Indy dashed up the stairs to the second floor, snatching his room key from his pocket. Reaching his hotel room, he quickly fitted the key into the rusted lock and entered. The space was as he had left it, camp bed neatly made, his half-unpacked suitcase lying on the floor. The shuttered windows let in dusty bars of light. Taking a deep breath, Indy knelt and began shoving clothing into his suitcase.

No reunion with Marion was worth selling his soul to Ross and Marino. He felt like an insect in a spider web, wrapped in invisible silk, the spider weaving ever closer. If he acquiesced to Marino, he would have to assist in the interrogation in a more substantive way. He would have to torture Spalko; although Marino hadn't said as much, Indy knew what was meant by "rigorous." He didn't want to be party to that, and he knew it would only be the beginning. Ross and Marino would continue to dangle the possibility of freedom over his head, and he would continue to cooperate. If he fled, his life would be his own. He could go to Leipzig or Shanghai; he had friends in both cities, and Marion and Mutt could come to join him. Yes, he would lose his position at Marshall College, but he had a feeling that that was inevitable.

With this fuzzy plan in his mind, Indy wiped his brow and retrieved the last few items from his end table. As he zipped his suitcase, he heard a ringing from the phone on the opposite wall. His stomach dropped.

"It's Jones," he said quietly, pressing the receiver to his cheek.

"This is Ross. Marino needs your assistance. It won't take more than a few hours."

Jones could wait that long to leave; a few hours would make no difference. Gritting his teeth, he nodded.

"Heading over now, sir." Indy had had only a few hours to himself since arriving in Iquitos, and he hoped that Ross would mistake his agitated state for exhaustion.

"Good. Meet Marino in the cell block."

Spalko was surprised when the cell door clanged open, and Jones walked in. He seemed agitated, brow tightly furrowed, brown hat clutched in his fist. Marino pushed back his chair and stood up, waving Jones over.

"Ah. You're finally here."

Jones scowled and said nothing.

"We are getting nowhere. I want you to take over."

"Fine." Jones sounded disgruntled, but he walked to the table and sat.

"Two guards are stationed outside the door. Summon them if you need assistance."

"I know the drill, Agent Marino."

Spalko listened to Marino shut the door behind him, leaning back in her chair. The agent had slammed her face into the tabletop, and her nose was swollen and painful. She hadn't been permitted to sleep in days, and exhaustion was beginning to wear at her. Her body felt light and cold, and Jones' voice sounded far away.

"Spalko?"

She straightened her posture, letting her lips curl into a scowl.

"Are you all right? Should I get the medic?"

"No. Let us begin." There was no sense in delaying the inevitable; Irina had overheard the conversation between Jones and Marino, and she knew that his kindness would soon run out. She didn't blame Jones for following orders, but his spinelessness rankled her a little. He clearly hated Marino, but he was all too willing to obey. A thought drifted into her mind, bringing her instantly to attention. She knew that Marino was using Mary Williams and the boy as leverage. Therefore, it followed that Jones did not know what had befallen the two.

Spalko cleared her throat and stared at Jones. "Is this room under surveillance?"

His tone betrayed his surprise. "Not as far as I know…"

"Good. Now, I know that you are complying for the sake of Mary Williams and her son-"

"-Hmm." He nodded slightly.

"I have information that may interest you. Have you kept up with the news since arriving in Iquitos?"

"No." He squinted at her. "What are you playing at?"

"Williams and the boy are dead."

He let out an incredulous laugh. "I don't think so. I saw them off myself – they took a flight back to Connecticut."

"The airplane crashed. There was a newspaper on Ross' desk. I saw the headline."

He laughed again, but the sound was brittle. Going to the door, he called for the guard.

"I need every newspaper from the past week. Bring them as soon as possible."

The guard nodded and disappeared. Spalko watched with interest as he returned to the table, lacing and unlacing his fingers over and over. They sat in silence until the man returned.

"Here you are, sir." The guard dropped a stack of newsprint on the table, smiling slightly. "You are lucky that no one has collected trash from the common room in more than a week."

Jones barely nodded, thumbing through the stack. The guard scowled and departed.

Spalko watched him scan page after page, until he found the headline that she had glimpsed the day before. He read quickly, and she watched as his expression fell. Under the deep tan, his skin was grey.

"How can this be?" He murmured, reading the page again. Spalko sat quietly, beginning to grow uncomfortable. Just as she prepared to interrupt, he slammed a fist against the table and stood. Taking a fistful of newsprint, he flung it towards the wall. The paper drifted to the ground, and he tracked it quietly, eyes burning with rage and grief.

"Why didn't Ross tell me?"

"He is not your friend," Spalko said baldly, with a shrug. "He didn't want to lose his grip on you."

"You're right." The anger still shone in his eyes, but his voice was dead.

"…But now that he has lost his leverage, you can leave."

Jones nodded slowly, forehead creased. She could see that he was thinking very hard about something, and this piqued her interest.

"Jones?"

"Ross betrayed me."

"Yes."

His lips turned up in the ghost of a smile. "I'm going to hit him where it hurts, take something that is of crucial importance to him."

His tone was quiet, conspiratorial. "And that is?" she questioned.

"Spalko, I want to help you escape."

Jones found himself leaning on the windowsill of his hotel room, nursing a glass of Peruvian brandy. The beginnings of a headache had taken root behind his eyes, and he blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. His thoughts were a jumble of burning planes and looming mountains, and he swore he could smell the bite of smoke in the air. Below, the street was nearly empty, and a flock of birds had settled on the empty market stall. In the distance, he could see the shaded drive leading to the prison.

Indy didn't know what had possessed him to offer to help Spalko. Certainly, it would be therapeutic to defy Ross so openly. Imagining his face when he realized they were gone brought a perverse sort of joy, and he smiled in spite of himself. But the repercussions of helping a known Soviet operative escape US custody would be dire. Not only would he lose his teaching position and career, he could also be in legal trouble.

Nothing, however, would prevent him from following his previous plan and escaping to Leipzig. It would be easy enough to trek through the jungle until he reached Lima, then charter a plane to Germany. Having Spalko with him would be a complicator, but the damage to Ross and his project was worth the trouble. Indy had done a fair bit of traveling in the jungle, and he knew he would need mosquito nets, a water filter, and nonperishable food. He already had weapons, matches, and a compass. He estimated that it would take them six weeks to make the journey, shorter if they found transportation.

Freeing Spalko would be more difficult. The complex was heavily guarded, and there was only one set of stairs connecting the cell block with the ground level. He would need to get Spalko to the ground floor if the plan was going to work. He supposed he could manufacture a distraction and get the guards to leave them alone. He could bring Spalko to Ross' office on some pretext, then escape through the window. His mind flashed to the array of photographs arranged in the workroom opposite the office. He had taken great care to arrange each documented artifact chronologically, and he was loathe to disturb them. Perhaps he could request Spalko's help in dating an artifact and request that Ross allow her to visit his workroom. There was a large window at the back of the room, and below was an alley, perfect for slipping away undetected.

Thus decided, Indy drained the rest of his brandy and set the cup on the floor. The sun was beginning to set, and he felt the first prick of a mosquito bit on his arm. Standing up, he slammed the window shut and stretched, feeling a little better. Marion's death was a gaping wound, but he could function if he kept himself distracted. He hoped that breaking a foreign operative out of prison would be distraction enough.

Spalko leaned heavily against the wall of her cell, picking at a loose thread on her blanket. She felt cold and exhausted, and her ribs ached every time she took a breath. Marino was becoming frustrated with her defiance, and whatever compassion he had initially held for her was gone. The previous session had been particularly punishing, and her legs were covered with blistering burns. Still, she was no closer to breaking than when she had arrived. She was ardently, unshakably loyal to the Soviet Union, and even death was preferable to treason.

The possibility of escape filled her with a cautious hope. Jones had spoken out of strong emotion, and she didn't know if he would follow through on his offer. Furthermore, she didn't know why he had offered to help her. There was still bad blood between them, and his interests were certainly not aligned with hers. She certainly respected his reputation, but she didn't particularly like Jones, and she assumed he felt the same way towards her. They were at opposite sides of an interminable war, and she saw no future for them as allies.

Her thoughts in turmoil, Spalko closed her eyes. It would be prudent to rest while she had the opportunity. Her mind would be clearer in the morning, and she could prepare herself for her next meeting with Jones. Escaping with his help would be much easier than attempting it alone, but much could still go wrong. She would need to be alert and ready to act if she wanted success. With this thought in her mind, she silenced her thoughts and fell asleep.