AN: Two more chapters after this one! And like I said in Chapter 1, this fic was completely plagerized from The Waiting Game, a Harlequin Intrigue by Jayne Ann Krentz. I totally love the story so of course I stole it, slashed it, and posted it. ...um, sorry?
The drive back into Seattle was the longest and most exhausting travelling Sam had ever done in his life. He decided that the normal stresses and strains of rush-hour traffic are not enhanced by the fact that your passenger is casually holding a gun in his lap.
Nick Sa'mael didn't say much during the drive. He was undoubtedly contemplating his imminent retirement, Sam thought as he navigated the off ramp from the interstate and found the street that led down to the ferry docks.
Sa'mael kept the gun discreetly shielded under a jacket but he kept it aimed in Sam's direction. Sam had a hunch that once he had parked his car on the ferry Sa'mael wouldn't allow him to go up onto the passenger decks. The thought of sitting on the car deck for the entire length of the ferry ride was depressing.
He was right, of course. Sa'mael simply lounged in his corner of the car and watched him speculatively. Unobtrusively Sam glanced at his watch. His timing, at least, was good. If Dean had told the truth this morning, he would be catching the ferry that would be leaving Seattle forty minutes from now. He would have forty minutes to entertain Nick Sa'mael. His fingers flexed uneasily on the wheel.
The whole exercise would be extremely pointless if Dean didn't show up on the right ferry. Halfway across the bay Sam had a wild thought or two about throwing himself from the car and making a dash to the passenger decks. It would be a futile move and he knew it. Even if he chose not to use the gun, Sa'mael could probably run him down easily in the close confines of the parked cars. Besides, Sam reminded himself, that wasn't the plan. He had a much better one in mind.
If it worked. Legends and reality. Where did the truth stop and the legend begin? Perhaps in some cases there was no difference. Perhaps a person just had to make a leap of faith.
'You look nervous, Sam,' Sa'mael observed politely. 'I trust you're not wasting my time with this little chase? It won't do any good, if you are. I know what I'm doing.'
Sam shook his head. 'All I want is for you to take the information about the gold and leave.'
'Sounds simple enough. I do like simple plans; don't you?'
'Yes.' How simple was his?
'Will you dream about the gold you could have had, Sam? Will you think about it occasionally in the future? Wonder what it might have been like to have your hands on your uncle's cache?'
Again Sam shook his head. 'Even if the gold is still there, I don't see how I could get it out. How are you going to accomplish that little feat, Sa'mael? Just walk into that part of the world and tell the current government officials you'd like to do a little digging on their borders?'
Sa'mael chuckled. Sam was learning to hate that poor excuse of a laugh. 'Nothing that obvious. I prefer quieter techniques. I have contacts and I'll have cash with which to grease the way. I'll be going in through Saudi Arabia. That gold must be somewhere near the Saudi-Kuwait border.'
'Gold is heavy. You won't be able to simply hoist it over your shoulder and hike out of the country with it. Not if there's as much there as you seem to think.'
'I'll have help,' he explained absently.
Sam slanted him a curious glance. 'Help?'
'There are men who will undertake a great many risks for a promise of a split of the profits.' He shrugged.
'You'll find some mercenaries to help you get the gold out?'
'They undoubtedly think of themselves as entrepreneurs,' Sa'mael murmured.
Sam closed his eyes and willed the ferry to a faster speed. He couldn't take much more of this unremitting tension. Whether his scheme worked or not, all he wanted to do at the moment was get it over and done with. He didn't see how anyone could live constantly under the stress of genuine danger. It was easy to see how any person might crack.
The ferry docked eventually and Sam turned the key in the ignition with a sense of fatalism. Forty minutes from now, if he was very, very lucky, Dean would be driving off a similar ferry. If he was not so fortunate… Sam pushed the thought aside. There wasn't much point dwelling on that possibility. He would deal with it when the time came.
He drove slowly along the narrow road that wound around the island's perimeter, more slowly than was really necessary. Any time he could eat up this way was that much less that had to be used up at the house waiting for Dean.
For the first time since he had arrived in the Seattle area the weather was finally beginning to live up to its reputation. The day was rapidly turning gray and overcast. A light mist began to fall.
'Come on, let's get going.' With one of his first hints of impatience, Sa'mael moved the gun in an ugly gesture.
Sam tried to think of something calming to say. 'You don't have to use the ferry to get back off the island, you know. You can drive across a bridge on the far side. It's the long way around if you're trying to get back to the airport or Seattle, but-'
'Just shut up. I know my way around.'
Of course he did. He was, after all, a professional. He wouldn't trap himself on an island. Sam pulled into the driveway in front of Dean's house. The windows were still dark, so that removed the possibility that by some miracle Dean had actually arrived home ahead of him. Forty minutes.
'Is it true?' Sam began hesitantly as he slowly opened his car door.
'Is what true?' Sa'mael reached out and snapped the keys from his hand and pocketed them.
'That you really have a chance of getting that gold out of the Middle East?'
'Believe me, I wouldn't be going to all this trouble if I didn't think it was possible.' Sa'mael made a careful outside inspection of the house, reassuring himself that no one was around. Then he cast an amused glance at Sam. 'What's the matter, kid? Having second thoughts about giving me that map?'
Sam stopped at the top of the steps and looked back at the hawk faced man. 'I admit that until now I assumed the gold was completely inaccessible.'
Sa'mael chuckled. 'For years I believed it probably didn't exist at all! Singer hid the truth well behind the legend. He made everyone think it really was just one more wild tale set in the last days of the war. There were a hundred other similar stories and there was no reason to think this one was for real. But a year ago I came across an old file that had been sealed since shortly after Kuwait City was liberated. The one thing that damned war generated was paperwork. Files and memos and reports will probably still be turning up twenty years from now. At any rate this one contained some notes by a journalist who claimed he'd interviewed some villagers in the south. He said they told him a story about an American agent who had worked with them toward the end of the war. They described him as a man who knew how to laugh and how to hold his whiskey. A man who was always telling stories. A man who could sketch your face before you even realized he was holding a pencil.'
Sam caught his breath.
'Exactly.' Sa'mael nodded grimly. 'A perfect description of Bobby Singer. The reporter's notes went on to tell a fascinating story. It culminated in Singer's departure for the Saudi Arabian border with a jeep full of gold. The villagers didn't actually see the gold in Singer's jeep but they did see the share of it he left for them. He apparently stashed it in the village well and told the elders to wait until the Iraqi troops had passed through before digging it back out. Just like Singer to make a grand gesture like that. He was a brilliant agent, but he had some definite weaknesses. When I put that report together with the legend I'd first heard back in 2002, I began to believe I might be dealing with more than just another war tale. It's taken me months to piece together some idea of what might have happened and where. The file with the journalist's notes led to other files. Eventually I knew I was onto the real thing.'
'What happened to the journalist?' Sam heard himself ask.
'He died,' Sa'mael said carelessly. 'An accident down in South America earlier this year, I believe.'
'I see.' He wondered how much Sa'mael had had to do with the 'accident.'
His mouth twisted wryly. 'I do believe I recognize that look in your eyes, little Sam.'
'What look?'
'Greed, kid. Pure unadulterated greed. I saw it in your boyfriend's eyes yesterday and it's in yours today.'
Sam feigned a nonchalant movement of his shoulders and turned to open the front door. There was no sound from within. The house was as quiet and innocent looking as it had been that first night when he'd arrived and searched Dean's study.
'Doesn't your boyfriend believe in locking his front door?' Sa'mael drawled as he followed Sam into the house. He held the gun at the ready while he verified that the place was empty.
'He says there's virtually no crime around here.'
'A trusting soul.' Sa'mael smirked. He took in his surroundings with a quick, professional eye. 'I take it back. It goes beyond trusting. I think we can safely say your friend Winchester is probably a fool.'
'And what about me?' Sam slung his jacket down on the sofa and turned to face Sa'mael.
'Oh, you're very smart, Sam. Very smart indeed, if you're telling the truth.' Sa'mael's eyes hardened. 'Where's the map?'
Sam grabbed for his courage, using all of his willpower to keep his expression cool. 'I've tried to tell you, it's not exactly a map,' he began carefully.
'What the hell are you talking about?' The violence in Sa'mael was very close to the surface.
'My uncle has his own unique way of doing things. You know that. He made sure I'd have the information I needed but he hid it in a unique manner. I don't know how he gave Dean his information, but I think I know where my copy is.' His fists clenched unconsciously. He wondered if Sa'mael realized just how nervous he was.
'Sam, let's not play any games. You'll lose, believe me. Where's the map?'
'It's not a map. I'm trying to explain. It's a sort of… of code.'
Sa'mael stared at him. 'A code? You told me you and your uncle didn't go in for codes.'
'I said we didn't have any prearranged greeting signals.'
'Then what are you saying?'
'I'll show you.' Moving cautiously so as not to alarm the other man, Sam turned and started down the hall toward the study. This business of trying to think two steps ahead of a man with a gun was tricky. Frighteningly tricky. He glanced at the hall clock. The ferry that might or might not be bringing Dean to the rescue had left Seattle by now. His fate was in the hands of the Washington State ferry system. They claimed to have an excellent safety record.
Sa'mael was close behind him as he stepped into the study. The crystal apple gleamed on Dean's desk, still pinning his note. Beyond it the manuscript of Phantom waited.
'There,' Sam murmured, indicating the pile of typed pages. 'Everything you want to know about that gold is in that manuscript. My uncle has jotted down little doodles and notes all over the margins, you see.'
Sa'mael stared first at the stack of papers and then gestured viciously at Sam with the nose of the gun. 'You fucking bastard. What kind of game do you think you're playing?'
Sam hugged himself, trying to master the faint trembling that threatened to weaken his limbs. His head bent forward and a sweep of his hair hid his expression. 'It's there. I promise you. And I know how to get at the information you want. It's in code and my uncle once taught me the code. It will take a while, but I can do it.'
'Why you little fool!' Sa'mael snarled. 'Stalling isn't going to get you anywhere. There's no one around to come to your rescue. If there was any likelihood of that, I'd never have agreed to let you drag me here.'
'No.' Sam shook his head and lifted his chin defiantly. 'I'm not trying to stall. I'm… I'm trying to make a deal. You said you were going to be hiring professional help to assist you in getting the gold out of the middle east. Well, I want you to consider me as hired help, too. I can decode Uncle Bobby's doodles on that manuscript. I can do it here and now, in fact, and prove that what I'm saying is true. In return, I want you to cut me in for a piece of the action.'
He studied Sam derisively. 'You've got your uncle's nerve, little boy, I'll say that for you. Decode the manuscript. What a crock of-'
'It's true,' Sam insisted. 'You know Uncle Bobby. It would be just like him to hide the information so I would be sitting right on top of it all the time. That manuscript was waiting for me at his cabin the other day. It was right out in the open. You'd overlooked it, naturally. He says people always overlook the obvious. But I recognized the doodles on the margins. It's the code he taught me when I was a little boy. It was a game we used to play together. Give me half an hour and I'll have the information you need to find that gold.'
Sa'mael was clearly and dangerously undecided. His eyes slid from the manuscript to Sam's face and back again. 'Half an hour?'
Sam nodded quickly. 'Is it a deal?'
'I can afford half an hour's wait. I was prepared to wait for much longer than that for Singer to return. And your boyfriend is no doubt getting ready to land in Mexico City so there's plenty of time on that end. All right, my greedy little Sammy boy. You've got yourself a deal.'
'You'll cut me in for a slice of the profit?' He had to make it sound real, Sam told himself. He tried to inject just the right note of hopeful greed.
'Sure. Why not?' Sa'mael threw himself down into a chair in the corner. 'Half an hour. And if it turns out that you're lying, little boy-'
'I'm not lying.' Sam sat down slowly behind the desk. From there he was looking through the study door and into the hall beyond. Nick Sa'mael would be able to see anyone who came through the door but from his seat in the corner he could not see into the hall as Sam could. Sam figured he would have a couple of seconds' advance notice if and when Dean arrived. Nervously he reached out and pulled the manuscript toward him.
He found himself staring down at the sketch of the wolf. For an instant it almost paralyzed him. Then, with excessive care, he turned over the first page of Phantom and picked up a pencil.
Time ticked past with a slowness that made Sam think he was waiting for eternity to end. He would have no way of knowing until the last moment whether or not Dean would arrive. Dean would have the warning about the invasion of his house shortly after he drove off the ferry. He would probably leave the car down the road and walk the final few meters, Sam decided. Neither he nor Sa'mael would have the sound of a vehicle to alert them.
Carefully he went through the manuscript, occasionally stopping to jot down a meaningless number or word on the notepad beside him. It would be particularly ironic if there really was a code imbedded in his uncle's margin doodles, Sam decided at one point. A real joke on him. As far as he knew he was looking at nothing more than meaningless notes and drawings.
Time crept past. Outside the window the mist turned to rain. Sam turned on the desk lamp. Sa'mael's eyes never left him as he went page by page through the manuscript. His patience was as amazing to Sam as Dean's had been. Where did they learn that kind of skill? Perhaps some people were just born with it. It was a cinch he wasn't one of those lucky souls. Sam shuddered and turned over another page. He would force himself not to sneak another glance at the clock or his watch for at least ten minutes, Sam decided resolutely at one point. The last thing he wanted to do was give Sa'mael the idea that he was waiting for someone. He kept his head bent over the manuscript for what he estimated must surely be at least ten minutes if not more and then, unable to resist, he slid his gaze upward to the clock on the wall near the door.
He almost didn't see Dean standing in the shadows of the hall. When he did, he thought his breath had stopped errantly. Dean was simply waiting there, watching him in absolute silence. It was as if a ghost had materialized out of thin air and in his odd, light-headed state of mind Sam might have believed just that if it hadn't been for the rain-dampened Windbreaker Dean wore. It took him another instant to see the gun in his hand.
'Something wrong, Sam?' Sa'mael asked conversationally from the corner. He lifted his gun in an easy threat. 'You seem a little tense.'
Sam swallowed and dropped his eyes from Dean's still, shadowed figure to the crystal apple in front of him. 'I've just realized that I made a mistake.'
'Did you?' Sa'mael seemed only politely interested. 'Just what kind of mistake would that be, little Sam?'
Sam picked up the apple and held it so that it caught the light from the desk lamp. 'The information you want isn't in the manuscript.'
'Then you have a problem, don't you, Sam,' Sa'mael said with brutal emphasis.
Sam shook his head. 'No. I don't think so. Not anymore.' He tossed the apple up in the air and caught it again. 'Here's what you want, Mr. Sa'mael.' He tossed the crystal object once more and caught it easily. Beyond the door Dean did not move. He was as still as midnight waiting to descend. Sam couldn't see his eyes but he knew they would be quite colourless.
'I think,' Sa'mael said abruptly, 'That I've had enough of your games, you bastard.'
'Ah, but I'm so good at them,' Sam protested gently. 'What you want is right out here in front of your very eyes, Mr. Sa'mael. As clear as crystal. Just the sort of trick my uncle would pull, don't you think?' With sudden decision he hurled the apple toward the wall.
'What the hell… I've had it with you, kid. I'm going to kill you for this!' Without warning, Sa'mael's patience snapped. He surged out of the chair, his gun trained on Sam but his eyes following the apple as it crashed against the dark paneling.
The sound of the heavy crystal striking the wall and falling to the floor was lost beneath Nick Sa'mael's scream of pain and rage as Dean floated through the doorway and brought the base of the gun down in the direction of the other man's skull. In the split second before the butt of the gun would have made contact with his head, however, some instinct must have warned Sa'mael. He threw himself to one side, tumbling across the desk. Dean's gun struck him violently on the shoulder but it didn't stun him. The weapon Sa'mael had been holding, however, fell to the floor and skidded along the hardwood surface until it struck the edge of a rug.
On the other side of the desk, Sam gasped. He was trapped against the wall as the momentum of Sa'mael's panicked, sliding rush across the desk threw the man toward him. An instant later Sa'mael seized Sam even as he stumbled wildly to his feet. Sharp steel blossomed in his hand. He held the knife to Sam's throat, his arm locking the younger man against his body.
'Hold it right there, Winchester. Come one step closer and I swear I'll kill him.'
Sam couldn't take his eyes off Dean. The temperature in the study seemed to have suddenly dropped by about twenty degrees.
Dean's face was utterly without emotion. It reminded Sam of the way he had watched the fish dying at his feet the other morning on the pier but it was a thousand times more remote. He didn't look at Sam. His whole attention was on the heavily breathing man who was holding the knife to young man's throat.
'Let him go, Sa'mael.'
'You think I'm crazy? He's my ticket out of here. Drop the gun.' He jerked his arm more tightly around Sam's neck. 'I said, drop it, damn you! Think I'm playing games?'
'No, I don't think you're playing games.' Moving slowly and deliberately, Dean took a step forward and set his handgun down on the floor at his feet. The blue steel gleamed savagely in the light of the desk lamp.
'Come on, you bastard.' Sa'mael tugged Sam round the edge of the desk, clearly heading toward the spot where his own weapon had landed when it had been jolted from his hand. 'Move, damn you!'
Sam tried to make his body as heavy and resisting as possible but the feel of the steel at the base of his throat kept him from refusing to cooperate entirely. Sa'mael would use that knife, he knew. Just as he would use the gun when he got his hands on it.
Across the room Dean stood balanced a step away from his own weapon. If push came to shove, Sam didn't doubt but that he'd make a grab for it. Dean watched Sa'mael the way a wolf might watch a circling hyena.
'Your best bet is to make a run for it, Sa'mael. Hanging on to Sam will only slow you down.'
Sam felt the tension in his captor's body as he pulled him toward the gun. 'I've come too far in my search of that gold, Winchester. I'm not leaving without getting what I want.'
'Sam doesn't know where it is.'
'Maybe. Maybe not. I can't quite figure out sweet Sam. But Singer knows where it is, and when he finds out I've got his nephew, he'll bargain.'
'You think so? I've never known Singer to bargain for anything without coming out on top,' Dean said thoughtfully.
'You don't know him as well as I do,' Sa'mael assured the other man. He stopped beside the gun on the floor and his fingers bit abruptly into Sam's shoulder. 'Bend down very slowly, Sam, and pick up the gun, muzzle first. And keep in mind that I'll have this knife at the nape of your neck.'
Sam realize that it would be dangerously awkward for Sa'mael to try scooping up the gun while still retaining a stranglehold on him. The action might give Dean the opening for which he was clearly waiting. So Sa'mael was going to make him pick up the lethal chunk of steel and hand it over politely to replace the knife.
Sam glanced down at the gun and then up at Dean's still, unreadable face. If he gave the gun to Sa'mael, he would surely use it against the one thing that stood between him and the door; Dean.
'Do as I say!'
Slowly Sam knelt, aware of the tip of the knife following his nape. Dean didn't move, his eyes never leaving Sa'mael's face. Sam went all the way down on his knees and reached out reluctantly for the muzzle of the gun.
'Hurry up,' Sa'mael snarled, forced to bend over slightly in order to keep the knife within striking distance of his neck. 'Pick it up and give it to me!'
He wasn't going to get a better opportunity, Sam realized. It was now or never. Handing the gun to Sa'mael was the equivalent of signing Dean's death warrant. He took a deep breath.
Then he threw himself full-length on the floor and rolled to one side, straight into Sa'mael's legs. His falling body covered the gun.
'Damn you!'
The knife flashed as Sa'mael was forced to step backward in order to regain his balance. The blade arced downward, scoring Sam's shoulder. He felt the icy sting of the steel even as he struck his captor's left leg. The pain brought a startled cry to his lips.
'Sam!'
His name was the only sound Dean made. In the next instant he launched himself across the room in a deadly rush.
But Sa'mael was already moving. He hurled the blade straight at Dean, who must have guessed what was going to happen next. Sam opened his eyes in time to see Dean throw himself to one side. The blade whipped harmlessly past and imbedded itself deep into the far wall. The rushing assault had served to draw the snake's fangs.
In the small space of time he had bought for himself, Sa'mael glanced down and seemed to realize he didn't stand a chance if he took another moment to push Sam off his gun. He raced for the door even as Dean dived for his own gun.
Sam gasped in pain, his fingers going to the wound on his shoulder just as Dean leaped for the door. Sam's groan of discomfort stopped Dean as effectively as a steel cable. He whirled and came back to Sam even as the sound of Sa'mael's running footsteps disappeared down the hall.
'My God, Sam.' Dean went down on his knees beside him. 'How bad is it? Let me see.' Carefully he guided Sam to a sitting position, pulling the younger man's face into his shoulder as he pushed aside the shirt.
'I… I don't think it's all that bad,' Sam managed, inhaling sharply as he leaned into Dean. He was trembling. 'It just hurts.'
'I know, Sam,' Dean soothed in a soft growl as he examined the shoulder. 'I know. But you're right. It isn't very deep. Do you think you can handle it yourself?'
'Myself?' Sam lifted his head in astonishment and then realized what Dean meant. 'Dean, you're not going after him!'
'I've got to, Sam. You know that.'
'No, I do not know that,' he retorted. 'Let the police worry about him. It's not your job-'
'Sam, it is my job.' Dean's face was a cold mask, his light green eyes frozen, crystal pools. 'After what he's done to you, I don't have any choice.'
'No, damn it!' Sam raged, grabbing at him as Dean rose to his feet. 'You'll never catch him, anyway. He'll take my car. He's got the keys.' But even as he argued he realized there was no sound of a car leaving the drive.
'I took care of the car before I came into the house. A precaution.' Dean moved away from him, scooping up the gun and starting for the door. 'He'll be on foot and unarmed. This is easy hunting, Sam. Don't worry about it.'
'I don't want you going hunting! Please, Dean, wait….'
But he was calling to no one. Dean had already disappeared down the hall after his quarry.
Easy hunting. Sam's breath caught in his chest. He didn't want Dean going hunting. In that moment he would have given his soul to keep him from pursuing Sa'mael.
Once again Sam remembered the way Dean had watched the fish dying on the pier.
Outside the house Dean paused briefly on the porch, listening. He shoved the gun back into the leather holster he wore at the base of his spine. The rain was coming down heavily now, obscuring visibility. Sam's car stood silently in the drive, unable to function since he'd clipped two strategic wires.
He'd really made a mess of this, Dean told himself grimly as he started down the porch steps at a long, loping run. Everything was coming apart in his hands, and to top it all off, he'd nearly gotten Sam killed. The fury and fear he had felt when he'd realized what was happening inside the study were unlike anything he'd ever experienced in his life. The combination of the two had risen up to choke him, causing him to mishandle the situation badly.
But Sam was safe now. The knife had drawn blood but it hadn't gone deep. The younger man had been too close to the floor, depriving Sa'mael of an easy target.
Sa'mael, Dean shook his head as his sense of logic returned. There were only two ways off the island, the ferry from Winslow and the bridge at the far end of Bainbridge. Sa'mael would head for the highway and try to commandeer a car to go for the bridge. The ferry was already pulling out of its slip on the return run to Seattle. There would be no chance for Sa'mael to catch it.
His hunting instincts told Dean that Sa'mael would stick as much as possible to the wooded terrain until he spotted a car that could be hailed. And he would want to keep moving in the general direction of his goal, the bridge. Panicked quarry didn't think to backtrack or race off along a rout that would seem to be in the opposite direction. When you were trying to escape, the sense of urgency effectively destroyed a good portion of natural logic.
With grave certainty, Dean started toward the woods that bounded the road. He moved silently on the wet ground, oblivious to the rain that was soaking his hair and clothing. He knew he was heading in the right direction when he found the scrap of cloth Sa'mael had apparently lost when he'd blundered into a thick cluster of blackberry bushes. After that, the trail became increasingly easy to follow.
Just like old times, Dean thought with a chill that did not come from the rain. Maybe you could never really leave the past behind. Maybe it stayed with you forever.
He had told himself a year ago that a good, solid, iron-tight cover was the answer. A good cover had saved his life often enough in the past. Logically it should be able to provide him with a new life in the future. He'd had it all worked out, every detail in place, every aspect of his new world under control. He was a writer now, a slightly eccentric vegetarian, a man who could fall in love and marry just as other men and women did. If asked, he could have supplied a complete life history that would have satisfied any inquiring reporter.
The cover had been letter perfect until this afternoon when he'd walked into his study and seen the truth in Sam's eyes. That's when Dean had learned that there was no such thing as a perfect cover.
Sam knew who he was. He'd blown it all when he'd stood in the hall with a gun in his hand.
A good cover, it seemed, couldn't quite cover up the past.
Sa'mael was moving with increasing carelessness. Probably because there hadn't been any traffic on the quite road. Maybe he was beginning to realize that making his way to the other end of the island was going to be very difficult.
Not difficult, Dean thought savagely. Impossible. Sa'mael wasn't going to drive, walk or fly off Bainbridge Island. At least not under his own power. Dean quickened his pace, gliding silently through the rain-wet trees, skirting the berry bushes and listening with every nerve in his body.
In another couple of minutes he heard the first faint sounds of his quarry. Sa'mael might be good but he obviously didn't know much about this kind of fieldwork. He was probably more accustomed to the streets of foreign cities. Most likely he'd never done a lot of real fieldwork in the Middle East or South America. An office spy. A man who worked embassies and cocktail parties.
Easy hunting.
Dean could hear him clearly now. Sa'mael wasn't far ahead of him. What lead he'd had had been chewed into by berry bushes, a driving rain and a woodsy terrain with which he wasn't familiar.
Dean, on the other hand, knew every inch of the woods around his house. He'd walked them often enough, head bent against a cold drizzle, hands stuffed into his jacket. He'd thought about Phantom during those long walks. And he'd thought about the mysterious Sam.
Sam. My passionate, impulsive, loving Sam. Sam, from whom he would have done anything to keep the truth. Too late now. The cover was blown.
A rough, hastily bitten-off oath from the man ahead blended with the steady beat of the rain but Dean heard it. He slipped forward, starting to reach for the gun in the holster at his back. And then he caught sight of the muted, striped shirt Sa'mael was wearing. Sa'mael was having to swerve in order to go around another thicket of blackberry bushes. Dean changed his mind about the gun. Easy hunting, Easy prey.
You should never have touched him, Sa'mael. You should never have gone near Sam. It's going to cost you everything.
Sa'mael trotted to the left, searching for a way around the thorny bushes. He heard nothing as Dean made his silent rush through the trees. In the last second, though, Sa'mael felt the movement behind him. He whirled, clawing at his pocket to withdraw a switchblade.
But he was too late. Dean's body catapulted into his quarry's, bearing both men to the soggy ground. Dean had his hand locked around the fist that held the knife. He crushed with all his strength, hearing something snap. Sa'mael yelled. The knife fell into a pile of leaves.
It was all over in less than a minute. Dean had the advantage and he used it. With brutal efficiency he used his hands to stun his opponent. In a startlingly short period of time Sa'mael lay limp and dazed beneath his attacker.
