A/N:

DODGING RAINDROPS

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Chapter Fourteen

Daily injections of hallucinatory drugs, while being kept in a sensory deprivation tank... Starvation... Withholding fluids for days at a time... Inducing seizures severe enough to send the subject into a coma... The use of highly addictive experimental drugs to keep the subject docile and prevent more seizures and heart failure as the interrogation sessions began...

Fiona's face was frozen in anger, a desire for bloody vengeance burned through her small frame as she listened to Markov detail his interrogation techniques. She knew deep down she should set aside her own feelings of pure hatred until they got the information they needed.

He was very close to a total psychotic break and then I would have...

Finally she could take no more.

"Aaaarrggghhh!... You crazy bitch, I'm answering your questions!" Markov howled.

A stamping strike by a small but heavy boot to Markov's knee cap, had driven the bone out of place and left him writhing in agony on the floor.

For ten minutes Fiona had listened to Markov explain his interrogation techniques, before finally snapping. Bile had risen in her throat as he spoke of Michael as if he was nothing more than a favorite lab rat. His gloating voice filled with pride made her realize exactly how much he had enjoyed tormenting Michael and she had had enough.

The pop and crunch of a kneecap being driven out of joint had not soothed away her utter disgust, and she moved forward to continue her attack.

"O—kay crazy lady," Sam drawled putting himself between Fiona and the source of her hatred. "Why don't you go check on Mikey while I talk with the sadistic bastard."

"Have you been listening to what he's been saying?" She spat the words out, preparing to knock Sam out of the way. "What he did... He deserves to..." The words spluttering out of her mouth while she reached into her waistband and drew her Walther.

"FI-O-NA." Sam talked over her, "step outside with me for one minute...Please."

She didn't move, the safety was off and her finger was inside the trigger guard, narrowed eyes focussed on the sorry excuse for a man curled up on the floor. In her mind she was already picturing a neat little hole in between Markov's eyes.

"Just step outside, for thirty seconds. If you want, you can come back in afterwards and shoot him a couple of times." Sam took a limping step towards the bedroom door.

With an angry huff she followed him out of the room. "What is it Sam? You can't possibly want to listen to what that animal has to say."

He took a deep breath, part of him agreed with Fiona and wanted to put a bullet straight through Markov's head. But they needed answers, and the only way they were going to get them was to push personal feelings aside and remain calm.

"Fiona, I think you should go help Billy with Michael."

"I was fine in there Sam." She replied coldly.

"No, you were about to kill him. I've got this covered, and I really think one of us should be with Mikey don't you?" He added, offering her a way out. Killing Markov might make her feel better but it wouldn't help Michael and if she insisted on staying in the room the skinny little man was not going to last another five minutes.

"Sam," she smiled, trying to convince him to see things her way.

"Oh no you don't," he recognized that smile, he had seen her use it to get her own way before. "You heard him Fi, he's been drugging Mike with some experimental crap. We need to know as much about what he has done as possible and he can't tell us if he isn't breathing."

She tried to think of a reason for just shooting Markov, but Sam was right they needed answers. Taking a deep breath she made her gun safe and put it away. "Fine, but once we have the answers I get to shoot him."

"Sure." Sam agreed offering up a tired smile. "Make it a head shot though I doubt the soulless bastard has a heart. Now go see how Mike is doing and maybe check on your friend with the boat."

Fiona nodded and turned towards the main bedroom, truthfully she had never wanted to go back into the room with Markov. Especially now, she belonged at Michael's side. Stepping into the en suite she nodded at Billy Clemens who was busy packing up supplies for the transfer on to Jojo's boat.

"Can I...? Is it alright?" Fiona paused unsure what to do.

"To sit with him? Sure but try not to disturb him, he needs complete rest." Clemen's replied.

With a sigh she sank down at Michael's side, tentatively enclosing one of his lifeless hands in between hers. He was so still, his skin ghostly pale, his lips and the skin around his eyelids bluish grey. As she sat there repeating the half forgotten prayers learned in her childhood, she noticed that while she had been listening to Markov's sickening confession Billy Clemens had been busy.

As well as oxygen support and the IV, Michael had a Oxygen meter attached to his index finger monitoring his pulse and oxygen levels, a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm and sitting nearby in a large carry case a portable resuscitation kit was prepared for use.

The flashing digital displays on the various pieces of equipment held her attention, his heart was beating too fast, his oxygen levels even with support were too low. Blood pressure barely registered each time the cuff on his arm tightened in response to a timer. However much she wanted to tear her eyes away she couldn't do it. The numbers flashing away a constant reminder that his condition was her fault.

Clemens had wanted to leave, had wanted Michael safely away from the noise and stress of an armed assault. But she had been too stubborn, and this was what her stubbornness had caused. Sniffing loudly, Fiona forced herself to concentrate on his face instead of the monitors. But the bright digital displays kept up their silent accusation and however much she wanted to look away she couldn't.

"He's a little better."

Fiona looked up at hearing Billy Clemens voice. The medic appeared as worn out as Sam looked and she felt. "Trying to make me feel better Billy?" She tried to raise a smile but failed miserably.

"His blood pressure has risen slightly, and his O2 levels are slowly coming up. All good signs."

"And his heart?" She stared at the pulse display. One hundred and thirty beats per minute, the digits flashed.

"He's still very sick and it's early days. Give it time."

She could see the medic wanted to say something but wasn't sure how she was going to take it. "Spit it out Billy. What's on your mind?"

"You shouldn't move him. Not until he's stable."

"We can't stay here," she began to explain but came to a stop; Was she doing it again? Putting Michael in danger because her instincts told her they had to be on the move. She closed her eyes and took a deep calming breath. "If we stay here sooner or later we'll be trapped. There's only one way in and out by land. Markov could be stalling us. Somebody might have reported all the noise, the police could turn up. Jojo knows what he is doing, leaving by boat is the best option."

Billy looked like he was going to argue some more but then thought better of it and instead nodded his head accepting her decision. "There's a radio in the garage, I'll go check the weather station. If it's calm I think he'll cope...But.."

"Go check it out, if there's another storm coming in we'll change our plans." If necessary she would get Jojo to take the Russians out to sea and throw them off the side somewhere in between Key West and Cuba. But whatever happened Michael wasn't spending any more time than absolutely necessary in the same building as Markov.

With Billy going to check on the weather conditions out in the Gulf of Mexico she was finally alone with Michael. Keeping hold of his hand, with one of her own she raised the other to wipe away a stray tear. The sound of his gasping breaths sounded loud to her ears, reminding her of the risk she was taking attempting to move him somewhere safer. If anything went wrong she would have to take responsibility for what happened.

She gently traced the outline of his jaw her fingertips barely brushing against the heavy stubble on his cheeks. If anything happened...If he...

"mmm..."

She paused, unsure where the sound had come from.

"mmm,"

Her heart jumped, skipping a beat as she realized Michael's lips were moving. Then she felt a very light pressure as his fingers curled slightly in her hand. She looked about wildly, unsure what to do. Billy had said he was to be kept quiet and undisturbed. But if he was waking up shouldn't she reassure him? But would speaking to him encourage him to try to talk and move? Would she make things worse? But if she kept quiet he might think he was alone, he might be frightened or confused.

All her jumbled thoughts scattered when she realized he was watching her, his eyes open barely a crack but it was enough . She leaned down, smiling at him her palm gently cupping his cheek. "Hey." She spoke softly praying she was doing the right thing.

His eyes opened further, and her heart leapt as he stared back at her through clear blue eyes. She waited silently urging him to speak, to show some sign of recognition. The corner of his mouth curved slightly into a crooked smile before his eyes slid shut again and he was still.

Fiona waited, her heart pounding in her chest, tears misting her eyes. Relief flooded through her body causing a sob to break free. This was a sign, he was fighting back, he wasn't going to slip quietly away. Taking a couple of deep gasping breaths she turned to check the readouts.

Everything was the same as before. She turned her gaze back, hoping to see him staring up at her again but he was asleep.

Taking a couple of gulping breaths she pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around legs pulling them in tight. He was improving, he had looked at her and smiled. She was grinning like a maniac with tears streaming down her face when Billy appeared at the bathroom door.

"Jojo is..." Billy paused taking in Fiona's tears, he snapped his head towards Michael expecting to see rows of flat lines instead he saw a steady improvement. "Fiona?" He questioned.

"He woke up." She told him. "Just for a couple of seconds. But he smiled." She took hold of Michael's hand again giving him a light squeeze, hiding her disappointment when he didn't return the pressure. "You were saying?"

"Er, yeah. Jojo is going to be here in fifteen. The Gulf is gonna be calm at least for the rest of today. He's gonna tie up at the neighbours dock. So we need to get him ready to move." He was already kneeling down beside her, doing his own checks on Michael's condition.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked.

"When the time comes we'll have to slide him onto a board." He pointed to the corner of the room where there was a stretcher, waiting to be used. "And then we'll have to move him very very carefully on to the boat. But until then you stay with him while I get everything ready to go." He finished his checks and got back to his feet. "If he wakes up again, do nothing to excite him. He's better of asleep."

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Sam had waited until Fiona disappeared into the main bedroom, then slumped against the wall. Once Markov had agreed to talk there had been no shutting the man up. He had been happy to outline his barbaric experiments and had gloated over the results he had achieved. Over his many years Sam had never come across anybody who turned his stomach as much as Viktor Markov.

The thought of going back into the room with him was almost more than Sam could bare. Taking a deep breath he stood up straight and steeled himself before stepping back inside the small bedroom.

Markov was laying where they had left him, his lower leg bent at an unnatural angle already swollen up so badly the seams of his pants were stretching to the point of bursting. Whimpering he turned towards door, the look of fear dimming in his eyes when he saw Sam was alone.

Doing his best to hide his revulsion, Sam grabbed a chair and placed it next to Markov's prone body. Before sitting down he reached into his pants pocket and produced the tracker that Fiona had pulled off the Saab.

"Ok fella, where did you get this from?" He needed a break from talking about Michael or he was going to end up saving Fiona the trouble and shoot Markov himself. "Or have the FSB started spending money on high end surveillance equipment now?"

Markov looked at the tiny circuit board through tear filled eyes, but remained mute.

"Don't get shy now Markov, I can always call Fiona back in if you don't want to talk to me."

"It is not mine," he answered quickly.

Sam could see he was hiding something, so he continued to quietly stare the man down.

"Westen has a lot of enemies." Markov added. "One of them approached me, he wanted me to ask some questions for him."

"What man, give me a name?"

Markov shook his head. "It was all done with a cut out. A man handed me an envelope filled with cash. There was a phone number. We never met face to face. I called the number and he asked me how much it would cost for me to ask Westen some questions for him."

"So he knew you had kidnapped Michael? But you didn't know who he was and you didn't report the security breach to your own people?"

"It was a lot of money."

Sam closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. "What questions? What were the questions you had to ask?"

"He was going to send me more money with the questions, and then a final payment when I had the answers. But you stole Westen back."

"And this?" Sam waved the tracker. "Where did this come from?"

"I called him, after your assault. The police had arrived and the FBI. My own people wanted to send me back home they were willing to lose Westen. I was not. I called the number and he cleared the police and FBI and gave me surveillance equipment. He said he could protect me."

Sam remembered what his buddy Connie had said about somebody high up in the Economic Trade Commission stopping the police investigation. He felt cold fingers of dread creep through his body, if Michael got out of this alive there was obviously somebody else very powerful out there coming after him.

Sam's lips thinned out, and his expression hardened glancing at his watch he realized the hour was nearly up Fiona's friend with the boat would be arriving soon. Whoever had supplied Markov with the tracker was gone at least for now. He slipped the device back into his pocket if they got away safely he would look in to it further. Once Michael was safe.

Thinking about Michael brought him back to asking the questions he dreaded. He needed to find out about the experimental drugs and how to get Michael safely free of their effects. He looked at the pathetic little man cowering on the floor.

"So how do we get Mike back?"