Author's Note: *Gasp!* She's alive? The next chapter has finally arrived! Thanks to Zip and Xiilnek for their reviews. Hope anyone still following enjoys! I've got a lovely long chapter for you guys.

Recap: Sam has escaped the psych ward with one Charles Dominic, leader of a group of smugglers and thieves. Charles claims to have information on the man who last hired him, a bent cop who wanted Charles to smuggle military grade weapons to terrorists, the same man who is responsible for the deaths of three policemen. Sam, struggling to maintain a sanity that had been rocked by doctors in the psych ward, has come to the realization that this traitor in the force is likely a man named Callahan, someone who contacted him through a letter while he was in the psych ward and manipulated him into confessing to the murders to Gene Hunt. After a police raid on Charles's hideout, Arthur was sent back to retrieve Charles's evidence against Callahan while Sam was dragged to safety. Sam then called Annie to ask for a meeting with Gene in an attempt to get the evidence into the hands of a good copper and was left with an supposedly comforting but ominous message: That it would all be over soon.


CHAPTER 8: Mr. Callahan and 2006


DCI Hunt had left only a few minutes earlier when DCI Litton stormed into the CID offices followed by a pair of his underlings. Annie, who had been left behind despite her offer to accompany Gene, was now even more displeased. She, one other WPC, Chris Skelton and Ray Carling were the only ones in the office when they arrived and Annie wasn't very happy that she was the first one the snooty man noticed. Honestly, Litton wasn't half as bad as Gene Hunt put on, she thought. But he wasn't particularly likeable either. Litton sauntered up to the first line of desks a smirk pulling at his lips.

"So, is Gene in today, girlie?" he questioned.

Annie did a fair job of keeping her expression neutral despite the DCI's disparaging tone. "You just missed him, sir. He's gone out for a bit."

Litton's smirk slid down just a bit. "Is that so… Any idea where he went? When he might be back?"

A few desks back, Ray jabbed out a cigarette in an ash tray as he responded for her. "That's none of yer business, Litton."

Litton cast a glare at Ray. "You should watch your tone when you speak to a superior officer."

"If I see one, I'll do just that," Ray replied with a chuckle. Chris joined in nervously.

"I could have you written up for insubordination, DS Carling. A word I'm sure you've come across many times in your day," Litton threatened. Behind him, his two associates stepped forward threateningly. It would have reminded Annie of a gang of bullies preparing to pick a fight if it hadn't been for their colorful ties and patterned jackets. "And as it happens, it is my business. DSI Tannon has informed me that Gene Hunt may know more about my homicide case and Sam Tyler than he's been letting on. And so I've been given permission to search Gene Hunt's office for information."

Ray and Chris looked personally offended at this breach of their guv's personal space. Annie was more afraid that Gene might have actually left something out that they shouldn't see. Hoping to curb their curiosity, she spoke.

"The guv really didn't tell us where he was going, sir, or we'd tell you," she lied with her best submissive tone. She was hoping if Litton was allowed to think he was in control of the situation, he would leave without investigating further, but it was a long shot. "If you want, we could call you when he comes back."

Chris and Ray were thankfully silent and didn't egg Litton on, but it didn't matter. Litton strode right past Annie. "You will call us when he gets back anyway. But we still need to search his office for… evidence."

Litton and his group reached the office and Ray turned away to scowl his disapproval of the situation at Chris and the two women. The door opened without protest –Gene never locked his office- and Litton waved his men in. Litton hung in the doorway a moment to look back at them.

"When he does come back, you can tell Gene-o that the Regional Crime Squad is making real headway. We discovered the whereabouts of Charles Dominic who is apparently harboring Sam Tyler and we have taken one of Dominic's members into custody. DSI Tannon is interrogating him in an… undisclosed location and he's telling us everything even as we speak."

Ray and Chris looked confused. "What everything?" Ray asked. "What would some bloke what works for a nut house escaper have to say about anything?"

Litton looked about to ignore Ray, then decided to rub his superior understanding of the situation in Ray's face. He turned around with a smile. "How little you know about this whole thing, DS Carling. How little any of you really know. This may have started out a simple homicide, but we at the RCS have uncovered just how much deeper all this runs. Sam Tyler may have done the dirty work when Eames and the other PCs got too close, but there was another who had Tyler under his thumb. And that was the mastermind who was plannin' something far more dangerous. Murder on a massive scale."

Ray's brow wrinkled in confusion as he tried to grasp what Litton was talking about. "Who's murderin' who now?"

Litton sighed in exaggerated exasperation. "I've really told you too much already."

"But why do you have to search the guv's office then?" Chris asked.

"Oh, DC Skelton. Gene Hunt is in this up to his eyeballs," Litton replied. Then, viciously, he added, "And we're gonna make sure he drowns in it."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Readings are returning to normal, doctor.

Keep an eye on him. We have to make sure they stay that way. We don't want him to relapse.

But we've taken him off of the drug.

We don't know what the damage might be. That drug is brand new and still experimental. Sam Tyler was the perfect patient for a trial dosage…

Sam thought he could hear the sound of paper rustling.

It was supposed to encourage brain activity, encourage his mind to wake up as it were. The doctor sighed. Well it increased something all right. Testosterone production, the frontal lobe's activity… If he weren't in a coma, this would have created one very angry soul.

What about the decrease in the temporal lobe?

Another sigh. We'll see, nurse. It could be that once his system is purged of the drug, he'll be back to the way he was, or better even. …Could be that the drug has damaged his ability to speak or his memory, both located in the temporal region.

'You'd better hope I don't remember this little incident, Dr. Whoever-you-are, because I did not sign off on this!' Sam thought angrily. 'Your little drug nearly drove me mad!'

Suddenly a much closer voice sounded from right beside him. "Damn, damn, dammit!"

Sam shook himself out of his internal thoughts of cursing the incompetent doctors who were 'caring' for him and looked over to his angry companion. He couldn't blame Charles for being upset, but he couldn't think of anything comforting to say that hadn't already been said either.

After the rather disturbing phone call to Annie who'd quite ominously told him that "it would all be over soon", Charles had taken Sam to his secondary meeting place. There they'd leaned that Arthur had never made it back from the house. The police had swarmed in, the reinforced door barely slowing them at all. Arthur had been trapped upstairs and arrested before he could escape. Fischer and the others had gotten away, but Charles had been none too pleased that his right hand man had been kidnapped by his enemies.

Sam had assured the worrying Charles that Arthur wouldn't have been harmed, that no matter who had been in charge of the raid, they wouldn't have killed Arthur with other policemen around. They would have to bring him to the station to be officially processed. He just hoped that was true. Bent cops were hard to judge and without knowing if the raid cops were bent or not…

Despite his half hearted attempt at comfort, Sam recognized that he was a little more annoyed that Arthur's capture meant Charles's evidence was either still at Charles's house or now in the hands of the police. Going back to the house to check hadn't been an option, however. Fischer had reported that at least one unmarked police car had been left behind to watch the place. That meant all he had to present to Gene Hunt now was the word of a lunatic. It was not going to go over well, Sam just knew it.

Sam led the way into the park on 102 Ruth Ave. It was a nice but small little area. Walkways bordered on either side by tall oaks led through the park to a small bandstand at its center. A couple football fields stood empty to the west and the rest of the park consisted of small clusters of deciduous trees. Yellow lights along the stone sidewalks that crisscrossed from the bandstand to the fields and ending in dirt trails in the trees ensured that even at night, people might enjoy what the park had to offer. On this particularly chilly night, however, the park was nearly empty.

"Hey," Charles started as Sam slowed to take in their surroundings. "Why meet at a park? It's not exactly private."

"I dunno… It just seemed like the right place," Sam replied. It was true. He didn't think he'd actually ever been here, but without much contemplation at all, he had told Annie to have Gene meet him there. Odd. "And it's not like there's anyone around anyway."

Charles shrugged, pulling his suit jacket closer around him unhappily. "Parks are for football and dog walking, not secret hush-hush under-the-table spy stuff."

Spy stuff? "You watch too much tv," Sam replied scoldingly.

"And maybe you don't watch enough, eh?" There was a note of rising panic in Charles's tone. "If you did, you'd realize just how careful one should be in these situations. Who's to say this Hunt bloke'll really come alone, eh? Maybe he's got a flotilla of armed guys with rifles and bazookas scattered all throughout this park."

"Flotilla?" Wasn't that some kind of military term? "This isn't the navy. The guv'll come alone," Sam replied. "And even if he doesn't, he'll listen to me first. I'm sure he will. We'll take down this bent copper. You're being paranoid."

"I've a right to a little paranoia!" Charles exclaimed, eyes darting around them. "People are hunting me down, hunting my people down, all 'cause I told some higher up in the police that I wasn't one for sanctioning terror acts! This is what the good guys get, Sam. They get dead!"

Sam whirled around and jabbed an angry finger into Charles's chest. "Let me point out, Charles, that if you were a good guy you wouldn't have been dealing in the illegal transportation of products so you wouldn't have had to worry about being hunted in the first place!" the DI shouted, quietly, back. "The important thing is that you're choosing to do good now."

Charles was silent, staring at Sam a moment before looking away guiltily. Sam glared a moment longer before turning away with a huff. It was then that he noted a stone path leading off into a dark copse of trees and it struck him then that there was where he would meet Gene. He glanced to his wrist for the time before remembering that his watch was still in lockup at the asylum. Behind him, Charles had the same idea and looked to his own wrist.

"Comin' up on 7:30," he replied, his voice a little more subdued than it had been. "I really hope you know what you're doing."

Sam led the way to the copse of trees. "This is the reason you came to me in the first place. To get the evidence, such as it is, to those who can be trusted."

"Yeah… And you do seem…" Charles faded off.

"Seem what?" Sam asked with a glance to his side.

"…Better." Charles answered cautiously.

"Than who?" Sam asked, confused. "Than the other cops?"

Charles smirked. "That's yet to be seen. Better than you were earlier," he explained. "Less crazy."

Sam had to give a wry smile at that and wondered what the man would think if he explained what he'd heard the 2006 doctors say they'd done to him.

"Well, here's the spot," Sam replied, coming to a stop just before the copse of pine and oak trees.

"And that's my cue to hide," Charles replied as he began examining trees with interest.

"Hide? Why?"

"Ha! We don't have my other evidence ergo I am the evidence now. That's why I'm here. Got to give my testimony to the guv'ner. But I aint doin' it 'til I see he's a man of his word." And with that, Charles leapt for a low oak branch just behind where Sam stood and began to scramble skyward with all the tree climbing grace of a dog.

"So you're going to hide in a tree?" Sam questioned in disbelief, nervously waiting for Charles to fall back down to the ground. "It doesn't even have any leaves!"

"Many leaves. Still got some. And how often to people really look up anyway," Charles replied as he climbed still higher, a little more dexterous now. Despite the well lit walkways, not much light hit where Sam stood now just off the stone path and as soon as Charles was a couple meters above him, Sam could barely see him in the darkness. "Now shush and stop looking at me! Someone's coming. Don't give me away or I'll make sure when they shoot me down I'm fallin' on you!"

Sam shook his head with an incredulous scoff and turned to note a large figure was indeed headed his way. The figure didn't bother with the walkways, just made a bee-line straight for Sam, somehow knowing that this spot was the place to meet.

Just as Sam had.

Sam took a steadying breath, trying to sort out what he would say. He'd have to tell Gene he was innocent first, of course. He'd have to tell him that Callahan had coerced him into pleading guilty. He'd have to…

Sam frowned as the figure came closer. It didn't seem big anymore, certainly not big enough to be Gene Hunt. It was thin and about his height. Its dark coat was pulled tightly around it and its hood drawn up over its shadowed face. It came to a halt a few paces away and Sam felt a sense of dread as it reached up for its hood.

"You?" Sam replied in utter confusion. Sam Tyler could only stare as a doppelganger stood before him, smirking.

"Hello, Sam," it said.

"How…?"

"We both know how. I'm what the Doc would label 'the Damage'."

Sam seethed. "I am not damaged," he hissed in a low voice, afraid that someone might hear him talking to himself. "Get out of here."

"Not damaged? Get out of here? Listen to yourself, mate," the Damage laughed.

Sam's eyes glinted and he stepped forward and grabbed the chuckling hallucination by the front of his jacket. "I am not insane. I wasn't before the drug and I refuse to be now."

"You can't refuse insanity. Damage to your memory center, damage to your emotional control… You are an amnesiatic time bomb ready to explode on anyone that pisses you off," the Damage told him. Sam let him go and took a horrified step away, but it didn't stop there. "The more you repress me, the more erratic I'll be. I'm not threatening you, Sam, it's just… facts are facts. Come on, mate. We could shake this city to the core if you just accept this. You have to admit, we know this city pretty damn well, time difference an' all. We could have Callahan runnin' in circles looking for us! We could change history!"

Sam shook his head. "That doesn't appeal to me in the slightest," he replied coldly.

"We know that's not true."

"We," Sam motioned to himself and the doppelganger. "Don't know anything. I know I don't want to kill anyone. I don't want…"

"Still zoning out then, Dorothy?"

Sam jumped at the sight of Gene Hunt standing right where his doppelganger had been a moment before. Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes, but the DCI stood there still. Gene's hands were tucked deep in the pockets of his tan trench coat and if his grim tone hadn't been enough to convey Gene's displeasure at his predicament, then his scowl certainly made up for it.

"Guess the quacks didn' fix you up none during yer… brief stay," Gene replied.

Sam swallowed hard and took another brief moment to let his eyes dart searchingly over the area for his vanished doppelganger. But the dark and damaged Sam was nowhere to be seen.

"I came alone, Tyler, if that's yer worry," Gene assured, pulling out a small flask from his pocket. "Really, you shoulda come ta me sooner. Saved me the trouble of runnin' 'round looking for you."

Sam's brows creased. "Well I didn't know if I could, did I."

Gene finished taking a swig from the flask and waved an annoyed hand in Sam's direction. "'Course you could. That was the whole point, wasn't it?"

Sam didn't get where this conversation was going and the confusion had a frustratingly dizzying effect. The ground shifted beneath him and he stumbled, but caught himself.

"What are you, drunk?" Gene scolded, looking his former DI over with curious annoyance.

"I'm fine," Sam replied as the world steadied itself back out.

"Doubt it. Gotta say though, I didn't think things would end up the way they are, you know?" Gene took another swig then screwed the lid back on.

Still confused, Sam decided to steer the conversation back to what he did understand. "Guv, I called you here because I've found out something about the homicide case. Something important."

"Better damn well be after the wait I've had," Gene replied, not surprised in the least that Sam was changing topics to the case that had put him away. A little voice in the back of Sam's mind warned him something was amiss.

"So, what do you have?" Gene asked.

Time to just come right out and say it. "I believe there's a traitor in the police."

"Yeah?" Gene replied, again not surprised.

Beside Sam, the Damage reappeared as a shadow. "Careful, Sam," it whispered. Gene seemed unaware of its presence so Sam tried not to look.

Sam swallowed hard. "…Yeah," he confirmed.

Gene pursed his lips, sniffed, and took a moment to slip his flask back into his inside pocket. As he pulled his coat aside however, Sam caught a glimpse of a hand gun tucked threateningly in his belt. Fading into existence at Gene's side like a whisp of smoke, the Damage watched Sam with a hint of malicious amusement.

"Something's wrong here," it told him. "I don't think he's here just to talk, mate."

Sam tensed, trying to ignore the hallucination as Gene spoke.

"Well? I assume you got a name at least," Gene replied, hands on his hips. Not far from the gun, Sam noted.

"Yeah..." Sam said slowly. He tried to shake off the bad feeling. "It's some guy by the name of H. Callahan."

Gene gave an incredulous snort. "Well that's a right nasty thing to say to a bloke. I'm H. Callahan."

Sam stood stock still nonplussed and quite speechless. "You… You did this?"

Gene frowned. "What're you lookin' so surprised for? You knew all about this!"

The accusation took Sam aback. At Gene's side the Damage smiled and Sam felt the fury of betrayal rise within him.

"You bastard!" he shouted and before he knew what he was doing, Sam was throwing a vicious punch in Gene's direction.

Gene, eyes wide in surprise at the unexpected attack took the haymaker full in the face. He stumbled back a half step. Sam wasn't done however. He came back up with a jab again to the face and swung another for the throat, but Gene got in a punch of his own. The heavy strike sent Sam staggering to the side, his mind still swimming. Gene was Callahan? Gene was the one behind this mess? Why?

"You bloody lunatic!" Gene shouted. "What the hell are you-"

Gene's exclamation was cut off in a grunt as Sam Tyler charged him low around the midsection. Sam couldn't have hoped to take the bigger man down like that. He'd hit him too high and Gene had had too much time to recover. Now, with his stance set, the most Sam's full on tackle did was make him stagger back a couple steps. Gene reached down to get Sam's head in a lock, but stopped dead when he felt Sam slip the gun out of his belt and push the barrel into his gut. Sam felt no pleasure in his victory as Gene released him. The DI straightened gun still pressed to his adversary and Gene glared at Sam.

Sam glared back and was suddenly aware that this was nearly identical to his vision of shooting Gene over Sanderson's body. It could all come true. He only needed to do was pull the trigger and it would be over. Just increase the pressure, just a little more-

"You are Callahan?" Sam questioned again, the act of hearing his own voice aloud helping to conquer the murderous thoughts. Somewhere behind Gene, Sam knew the image of the Damage was scowling furiously. Sam could almost smile, but staring down Gene Hunt or Mr. Callahan kept him from feeling too good about the victory. Gene was not pleased either.

"Of course I'm Callahan, you bleedin' idiot!" Gene exclaimed.

"You sent me that letter in the psych ward. And the visitor…"

"What, is this some sorta trip down memory lane? Yeah, I sent 'em! How else did you think we were supposed to communicate?" Gene questioned. "Couldn't exactly waltz on down there meself, could I? Woulda ruined the whole cover!"

Sam was stunned. "Cover?" His gun wavered and Gene took this as a sign to continue.

"O' 'course, things got pretty cocked up anyway. Didn't realize they had the balls to bust into a government institution to try to kill both o' you. Military grade explosives, Ray tells me."

"Both of us. You mean me and…"

"…And Charles Dominic. Bloody hell, they really messed you up in there, didn't they. Or is this some sorta natural progression of the craziness you had before?" Gene replied gruffly.

"No… I, uh…" Sam stepped away from the other man. He pressed the grip of the gun to his head and sucked in a deep breath as another memory resurfaced. He had been kneeling beside the body of a dead PC. His hands had been covered in blood. Now he looked up at the DCI with wide haunted eyes. "Gene, I didn't kill those men."

Gene stood quite thunderstruck. "O' 'course not. But when the bodies started piling up, you suggested a little under cover assignment."

Sam felt a sharp pain in his head as the memory continued. He blinked and was again beside the body of Sanderson. Sam watched himself sigh and look up from the corpse to the DCI who stood fuming. "What if I did it? What if killed them?" Sam remembered the look of surprise and betrayal on Gene's face as he turned, letting a cigarette fall from his fingertips. "I didn't, guv, obviously. But what if we pretend I did. If I took the blame for the murders, it might slow the real killer down. This monster's killing coppers 'cause he thinks his cover is close to getting compromised. Eames, Binder, Sanderson…They were all on to something and the killer didn't want to risk them finding him out."

Sam pressed the grip of the gun harder into his head, trying to push out the pain. This was the third time he'd seen this memory and each time it had been different. Each time had felt more plausible than the previous and this one… this one rang true.

Gene, the Gene in front of him now, continued. "We went through everything Eames, Binder, and Sanderson had done before their deaths. They thought they'd found evidence that a high ranking official in the Manchester Police Force was involved in some illegal arms transactions. You, bein' the boy genius you are, made the connection between Eames and Binder: they both knew a rubbish thief called Charles Dominic. Dominic had just been put away after being arrested and provin' himself too crazy for jail. You examined Dominic's file, did some timeline whatchamathingits and decided Charles had to know something."

Sam was shaking his head. "I don't remember."

"This whole thing was your flamin' idea and you don't remember?" Gene exclaimed. "You went in there to find Dominic, see what he knew, an' relay that back to my visitor."

"Who was he?"

"Just some minor criminal that owed me a favor," Gene replied with a sniff.

Sam's mind was swimming. "What about that ridiculous letter?"

Gene looked offended. "Whadda you mean 'ridiculous'? Thought it was all quite clever, really. It was all based on that code stuff we'd listed out beforehand. And anyway, you created it, didn't you?"

"Created it?" Sam questioned. But even as he said it, he figured out the code.

Sam,

Hope you're feeling better. Sorry I couldn't come see you in person, but you know how things are at work. I know your mother wants to see you. Maybe on the 12th or 14th. Don't worry about all this, we'll make it right. You just worry about getting better and doing what the nurses tell you. Give them the old ten two!

-H. Callahan

"A meeting place. Ten two, that was the address number. An' my mother's name is Ruth," Sam said slowly.

Gene nodded and lifted his arms to motion to the park around them. "102 Ruth Av."

"What was the 12th or 14th-" Sam stopped himself. "It was the time to meet. Between 1200 and 1400. One o'clock, military time. Clever."

"An' useful had everything gone according to plan. You were supposed to meet me here the day after I got you released on a tecni… technical engine…something."

"Technicality," Sam corrected. He shook his head. Somehow, despite the fact his therapy sessions had caused some kind of localized amnesia, Sam's mind had still decoded Gene's message and led him to this park.

"Had to have Phyllis in on it too. Someone to deal with yer visitor while I dealt with the… political blowback of havin' a cop killer be a cop," Gene continued. "The Detective Chief Super gave us the go, but it was just me, you, an' Phyllis that knew the whole deal. Couldn't take the chance of it leakin'. Chris and Ray are good coppers, but they get chatty as a hooker in confession when they've had enough to drink."

"But… Annie. She said-"

"Yeah, you know how to pick 'em, Sam. She was snoopin' around the whole time, tryin' to prove yer innocence. Had to tell the tart the truth just so she'd stop before she got herself inta trouble!"

Sam actually laughed. For the first time in days he was getting satisfactory answers for the questions that had been running rampant in his brain. He still couldn't remember all of it, but it felt true.

"There is a Callahan on the force, though," Sam said, the gun now lowered at his side. Gene watched it, but seemed a little more relaxed as well now that it wasn't pointed in his direction.

"If there is, I don't know 'im," Gene replied with a shrug. "My name came from Dirty Harry."

Sam frowned quizzically. "What?"

"Dirty Harry?" Gene repeated a bit louder, as if it were obvious. "Dirty Harry Callahan? Clint Eastwood? It's an American picture 'bout a tough bastard cop who-"

"I get it. I get it," Sam replied holding up a hand to stop him. Was that really where he knew it from? He hadn't seen that film in ages. "One last thing though… What's all this about… 2006?"

Gene lifted an eyebrow. "You and Cartwright. Is 2006 a dirty number or something? Some code for the kinky shit you get up to after hours?"

Sam's mortification and confusion competed for use of his mouth, but finally confusion won. "But Annie said you knew something-"

"20-06 is the case number, you git! Though right now it's better known 'round the office as the Case of the Scum-suckin' Tyler Bastard," Gene hissed.

Sam scowled. "No it isn't."

"Is too, actually."

"Definitely isn't!" Sam shot back. "You people couldn't remember anythin' that long!"

"Like you'd know. Even if you'd been there you probably wouldn't know 'cause you'd be too busy runnin' round naked singin' about yer feelings!" Gene exclaimed.

Sam stared at him quite blankly, lost somewhere along the bumpy road of Gene's thought process.

"Because you're a barmy psycho," Gene elaborated.

Sam opened his mouth in a silent 'uh-huh' of understanding. "Thing is, technically psychopaths have a lack of feelings. So if I were a psychopath, which I am not, I wouldn't be doin' much singing about feelings."

Gene glared at him, his thunder taken from him by a politically correct nutter. "Yer a walking dictionary, you are. And yet you don't know Dirty Harry."

Sam had to chuckle at that, breaking the tension and Gene found himself laughing too. The moment vanished quickly when a yelp came from behind Sam. The pair whirled around just in time to see something fall out of a tree to the ground with a thud. Gene began to move forward, likely to throttle the stranger for eavesdropping, but Sam held up a hand and Gene stopped. Possibly because it was the hand with the gun.

"It's all right," Sam replied. "He's with us."

Us. That felt good. He wasn't just a misunderstood escapee from a mental institution anymore. He was part of the solution to the very problem the doctors and psychiatrists claimed he'd been a part of. Near the tree, Charles stood up with a groan, using the tall trunk for support. Gene snorted.

"With us, is he? This ponce in a tree? He yer new girlfriend then?" Gene grunted.

Sam rolled his eyes, but refused to rise to Gene's taunt. "Guv, this is Charles Dominic. Charles, DCI Gene Hunt."

Gene crossed his arms and his expression changed from a scowl to a look of approval. "So, you actually did something right after all then? I'm speechless."

When Charles was finally vertical, he turned to Gene with a mock salute. "Nice to meet you, guv. Though I've got to say I'm opposed to that 'rubbish' comment you made 'bout me earlier."

"Too bad," Gene replied gruffly.

Unabashed, Charles turned to Sam and whispered loudly, "I think we can trust him. This guy's not the guy I was working with."

"I'm right here, you daft nutter. I can hear you," Gene growled. "Who were you working with? Who is the traitor?"

"That's our problem, see? We don't know his name." Charles replied unhappily.

"Well then I'm arresting you for obstruction of justice and breaking out of prison!" Gene replied threateningly as he slipped a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

"I didn't break outta prison! It was an insane asylum! …And there was already a hole there, I just happened to use it!" Charles exclaimed defensively.

Sam held up his hands, "Wait, guv, hold on. We can't afford that yet. We've got to take down the traitor first. Charles is our witness. He's seen the man."

"Yeah, I've seen him," Charles confirmed, straightening his waistcoat before fumbling with the buttons of his jacket. "But before I say anything, I want assurances."

"Assurances?" Gene questioned. "We aint here to make deals with criminals, Dominic-"

"Maybe that's not what you set out to do, my friend, but that's all that's left open to you now," Charles shot back. Once again his madness seemed to have lifted and Charles appeared a proper businessman ready to argue his point until it was agreed upon.

Gene was displeased with this change in tone and was perfectly ready to get back to basics (basics being fists and cuffs), but Sam spoke up quickly.

"You want this as much as we do, Charles," the DI said. "What are you doing?"

"Too many people have died, Sam Tyler, so that this bastard can get rich and wage war," Charles told them. "I want your word, both of you, that you will do everything in your power to get my man out alive. And when you do, I want immunity for past crimes for him and the others."

"Immunity?" Gene questioned. "Fer a low life thievin' criminal?"

"Arthur's like the kid brother I never had," Charles said, now addressing Sam more than Gene. "I've been lookin' out for him since he was twelve. He's not a bad guy."

Sam shook his head. "Charles, he's a criminal. We'll do our best to get you all through this, but we are officers of the law and when this is all done, you're going to jail."

Charles searched Sam's eyes, then Gene's, the latter of which were being rolled in disgust at Sam's heartfelt assertions. "It's a fair cop," Charles said finally with a shrug.

"Describe this guy," Gene demanded. Then the thought came to him. "He didn't wear a big floppy bow-tie and talk like an arrogant sod, did he?"

Charles shook his head. "Not really. I mean… he was a little full of himself, but I've found that comes with the territory. No bow-ties neither. He's a tall guy, thin. And though he was definitely full of himself, he was also… very professional. Em… White… Kinda brown hair, mustache. Always played with it when he was thinking."

Gene scowled at how general the description was. Sam wasn't too pleased either. Charles crossed his arms.

"We caught a glimpse of his badge once. Or Fischer did. He couldn't make out the name but he saw the rank."

"You saw his rank, but not his name?" Gene asked dubiously.

"Hey, we were lucky we saw anything at all. The man didn't mean to have it out when he did," Charles replied. "Anyway, it said 'Detective Superintendent'."

Sam and Gene's eyes widened a little.

"The traitor's a Superintendent?" Sam questioned.

Gene's eyes were dark. "And I think I know which one."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Detective Superintendent Benjamin Tannon stepped into the 'undisclosed location' where he and DCI Litton were holding the criminal Arthur. He stood in the shadows of the interrogation room, watching the defiant young man he had cuffed to a metal chair. A sergeant was currently glaring down at him and Arthur was frowning right back.

"Where is Sam Tyler?" The sergeant was demanding for the umpteenth time. And for the umpteenth time, the black haired kid shrugged.

"I don't know any Tyler," he replied.

"You little liar," the sergeant snarled, bringing a hand down across Arthur's face. The young man took it well. He didn't cry out or make any noise at all for that matter. Simply asking questions had gotten them nowhere nor had physical violence, Tannon was thinking. Perhaps it was time for a different approach. Tannon cleared his throat and called the sergeant over. The officer obeyed, but left the heavily breathing form of Arthur a bit begrudgingly. Obviously he didn't think his work there was done quite yet.

"Sergeant, I'm going to take a few minutes with him. Maybe an old hand like myself can get something out of him," Tannon replied.

The sergeant nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied, but as Tannon began to move forward, he noted that his subordinate was still there. "Alone," he clarified. "Please wait outside."

"Sir? He's a criminal. I really don't think I should leave you alone with him," the sergeant replied.

"Touching, Sergeant Bohnam, but your concern is unnecessary. Wait outside and don't come in until I give the say so. That's an order."

With the slightest of confused frowns, Bohnam nodded and exited. Only when the big metal door had swung shut behind him did Tannon begin his slow approach. Arthur had been struggling to see through the shadows since Bohnam left and now Tannon could tell he sensed that something was wrong.

"Hey!" Arthur yelled. "What's goin' on? You know, you can't hold me! You haven't charged me with anything! I didn't do anything, so you've gotta let me go!"

Tannon chuckled as his tall frame stepped around a set of shelves and out of the shadows that had hidden him. "I highly doubt you weren't doing anything, Arthur. I know all too well what you and your boss get up to."

As Arthur laid eyes on the man approaching him, his fidgeting and struggling ceased and his face went quite pale. "You," he said in a whisper.

Tannon's usually gentle features darkened. "Me."

Arthur's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Look, mate… I don't know anything. I swear."

"I don't think that's quite true."

Arthur's eyes darted to the metal shelving, looking desperately beyond it for the door. "It is!"

"I went after Charles Dominic because he went after me. Seems only fair, doesn't it?" Tannon asked as he strode a casual circle around the shivering prisoner.

"You… asked something that was beyond us, mate. We're not murderers-"

"You were hired to ship product, not make decisions," Tannon hissed as he leaned in close. "What were you doing running around upstairs when the police came into your little hideout, hm? Everyone else seemed ready for battle, but not you. What were you doing?"

Arthur took a steadying breath. "Nothing."

Tannon threw a fist into Arthur's midsection and the young man grunted in pain.

"Let's try this then. I know Dominic has something on me or he wouldn't have kept going to the police. What does he have?"

Arthur shook his head. "I dunno," he replied.

Tannon whipped out a switch blade and pressed the blade to Arthur's neck. "What does he have?"

Arthur gauged Tannon's intent in his eyes, then took a huge risk and cried out. "Help me!-"

Tannon struck Arthur hard in the jaw silencing him quickly, but not quickly enough. The doors creaked open heavily and Sergeant Bohnam and a PC rushed in looking panicked.

"Sir, we heard-"

"Everything's fine. Return to your posts. Our little friend here is just causing trouble," Tannon assured with a charismatic smile. He looked seriously back to Arthur then who was trying to focus through the daze he'd been stricken into. "He won't be doing that again, will he?"

Even though the world was spinning, Arthur knew as he stared at Tannon that another outburst would be the death of him. Not that he wasn't already a dead man walking, he thought, but for some reason he still had some small remnant of hope that forced him to grunt a defeated 'no' to the bent Superintendent.

Arhur's boss was the kind of leader one wanted to follow. Charles had a sense of loyalty to his employees you didn't often find on the streets. Arthur's people would come for him. He just had to hold out until then. But as the metal door swung shut leaving him alone with his captor once more, Arthur wondered if that were possible.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

To Be Continued...

-.-.-.-.-.-

A/N: So, it turned out that this wasn't the final chapter. Likely it'll be the next one, possibly an epilogue after that, but we'll see. Thanks for continuing to follow the story despite my long breaks between chapters. My tests and other stuff are done now, so I've got no more excuses for delays! Hope it didn't ruin the flow too much.

Reviews are greatly appreciated! They are both rewarding and helpful, so let me know what you think! Critiques are lovely, flames are dangerous.