It's been nearly three weeks now. 18 days. There's been no real news, but there haven't been any execution videos on Al Jazeera either, and he'll take that as a win. Still, it's getting hard to hold on to hope. Two and a half weeks with out anything feels like a long time, especially since Patricia's still keeping them grounded. He understands why she does it, they're all too emotionally compromised right now to be of use, but it also means there's nothing to keep them distracted from the gaping hole that yawns in their team. And Dalton knows there's only so long they can hold off the paperwork before they're forced to label Amir MIA and move on. The thought makes him nauseous. It seems like only yesterday he'd waded through the painful process of finding someone to replace Elijah, he doesn't think he can handle doing it again so soon. Doesn't think any of them can.
In some ways, he thinks, it's worse then with Elijah. At least then they had a body, they had an end to mourn. An end they're still mourning. It's the not knowing that wears on you, the uncertainty of it all. The last captive U.S. soldier was held by the Haqqani network for over five years. There are others who never come back at all.
He tries not to think about Amir, about what might be happening to him right now. They've all read the reports; they've seen the pictures. It's…it's not pretty. It's hard not too, though.
He remembers the conversation he had with Amir, right after the bombing a few months ago. Amir had been antsy, pent up energy burning underneath his skin and radiating off him in waves. He'd told him then to be patient, to learn to move on. We're not the investigators, we're the tip of the spear he'd said. He wishes he could eat those words now. He wants to be out there, boots on the ground and breaking in doors till he finds their teammate and brings him home. Instead he's stuck here with nothing to distract him but old intelligence briefings and whatever scraps Patricia sends his way. It's getting to him, the sitting and the waiting and the not knowing. It's getting to everyone.
They're out of joint, the four of them. The fifth point of their star is missing and it's left them all unbalanced and floundering in what used to be something sure and easy. There are no more loud games of horseshoe or late night fires or gentle ribbing. They don't spend as much time together either, drifting slowly apart, each trapped in their own world of guilt. The only real time they all gather in the same room is for the intelligence briefings they have with command every few days. Adam's not sure they should really be titled intelligent as they generally only serve to highlight all the things they don't know. Where Amir is, who currently has him, why there's been no announcement from ISIS as to his capture. Mostly they just leave them all feeling more frustrated and hopeless then when they started. At the moment they've been circling the same question for the past twenty minutes.
"I just don't get why they're not saying anything,"
Jaz says, arms folded tightly over her chest. Her hair is loose and flows down her back, pooling across her shoulders.
"I mean nearly three weeks now and not a single word on any of the usual ISIS sites or any news organizations. This is a pretty big deal, you'd think they'd be bragging about it."
On the ExtraTough Patricia shakes her head, sighing.
"I have to admit, I'm confused too. Usually they're clamoring to claim responsibility for something like this. Or at least trying to demand a ransom or a prisoner swap."
There's a sharp crack as the front legs of McG's chair make contact with the floor. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the table.
"And you're not picking anything up from any sources? I mean they grabbed a goddamn U.S. soldier, that's gotta kick up a stir in-house."
Patricia shakes her head again.
"There's been some chatter but nothing verifiable. The Tunisian government has been very co-operative, their military raided a few known ISIS associated outposts but they've found nothing as of yet."
"That's assuming he's still even in Tunisia, and I personally think it's a pretty safe bet to say he's not. If I was Jebali I'd have moved him straight to Libya. They're a lot less friendly with the U.S. and there's a stronger ISIS foothold there."
Preach adds quietly. Dalton stays quiet, rolling a thought that's been growing for a while around in his head.
"What if…" He says slowly, "What if they don't realize he's military. Or even American."
Everyone pauses, glancing back at him.
"When Noah was listening in on the phone lines, did they say that Amir was identified as an American operative? Or just that he wasn't Hamid Khedani?"
Patricia pauses, glancing down and there's the sound of pages being turned, her eyes scanning.
"Noah was tapping the phone Jebali was using. The call came from an unidentified local number which we later traced to a disposable burner, the message was 'Hamid Khedani is a fake. He is a traitor, do not trust him'." She says after a moment, "We assumed that they had figured out he was American."
"But they never explicitly stated it, right?"
She nods.
"If Amir's smart, which he is, he'll have realized that and he won't tip them off."
"So maybe they don't realize what they've got. They know Hamid Khedani doesn't exist, they know Amir was in with a support team but we weren't wearing anything that identified us as American."
McG says slowly, brows furrowed.
"Is that a good thing though? I mean if they don't realize he's a U.S. operative doesn't that make him a lot more disposable?"
Jaz asks, hair shifting behind her as her head moves. McG shrugs, mouth tight.
"Being U.S. soldiers didn't save Bryon Fouty and Alex Jimenez from being tortured for four months, shot in the head and then dumped in shallow graves."
A suffocating silence falls over the room. Nobody moves. After a second Patricia cuts in, pushing her glasses up on her forehead.
"No, no. If Dalton's right and they don't realize who Amir is it's a good thing. They won't kill him until they can find out who he is and how he infiltrated ISIS. Hamid Khedani was a well known figure in North Africa, he was involved in a lot of operations and different cells. They must be spinning in circles right now trying to figure out how much he knows and who he might have told."
Her words don't do much to lift the heavy atmosphere that's settled. Alive, maybe, but for how long? ISIS isn't exactly renowned for it's fair treatment of POW's, especially one's who know their secrets.
They sit quietly for a few minutes after the call ends. Nobody says a word, and the silence burns at Dalton's ears. Jaz is the first to leave, pushing herself up from the table.
"I'm going for a run."
She says shortly, disappearing into her bunk to change. McG's the next to go, making excuses about running a training session down at the gym. Finally it's just him and Preach. He can feel Preach watching him, expectant, but he doesn't meet his eyes. He knows he should do something here, call them together, make them talk, try to fix this. He's the leader, this is what he's supposed to do, he's supposed to be better then this, supposed to make the best of bad situations.
He can't, though, because every time he closes his eyes he sees the look on Amir's face as he was pulled into the jeep burned onto the backs of his eyelids and every time he thinks about how Amir spent three years on his own and now that he has a team they failed him. So he says nothing, and eventually Preach sighs, levering himself to his feet, and walks away. Dalton watches him go and wonders how many ways can something break before it's too late to put it back together again. Right now they just need something, anything, to give them hope.
As it turns out, hope comes two days later.
He's dozing at his desk when the ExtraTough goes off in his ear, jolting him awake uncomfortably. He stares blearily in confusion at the screen for a second, they don't have another briefing until tomorrow and they're still grounded as far as he knows so why would the DIA be calling? Unless… his heart skips a beat and then he's fumbling for his pager, other hand reaching out to answer the call. By luck or chance, or maybe even fate (if Dalton believed in that sort of thing) the whole team is actually nearby at the moment and they join him in a few seconds. By the time the connections gone through everyone's standing behind him.
"What's going on? Did they find something?"
Jaz asks, and Dalton can hear the hope and fear warring in her voice.
"I don't know."
He says, as Patricia's face appears on the screen. She looks tired, they've all looked tired since Amir was taken, but she looks happy.
"Dalton,"
She says, and he feels his stomach tighten.
"I think we found him."
Jaz feels her heart leap into her throat, hands tightening on the back of Dalton's chair until her knuckles whiten. Beside her she can feel McG shift, feel the tension she feels in herself in him too. She feels hope bubbling and tries to push it down. She's learned from brutal experience that hope is an excellent way to get hurt.
"Four hours ago an MI6 agent stationed in Sirte picked up what appeared to be a prisoner transfer. They knew we were missing a guy and sent us these."
Patricia gestures to someone out of view and a moment later a few blurry photos pop up on the screen. They're grainy and out of focus but Jaz can discern a slight figure being half walked half dragged towards a battered Humvee, sandwiched between two men. His hands are tied behind his back and there's bag over his head but Jaz recognizes the loose pale brown shirt he's wearing, would recognize it everywhere. There's a buzzing in her ears, her heart hammers in her chest. Vaguely she hears Patricia continue on through the static.
"We did some checking of our own and HUMINT confirms the transfer of a prisoner who they're now holding at a complex just outside of Derna. We think it might be Amir."
She keeps talking but Jaz barely listens. She knows she should, it's probably important, but all she can hear is we think it might be Amir echoing over and over in her ears like a drumbeat. Vaguely she realizes the Deputy Director's fallen silent, she asked a question, Jaz realizes.
"It's him."
Dalton answers, voice even and reassuring and the most confident Jaz has heard since they lost Amir.
"Are you sure?"
Patricia asks, eyes appraising and serious. Jaz knows what she left unsaid, are you sure this isn't just because you want it to be him? Dalton doesn't hesitate.
"100%."
Jaz releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Alright," Patricia says, lips curving into the hint of a smile. "You're wheels up for Libya in an hour."
After that everything is a blur of motion as they get ready to leave. It's been three weeks since they've been deployed, three weeks of waiting. Now it's time for action, and Jaz can taste anticipation on her tongue like blood. This is what she's built for, this is what runs in her veins. The familiar weight of an M16 in her hands feels like coming home.
The plan is simple. The simpler the better, Dalton always says, less chances for things to go wrong. And nothing can go wrong, not this time. They're going to land outside of Tobruk and drive down the coast to Derna. Luckily Derna's in territory controlled by one of the factions more friendly to the U.S. that's currently engaged in the civil war, and they've granted permission for the use of Libyan airspace. Once they're in Derna they'll find somewhere to hole up and wait out the day and then infil the compound under the cover of night. It'll be a simple smash and grab, with minimal hostile contact. Easy, theoretically. Something they've done before more times before then Jaz has fingers to count. It's never been one of their own they're extracting though, never been Amir.
She doesn't realize that she's just been standing and staring down at her go-bag until Dalton puts a light hand on her shoulder. She nearly jumps at the sudden contact, catching herself at the last moment.
"Hey, you good?"
He asks. She nods shortly, shoving her M16 into the duffle with a little more force then necessary.
"I'm fine."
He looks at her like he doesn't believe her.
"We won't make the same mistakes this time round."
He says, more gently then perhaps she deserves. She stays silent because she doesn't know how to tell him that she's not afraid they're going to make a mistake, she knows they won't. She's afraid they won't make any mistakes and still all they'll find to bring home is a body. She's afraid of what they're going to find. She's just so tired of funerals. She feels to young to have been too as many as she has, most for people who were to damn young to die. Selfish, maybe, but she's only human. She swallows her fear though, because fear is not something they can afford right now, not something Amir can afford, and zips up her duffle and turns to Dalton.
"I know."
She says, and her voice does not shake. Dalton watches her a second longer, eyes searching her face for something. He must find it because he smiles, pale and wan and thin, but real, and squeezes her shoulder.
"Alright then, let's go bring our guy home."