It was pitch-black dark when they saw the lights of the bridge of Angostura. The town, which lay before it, looked like a cloud of fluorescent bugs in the ocean of darkness.

The Cabo docked into a narrow wharf, reserved for private boats and yachts used for carrying tourists to Angel Falls. Their arrival was accompanied by the howling of house dogs in neighboring streets. The place that must have been a colorful, well-maintained historic town during the day, looked bleak and lonely after dark.

Junior had promised to drive them to the closest hotel that was there. The four of them loaded into an ancient black Camaro waiting in a secure parking lot by the wharf. Arthur noticed that, as they neared the final point of their destination, Jerry got more and more tense and less outspoken. He was answering in monosyllables, and his grip on the wheel turned vice-tight.

They drove through deserted streets, turned the corner of an impressive cathedral in the center of the town and stopped in front of the only well-lit building in the whole place. 'Posada Amor Patrio' read a sign above the gated entrance.

Junior parked at the corner on the opposite side of the street. The gate of the hotel opened and released a mustached man, wearing a gray suit that was glowing white under the streetlights. He was followed by a short, stout woman whose head was covered with a shawl. Together they peered at the car through the dark, as if expecting someone.

"Well, we're here," mumbled Junior and practically ripped the key out of the ignition. He stuffed it in the pocket of his shorts and grabbed his backpack from the floor. As he opened the door on the driver's side, he turned and stared at the three of them, his eyes round with fear. "What are you waiting for?" he uttered through gritted teeth. "Run!" Having said that, he rolled out of the car, leaving them behind, and darted across the dark street in the direction of the hotel building.

"Mom!" Junior's voice broke. "Mom!"

The woman's hands flew up to her mouth. She shot a look at the mustached man and, as if by his signal, walked toward the boy. The shawl slid off her head, and Arthur recognized Etewa's sister. Tutemi and the boy met in the middle of the street. She held him as Jerry hid his face in her chest, his massive back shaking with sobs, the lost child who'd been alone in the jungle, faced death and traveled many miles to finish somebody else's job. Then they started walking, determinedly, supporting each other. They held their heads low, as if blocking out the surroundings, finally safe in their own small bubble. In silence, mother and son crossed the street and disappeared around the corner.

Arthur unbuckled his holster and looked at Dom in the rear-view mirror. Mal buttoned her jacket and gave a shaky nod. Slowly, they stepped out of the car and watched the mustached man approach. He was Asian, tall and agile, his back ramrod-straight, his movements efficient. The man entered the circle of light, and Arthur's breath caught as he took in the perfect harmony in the lines of the understated gray suit that were radiating money and importance. This is how you should wear your clothes, Arthur thought almost beside himself.

"Mrs. Cobb. Mr. Cobb." The man acknowledged them with a graceful bow of the head. "Mr. Levine." His eyes, penetrating and wise, lingered on Arthur. "My name is Ryoei Saito. I'm the owner of Saito Engineering. There's no need to feel threatened. It's in our common interest to arrive at a mutually satisfying agreement as soon as possible."

xxx

There were seven of them, crowding the tiny hotel eatery which had been closed for the night, with upturned chairs resting on top of the bar counter and a faded photograph of Papa Hem on the eggshell-colored wall. Had it not been for a police squad waiting outside, the whole set up might have been mistaken for a quiet evening among friends.

Arthur and Dom, with Mal between them, were seated on one side of a dinner table. They were being considered by their captors, two of them caught in a hushed argument in the far corner of the room. These two were an almost comic couple: a tall, blond Brit, who regarded the surroundings with a barely masked disdain and spoke through his teeth, and a stocky, stereotype blue-collar American in a cheap suit. Arthur christened him 'Ned', like a cartoon character, because of the Chevrons decorating his upper lip and the horrible haircut that, in Arthur's opinion, should have stayed in 1980s, along with 'Dynasty' TV series. This thought, however, reminded him of another man, wearing a bushy old-fashioned beard, and he suddenly looked at 'Ned' under a totally different angle.

Ryoei Saito was seated on the opposite side of the table, silently dominating the whole space, aware of his own importance and basking in it. Next to him, looking like he was suffering from a severe headache, sat a man from the American Consulate General, who had refrained from giving his name or rank. He remained silent and avoided looking at Arthur and the Cobbs, as if refusing to accept the mere fact that he was forced to be part of this uneasy situation. Instead, he chose to gaze wistfully at the wall clock hanging on the opposite wall. Arthur couldn't help a furtive smile because he himself, just like the upset official, would rather be elsewhere if given half a chance.

The clock struck nine. The men arguing in the corner stopped, checked the time, and rejoined the group at the table. The bearer of the Chevrons took an empty seat opposite Arthur while the tall, blond one remained standing, leaning against the bar counter.

"Mrs. Cobb. Gentlemen." 'Ned' opened his briefcase and took out three yellow folders which he handed to them.

Seeing their hesitation, he dropped the files on the table in front of Arthur and the Cobbs.

"What's this?" asked Dom, not making a move.

"An employment contract," said Ryoei Saito, "which overruns your current agreement with Cobol and binds you legally to Saito Engineering. It also obligates you to hand over the research material you've accumulated over the duration of your previous contract."

"What does Dr. Cobol think about it?" Mal asked, crossing her arms on her chest, as if fighting a cold.

"What if we refuse?" Cobb spoke at the same time.

"He's got no objections," Saito answered, looking Mal in the eyes. "I can guarantee that."

"You'll be stripped of your academic rank and lose the right to scientific research," 'Ned' replied without missing a bit.

"On what grounds?" Dom's eyes were glued to the yellow folders. Arthur could practically see Cobb's mind working, searching frantically for an escape route.

'Ned' sighed. "Scientific misconduct. Namely suppression of data." He looked at Mal who was staring at them with a wild smile on her face.

"We haven't published anything because there's nothing to publish yet," Dom was gasping for breath by now.

" ," 'Ned' interrupted him, "have you ever heard the term 'controlled dreaming'?" He continued without waiting for an answer: " This is a program developed by the US Ministry of Defense. For the past three years Saito Engineering, which is the exclusive contractor here, have been working on a new type of a sedative, the one that would allow to recreate different scenarios in an individual subconscious. Does it sound familiar? "

Dom kept silent.

"Well, this particular research is considered to be a matter of national security, it wasn't made public for quite obvious reasons. So you can imagine our surprise when about a year and a half ago we were contacted by MI-6," he gestured at the blond, "regarding Somnus Labs in California and a particular research team led by Dr. Malorie Cobb."

The Brit broke the silence: "Two of my operatives, the chemist and the field agent, who'd been integrated into the paramilitary group of Wilber Valera in Valle del Cauca, Colombia, otherwise known as..."

"Los Rastrojos," Arthur finished, remembering the conversation he and Eames had on the way to the gold miner's house.

"Exactly," he nodded. "They informed us that Valera's lieutenant, Diego Rastrojo, via proxy, had initiated a contact with a research facility in California, owned by Cobol Engineering. My operatives were concerned and recommended an immediate intervention. According to their intel, Rastrojo had placed an order with Somnus." He looked at Mal. "Mrs. Cobb, should I try and explain what kind of order that was?"

"To research the plant compounds commonly used in shamanistic practices by the indigenous tribes of Venezuela and Colombia," answered Dom. He looked dazed, as if unable to stomach everything that was being recovered. "And eventually to develop a new sedative, based on those compounds."

"We immediately contacted the American side," continued the Brit.

"And we began monitoring the activities of Somnus," supplied 'Ned'.

"As soon as my field agent was able to obtain a sample of the first version of the drug supplied by your lab, we tested it, with truly shocking results," continued the blond.

"It was never supposed to leave the lab while it was in the trial stage," Mal said, sounding frozen.

"But it did," replied 'Ned'. "On a regular basis. And it was tested by Rastrojo on some of the members of his close entourage."

"We were lucky our field agent was part of that group," said the blond. Arthur thought of Eames's easy smile, of his ability to find a key to almost everyone he was interacting with. "He managed to procure and turn in a sample of each new version and kept us updated on the changes in the side effects."

"It doesn't make any sense," Arthur said, perplexed. "Why would they order a drug from an American lab? They're drug-traffickers, not a pharmaceutical company. They have their," he searched for a word, "plantations, and their own labs. It would be far more convenient to just work on it in Colombia."

"Unless they were trying for something more complicated, than another street drug," Dom said, realizing.

"They must have had their own little military project," Mal said with a sneer, "just like the gentlemen here."

"They did," said the Brit. "Last October, there was a new development. They financed a lab in Caracas. A perfect venue – in a country with a relatively stable regimen, outside of Colombia, so that the connection would be harder to trace, but close enough to exert control."

"And we," continued 'Ned', "had a surprise visit from Dr. Nash."

"Nash like Andrew Nash? Dr. Nash?" Arthur asked.

"He had been appointed head of the Venezuelan laboratory," said 'Ned'

"Who? Nash?" Arthur scoffed. "He got himself fired for, I don't know... Was it incompetence?" He looked at Dom.

"Precisely," said 'Ned'. "He got himself fired. Because he wanted to leave. Isn't it ironic that out of three of you, researchers," he smiled at Mal, "it was Dr. Nash, the least renowned one, who was first to realize what was going on?"

"We employed Dr. Nash in our lab in Langley," said Saito who'd remained silent up to this moment. "His input into our project had been significant."

"You mean my input," Mal retorted. "Because you obviously used my research."

"Yes, we did," Saito said with a curt nod. "And let me assure you, now we have it in full. Including the final version of the formula that the field agent had extracted from your subconscious. However, we feel it would be important to let you continue your work under our supervision."

"Long story short," continued the Brit. "We had to act fast. So we moved the chemist and the field agent to Venezuela. They had been on the case from the very beginning and had had a chance to test the previous versions of the drug."

"Eames and Yusuf?" asked Dom.

The blond nodded. "We made sure our chemist was able to secure an employment with the new lab in Caracas."

"He told me he'd only started in November," Mal confirmed.

"And our field agent joined him a month later. He'd worked as a tracker and wasn't visibly connected with the lab, so we had to create a way out for him."

"The ambush at the Panamanian border," said Arthur.

"Well, he told you already," scoffed the blond.

"According to the data, collected by our operative monitoring the sector," 'Ned' wedged in, "the main source of the compound supplied by Diego Ratsrojo was in the region of the Orinoco river, near a Yanomami settlement called Barlovento."

"This is where we placed Mr. Eames in order to let him run the recon," continued the blond. "And he did with the help of the American side. We were able to determine the exact source of the compound. Which was a certain Eduardo Antonio Robles, otherwise known as Arasuwe, a citizen of Venezuela and a shaman of one of the indigenous tribes. Mr. Eames began monitoring Arasuwe's activities as a drug dealer, he was able to procure the compounds used by the shaman. He also participated in all the test runs during Mr. Attal's research. Unfortunately, despite his knowledge of the language and the available financial resources, he couldn't make Arasuwe share the technology he used to develop his drug. We were at the impasse."

"So were we," said Dom, "until Mal decided to go to Venezuela and continue the research there, in proximity of the source."

"Two years of research," said Mal, "Five months spent between the lab and a cave in the jungle. Millions of dollars spent on the work that you've appropriated for yourself."

"Millions of drug dollars," said the Brit with a chuckle.

"Mrs. Cobb, I understand the amount of pressure you've been under these past few months," said Saito, looking Mal in the eyes. "We respect and value your achievement. Nobody wants to steal it from you. We'd like to give you a chance to bring more to our common table." He took one of the folders and shuffled through the papers it held, his gaze pensive, his big, pampered hands moving gently over the white pages.

"If we sign it, are we allowed to go back to Los Angeles?" Cobb asked, hesitant.

"Cobol's license was revoked," said Saito after a pause. "Somnus Labs, as you knew it, doesn't exist anymore. I'm afraid, moving to Virginia in order to continue your research at Saito Engineering is the only option available to you."

Arthur felt dizzy. This was it. He didn't have a job anymore. He was alone on the street, just like four years before when he landed at his mother's doorstep in Corona after his third tour in Afghanistan. Arthur who had always reprimanded Mal for treating him like one of her own kids suddenly wanted to grab her hands and beg her not to sign anything, because she was part of Arthur's family and so was Dom, no matter how persistent Arthur was in his denial. And this contract was going to separate them, for good.

For a short second, life ceased to make sense. Then Arthur got angry. Who were these people who could take his life and twist it out of shape, send him back to where he'd started, destroy everything he had built with diligence and hard work? What was he supposed to do now? Try and claim back his post at an enterprise that was no more. Get back to Inter-Con Security and again suffer through a neverending line of sweet sixteens and after parties?

"What do you expect me to bring to our common table?" he sneered at the men sitting in front of him, furious, letting his anger be seen.

"I don't know about Mr. Saito here, but we could probably find something that would suit an individual with your set of skills," answered 'Ned'.

"Something that would suit..." Arthur's eyebrows crawled up his face of their own accord. "You've sacrificed hundreds of people, including a priest, in order to cover up your tracks. Your employees steal, lie and murder." He shrugged. "I'm afraid I possess no skills that would make mesuitable for this kind of job."

"Now listen to me," said the Brit, his voice tight with indignation. "I couldn't care less about the kind of employment you find acceptable. You willsign the contract we offer and make yourself look extremely useful while doing so. Because as we speak here, two of my best operatives are pending investigation and you, Mr. Levine, and you, Doctors," he looked at the Cobbs, "will help me prove to the high-ranking knobs that my agents had not committed a grave misconduct by letting you keep your useless – in their opinion – lives." He lowered himself on an empty chair, took a chrome fountain pen out of the front pocket of his jacket and threw it on the table in front of them. A drop of sweat which he ignored ran down his forehead. He was breathing heavily, trying to fight the anger that was rising in him.

Dom and Mal looked at each other. Mal took the pen, biting her lip, and opened one of the folders. As she began reading what looked like at least sixty pages of narrow print, 'Ned' handed a much more modest-looking pen to Dom.

"Mr. Levine," said Saito after a moment's silence. "What kind of degree do you hold?"

"BS in Criminal Justice," said Arthur, "from ALU in Pasadena."

"Are you averse to art?"

"No," Arthur asked. "Why?"

"Would you find it tedious, if you had, as part of your duties, to ensure the security of a private art collection?"

"Where?" Arthur asked, expecting to hear an oversees destination.

"The Saito Center," said Saito with a shrug, as if stating something obvious, "in Brentwood, Los Angeles."

xxx

Arthur's first thoughts awake are always physical. He thinks: It's nice to sleep on a bed, not on the rough floor, not on the wet ground, not in a hammock or an airplane armchair, however comfortable it might seem. It's nice to sleep on clean sheets, under a warm comforter, knowing that you won't have to get up and run somewhere as soon as you wake up. Arthur hauls himself up, brushing away the hair that falls into his eyes and looks around the room. On the bed by the window Cobb is waiting for him, quiet and discreet as usual. He is fully dressed and reading the local newspaper he has, no doubt, brought all the way down from Caracas. It is almost two weeks old. Cobb lifts his eyes from the wrinkled page and looks at Arthur over his reading glasses. It's already morning, the first light is creeping out from under red-and green-painted shutters on a small window. Time to move out.

He doesn't ask why Dom waits in his room.

Some time past midnight, after the papers were signed and the police squad departed to where it came from. After the man from the Consulate handed them their new passports instead of the ones that had been lost in the village. After 'Ned' and the blond shook hands in the street, and 'Ned' smirked, satisfied with the outcome of the evening, and the Brit smiled openly at him, triumphant and relieved. After Saito wished them a pleasant flight home before disappearing into the night, the owner of the place, white with fear and weariness, led them up the stairs to the empty rooms and left them there, alone with their thoughts.

The short night got Arthur going through his usual repertoire of sad, wretched dreams. And Dom and Mal came, not long before sunrise, when the darkness was at its most profound. They knocked and threatened to break the door, and yelled until he let them in. And then they refused to leave. And they slept, the two of them, on the single bed by the window, unperturbed by the squeeze, guarding Arthur's repose, the family he would never have.

Arthur can hear a faucet being turned with a metallic shriek. The shower stops running. Mal is getting ready in the room behind the wall. He gets off the bed and asks Cobb to leave because Arthur is an adult and doesn't need a sitter. Dom huffs and groans as he folds the newspaper and stands. He begins to give his usual nonsense about Arthur not feeling well and Mal wanting to keep tabs on him. And this is when Arthur decides to ask.

"Dom, how long have you known?"

Cobb tenses, looking caged, and then relaxes when Arthur continues: "About Eames. You must have understood before. You always do."

"Since day one," Cobb answers and sits back on the bed. "Now he wasn't really trying to hide, was he?" Arthur stares at Dom's face, freshly shaven, with the trace of the bruise still visible on his temple. Arthur is analyzing, trying to understand.

"But you still went." And led me with you. "Why?"

"It didn't really matter who he was," Cobb says and rubs at his mouth, his eyes fixed at the Blessed Virgin on the wooden table. The candle has died, and the weak smoke is dissipating in the air. "As long as he would take me to Mal."

Arthur stands there and looks at Dom.

It's as simple as that. Mal was dying. Dom was running out of time, he would have gone with the devil, he would have died on this search and dragged the whole world with him if that was what it took to save her. Arthur didn't matter, neither did anybody else.

"You have no kids of your own," Dom says, his eyes shining, an almost fanatical, luminous glare. "You have no idea what it's like to see your children suffer, day after day, withering away in sadness, and not be able to do anything." He quickly wipes the tears off, stingy as he is with emotions, disapproving of his own outburst. Rigid. Forever loyal to his own code. "I had to bring her back. Without her, there would be no us."

xxx

Arthur's last dream in the Amazon is about an island in the Indian Ocean. He is standing on the edge of an all-sand reef, separated from the rest of the beach by a narrow strip of water. If he looks back over his shoulder, he will see an indistinct silhouette of a man walking deeper into the land, towards the lighthouse on top of a rocky hill, away from the shore. But Arthur won't look back. He chooses to stay on the beach and follow the movement of a tiny dingy, carrying two fishermen to the coast, as it bobs up and down the arriving ways. He won't look away because if he does, the boat will be lost at sea.

Ages ago, in a different life, if someone asked Arthur Levine to use one word to describe this whole expedition they had set out upon, this word would be 'infuriating'. From the very beginning, he had a deep-seated feeling that their journey was a lost cause. They would never find Mal, and if they found her, it would be her bones. However, Arthur in that different life was not prone to premonitions and only trusted things he could actually see and touch.