Chapter 16: The Trip Back

Vizcaino Desert, Baja California Sur, April 20th, 2008

"So, let's get out of here!" Bartowski said - far too cheerfully in John's opinion. They weren't in the best position. Alone, out in the desert, their transport lost, and at the bottom of a big hole.

"Did you find ropes?" John asked as Caridad created a carrying sling for the box out of her turtleneck.

"We did," Walker confirmed.

"Then let's hurry back before someone prepares an ambush topside." John started towards the big shaft. His shoulder was hurting like hell but didn't seem broken. Climbing one-handed would still be… something.

They passed the dead demon - one of Chavez's? Or another guard? John didn't know and didn't really care, either - and returned to the bottom of the shaft the serpent had used. Or created. Two ropes were hanging from the top, in the corner John had used to climb down. The best climbing spot in the shaft. And yet…

John rubbed his shoulder, then winced at the pain. It didn't look good, but he'd have to do it.

"I'll pull you up."

He turned to glare at the Slayer, gritting his teeth. She was right, though - it was the fastest option. "You can pull all of us up," he said.

"Alright." She nodded, then grabbed one rope and went up the wall almost as fast as she had gone down.

Supernatural, magical strength. He shouldn't compare himself to the Slayer. He did it anyway.

Cariad had reached the top and grabbed the rope. "Hold on to it!"

John stepped forward and wrapped the rope around his good arm. "Ready!"

He didn't have to help her - he only had to use his legs to keep from bumping into the walls of the shaft as she rapidly hoisted him up. Half a minute later, he was up top, amidst the ruins, and Caridad was pulling up Bartowski, reeling him in like a fish and dropping the man on the ground next to her.

"Oof."

Walker followed quickly - she had to have been climbing the other rope already.

"So…" Bartowski looked around. "Anyone alive other than us?"

"I didn't notice anyone else," Caridad said.

That didn't mean too much; not in the middle of a ruined hacienda, parts still burning.

"Should we look for Chavez's body?" Bartowski asked.

"Let's look for the cars they came with," John said. They needed to leave the place; the Mexicans might have been bribed to look the other way, but he didn't trust the cartels in the area, and the 'clean-up team' Bartowski was calling wouldn't arrive for several hours at least. Probably more like a day or two.

Walker nodded in agreement. "This way."

They set out, moving through the ruins at a brisk pace, Caridad circling the group and looking for threats. She was acting like an escort for a convoy. John pressed his lips together. He was wounded, and if the roles were reversed, he'd do the same.

A few minutes of walking up a steep, sandy slope, they crested the hill and saw the cars below. One was missing.

"Someone escaped," Bartowski stated the obvious.

"We'll have to assume that it was Chavez," Walker added.

John grunted in agreement. The cultist didn't strike him as the type to lead from the front.

"Let's get a car, then!" Caridad started down the slope.

"Watch out for traps!" John yelled after her.

"Of course."

Her tone didn't make him think that his advice had been as unneeded as she tried to make it appear. Ah, well, as long as she checked for traps.

By the time John and the others reached the foot of the hill, Caridad was staring at the SUVs. "I didn't see or smell anything suspicious," she said.

John nodded, but knelt next to the newest looking SUV anyway, to check the underside. Demon cultists might be unlikely to know how to prepare bombs, but better safe than sorry. He didn't find anything, though, and neither did Walker.

"Told you so," Caridad complained.

He rolled his eyes and started picking the car's lock. A few minutes later, Walker was driving them away, back to the cartel airfield. This time, John and Caridad were on the backbench.

"Hah! A feathered serpent! That's like a dragon kill," Caridad said as they left the burning ruins behind. "Vi will be so jealous!"

"So, was that a servant of an Aztec god?" Walker asked.

"I don't know," Bartowski said. "Mythology isn't exactly a precise science. It wasn't a god, though. I don't think so, at least."

"It counts as a dragon," Caridad repeated herself. Then she suddenly gasped. "Oh, no!"

"What?" John turned his head, hand going to his gun.

"I forgot to take a picture of the serpent!"

"We're not turning around," he said.

"The Council clean-up team will take pictures," Bartowski said.

"But they won't be showing me!"

John sighed and closed his eyes.

When Caridad woke him up, his shoulder was still hurting, and they were closing in on the airfield. Still out of the usual range of any sentry posted by Ramirez, though.

"We've called ahead - the plane should arrive soon. Soonish," Bartowski said.

Good. John nodded, then suppressed a wince when the movement caused his shoulder to hurt again.

"Uh… what about the drug dealers?" Bartowski looked over his shoulder at them. "I mean… the mission's done…"

"We're still on the mission," Walker reminded him. "We need to get this to the Council."

"Or to Phil," Caridad added. "But I could probably get them all before they can react."

"They'll be prepared for you," John pointed out. "They know you're faster and stronger than them."

"But if we don't do anything, who will deal with them?" Bartowski asked. "The CIA?"

"They'll investigate," John told him. And probably ignore the whole issue until it became advantageous to do something about Ramirez.

"And then they'll do something about Ramirez?" The moron wasn't dropping the subject.

"They'll tell him to stop smuggling drugs to the US," Walker said.

"That doesn't sound very, uh, firm."

"Do you want to kill them?" John asked.

"Uh…" Bartowski was looking down at his phone. John doubted that he was calling anyone or checking important information. "I thought we'd leave them to the Mexican police."

"The local police are corrupt. Ramirez will either go free or get killed by his rivals," John told him.

"Or by the police paid off by his rivals," Walker added.

"And he'll rat us out," John added. "Including Caridad." He heard the Slayer growl at that. "We'd have to kill everyone who saw us."

"Uh…" Bartowski didn't like that. He was still too soft. You couldn't keep your hands clean as a spy. Not in this business. Then the man sighed, and John saw his shoulder slumping. Walker reached over and squeezed his thigh.

John was tempted, briefly, to comment, but didn't. Then he caught Caridad staring at him.

"Won't he rat us out anyway?" she asked.

"Not as long as he thinks that we'll keep doing business with him," John replied.

"What about a dead man's switch?"

That was not as common as civilians thought. John almost shrugged. "We could make him talk." If they were going to kill him. Which they hadn't decided, yet.

"Ah."

He nodded.

"How's your shoulder."

He was about to say 'fine' but reconsidered at seeing her expression. "It hurts, but I'll manage. Nothing broken."

"You were lucky."

He slowly inclined his head. "We were lucky that it wasn't an invisible demon."

She snorted. "It would have been easy. Trick demons are harder."

"How did you know to aim for the eyes?" he asked.

"It was the next thing left."

He almost gasped. "You didn't know?" he hissed.

"It was an educated guess - we have a list." She did flinch a little. "And I noticed that it protected its face when I went for its head. It didn't do that with its body. It wasn't the tentacles, and the mouth is rarely vulnerable - not when they bite with it."

He pressed his lips together. That was a little better than he had thought, but…

"Hey - that's why you don't make a sacrifice play; you might have to try something else."

He scoffed at that. "Next time, tell me."

She opened her mouth, then closed it and nodded with a sigh. "Sorry."

He grunted.

"You should tape your arm up. Less strain on your shoulder."

"I might need it if Ramirez is trying something," he replied.

"Do you think he might? Even if we don't try anything?"

"You never know with people like him. We might have killed some contacts. Or Chavez had, and he's blaming us."

"Or Chavez is one of his contacts," Bartowski cut in. "The other cultists had cartel contacts, right?"

"They weren't from the same cartel," John told him. The Intersect would've known.

"Still…"

"We'll be prepared for a trap," Walker said as she stopped the car.

"Uh…" Bartowski spoke up. "Ah. The plane's still a bit away, right?"

"Yes," Walker confirmed.

Good. No need to spend more time with Ramirez than needed.

Caridad, which John should have expected, sighed. She didn't do waiting well. Then she perked up. "So… how do we play it with Ramirez if we think he might try to stab us in the back? I can do a perimeter check while we wait. See if he's got snipers waiting or something."

"He will have a sniper or two," John said. "That's just good procedure."

"And if you take them out, he might consider it an attack," Walker added.

"But if he wants to kill us, we can't let them be," Caridad objected.

"Listen to them. A sniper team is two people. They'll be chatting," John said.

"Right!" She perked up again. "I'll be back!"

Before he could react, she bent towards him, pressing a kiss on his lips with her hand holding his head.

Then she was out of the car and disappeared in the night.

John glared at Walker and Bartowski, and they didn't comment. He was sure they were grinning, though.

Fifteen minutes later, Caridad reported over the radio: "Found one sniper and spotter. Going closer."

And that meant more waiting. John didn't like waiting. Not when he was the one waiting, and others were acting. He gritted his teeth.

"So… how long until the plane arrives? Bartowski sounded bored rather than anxious.

"Fifteen minutes," Walker replied. She didn't sound concerned either. She was an experienced spy, though, and could be faking it.

"We'll be late, then," the moron stated the obvious.

John rolled his eyes.

Minutes passed in silence - if you ignored Bartowski tapping his phone. At least with Slayer senses, Caridad wouldn't have to be too close to listen in to the sniper team.

Suddenly, Caridad spoke up again. "One told the other not to shoot unless Ramirez gives the signal."

'Unless'. Not 'until'.

"Well, they don't seem to want to betray us, then," Bartowski said.

"Or they don't know - Ramirez can still betray us," Walker pointed out.

And the man would certainly have a plan for it. They could only hope that he would be smart enough not go against them.

"Should I take them out anyway?" Caridad asked.

"They'll have check-ins over the radio," Walker said. "We'd be the main suspects."

Not that making a cartel leader suspect an attack or betrayal while you're doing business with him was a good idea anyway. On the other hand, meeting under his guns didn't sit right with John, either.

"MAD."

"What?" John turned to Bartowski.

"Mutually assured destruction," the moron explained. Or didn't. "If Ramirez knows he dies if we die, he won't do anything."

"Training a gun on him won't be a good idea," John told him.

"I wasn't thinking of a gun…" Bartowski had that stupid grin which meant he had a really dumb or really good idea.

Goddammit.

They arrived fifteen minutes after the plane had landed. Ramirez was there, of course, with a dozen of his men this time.

"I see you've changed cars," he said as John stepped out of the SUV. "Are you wounded?"

John stared at him. "Nothing serious."

"I'm glad to hear it. There were concerning reports," Ramirez said, with a sly smile. "I feared…" he trailed off, gasping, as Caridad stepped out of the car.

"Just a precaution," John told him, nodding towards the obvious bomb the Slayer was carrying together with the box and an equally obvious dead man's switch. "What is in the box cannot, under any circumstances, be allowed to spread."

Even in the dim light, he could see Ramirez paling. "Oh…"

John nodded at him and walked towards the plane with Caridad. Walker and Bartowski followed.

"The keys are in the car," Bartowski threw over his shoulder. "Sorry about the Range Rover."

"Take off," John told the crew as soon as they were inside the plane.

They were professionals - they didn't bat an eye at the order or the bomb.

"Worked like a charm!" Bartowski said as they started to roll. "One fake bomb and they're playing nicely.

"Yes, it did." Walker, of course, agreed.

"Good thing none of Ramirez's underlings tried to use the opportunity to replace him," John muttered as he strapped himself in.

"He wouldn't place people he didn't trust in such a position," Walker retorted.

"It's always the people you trust whose betrayal is the worst," John said, leaning back. And the most effective.

"Well, that's kind of self-evident."

Bartowski just had to have the last word.

John sighed as the plane took off.

"So…"

John glanced to the side. Caridad had put the fake bomb on the seat behind her, and the box under her seat. She'd shed her ruined jacket - not that it had covered much after the fight - and her vest as well. The thin tank top looked more like a sports bra than a sensible top. He focused on her face.

"How's the shoulder?" she asked.

"Getting better," he said. It wasn't, but it would, as soon as he could rest in a decent bed instead of a seat in a plane.

She frowned - he could see her lips pressing together, too - but nodded. Then she smirked. Smirked. "You kissed me."

Now it was his turn to press his lips together. "You almost died." He cut himself off from adding 'you fool'.

"So did you," she replied, growing serious for a moment, before grinning. "I'm a Slayer - I almost die very often."

"Not as often as you used to," he snapped. That's what everyone had told him. Even the rookie Slayers were now living far longer - on average - than the most experienced Slayers of the past.

"Every night is a risk," she said, cocking her head. "Not the greatest, of course. But you never know when, suddenly, you have to fight a feathered serpent."

"That was a rare exception," he said. "No Slayer fought one before, right?"

"Yes." She frowned again. "Well, I think so - I didn't recall any tale about feathered serpents. I'll have to ask Phil." She brightened. "But I'm sure no living Slayer has ever killed one!"

He scoffed. Taking trophies got you killed, your cover blown, or, worse, your mission exposed.

"You're risking your life as well on every mission," she said.

He grunted again but didn't look away even though he knew what was coming. Besides, he didn't want to see Walker and Bartowski listening in. The moron would be grinning, John knew it.

"And you kissed me. In the middle of a mission. Was that unprofessional?"

"Yes," he spat. "It was unprofessional."

She smiled widely. "Yet you did it."

"Yes." Not that he could deny it.

"And we pulled off the mission. Almost perfectly." She was leaning forward.

Just because it hadn't ruined the mission wasn't a guarantee that it wouldn't happen next time. He wanted to say it but only managed a grunt.

"It's time to stop making excuses," she said.

He realised that he had been leaning towards her, too - despite his hurting shoulder. The plane was small, and the aisle between their seats quite narrow. If he leaned forward a little more, their lips would touch… He wet his lips. This was stupid. This was against all regulations. Against common sense. This was… what he wanted, godammit. He took a deep breath and glanced towards Walker and Bartowski, which were sitting upfront.

They were asleep?

His eyes widened. "Gas!" he snapped, reaching for his mask. His arms felt clumsy.

Caridad was already out of the seat and rushing towards the cockpit, where the crew was. He heard her pound against it as he pulled his mask on. If it was nerve gas it wouldn't do anything. But it was the best he could do.

He stood up with some effort. His legs were unstable, and he had to grab the next seat to keep himself from falling. But he didn't. He grabbed a second mask and made his way towards Caridad. Towards the cockpit.

She was kicking the armoured door. It seemed the whole plane shook from her blows - or that was the gas affecting John. He threw the mask to her and drew his pistol. Once she broke down the door, the spies in the cockpit would shoot.

His legs felt wobbly. He wouldn't be able to shoot like this. But sitting down… He pulled Bartowski to the side and leaned against the guy's seat, his elbows on the backrest. Stable enough. It would have to do. Wait… wrong magazine. He managed to swap it for a Glaser one. Those wouldn't go through the plane's windows.

Caridad moved back, nodded at him, then rushed forward and jumped. Her boot struck the door and ripped it out of its frame, propelling it into the cockpit.

John fired as soon as he saw the enemy spy, and the Glaser round turned the man's throat into a bloody mess. Another shot went off as he moved to the aisle to get an angle on the second pilot, but Caridad had already taken out the bastard.

John stumbled after her.

"Can you fly the plane?" she asked.

"We need to stop the gas," he said. "And we need to recycle the air." He looked around. There would be a hidden switch… but where? Bartowski would know, thanks to the Intersect. But John had already trouble thinking clearly. Damn gas.

Suddenly, Caridad kicked part of the interior wall in the cockpit, ripping a panel away and revealing a pressured cylinder. "Heard it hissing," she said as she grabbed a lever and shut it off.

"Good. Now we need to filter the air…" He looked around. Shouldn't something be blinking? Or… the pilots would be able to turn the gas off and filter the air. So… there! He flipped it. "That should do it."

"Can you fly the plane?"

He shook his head. "No. Bartowski can. Gotta wake him up." He blinked as the plane suddenly shook again. No, that was him.

He felt Caridad grab him. Then everything went dark.

John blinked. What… where... Oh! He gasped. The gas! The plane! He looked around, the quick movement causing a headache. He was on one of the seats in front of the passenger cabin. Walker and Bartowski were still out. Where was Caridad?

"Caridad?"

"You're awake!"

She was in the back, heading towards him and the others, carrying… parachutes?

"Chuck's not waking up," she said as she dropped the parachutes on the ground. "I didn't try the radio, in case it would alert Fulcrum."

Good thinking. He might call the base, but… Fulcrum might pick up the transmission. Too much of a risk. He glanced at the pilot she had knocked out.

"He's not waking up, either." She grimaced. "I pulled his mask off, and he must have breathed some of the gas himself, I think."

Probably. It had taken a few minutes to clear the air. No choice then. "We'll have to jump. Are we above land?"

"Uh…" he caught her glancing out the window. "Yes," she replied with a forced smile.

"I'll take Bartowski. You take Walker." He reached for the closest parachute.

"Uh… shouldn't I take Chuck and you Sarah? So the weight is more evenly distributed?"

He shook his head and winced again. "I've got more experience with this, I can handle it," he said as he started to put the harness on.

"OK."

And women and children first was a rule.

It took them five minutes to put the parachutes on and put harnesses on the two unconscious spies. Another minute to move to the back, where the concealed door served as a cargo and drop ramp. They were still above land, fortunately.

"What about the pilot I knocked out?" she asked.

"The chute can't handle three." And the chutes didn't have ripcords that went off automatically. And even if they did, the chance that the traitor would escape was too high, even weighed against the chance of interrogating him for information. If he hadn't suffered brain damage by Caridad, anyway.

She nodded, though more slowly. "Uh… did you check the parachutes?"

He almost shook his head. "Yes." As much as he could, in the plane. If someone with experience had tampered with the chute, they would only find out when it failed to deploy.

"Alright." She licked her lips. "So…"

"Yes."

She bent over and kissed him.

When they broke the kiss, he was breathing heavily. "Let's go."

"Right."

He hitched Bartowki's harness to his own, checked that Walker was fixed to Caridad, then opened the door in the back. He couldn't tell if they were still in Mexican airspace. It didn't matter. They had to get off the plane before the traitors failed some check, and Fulcrum decided to get rid of the plane - by bomb or framing them as terrorists.

They weren't particularly high, but high enough. "Remember: Wait ten seconds, then pull the cord!" he yelled to be heard over the noise from the engines and wind.

"Gotcha!"

"Good." He swung Bartowski's limp form over the edge and jumped.

Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three…

The ground looked like desert, but that didn't mean anything. No coastline, but no big city lights visible either. The plane had been heading straight north when he checked, but what course had it taken before?

...twenty-nine. Thirty.

He pulled the cord and held his breath. After a long moment, he was pulled up sharply and hissed at the pain in his shoulder.

But the chute had deployed. Now to survive the landing. They were going down quite fast, and Bartowski was unconscious. Should he cut him free right before they hit the ground? No. Too dangerous for him. John would have to manage.

He looked up but didn't see Caridad. "Caridad?" he asked over the radio.

"I'm OK."

"Can you see me?"

"Yes."

"Try to keep close. Pull on the lines, gently, to steer."

"I've done parachuting before," she replied. After a moment, she added: "Once."

He snorted.

Then a gust of wind made him turn, and he had a hell of a time to stabilise their descent - and look for a decent landing spot. Which was hard despite the moonlight. A sandy area could turn out to be hard rock with some dust on it. Perhaps there? It looked like a dune, of sorts.

Good. He steered towards it, circling twice before entering the final approach. Ten yards. Five. Four. Three. Two.

He gripped Bartowski and held his breath a moment before they hit the ground. Roll. Roll, forget the pain! He hissed as he and the moron rolled down the sand, and his shoulder felt as if someone had stuck a hot knife into it.

They came to a stop at the bottom of the dune. Panting, he released the chute and checked on Bartowski. He looked unhurt. Breathing evenly. The moron had slept through the whole jump.

Looking up, he spotted Caridad's chute before it disappeared on the other side of the dune. He counted to ten and used the radio. "Caridad?"

"We're alive. Not hurt."

"Same. We're on the other side of the dune."

"I know."

And there she was, on top of the dune, carrying Walker on her shoulder as if the spy weighed only five pounds. And she went down the slope as if she were sprinting on even ground.

"Where are we?"

He pulled out his GPS. "We're in the Sonoran Desert."

"How close to the next town are we?"

"We're about five miles from the next highway," he replied. "Ten more miles to the next town."

Caridad nodded. "I can carry both of them that far. And the box."

"They should wake up before that," John said. At least he hoped they would.

"They can start walking then," she stated before bending down and grabbing Bartowski and Walker and hoisting them on one shoulder each, with the box dangling from its sling in front of her.

He wanted to protest, but they had a long trek ahead of them. And he was still feeling a little off himself.

"Let's go - it's this way." He pointed ahead. Fifteen miles, some of it through rough terrain, and the sun would be up in a few hours… He suppressed a sigh; it had been a while since he had done such a march.

The sun was up by the time they reached the highway. They hadn't made good time, and it had been John's fault; the Slayer could've been faster even loaded down with two unconscious spies. And his shoulder was hurting.

"Let's take a break," Caridad said.

"No. Let's keep going while it's still cool." The temperature would be rising quickly.

"You need to rest."

"I don't," he spat. "We need to get a car and return to base."

"We won't make it if you collapse on the way."

"I won't." He wouldn't. He'd die on his feet.

"How much water do you have left?" she asked.

"I can go for a few more hours."

"Well, I need to rest."

He stared at her, but she was already sitting down in the questionable and shirt-lived shade of a rock, next to the highway. He couldn't tell if she really needed a breather - but he certainly couldn't carry her. He scoffed and joined her. "Stubborn idiot."

She found that funny, apparently, since she giggled.

He sighed and leaned against the rock - and against her - and closed his eyes. "You'll hear a car in time to stop it, right?"

"Of course."

"Good." Maybe a little nap wouldn't hurt. His shoulder still gave him trouble. Just a little...

A groan interrupted his thoughts. Walker was waking up. "What? Chuck!"

"You were knocked out by gas in the plane," John told her. "We had to jump."

"We're still in Mexico, a few miles from the next town," Caridad added. "Chuck's OK."

Then the moron started to stir, and they had to go over it again.

Santa Maria Industrial Park, Baja California, April 21st, 2008

"That's an industrial park?" Bartowski sounded incredulous. He also sounded exhausted - a few miles along the highway had, apparently, been too much for him. "It makes CRD look like the Manhattan project!"

John wasn't going to ask what CRD was. But Bartowski was right - three small buildings weren't an industrial park. He snorted. "It's what the map says it is." Mexicans. It didn't matter anyway - all that mattered were the four cars and one truck parked next to the buildings.

"So… are we going to steal a car there?"

"That's the plan," John replied.

"Couldn't we just ask for one? Or call a cab?"

Bartowski didn't get it. "We can't leave a trace of us," John told him. "Fulcrum compromised the mission - we cannot trust any of our communication channels." They had to make it back on their own.

"But stealing a car will get us noticed - well, it'll get a police report written."

"Which will be buried in the Mexican Police backlog," John told him. They were hopelessly corrupt anyway, at least in this area. He looked the cars over. "The SUV there." That was the best choice of all cars; it even had some off-road capability which they might need to cross the border.

"Isn't that a little typecast?" Bartowski said, taking John's binoculars. "I mean… we always seem to take SUVs, and it's…"

Uh oh. John clenched his teeth as he saw Bartowski freeze for a second. That was the Intersect.

"Guys! Guys! That's a drug lab!"

Goddammit.

John sighed. That complicated things.

"Isn't that a good thing?" Bartowski asked. "They won't report a stolen car to the police, will they?"

"They'll report it to their accomplices, though," Walker pointed out.

"And the cartels are much more dangerous than the police here," John added.

"So, we go on and steal a car from someone else?" Caridad cocked her head.

"We'd have to sneak past them - we're a little too noticeable," John replied. And they had run out of water two hours ago. In addition to that, Ramirez might have informed his allies. There was also always the possibility of other cartels having spies in his organisation. And there was another point to consider, of course.

"They might know about Chavez," Walker said, echoing John's thoughts.

"Oh." Bartowski blinked. "The Intersect wouldn't know that - according to the Intersect, the lab belongs to the Mar-19. That's a smaller gang, not quite a cartel, and it is expected to be swallowed by a larger gang or cartel in the next few months."

"If they haven't been absorbed already," Walker pointed out.

"Right. The Intersect's data isn't the most up to date on that." Bartowski looked at the 'industrial park' again. "So… what's the plan?"

"There won't be more than a dozen people," John said. "Probably fewer than that." They wouldn't have more people than the cars parked there could transport. Six to eight was his guess. Not enough for a decent guard rotation even if they didn't cook up drugs, but criminals rarely were up to professional standards.

"That sounds like you plan to take them all out," Bartowski said, sounding apprehensive.

"Yes!" Caridad, of course, was eager.

"They're drug dealers and potential sources of intel," John said.

"But, uh, do we kill them?"

"We can't interrogate dead people," John said. He hoped he was correct, and that there was no magic to allow it.

"Not without a powerful witch," Caridad said.

Goddammit.

"I mean afterwards. Call the police?"

"Once we're safe," John said. He glanced at Walker, who pressed her lips together but nodded.

They understood each other then.

"Alright, let's approach from the road," John said. There was a guard, but the man was watching for vehicles, and they could get pretty close before they would have to break cover and cross the street. More than close enough to take the guard out with a silenced pistol. "Walker and Bartowski take the building there. Caridad takes the building on the left. I'll cover the third building." He wasn't up to storming it by himself. Not with better intel - and they didn't have enough time to scout the area sufficiently. They needed water, and quickly.

"Alright." Walker nodded. That meant Bartowski agreed as well. Caridad's agreement was a given.

"Let's go."

Crawling didn't help his shoulder any, but he could manage the pain until he reached the ditch at the road. "I'll take out the guard," he said, "and cover you."

"Uh…" Bartowski trailed off. "OK."

Must have been Walker's influence. "Ready?" John asked.

They confirmed, and he pushed himself up a little until he had a clear line of sight, covered by a shrub, to the guard at the corner. The distance was about thirty yards - not ideal for a handgun, but far from impossible. He aimed with one hand, steadied by the ground, at the man's head, slowly breathed out and squeezed the trigger.

Caridad was across the street before the cartel goon touched the ground. Walker and Bartowski were right behind her. John pushed himself up - not much pain - and dashed across the road himself, keeping the corners of the buildings in sight. Then he veered off to the right, sprinting towards the corner.

Walker and Bartowski were already inside the building - he heard shots and ducked. The thin walls wouldn't stop rifle rounds. He spotted someone through the window, but the figure dropped before he could move his aim, so he kept going.

At the corner, he crouched and pressed himself against the wall before sliding around it, leading with his pistol. He was just in time to catch a man with an assault rifle - Kalashnikov - rush out of the third building.

The truck provided cover for the guy, but his head was visible. John fired twice, dropping the man.

Something - someone - moved inside the building. Away from the open door and dead man. They were trying to escape.

John clenched his teeth and dashed across the open space, towards the third building. Enter through the door? No. They'd expect that. He went past the building, to the next corner, so he could cover the back.

A man was just climbing out of the window. John waited, aiming, and when the man jumped down, John put a round into his leg. The thug didn't drop his rifle, so John shot him in the arm. That did the job, and the man collapsed, screaming.

And bleeding. John must have nicked an artery. Cursing, he rushed forward. The stubborn bastard tried to pull a knife, and John kicked him in the face, knocking a few teeth out and stunning him. Another kick sent the rifle away, followed by the knife, before John knelt down and ripped the guy's belt off. He had to tie off the thigh, or the thug would bleed to death.

He managed it, barely - and his shoulder hurt more - by the time Caridad rounded the corner.

"We've secured the buildings," she told him.

"Good. Prisoners?" John asked as he stood.

She grabbed the wounded man by his good arm and pulled him up. "I got two."

They met up with Walker and Bartowski in the main building. The two had captured another one. Four captives, four dead in total.

Not a bad result.

John closed the door while Caridad dragged the two corpses outside into the third building and turned towards the prisoners. They didn't have a lot of time, but with four prisoners, they could crosscheck their information easily.

It would be quick and dirty, but it would work.

Half an hour later, they were done. The thugs didn't know Chavez, but they were working for a bigger gang who had suddenly been shifting their attention into Baja California Sur a few days ago. That was suspicious - although it could've just been a cartel reacting to all the other activity there triggered by Chavez. More useful were the routes over the border that the men knew. That would make sneaking over the border easier.

Provided the thugs didn't warn their accomplices. The guy John had shot had died during the interrogation, but the other three were still alive. And while the team had been hiding their faces, they would have been recognised as Americans anyway. Two men and two women - it wouldn't take much for anyone connected to the mission to figure it out. And that meant Fulcrum would know as well.

John looked through the open door where Bartowski and Caridad were loading the water and food they had found into the older Mercedes. Then he looked at Walker, standing next to the door. "Get into the car," he said. He didn't draw his gun, but he moved his hand to his holster.

She glanced at him, then at Bartowski for a moment before she nodded and walked over.

He drew his gun as he walked over to the prisoners.

South-Eastern California, April 21st, 2008

"I can't reach them," Bartowski said, for the second time since they had crossed the border and he had bought a new phone. "Morgan's not answering the calls or the messages." He looked over his shoulder at John. "We need to call them over our comms."

"They could be compromised," John replied. Fulcrum had managed to get traitors on the plane, after all.

"But…"

Walker interrupted him. "Chuck. Morgan hasn't called us, either. Neither he nor Bane had made any attempt to contact us since we reported back on the plane." She shook her head. "Trying to call them through the base would only endanger us."

"But…"

John could see Bartowski clench the armrest on his side so tightly, the man's knuckles were white. "We'll be there soon."

He didn't have to say that the odds of finding the others were slim.