Note. A little bit patience, I pray, and all will be revealed. Danger is ahead, but all the figures are already in place and a game is on :) Thanks for all your support and reviews, that is so much encouraging

FIFTEEN

Ranger's POV

'Miles!' I exclaim delighted to see my old combat friend. 'I'm so glad to see you old man. Good you could come on such a short notice.'

Miles seems just as pleased to see me, as he laughs in warm reply. 'You knew I'd come, how could I not?'

We shake hands, and then share a warm hug. Ah, good ol' times, good ol' army life. It's all back, and just for a moment there is only a joy of meeting good friend, all troubles pushed aside.

'How's work?' I ask, and he smiles back mischievously.

'Usual hide-n-seek – they hide, I dig them up. Not as fun as it used to be in our time in the army. Somehow my bosses think that baddies should come in alive.'

He's just as I remember – always hiding a smile in him, just waiting to let it loose, but when needed hard as rock.

'So I take it FBI treats you well then.'

'No complains,' he chuckles. 'You?'

That brings me down to earth. My smile fades away. 'Not so good, but that could change now that you're here.'

'So tell me what you have.'

I motion for him to follow me, and we start walking from the airport to where Tank is waiting parked in a car. En route I start to fill Miles on all the details about Osso, Babe's abduction, and my speculations on some bigger player's involvement to this story. He gives his full attention to what I have to tell; only asking questions now and then for additional information.

'Yeah,' Miles says thoughtfully, 'it's a real mess. If you're right and Diego Marquez's really in this shit, things might get from bad to worst in a flick.'

Tell me that.

My head is spinning, and my whole body is so sore and cold. I lay still and just want for pain to go away, but my stomach is so revolted it's impossible. Wave after wave acids rise to my throat, and I cannot back them as I fight not to choke on my own vomit, which having no escape though my scotched mouth, has to look for another painful exit. The sensation of torture is so exquisite, that I grow helpless fast, and it gets hard even to take a breath.

I'm going to drown in my own vomit, I think. Then all's gone.

Next time I come round I'm cold and sore, my stomach still riots, but at least my head is clearer and I'm able to take in the surroundings. Then this man comes down the staircase to get me. A few endless moments of fear and pain as he drags me, and then the blissful oblivion encloses on me.