Disclaimer:I do not own any of these characters. (Which is rather dorky,because I actually do own at least half of the ones mentioned) :P

Ch.10

"You've got to be kidding me." The words were sharp and unbelieving; coming from a rotund man in a suit standing in front of a tiny glass window looking into a small cell.
"I come here on reports of this madman who's doing more collateral damage than Bourne, and what do I find?"

The man behind him coughed politely.
"Sir, he's been on drugs since he came to keep him from attacking us."

The other man snorted derisively, "I'll tell the agency they're better off disposing of him quietly. You say questioning hasn't revealed anything?"

The other man nodded. "His mind is all confused; even on drugs, he hasn't revealed anything useful. All he mentions is Bourne and a bunch of other names." He paused a moment, as if uncertain to go on, then continued,
"I think he may have had a sort of mental breakdown after he attacked two men who came into the cell the other day. It took at least half a dozen men to contain him. He's been strangely quiet ever since; even off drugs."

The large man turned and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. "I'll tell the agency about this. With the situation in Washington cooling down, they had a plan for him, but I'd recommend scrapping it."

Both men left the room; walking up set of steep cement stairs and out into the warm sunlight. The smaller man accepted the proffered cigarette and they stood silently for a while; lost in their own thoughts. The smaller man broke the silence first, dropping the spent cigarette in the dirt and crushing it under his scuffed tactical boot.
"I hope you mentioned to them that a larger sum was agreed upon because of the… um… damage that was inflicted."

"Don't worry, it's all been arranged," the man promised as he settled a battered hat on his balding head.

They shook hands, then the big man left in a black BMW that was parked inside the courtyard.

1974. Nestled in someone's arms, his eyelids drooped as soft singing lulled him to sleep. In the background, a fan made swishing noises as it slowly oscillated. Suddenly awake again, he squirmed. Where was Lucia? He wanted her to play with him and his new blocks he'd received several weeks before as a present for his 2nd birthday.
Suddenly there were shadows… voices… loud sounds. He strained to see, but was hindered by what seemed a dense cloud. There was the sharp intake of breath, then he was hurriedly deposited on the floor. He didn't mind, the worn wood floor was familiar and comfortable. He was reaching for some brightly colored wood blocks when the air was split with sharp, ringing noises. "Mama?" he fearfully inquired, getting to his feet. Tears threatened to spill from his dark eyes as he tottered along the floor toward the unmoving shape stretched out on the floor in front of him. In the background, he heard the terrified scream of his sister. More ear-splitting sounds came as he reached the shape. He jumped in alarm as their kitchen table was suddenly splintered and wood pieces cut his face.
"Mama?!"

Mama. Paz rolled the name around his mouth, liking the sound of it. He repeated it softly to himself. Mama.

The men looked questioningly at the prisoner in front of them. With multiple scars and a disheveled appearance; he looked like someone not to fool with, but here he'd been muttering incoherently to himself for the last half hour. Shaking their heads, they handed him a stack of clean clothes.

Paz was lost in his own cogitations as he dressed. Mama, Lucia, Mama, Lucia… On and on it went. He stroked the soft blue material of the shirt sleeve. So soft, and the color was beautiful. The blue color stayed in the back of his mind, as if trying to remind him of something, but whatever it was stayed just out of his reach. Blue, Mama, Lucia, Blue, Mama, Lucia…

He sat quietly as they blindfolded him; and walked obediently behind them as they led him. He stumbled over something: a cement step. Somewhere in the background, someone jerked him upright, but he took no notice as he brushed his fingers over the worn cement. Nevertheless, he carefully picked up his feet over the remainder of the steps.

He stalled once they reached ground level: unused to the bright sunlight. They goaded him forward towards a white van. A hint of apprehension bubbled up in him, but the rest of him was so relaxed that he didn't make a fuss. He had to be helped into the back, and once inside, was strapped to the cloth seat. Several other men clambered in also, and then the van moved off.

Paz sat silently; unaware of the talk going on around him, his fingers busily tracing the whorls in his hands.

He had little sense of time, but the ride went on for at least an hour. When he was helped out of the back into the van, they were in a dim hanger overlooking a dusty tarmac set in the scrubby hills.

Several of the men had to help him across the unfamiliar pavement and up the steep steps into the back of the small plane. The pilots came from the hanger and the plane soon took off. Due to the blindfold, Paz couldn't see the scenery or his fellow passengers and the pilots were unable to see him either, as a curtain had been drawn across the back.

It was dark outside as the plane landed again at a private airstrip somewhere in Eastern Europe. Paz was quickly hurried onto a much larger plane and his journey continued.

Other than the distant thrum of the plane engines, it was quiet inside the plane. The men who were with Paz were all asleep, draped over the seats. Unbeknownst to Paz, they had also left the doctor behind at the last stop.

Paz stirred, then slowly raised his head. The blindfold was hot and itchy, and he wiggled his hands, trying to free them. There was a noise, and he went perfectly still. A few minutes passed, and when it was quiet again, he ducked his head and managed to shove the blindfold up a few inches. His eyes blinked furiously as they became accustomed to the light again. He was tired and thirsty, but his bigger concern was how he'd managed to get to where he was. He had little recollection of the long trip, and didn't know what time it was either.

He didn't recognize the men, and wondered why they were with him. Although he didn't know why, he vaguely felt the urge to attempt to get up and away from them. He considered the idea for several minutes, then shuffled his feet and got up. They were tied together, however, and he immediately lost his balance and pitched forward. His tied hands softened his fall onto the seats opposite him, but the sound woke the men, and with a shout, they turned on him.

Startled- though not angry- Paz turned, promptly tripped, and fell forward, hitting his head on the side of a small cabinet. He lay there stunned, blood trickling from a small cut on the side of his head.

The men pulled him up and set him securely back on the seat. As they cleaned the cut, Paz started shaking uncontrollably.

"Someone get him a blanket!" the man closest to him commanded.

"Must be withdrawal from his meds", one observed coldly.

"Maybe," the man beside him corrected, "but more likely shock from the fall."

Someone was kind enough to hunt down a blanket and after wrapping him in it, someone produced medication, and Paz was soon drugged again.

It was raining steadily when the plane landed in Hong Kong. There were two Lexus SUV's waiting for the passengers. Everyone was soaked before the cars pulled out of airport and joined the heavy traffic. The long ride was uneventful. Paz was calm and very quiet again. The men talked nervously amongst themselves the whole ride.

It was past midnight by the time the two vehicles stopped in front of a tall cement apartment building. Paz was quickly pulled out of the car and out from the glow of the bright street lights and into the cool and dark confines of the building. A dirty elevator that barely held all of them took them up thirty-six floors.

Paz absently pushed the cold rice around the plate. He disliked bland, cold, and especially, clumpy food. The calendar on the wallpapered wall behind him told that he'd been here two weeks.

He'd been strangely unprotected here; sure, he didn't know that the tall glasses of water they always brought him were enhanced, that there were cameras in every corner, or that the windows were all barred.

He had the whole room to himself; the other two rooms in the apartment were occupied by the other men who were still with him.

He also didn't know of the war going on about him a continent away. On the one hand were those who knew he'd exceeded any useful purpose he might have served before.

On the other hand, there were those who knew that another man they greatly desired was merely a few blocks away from the grungy building that housed Paz right now. They were content to bide their time and continue with a plan that they'd been working on for the better part of three months. In their own words, it was a chance to 'kill two birds with one stone."

Paz sensed something important was about to happen. Through the thin walls, he could hear constant coming and going. There was talking late into the nights and early the next mornings.

One morning, he was allowed to shower and was given a new change of clothing. Other than a dark pair of pants there was a white t-shirt and a grey hoodie. He couldn't shave, so he kept his bushy beard and nearly-shoulder length hair.

That evening, he followed his handlers out of the apartment and down to ground level; responding obediently to all orders whispered to him by the two men behind him as they walked down the crowded streets.

There was an hour-long ride in the Lexus that brought them halfway across the city and to a sprawling stadium complex.

Paz was bewildered, but compelled to listen to the instructions repeated slowly to him. Then he was handed a small black gun, and let out of the car.

After several weeks of captivity, freedom was surprisingly unexciting. He knew exactly what he needed to do, and nothing; not even his own thoughts buried deep in his head, would stop him.

Thanks for reading! :)