- Four weeks prior -

John Reese came to to the sounds of car engines and the swooshing of rubber tires on asphalt. He was lying on his side in - what he assumed - was the rear compartment of some kind of van or another. The metal rails where the rear benches used to be mounted were digging painfully into the flesh of his face and torso. Sitting up turned into a struggle as he found his legs bound and his arms tied together behind his back, making it impossible to properly balance out the uneven swaying of the vehicle as it traveled the streets of New York City or somewhere nearby.

At least that was where Reese assumed they still were. He had no idea how long he'd been out but considering that he didn't feel hungry - or more famished than he'd already been due to his stressful last couple of days - or incredibly thirsty John figured his period of unconsciousness couldn't have been that long.

Whatever drug had been used on him was certainly fast-acting but not long-lasting and Reese was pleased to note that it went easy on the side-effects, like dizziness or nausea, as well.

He finally managed the feat of maneuvering himself into an upright sitting position. His breathing had turned labored during his exertion, but the duct tape that covered his mouth forced him to breathe through his nose as he leaned with his shoulders against the bare, cold metal frame of the van. Sweat was trickling down his forehead and neck, stinging his eyes. The blackness around him was suffocating and hot since the thick cloth of the hood that had been pulled over his head rendered a proper circulation of fresh air practically impossible.

While he fought to calm his breathing, John's mind raced as he tried to remember how he had ended up - tied up and blindfolded - in the back of an unknown vehicle once again. He remembered that he'd been bone-tired, with a quick bite to eat and the anticipation of his rendezvous with the soft covers of his bed the only things on his mind as he'd made his way back to his car. Then he'd felt a painful prick in his neck and even as he'd been reaching up to finger the spot the asphalt had folded up to smack him in his face. The next thing he knew was waking up to total and stuffy darkness.

Reese wasn't tired anymore. Nothing like the adrenalin rush of finding oneself captured by an unknown party to chase away fatigue and drowsiness. However all he could do now was to sit and wait.

The car ride continued for another twenty minutes before the van took a sharp right turn, passed over a dropped curb and came to a stop. With the engine cut Reese heard what sounded like a garage door being pulled down. One of the van's front doors opened. The vehicle shook slightly as the person exited the driver's cabin, slamming the door closed behind him. Reese counted at least three different steps on the concrete approaching the rear door. There were muffled voices on the other side of the door but he couldn't make out what was being said.

Then the rear doors were pulled open and a shimmer of light appeared through the texture of the hood. "Now, let's see the money," an unfamiliar male voice said.

"No," a different voice replied. That one John was sure he'd heard before but couldn't quite place it. "I want to see his face first."

Someone climbed into the rear compartment and roughly grabbed Reese by the lapels of his dress-jacket, manhandling him out of his sitting position. John briefly thought about putting up a fight, but he had no idea with how many men he was dealing with.

He was literally tossed out of the vehicle, landing hard on the concrete and barely avoiding hitting the ground face first. John grunted in pain as his knees absorbed most of the impact before he rolled onto his side. He was grabbed by his lapels again and dragged up to his knees. Something cold and made of metal, carrying the distinct smell of oil and gun powder to John's olfactory senses, was pressed into his nape as the first voice spoke very softly and very close to his right ear.

"One wrong move and you are dead, do you understand?"

John didn't react at first but gave a curt nod as he felt the barrel of the gun digging deeper into the flesh of his neck. With one flourish the hood was pulled off of his head and Reese blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light.

A pair of heavy, black boots stepped into his field of vision and someone grabbed a tuft of his hair and forced his head back.

Reese immediately recognized the face of the blonde man only inches away from his own. The Aryan moron's smile was feral, both hatred and excitement gleaming in his ice cold blue eyes. "Well, hello there," he purred, pulling even harder on Reese's hair. "Miss me?"

John, whose lips were still sealed by duct-tape, just stared at him with a hostile expression. The Aryan let go of Reese's hair and stepped back a bit. Looking up he addressed the man with the gun behind Reese. "It's him. And you are sure nobody saw you take him?"

"Please," came the quiet voice from behind John, "I'm a professional. The money?"

The blonde turned and motioned for one of his goons carrying a medium sized duffel bag to step forward. He took the bag, unzipped it and held it up for the other man to take a look at the stacks of hundred dollar bills. "Deal?" the Aryan inquired.

"Deal."

A sharp pain accompanied by a hard crack to the base of his skull with the butt of the gun were the last sensations John Reese felt before unconsciousness once more took claim over his mind.

To be continued ...