Chapter 2

While Sam was checking through the cabin to see what supplies he and Dean needed, Victor and his grandmother had shared a pleasant lunch in the dining hall . Once finished, Victor decided that a leisurely walk would be a nice treat for his grandmother. It was early afternoon and the sky was a vibrant blue with nary a cloud to be found. Victor slowly pushed his grandmother's wheelchair through the stately grounds, enjoying the rich colors and intoxicating scents coming from the many garden beds. Formerly a privately run TB sanitarium from an era when it was believed that patients needed to be completely isolated from the general population and would benefit from as much fresh air as possible, the nursing home is nestled in a fairly remote site out in the countryside. This visit has been pleasant and Victor hoped that his grandmother's condition would improve enough that he could take her back to their old hometown for the holidays. The care here was first rate, but its location was so far away from the people that she had known all her life that she received few visitors. This had to be difficult for a woman whose home had always been open to friends and fellow parishioners. The best Christmas present that Victor could give her would be time spent in the company of friends. Maybe he could swing a way to bring some folks out for an occasional visit. He'd have to think on that for awhile.

Their afternoon stroll was interrupted by a call on his agency cell phone. Even off duty, Victor kept it on, set to vibrate, in case his office needed to get in touch. Pulling the phone from deep inside his pocket, Victor wondered how married agents managed to maintain a personal life; but then again, considering the divorce rate among enforcement personnel, maybe they didn't have any more success than he did.

Making sure than his grandmother was still warmly covered with her afghan, Victor stepped a short distance from her and, facing away, answered his phone. "Special Agent Hendrickson here. And it had better be a damn good reason for you to be calling me here."

Victor allowed himself a satisfied smile as one of his field office's junior agents started to stammer out a barely coherent explanation, but the smile vanished, replaced by a feral snarl, as he learned that there had been a confirmed sighting of the Winchester brothers in South Bend, Indiana the previous day. Damn! Victor experienced a rush of conflicting emotions. Elated at the break and chance of catching up with Dean and his brother, Victor simultaneously cursed the timing that not only would make him need to disappoint his grandmother, but also came when he was so far away from both his office and the quarry. He was a good two hour drive from the closest airport which was another two or three hour flight away from South Bend. And that was assuming he could even get a direct flight, which it turned out he couldn't, though he did manage to talk his way into a seat on a flight that would take him to Indianapolis. His team would figure out a way to pick him up from there.

Finished with making his arrangements, Victor pocketed his phone and took his grandmother back to her room. She didn't fuss when he explained that he had to leave, but he could swear that she was holding back tears. Promising his grandmother that he'd make up for his short visit, Victor gave her a kiss and hug before leaving her room and heading for the airport. He'd never even gotten a chance to unpack his bags from the trunk of the rental car, so there was no need to swing into town and pick up anything; just a quick call to cancel his room reservation.

Arriving at the airport, Victor used his credentials to blast through the check in process, impatient to get to his destination and move in on his quarry. He had spent part of the long drive getting updates from his team and was pleased that the operation was moving forward smoothly in his absence, even though there were no further sightings of either Dean or Sam. What they were doing in South Bend was anyone's guess. Victor hoped they would get them into custody before the body count grew any higher.

Things seemed to be going well until Victor looked out the terminal window and got his first look at his flight. His FBI credentials may have gotten Victor through the security lines and onto a flight, but they didn't give him the pull to redirect a commercial flight, so he had to settle for the first flight available, which was the small commuter plane sitting out on the tarmac. Obviously owned by some bush league small time operator, it wasn't even a jet; how sad was that? Gritting his teeth, he realized that he hadn't been in prop plane since he was a kid and the air turbulence had bounced the small craft around so much that he had puked his guts out. Damn! Not one of his fonder memories.

Victor would just have to endure it, because truth to tell, the Bureau considered the Winchesters to be small fish to fry and he and his team had at least a dozen more cases of equal or greater importance. Despite the seriousness of the charges against them, they were still only unproven charges and without convictions or definite links to national security risks, the Winchester investigation would have to be conducted using normal channels and methods. His immediate supervisor, however, valued Victor and his dedication to the job, so he was allowed a degree of freedom with the understanding that it was a privilege not to be abused. As long as Victor produced results, his office would smooth the ruffled feathers that resulted from his less than tactful methods.

Much to Victor's relief the flight was uneventful to their first destination and he remained seated as about half the passengers exited the plane and he was able to once again use his phone to contact his team and apprise them of his location and get whatever updates were available. The plane would be taking off for Indianapolis within the hour and a Bureau helicopter would be waiting there to pick him up. "That was more like it.", Victor thought to himself smugly and he continued with his briefing.

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Completely unaware of the FBI's activities, Sam Winchester stood in a mostly empty grocery store parking lot glaring at the Impala. It was a wonder that the car's paint wasn't smoking and curling from the heated looks that Sam kept sending its way. If Sam didn't fear Dean's retaliation, he would have kicked it, he was that mad and frustrated. Why this? Why now? After pooling together their available cash, Sam had left Dean getting some much needed sleep while he drove into the small nearby town to pick up what supplies he could find. And he had to admit, the local grocery did carry a pretty good range of items, even if they were a little higher priced than Sam had hoped; and he was able to get most of what he wanted and everything he really needed.

That wasn't the problem. The problem that had Sam giving the Impala his patented daggers of death glares was that once Sam had finished loading the supplies into the car and gotten behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition hadn't produced the usual rumble and roar of the engine. In fact, it hadn't produced even as much as a click... just silence. Considering that there had been nothing wrong with the car on the drive into town and Dean kept the Impala in perfect running condition, Sam felt betrayed by this sudden and unexpected turn of events. He dreaded having to call Dean to explain why not only he wasn't on his way back to the cabin, but he was stuck in the parking lot waiting for the local garage mechanic to show up and either solve the problem or tow the car back to his shop. Damn! So much for not using the credit cards. Maybe he'd luck out and it was just a loose wire or something simple like that. Though he had opened the hood earlier and, after a moment of blankly staring at the offending engine, gingerly tested whatever connections he could readily see and had come up with nothing. "Typical Winchester luck.", he thought glumly.