A/N: Sorry about the long wait... While I enjoy writing for you, the 24-addiction is long gone, so this is really only happening because of you, the readers. I don't want to leave it undone ;-). I may not be perfectly happy with this chapter, but I hope you'll enjoy it nevertheless. It contains an interrogation, but it's not gory. Drop me a line of review.

The small red light on the surveillance camera directly above Tony blinked impatiently. While the device swayed from side to side every so often, Tony remained standing under it, out of its sight, and hadn't moved except to put his hands into his pockets. ­The "cell" that he was forced to share with Robin while they worked on the software was just ten feet across, and a table and two chairs held half of that space. As soon as they were alone, Robin eagerly pushed himself between the chairs, switched on the laptop and waited for it to come to life.

Tony watched him. The bastard was acting like nothing happened, though Jack had been sentenced to death, and Michelle pulled into something she had nothing to do with. Tony felt his stomach start to roar at the thought of the crime he was about to commit. He gave a loud sigh, then muttered under his breath,

"You know I ought to kill you right now."

Robin briefly left the laptop alone and turned to Tony. "You know," he paused to snuffle, "you don't help me fix this code, you won't have to. We'll all die."

Tony scoffed, working his chin. Maybe, but I want the pleasure. He folded his arms at his chest, just so that he could hold on to something instead of launching himself at Robin again.

"You seriously expect me to give a damn about what happens to you? "

Robin straightened up, and held his own elbows. "You should," he said, "Because - as of now - I'm your only ticket out of here."

Tony's brown ireses almost disappeared behind his narrowed eyelids. "Bastard."

Robin snuffled again, then drew a chair between Tony and himself and leaned his palms on its back. "Look, I didn't want to do this, but you pushed me. I mean, you saw an ally and you thought that you could... I don't know what the fuck you thought, but the point is, without Jack, you're screwed."

"Ya think?"

Wilson laughed. "Oh, I know you're a Marine. First Lieutenant, congratulations. Now I know you're gonna want to escape, but there's no way you're getting both yourself and Michelle out, alive... You're alone. And you can't pull rank in here. Now, you know I'm an ex military man myself -"

"You're ex Air Force, Wilson. You see any fighter planes lyin' 'round here?" He stepped away from the wall. "Besides, how much combat have you seen?"

"I served long enough -"

"How much combat have you seen?" Tony repeated louder.

Wilson just snuffled.

"Thought so..." Tony whispered. He then stepped a little closer to Robin. "How long did you serve? Six years? Seven? Something's tellin' me you weren't the promotion board's favorite boy."

"Watch it, Almeida."

"Why?" Tony glanced at the camera. "You afraid someone's gonna find out why you really got discharged?

"You're bluffing."

"You sure?" Tony smirked. "You're not the only one who's done the digging, Wilson. NCO? Injury? Honorable discharge? It's all B/S and you know it."

Wilson grinned. "You just screwed up, Almeida. I was an NCO. Staff Sergeant."

Tony held Wilson's stare. "Yeah... For about a week before you got demoted..."

"Shut up."

"Two pay grades."

"Shut up, Spic!" Robin pushed away the chair, which hit the wall with a clang, and at the same time he leaped towards Tony, leading with his fists. Tony readied himself to catch him and K.O. him. Wilson was almost close enough when he suddenly stopped himself and remained standing as if frozen in time. The knuckles on his still clenched fists were white. The veins in his forehead pulsated visibly, both sides of his neck looked incredibly strained - but that was it. He didn't come any closer.

"No..." he whispered, and glanced at the camera. "No, I'm not gonna fall for it... You want me to attack you first. I won't do it."

Tony just smirked.

Robin took a step back, then stuck a finger to Tony's face. "You can bitch all you want, Almeida, but fact is: I am your only chance."

And you think I'm yours, Tony thought to himself. Which is what this is all about.

Robin walked away and klicked on a couple of icons on the laptop. Then he turned to Tony again. "Look... I don't want to die here any more than you do."

That's probably the first honest thing you've said today.

"So yes, I'll do my best to help you two get out, but only if you fix the code. So why don't you stop resisting me and get to work?"

Tony took a few seconds to breathe out, slowly, trying to control every air molecule that left his nose, and thereby, control himself. It helped.

Then he gave himself a push. Though Robin took a step to the side, Tony brushed his shoulder with his own as he walked by. He pulled the second chair away from the table, as if about to sit down, but remained standing, digging his fingertips into the back of it. He raised his head, and set sights on Robin like he did back in sniper school.

"If Jack dies..."

A quick spark of concern flickered in Robin's eyes.

"Or if anything else happens to Michelle... I swear to you on my mother's grave, Wilson... I will kill you."

--

Randy was Kreuk's Hercules, and Ed something like his kid brother; the kind of guys who beat you up first and asked questions later, which was probably why it was the two of them pulling Jack down a corridor right now. Their arms were twelve inch concrete pillars, unbreakable and unmovable. They'd thwarted every Jack's attempt to come free, and he gave up after the third time. He hung between them by his shoulders, not needing to walk at all. They effortlessly dragged him along, as if he were a sledge in the snow. They wore combat boots which marched in unison. The majority of Kreuk's men seemed to be civilian criminals. None of them wore military boots. Jack guessed that Ed and Randy might be different. Mercenaries, possibly. Fanatics? Former security personnel gone rogue? Or maybe it was simpler than that. They could have been wannabes. But before he could decide, they stopped. He grabbed the opportunity and instantly found his footing. Ed unlocked the door, then they shoved Jack inside. As soon as Jack's arms were free, he spun and attacked.

He gift-wrapped a headache for Ed, elbowing the guy's brain into a break-dance inside the skull. Ed staggered backwards just a little, and Jack kneed him in the crotch full force, grabbed his arm and reached for his shoulder, sliding his hand behind Ed's head. Ed tried to punch Jack's genitals and kick his calves at the same time, but Jack, shorter and probably better trained, avoided the attack and pulled Ed forward, taking him down.

Ed wasn't quite on the ground yet when something stabbed Jack's side like a harpoon. Current short-circuited his body like a bolt of lightning, making him let go of Ed and collapse into a momentary darkness. The dark veil refused to go away completely even when the buzzing of electricity announced neon lights coming on above him. It was the rich click of a loaded weapon that made Jack force his eyes open. The barrel of a Smith & Wesson stared him in the face, too close for his eyes to focus on it, so he looked past it and towards the ceiling. A meaty black spider lured in its web, and Jack allowed his eyes to find their focus by finding the spider's legs. The weapon waved a hello, calling his attention, so Jack finally ignored the spider and looked at Randy's ugly face.

"No matter what ya do, Bauer, you a dead man," Randy said behind the firearm. "But if ya make me start shootin' atcha now, I ain't gonna shoot to kill. Ya feel me?"

Jack's injured arm had started to burn again, like the stun gun had awakened the nerves. Unwilling to let it show, he turned his head to the side. Two electrodes were still stuck between his ribs, and two thin wires, one yellow, one red, led to the stun gun that lay on the floor, a few feet away.

Randy brought a boot to Jack's cheek and pressed down. "Ya feel me, man?"

Obeying the pressure, Jack twisted his upper body to the side, managing to slightly relax the strain on his neck. He tried to let out a 'yeah". It came out more like a Mhhh, but satisfied the gunman nevertheless.

"Cool." Randy stepped off Jack's face. "Don't move."

Randy plucked the electrodes out of Jack. While he coiled the cable around the stun gun, Ed took his place by Jack's side. Like a soccer player carrying out a penalty shot, Ed buried his right boot in Jack's stomach. It was a cannonball, shooting all air out of Jack. He grabbed his stomach in pain, but couldn't even cough. He was still fighting not to pass out when he felt someone grab his arms and pull them up. He didn't resist.

Ed dragged him past a bath tub, towards a wall. In another corner was a square area with blue tiles, above which hung a naked showerhead. The stale smell of humidity tickled Jack's nose. There were no windows; whatever vapor was created probably hung in the air forever, eventually getting absorbed by the walls, but there was no mold - yet. When Ed came to a stop, it was between two circular metal hooks which protruded from between the tiles, and each had its own pair of handcuffs attached to them. He dropped Jack's arms to the ground, spread them to the side, and fastened the cuffs around his wrists.

Jack felt like nothing but sleeping, but this would hardly be the time. He perceived the calming sound of water flowing nearby. He glanced in the direction of the sound, where Randy stood and watched the jet of water filling the tub. Jack closed his eyes again, wanting to catapult himself into the orbit. Damned newspapers, he mused. Giving ideas to wanna-be interrogators, they all wanna try it out now. But if we did this to a terrorist at CTU, the media would tear us apart. The rotten cherry on top was Blondie showing up at the door, with a large green plastic bucket hanging from his hand. Damn it. Bad karma.

By the door, Blondie took some time to give Jack a scrutinizing glance. Jack stared back at him without blinking. Blondie eventually grinned maliciously, and stepped in. He threw the bucket to Ed, then fished a see-through plastic bag, the kind that's used for freezing food, from a jeans pocket. He played with it, approaching Jack.

"Well, Ray... I heard you changed your name to Jack, is that right?"

Jack slowly drew his legs up, pulling his knees together, closing the gap between them for protection.

"My name is Jack Bauer," he said, slightly pulling at the cuffs, as if trying to sit up to talk to Blondie. The hooks were stable. Jack let no frustration show. "But I'm not an undercover agent. Not any more."

"Well, you sure got uncovered, buddy," Randy commented.

Jack ignored him and insisted, "I wasn't looking for Kreuk, I wasn't spying on him. I got caught up in this."

"It looked quite deliberate to me when that shovel came flying to my head," Blondie said with a smug look on his face. "I hope you don't believe I forgot that."

Jack shook his head and muttered to himself, "I'd be a fool to believe anything."

"Only the fools die young," Blondie said through a grin. Randy and Ed burst out in laughter.

Funny, Blondie. Very funny, Jack thought but didn't comment.

Blondie then unfolded the plastic bag and stretched it between his hands like a piece of plastic wrap. "I have a few questions from the Boss, Jack. The faster you answer them, the quicker this ends."

Jack just breathed. Through his mouth. In and out. In and out. Deeply but quietly.

"Do it," Blondie said towards Ed, who dipped the bucket into the water. Blondie kneeled down behind Jack.

Here we go... Jack wanted another deep breath but Blondie cut it short with the plastic bag, which he pressed firmly against Jack's face. Ed stepped closer, bucket in hand. Single cool drops rained down on Jack's chest. He lay still, knowing that he couldn't waste energy or air on anything. He sent himself back to the Special Ops days, to the SERE camp, the training in Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape - where he'd learned techniques that he had put to good use over the years; they were part of the reason he was still alive. Back then, when it was his turn to put himself through waterboarding in training, someone promised him, 'You'll never forget this'. And it was true. The mental side of it had forever burned itself into his brain. Now, a couple of decades and many interrogations later, it was time to dig it all up, and survive again. He told himself that he would, but the realistic likelihood of that fully depended on Blondie & co.

Finally, with satisfaction on his face, Ed tipped the bucket. The splash punched Jack's face like an icy rock. The shock contracted his muscles, closing off his throat. Easy, Jack, this is normal, he reminded himself. Stay in control. The water beat his face without mercy, soaking his hair, drenching his clothes and pooling under him. He had to regain control of his body. He somehow willed his muscles to relax and forced his throat to open. As he did, he sucked in the plastic, almost gagging on it. The gag reflex, don't freak out. Stay in control. He tried to open his eyes to look at the bucket, hoping it would soon be empty. Yet the plastic was firm against his eyelids and he couldn't move them. Got to spit out the bag if you don't want to choke on it. He tried. It remained where it was. He waited for the water to stop. It didn't. How good is your lung capacity, Jack? Let's see.

--

Michelle stared at Jack's scribbled note as if it was the magical key to her cell. When her leg told her to sit down, she did, choosing the spot the furthest away from the door. The cut began to itch, and she was scratching the bandage around it when she heard footsteps outside the room. Just before beeps at the door sounded, she shoved the paper slip back into her jeans. She'd forced herself to stand by the time yet another new guy peered in.

He immediately asked, "Everything ok?"

His tone betrayed that the question had been duty, not concern. Michelle gave him a defiant stare. "I couldn't be better."

"Leg ok?"

"Oh, I can check if it still works if you come closer."

He smirked. "Right."

He stood in the door, glaring at her like a vulture, with one hand resting on his belt buckle, and the other one behind him. Then, as if he'd changed his mind, he threw Michelle a bottle of water he'd been hiding. "Here."

She caught it, but didn't thank him.

He scratched his crotch and was about to pull the door closed, when Michelle called after him, "Wait! Where's Tony? Is he okay?"

He glanced to the left and right in the hallway before stepping inside. He approached her, licking his lips like a hungry dog drooling at food. "You know..." he licked his lips again, three feet away from her, "With an ass like yours... I'd be worrying about myself."

He reached over to her, but Michelle slapped his arm, pushing it down and away. "Don't touch me," she told him, moved three feet away from the wall to create some distance, and stretched her arms protectively in front of her, palms to the man.

"Okay," he agreed, nodding, but then suddenly grabbed the bottle of water from her hand. "This comes with me."

"Eric, what are you doing?" another male voice asked from outside the door.

Eric turned to him, "Oh... Marco..." He smiled. "I was just bringing a bottle of water to her. I was just about to leave."

"Good, then leave," Marco said, "And give her the water."

Eric wordlessly obeyed and left the room. Once he and Michelle were alone, Marco gave her a tentative smile. "How are you doing, Miss?"

Michelle had doubt in her eyes, but the tension in her posture visibly decreased. "I'd be better if I were at home in my bed now," she replied, "But I'm okay."

"I'm sorry about all this."

Michelle leaned on the wall again and yawned.

"Did Eric make a move on you?"

"He tried." Her smile widened a little, "But I've seen worse."

Marco nodded knowingly, and glanced behind him for a moment, before confidentially offering, "Look, if you need anything, call for me. Marco."

Michelle slowly lowered herself down to the floor. She couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "All I need, Marco, is to get out of here. With Tony. Can you do that for us?"

He glanced up and down the corridor, then locked eyes with Michelle for a few long seconds. "No, unfortunately, I can't do that now."

Though he'd only whispered the last word, Michelle had caught it. "Now? Wha-"

"I mean, I can't," he raised a palm at her, cutting her off. "Hang in there, Tony is okay."

Michelle nodded, perplexed, and Marco left the room.

--

Inwardly, Jack was screaming. Pressure threatened to pop his eyes out, and his chest seemed ready to implode. His carotis throbbed loudly, like his heart was in his throat. He wanted to eat the damned bag so he could finally breathe. He thought he was only a fraction of a second away from suffocating when the water stopped beating his face and the bag came off. His mind knew that he shouldn't show them any weakness, but the reflex and the will to live were quicker. Hungrily, like there wasn't enough oxygen to go around, he gasped for air, breaking the chains. He blinked almost uncontrollably, like he was struggling against himself to stay conscious.

He suddenly felt awkwardly grateful to his torturers; they'd let him live.

After about a minute, Blondie tapped Jack's cheeks. "Jack. Jack, I need some answers here."

Jack now became aware of the freezing wetness all around him, and noticed he was shivering, from the cold, from the adrenaline, maybe from the panic that he couldn't totally control. He couldn't have been colder if he was lying naked in the snow. When Blondie hit his cheeks, he forced his eyes to stay open. What?

"Jack. Are you a government agent?"

Jack lowly croaked, "No."

"Do you work for the government?"

"The government thinks I'm dead," Jack admitted.

"Really?" Hans crouched next to Jack. "Why?"

Damn it! Jack swore inwardly, wanting to slap himself. Get a grip on yourself!

"Jack? C'mon, man. Don't make me do this again."

Jack tried to make his body stop shivering, to regain control of his muscles, hoping to regain control of his brain. He thought about it for a moment. Yes, he made a mistake, but it hardly made any difference now. If he died, who'd care? Then he'd really be dead. And if he survived, he'd just have to minimize damage and kill Blondie & co first. So he told them.

"Ray Keagan was my cover. I faked my death. I disappeared."

"And why would you do that?"

"Some very bad people wanted me killed."

"I see." Blondie glanced at Ed and Randy. Their faces were empty. They just waited for orders. Hans turned back. "Who, Jack? Tell me."

You wouldn't believe me. Jack shut his eyes tightly, and gave himself time to fill his lungs with air. When he next looked at Blondie, it was defiantly.

"There's nothing to tell."

Hans sighed and stood. "Just when I thought I was gettin' through to you."

He motioned for Ed and this time, stayed back, just watching Ed pour water over their victim. It came, angrier than before. Jack puckered his lips, trying to close off his nostrils, and angled away. Ed countered, constantly changing the angle, speed and the direction of the waterfall. It worked: despite Jack's attempts to keep it out, water found its way into his airwaves. It was impossible to breathe.

--

Bas Kreuk finally had some time to himself. Alone, behind the closed door of his office, he chewed on the last bite of the XL deluxe roast beef sandwich. He enjoyed these moments of peace, one of life's small pleasures. He drank some water from a crystal glass and then leaned in the chair. While slightly turning in it, left to right, right to left and back again, he glanced at his two iBooks. On one, he was tracking the truck delivery in real time, and there had been no irregularities thus far. On the other, a digital stopwatch was counting down to T0.

"93 minutes and counting," Kreuk noted to himself, with a satisfied smile on his face, "Then all my problems will be solved."

His eyes fell on the family photo on the desk. His three ladies prolonged his smile at first. But then he sighed and whispered, "All except one."

He took the wireless phone from its holder and called home. People said that the person on the other end of the line could tell if you were smiling or frowning, so he tried it. He put on a wide smile while waiting for the ring tone. The answer came promptly and Kreuk's voice came out soft.

"Hello, pumpkin," he said.

Danielle Kreuk glanced at the bedside alarm clock. It was 04:28 and she was sitting in her bed, fully dressed, three pillows behind her. Her features were half lost in the soft light coming from the small bedside lamp. When she heard her husband's voice, she took a long drag from the Camel she was smoking.

"Hi," she whispered into the phone receiver while exhaling. She closed her eyes, touching her forehead with the fingers that weren't busy holding the cigarette. "I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier, Bas..." she said, her voice calm and steady, "But you're not making this marriage easy, you know that, right?"

"I do," he admitted, making sure that the smile stayed on his face. "Look, Danee, I know I haven't been home much these days-"

"Try, 'these months'," she interjected and adjusted the collar of her creamy silk blouse, then pulled her warm, black robe back over her chest again.

"Okay, lately," Kreuk agreed and stood, beginning to slowly pace the room. "But I'm doing this for us," he cooed, picking up the family photo from the table and looking at the Sleeping Beauty Castle on the photograph.

"Oh, don't give me that," Danielle protested. She reached for a black glass ashtray that stood on the bedside table, between a red cell phone and two packs of Camels. She put out the cigarette in the middle of at least ten other butts. "That's the lamest excuse, Bas, and it's the most common one among cheaters."

Kreuk's smile faded. "It's not an excuse, pumpkin. It's the truth."

"Right." Her long blond ponytail hopped up as she threw her legs over the edge of the bed. She grabbed the top cigarette pack, which was almost empty, and lit another cigarette. She took a moment to blow the smoke high towards the ceiling. "You know what the best thing you could do for us is? Come home. Be home. With me, Jeannine, Maggie. That's what would be good for us, Bas."

"Pumpkin..."

She didn't allow him to interrupt. She pointed the cigarette away from her as if she were gesturing at Bas himself. "What's the point of having a father when you never see him? You keep going like this and Maggie won't even remember what you look like."

"Danee..."

"No, I mean it! You're missing their childhood. I'm already half expecting them to look at our wedding photo and ask me who that tall man next to me is."

"Danielle!" he shouted, drawing energy from a half crouching position, like a boxer delivering an uppercut from his hips. "You make sure that doesn't happen!" he added, a bit more calmly.

"Don't yell at me."

"I'm sorry." He clenched his free fist and mock-punched it into the wall in slow motion. "I didn't mean to."

She took another drag from the cigarette and said nothing.

"Look, I love you, and I adore the girls," Bas sat down in the chair. He tried to sound fragile. "Don't hurt me like that, pumpkin. I'll be there to watch them grow. Just give me some time to get this job done. Can you do that?"

"If only I knew just what it is you're doing," she commented, more to herself.

He poured himself a shot of whiskey. "You know I can't tell you that. It's classified."

"Right," She laughed out loud. "So, now you're with the CIA or something?" She rolled her eyes and leaned forward. "Look, it's none of my business if you don't want it to be. But if you're cheating on me, Bas, I will not tolerate it. I won't."

He gulped down the whiskey while she was talking, and now smiled again. "I would never cheat on you, pumpkin... See you tomorrow?"

"Bas, it is tomorrow."

He glanced at the countdown on the iBook. 87 minutes. "I have to go. Love you."

Danielle hung up.

--

Jack was coughing, spitting and vomiting water to the ground. He hated this feeling in his forehead. Water that had gone in through his nose was still where it wasn't supposed to be, giving him a headache. It was just like when he turned the wrong way in the pool when diving as a kid, and coming back up, half drowning.

Before he could completely recover, Blondie started to press for answers again. "Jack, who are the people who wanted you dead?"

Jack breathed out explosively through the nose, managing to get rid of some liquid.

"Bauer! What are you doing in Santa Rosa? Who are you hiding from?"

Screw you. You already know more than you should. Jack coughed again. He had to clear his airwaves now if he wanted to survive another drowning attempt.

Ed kicked Jack's side. "Jack, get a grip!"

The kick caught Jack off guard, but no rib cracked, so he tried not to acknowledge the pain.

"Bauer. Who wanted you dead?"

At that moment, Kreuk walked in. Blondie wordlessly let Kreuk through, and the boss took position to the left of Jack, away from his free legs.

"Has he given you anything?" Kreuk asked.

Blondie nodded, "He says that he doesn't work for the government any more, and that the reason he was posing as a logger is that some people from the government wanted him dead. Says he faked his death, so they would leave him alone, but he wouldn't say who they are."

Kreuk nodded, glanced at Ed and Randy and ordered, "Hold his legs."

Randy and Ed grabbed one leg each and sat on it, fixing it to the ground. Kreuk strode to Jack's middle. Heel slightly resting on the floor, he lowered the ball of his foot onto Jack's private parts, squashing them.

Jack refused to scream but the pain made him see stars.

"Who wanted you dead, Jack?"

The pressure grew, as did the pain, while Kreuk put more and more weight into the foot. Jack tensed all his muscles, gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, rattling the handcuffs.

"Who are you hiding from?"

Jack stopped breathing, holding his breath to avoid increasing the pain. He swore to himself he'd kill Kreuk if he survived this. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Kreuk took his foot off Jack's privates. He stared at Jack without a trace of sympathy, then walked away. Ed and Randy let go of Jack, and he reflexivelly pulled his legs up towards his stomach, but had to stretch them again. The pain was hell. He didn't even really hear Kreuk order Blondie to stop wasting time already and execute him.

--

While Tony was scrolling through the entire code yet again, trying to catch any pointless changes Robin might have made to it, another part of his mind couldn't stop rotating around something else. Michelle. His greatest love, and, ironically, his greatest weakness. A weekness so unscrupulously exploited by men like Saunders, Wilson and Kreuk. Men who seemingly stopped at nothing to achieve their goals. Tony hated giving in to anyone, but where his head might have been stronger, his heart was weak. He couldn't help it. It almost seemed like the only way to avoid getting targetted was not to love at all. To stay detached from everyone and anyone. It was like the only way to keep Michelle safe would be to leave her, stay away from her, break her heart in order to keep her alive.

Tony couldn't do that.

Jack could do that. Jack had done it. With Teri, Kim, Audrey, anyone. He could totally switch off his emotions when push came to shove, and do his job. Tony never necessarily strived to be more like Jack, but sometimes he did admire the trait. Except when it came to Michelle.

He stopped looking at the code for a moment. Was Jack even alive? Kreuk had ordered him interrogated and killed, Tony had heard that much. But he couldn't do anything about it. Jack was on his own. Would he really wind up dead? Normally, he could take care of himself. Tony hoped he still could.

Robin's millionth snuffle brought Tony's mind back around, and he started scrolling down again. Would Robin really help them get out if he got the chance? Would Michelle be okay? Or would Kreuk just kill them all once the software worked?

Speak of the devil, Tony thought when the electronic lock clicked and Kreuk appeared in the doorway. Wilson snuffled, startled, then, like a Jack-in-the-box, jumped from the chair to the Attention position with his hands at his sides.

"Gentlemen, progress report," Kreuk said curtly.

Tony turned in the chair, but bit his tongue and said nothing.

"We're almost done, Sir," Wilson reported.

"Define 'almost'."

"All we need are a few more minutes."

"Very well. And dispense with the military stance."

Tony had to swallow a laugh. Butthead. That's what you get for sucking up.

Robin relaxed. He had the look of a king's jester after a failed joke.

Kreuk looked at Tony. "Will it be completed in ten minutes?"

"It should be, Mr. Kreuk." Robin replied, in a soft voice.

"Almeida, will it be completed in ten minutes?" Kreuk repeated.

"Uhm..." Tony stalled a little, taking the time to glance at Robin who couldn't hide surprise and contempt at the fact that Kreuk was talking to Tony instead of him. "Yeah, it should be."

"Very well."

Kreuk was about to close the door again, when he seemed to change his mind. "Oh, and Almeida. Your friend, Jack Bauer, has five minutes left to live. Say a prayer for him."

Tony felt his heart sink a little. He wanted to do something - but what? Charge forward, straight into Kreuk and the open door and try to find Jack before he was shot? Possible. But much likelier was that the only thing he'd find was a bullet with his name on it - if he was lucky. And after that, the same thing would happen to Michelle.

"Are you sure he can't be useful to you?"

Kreuk smirked, "He's outlived his usefulness."

Tony sighed. Jack had always considered himself expendable. Now was the time for Tony to accept that concept, even if he didn't agree. So the only other thing that he did was ask, "Where's Michelle?"

"She is in the exact same location where you last saw her. And she is doing well." Kreuk tapped his watch. "Ten minutes, Almeida. Ten. Not eleven. I am waiting."