AIDEN.

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews for this story I know I say it every time but I really do appreciate every one. Thanks to my friends Amanda Hawthorn and Jedi Skysinger for reading through parts of this chapter and to Jedi Skysinger for managing to fit in a Beta for me during her busy schedule.

Chapter Eleven, Between The Devil and The Deep Blue Sea

While Jesse was sitting chained to a table in an interrogation room somewhere in Miami and Fiona was standing out on the penthouse terrace of the Tallahassee Regent hotel waiting for Sam Axe to finish sweet-talking his girlfriend, Michael Westen was standing face to face with Tom Card, resisting the urge to give the smirking bastard a third eye.

"I'm proud of you, son."

As soon as Card had said those five words, Michael's trigger finger had twitched. It was killing him, but Card was right. If he did what every fiber of his being was demanding, he would destroy the lives of everybody he cared about. He had to maintain control and find another way to take the murdering sonuvabitch down.

So instead of emptying the clip from his SIG into his old mentor, Michael forced his mouth into a toothy smile while pushing down the hate and the bloodlust which coursed through his body. Reluctantly, he engaged the safety catch and returned his weapon to the waistband of his dress pants.

"So, what now?" he asked softly, his eyes never leaving Card as the older man cautiously crossed to where his breakfast was laid out on a small table made of glass and metal.

"Come, sit and we'll talk about our future while I eat."

Michael didn't move. He wasn't sure he was capable of sitting down calmly over a table laden with food, and sharp cutlery, while discussing working with the man who had caused him so much grief.

An image of Nate's broken and bloody body swam before his eyes and his mother's hate filled accusations rang in his ears. His hand twitched again as his heart cried out for him to take revenge.

"Hey!" Card whistled shrilly. "There's no time to day dream. Take a seat and pin back your ears."

Michael flinched at the noise, but quickly pulled himself together. Now was not the time; revenge was going to have to wait. He had no doubt that Card had people standing outside the door to the room ready to take him down if he put one toe out of line. So with a tight rein on his emotions, he made his way smoothly across the room to take the seat Card gestured to.

"I won't be your mercenary, Tom. You can throw me in prison, but it won't change a damn thing."

Card reached over to pick up a croissant. "How about Porter? Are you ready to have him thrown into the cell next to you?" he asked.

His old mentor tore the pastry into three pieces and continued. "And what about your girlfriend and – the guy with the chin? Where are they, by the way? We're covering the hotel and the marina, so either they were never here or they've cut and run."

"Jesse's done nothing jail worthy and the rest of my team are – none of your business," Michael answered stiffly.

Card took his time, wiping away the crumbs from his mouth with a napkin before picking up a thin manila folder and tossing it casually across the table onto the younger man's lap.

"When you chose to involve Cowley, and I know you were behind the call that got the head of the IOC panties up in a bunch, I had this file put together."

Michael opened the folder and skimmed the report that detailed how he and his friends murdered a CIA tactical team and a Panamanian militia unit during a raid on suspected drug traffickers. There was plenty of evidence to show that he had gone rogue and was a danger to national security with the others acting as his willing accomplices.

"It was a bit of a rush job I admit, but by the time the good Congressman comes back with more questions, I'll have a nice fat dossier filled with all your misdeeds: communication logs, grainy satellite images and stacks of vague intelligence reports, which I can have point any way I chose."

"This?" Michael closed the folder and tossed it back onto the table so it landed on Tom Card's breakfast plate. "It's all a pack of lies."

"But can you prove it?" Card smirked back, wiping his scrambled eggs off the stained cardboard without missing a beat.

Michael raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Had Card just admitted to handing falsified documents to a Congressman?

Satisfied he had made his point, Card sat back. "I don't think of you as my mercenary, Michael. I want you to know that... I want you to work with me... I'm even willing to make you a peace offering."

The older man waited, but Michael didn't answer.

"Agent... Dani …. Pearce," Card elaborated.

"What about her?" Michael asked warily.

"She's in a lot of trouble... You could help her, if you agree to help me with a little problem first."

"Last I heard, Agent Pearce was in Mumbai, chasing down counterfeiters."

"Yesterday evening, I got wind of an emergency meeting." He tossed another file over to Michael. "Here are the highlights. A terrorist cell has taken over three hotels in the city of Mumbai. Staying in one of those hotels was a team of CIA fraud investigators headed up by your ex-Agency contact."

Michael shook his head. "It's a sixteen hour flight; we'd never get there in time. The Indian army will get everybody out."

"There are already reports of hostages being killed in one of the hotels and I understand the Indian security services are refusing permission for us to send in a team to retrieve our people. They claim it is a strictly internal matter."

Michael bit down on his lower lip, as he realized the seriousness of the situation. If the terrorists realized they had CIA agents amongst the hostages – it didn't bear thinking about.

"There is a man in Mumbai holding valuable intelligence... I need that information. If you bring him out for me, there will be a place on the return flight for Pearce. It is up to you, Michael. Prison for you and your team and anybody else I can hang charges or you do me this tiny favor and help out the woman who nearly destroyed her own career helping you out."

Michael stared at his ex-friend and mentor, his mind rapidly weighing up his options. He knew full well that he had no way out. He had put his head in the noose as soon as he kicked down Tom Card's door. He should have just shot the bastard and taken his chances.

Jesse's situation was in flux until he made the decision whether or not to sell his soul. Could he let the younger man rot in a prison cell? He still didn't know if Jesse had been able to get the evidence they needed.

Sucking in a deep breath, Michael turned his thoughts to the rest of his team. Sam and Fiona were safe for now, but for how long? As soon as Fiona woke up and realized he had gone, she would come looking for him. Sam knew where Card liked to stay when in Miami and they both knew his present state of mind. So, it wouldn't take them long to work out where he had gone and come after him. He glanced at his wrist watch and bit down on his lip. They could already be on their way back to Miami.

Closing his eyes, he took a moment before getting back on subject. Card was watching him closely. He couldn't afford to be caught day dreaming.

"So, who's this man and what does he have that's so important?" he asked.

Card sighed and pushed his chair back a little so he could straighten his legs. Michael felt uneasy as the older man stared back at him, his expression cold and calculating as he decided how much information to pass on.

"All you need to know is that until my asset is safely on board a flight to the US Agent Pearce is on her own."

"If it's just a case of getting him on a flight, why don't you –?"

"Because now I have you and Porter to go for me."

"Leave Jesse out of this. You know me. I stand more chance sneaking in and out alone. Besides, Jesse was a field agent for what? A year? He has no experience in -" He was through dragging his friends into his fights. If he could convince Card to leave the younger man out of it –

"No, the job requires a two man team. To be honest, it probably requires a full tactical unit, but that's not going to happen. It will be you and Porter, two burned spies acting alone. If the rescue goes all to hell, you and your friends are on your own."

Michael stared pointedly at the documents outlining the mission, hoping he could delay answering while he thought through his response. Card couldn't have known they were back, nor that he would turn up when he did.

"You had this mission outlined before you knew I was back. So, why don't you go with your original team?"

"My original team didn't include Michael Westen. Take it as a compliment... Actually take it any way you want. Doing this job shows me you're willing to work with me and it allows you to protect your friends from a nationwide multi-agency manhunt... So what d'ya say, son?"

There was that word again: "son." Frank Westen was dead, Larry Sizemore, too. Tom was the last of the unholy trinity of self-serving evil bastards who each had wanted their own version of what was "best" for him. His family was dead to him now. Nate was gone, his mother had as good as disowned him, so what possible use did he have for this last father figure?

Michael pressed his back against the chair to stop him reaching for his gun and laced his fingers on his lap to prevent himself picking up a nearby butter knife and stabbing it into Card's eye.

As if he could tell what the younger man was thinking, Tom Card edged his chair further back before beginning to speak. "I know you want to fight me. It must have been hard on you to put away your gun without shooting me. I understand all that, Michael. I really do, but..."

Blinking away the memory of Nate bleeding out on the pavement, his brother's scared eyes staring up at him, pleading with him to make it right….

"But, deep down, I know you understand everything I've done is for the good of this country. I had the trigger pulled on a couple of bad guys and we no longer have to roll the dice on a coupla really bad conflicts. You know how that goes, dontcha Michael?"

Or the look of grim determination on the face of Aiden Malloy as he forced his bullet riddled body closer the men trying to kill his family…

Michael choked back the rising bile and managed to slowly nod his agreement. Over the years, he'd heard the same argument from Larry Sizemore, Vaughn Anderson and Anson Fullerton. Unsanctioned kills, under the table deals and, pretty soon, you thought you knew better than the government you signed up to serve.

How many of the agents Tom Card trained had he corrupted over the years? There had been a time when he too would have done anything his mentor asked without question.

"I'll have to speak to Jesse, explain how this works."He was going to have to convince Tom Card he was on his side while he got enough evidence to get the crazy bastard locked up for the rest of his life.

"Before you do that, I'd like you to make a call." Card smiled. "To let the rest of your team know to stand down, that we're all friends now." He held out his cell phone for Michael to use.

Michael took the phone, his eyes narrowing. "You want me to call them so you can trace the call?"

Card wasn't fazed. He remained relaxed, wearing a patronizing smirk. It was obvious to anyone with a brain that he had won. Michael had no moves left on the board. "I want you to call them so they don't do anything stupid. Your girlfriend is well known for her volatile nature." His former mentor leaned forward, the good humor fading from his eyes. "I'd hate for something to happen while you're away because your friends hadn't got the memo about our arrangement."

"Fine, I'll make a call." Michael agreed. Getting to his feet, he pulled open the balcony doors. "I'd like a bit of privacy, if you don't mind."

"Make the call. I'll finish up and then I'll take you to meet up with Porter." Card was happy again. Getting to his feet, he headed for his bedroom to finish getting ready for a day at the office.

Michael stood looking out over the marina filled with expensive yachts. The sky was overcast, the sun not yet high enough to burn away the cloud. A gentle breeze brushed over his face, cooling his skin.

Gripping Card's cell phone tightly in his hand, he tried to think of the best way to handle the call. There was a strong possibility that Sam and Fiona would no longer be at the hotel. Noting it just after eight as he glanced at his watch, he remembered the wire he was wearing. Card hadn't searched him or mentioned anything about catching Jesse with a recording of their earlier conversation. Had Jesse managed to conceal the evidence before he was captured? He couldn't allow himself to hope, not yet, not until he had gathered enough evidence to put in to the hands of Bill Cowley.

With a sigh, he steeled himself to make the call. He just had to hope they were still at the Regency and understood his message.

"Fiona," he breathed out her name. He knew it was her before she had a chance to speak a word.

"Michael?" Her own voice came back as little more than a whisper.

"I'm alright," he blurted and then took a breath to steady himself to do what was necessary. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you." He stopped again, closing his eyes just for a second. He wanted to say "I didn't mean to let you down." But all that came out was, "let you."

He had to pull himself together; he was giving Card's people far too much time to find the location and get a team there. "Look, it's gonna be alright. I want you and Sam to lay low."

"Michael, what have you done? Where are you? We're on our way to Miami. We'll -" He could hear her panic and the hint of building anger.

"No! Stay where you are, you're safe. Please Fi, honey, do what I say... I'll see you soon... I promise... Bye Fi."

"Michael!"

He had heard the feral howl, but ended the call without another word. He could imagine Card sitting in his bedroom, already on the phone to whatever contacts he had close to Tallahassee. By his own estimation, his friends had less than thirty minutes to get out of the hotel before they were faced with a tactical team.

()()()

Fiona slammed the phone down, her eyes wide. "He said we should stay here, that we were safe and then he called me honey!"

"Damn," Sam growled and looked wildly about the penthouse checking they were leaving nothing behind. "We've gotta get out of here now!"

Fiona nodded and, without a word, rushed back to call the elevator up to their floor. As soon as the doors slid open, she threw their bags inside and held the door open for Sam to join her.

"You think you can keep up?" she asked, not liking Sam's pallor or the little beads of sweat trickling down his forehead.

"With you? Not a problem, sister." He tried to grin, but the effort was too much.

"Good, cuz I'm not dragging your sorry carcass all the way back to Miami." She drew her H & K handgun, pointing it at the doors as they slid open.

The parking garage was clear. Returning her gun to her purse, Fiona grabbed up the heaviest of the bags and left Sam to carry the other in his left hand while he keeping his injured right arm close to his body.

"When I was looking out from the terrace, I saw a small cafe across the street from the hotel. It's an ideal spot for you to watch out for the bad guys while I go find us a ride," Fiona spoke as she led the way out onto the street and into the cool winter air of Northern Florida.

"From across the street? You don't think they'll see me?" Sam huffed.

"You can sit inside. Besides whoever is coming for us isn't going to be looking for us outside the hotel."

Reaching what turned out to be a small coffee shop, Fiona dumped her bags down next to Sam and fished out the last of her money from her pockets.

"It should be enough for a coffee," she told him, her eyes focused on the front of the hotel.

"Don't take too long finding the ride," Sam grumbled. "And nothing flashy." But Fiona was already on her way outside.

Walking along the pavement, filled with pedestrians, most of them on their way to work, Fiona couldn't help but think about the phone call.

Michael would have never used a code unless it was the only way to get a warning out. The endearment only told them he was in deep trouble and that they needed to run. It didn't tell them where he was, or what trouble he was in. She guessed it had to do with Tom Card. The code word also didn't tell them what had happened to Jesse. Regardless of the danger, they had to get back to Miami to find the answers.

Suddenly she found herself caught up in a crowd of workers on their way into a large modern building. Pushing through the men and women, bumping into as many of them as she could while she forced her way through, she came out of the other side of the crush with a cell phone and two wallets.

Smiling at her cunning, she dropped the phone into her purse and quickly checked the wallets, removing the cash and counting out a total of ninety six dollars.

Not bad for a few minutes work. Thankfully, Michael's various little side jobs had helped to keep up her pick pocketing skills.

Reaching the end of the block, she turned a corner and discovered the buildings parking lot full of cars which nobody would notice gone until after five o' clock in the evening.

For once Fiona ignored the high performance cars and the newer models or high end vehicles. As she walked casually along the rows, she pretended she could hear Michael's voice in her ear, lecturing on the right type of getaway vehicle to avoid the attention of law enforcement.

A ten year old Toyota Camry caught her eye and within two minutes she was driving it away, passing by the unmanned security gate. She had no idea where the guard had gone and couldn't have cared less.

As she came to a stop outside the coffee shop, she saw two large SUVs with blacked out windows pass her by before screeching to a halt at the front of the Regent Hotel. Gasping as another cramping pain hit her stomach, she closed her eyes and breathed through the pain until her muscles relaxed. If she'd had the time, she would have visited the Regent's chef and force feed him every plate of tuna salad she could find.

Staying hidden in the car, Fiona opened her eyes in time to see men in suits come out of the vehicles and rush into the hotel. Running her tongue over suddenly dry lips, she checked her watch. It had taken these men only slightly more than fifteen minutes from Michael's call to turn up at the hotel. What the hell have you done, Michael?

Knowing she wasn't going to find an answer to her question sitting in a stolen car on a Tallahassee street, Fiona climbed out of the Toyota just in time to help Sam with the bags.

Moments later, Fiona quietly slipped the Toyota into the stream of rush hour traffic. As she drove, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she used the other to reach into her purse and pull out the "borrowed" cell phone.

"You'd best call Elsa and tell her it's time to get out of Miami."

"This clean, Sticky Fingers?" Sam queried as he took the phone, turning it over in his hand.

Privately he marveled at Fiona's skills. In less than ten minutes, she had stolen a phone and a car and god only knew what else she had managed to stash away in her purse.

"It won't have been reported missing yet, if that's what you mean," she answered.

Satisfied, Sam wasted no time putting in the number to Elsa's burner phone. "Hey, baby, er…. we've hit a little problem at this end... It might be for the best if you take that little trip outta state we talked about."

"Sam, what's happened?"

"I can't get into it now. I'm sorry..." He blinked away a stray tear.

"I'll leave soon. I've just got -"

"No! You have to leave right now. I'm sorry, Elsa baby, but -"

"It's alright, Sammy. I'll cancel the meeting I - I'll go stay with that girlfriend I told you about. I'll leave once I've made a call."

"Thank you," he sighed into the phone.

"My pilot called... He's on his way. I'll make sure there's a car waiting for you when you land." He heard her suck in a deep breath. "Sam, take care... Come back to me in one piece."

"Sam," Fiona interrupted, tapping the face of her watch and reminding him about spending too long on a call.

"I've gotta go now, sweetheart. I'll see you soon... Love you."

"I love you, too, Sammy."

He had never felt this way about a woman before and he was sure he was going to lose her over all this mess. Elsa Dearbon was a high class lady. She had men lining up to take her out, Rich, powerful men who didn't get involved in shoot outs and wouldn't drag her into CIA investigations.

"Elsa's ride will be waiting for us on time. She's going to take a trip to DC stay with a girlfriend who's married to a civil rights attorney," Sam told Fiona.

Fiona laid a hand over Sam's and spoke softly. "She'll be safe."

Sam nodded sadly before closing his eyes and resting. He was pretty sure this flight back to Miami was going to be his last chance to rest for some time.

()()()

Following his escort into yet another drab windowless interrogation room, Jesse took the only seat in the room and looked up at the female agent who had barely spoken a word to him during the long walk through whatever building he was being held in.

"Get comfortable, Mr. Porter. You maybe here for a while," she smirked, turning away to leave him alone with his thoughts.

"Hey!" Jesse called out. "My mouth, it's a little dry... Any chance of a Diet Dr. Pepper? Or some water, if that's all you've got." He smiled as her back stiffened at his words before she stalked away disappearing around a corner.

Settling back to survey his new surroundings, Jesse noted the room was much like the one he had been held in before; however, the lack of handcuffs was a pleasant change as was the open door which allowed him a view of the hallway, a view which unfortunately included a large muscular man in a tight fitting suit.

Outwardly, Jesse worked on looking calm and unconcerned by his treatment. He was pretty sure this extremely light touch wasn't going to last for much longer and knew better than to show any sign of weakness that his captors could use later to break him.

Inwardly, he was worried about not only what had happened to Michael, but also what Michael might have done. Ever since Tyler Grey's admission that Tom Card was the one who ordered Anson's death and in the process got Nate killed, Michael had become one scary SOB. The cool headed spy who always had a plan had changed into a man running head long into one disaster after another. He should have never let Michael out of that elevator

The sound of footsteps in the corridor had Jesse sitting up and looking out of the door in time to see the guard spring to attention. Seconds later, Jesse was on his feet, his mouth hanging open as he stared with disbelief at the sight before his eyes.

Michael with a smile on his face standing facing Tom Card, the older man patting the younger on the arm before shaking his hand. Then as Card turned to walk away, Michael moved calmly towards him.

"Mike! What the hell is going on?" Jesse covered the distance to the door in three long strides only coming to a stop when the guard held out a hand palm outwards to stop him approaching.

"It's okay. Let him go," Michael spoke to the guard and, to Jesse's surprise, the man stepped away.

"Jesse, we need to talk." Michael entered the room and closed the door behind him. Just by looking at the older man, Jesse could see that Westen was in full CIA mode. "Card has a job for us – and I said yes."

"What? Are you crazy?" Jesse wasn't sure if it was his hearing that was going or if Michael had truly lost his mind. Card tried to kill them!

"I've got all the details. I'll fill you on the flight." Michael ignored Jesse's outburst, speaking as if it was all a done deal.

Lowering his voice and stepping in until his face was inches off Michael's, Jesse hissed into his friend's ear. "So, what? We're Card's lap dogs now? What happened to getting the goods on that piece of scum and handing it over to Cowley?"

Michael pushed him back, his features set in hard uncompromising lines. "We're doing the job because it's the only way to save Agent Pearce's life."