorry," he mumbled as he slowly stepped forward and reached out toward Connor.
Connor inwardly smiled. No, he outwardly smiled. He would be sure to torture his dad regaling him with stories of what would be happening to this girl of his. Maybe he wouldn't have to kill his dad. Maybe he could drive the general to kill himself. Challenge accepted! Now that would be a feather in his cap; knowing he had the capacity to drive a power hungry, dangerous dictator to enough despair to kill himself.
Suddenly Connor realized he had miscalculated, though, as Bass continued reaching past him and quickly grabbed onto Charlie's arm. Too shocked to be angry at this moment, he realized that maybe his dad was right. He did need to learn to read people better.
Monroe could tell that Charlie had believed he had chosen his son. He could also tell she was grateful she had been wrong. As they moved to go…as quickly as they could…Bass could hear his son mocking him.
"So you chose her? I thought you cared about knowing your son. Don't you love me enough to want to know me?" Spiteful as he sounded, Connor never want to go…didn't want to be chosen, but it stung none the less, though it may just be the sting of failure that hurt.
Turning around, Bass stopped and looked directly at the young man. "You are my son, Connor. Of course I love you," he paused to look at the girl before leading her to safety. "But she is the one I care about."