One of the distinct advantages, Wendy had learned, of being a telepath, was that any time she had a shortfall of understanding she could use the expert's knowledge in order to better her own. That was most certainly the case as Lucas took it upon himself to explain to them not only how he'd found the frequency but how they could use it to track Ortiz, and hopefully, find him. She had listened conventionally as well, of course, but she used her ability to skim the surface of the teenager's mind in order to gain a better understanding of the whole thing.

She had already been caught unawares more than once recently. There was no way she was going to let it happen again. This woman had already gotten the better of her too many times. It wasn't often at all that any sort of pride played a part in her decisions and motivations but she was sick of this woman making her look like a fool, like some kind of inexperienced child wandering around with no clue whatsoever on how to use the powers that were as much a part of her as her heart or lungs.

"So you can use our sensors to pinpoint this signal," Ford said, not really asking a question so much as stating a fact and waiting for Lucas to either agree or contradict.

"Exactly," the teenager said confidently with a nod of his head that sent his hair bobbing lightly. He opened his mouth as if to explain again but Nathan waved his hand.

"We heard you the first time, Lucas," he said, with patience but also with the finest thread of warning. It wasn't heated, or anything else that the teenager needed to be concerned about, it was more that the Captain was trying to remind the young man that time was of the essence. Explaining the process again would waste some of that precious time and considering they didn't know just how much they had they couldn't afford the risk.

"There's just one problem," Brody said, looking around and then back to Lucas. "What if this Dvornikov woman has removed the device?"

"I don't think she'd do that," Nathan stated plainly. "If it gives her easier control over Ortiz then she has every reason to leave it where it is and continue utilising it."

Lucas gave another certain nod. "That's what I'm thinking." He met Brody's gaze directly all the same. "But if she has removed it then we should still be able to pinpoint where it was last transmitting."

The Lieutenant's brows lifted. "Should?"

For a moment Lucas tipped his head one way and then the other before he admitted, "This is all theoretical. This was a prototype and it wasn't all that widely tested. I'm working on the data I was able to mine from Gabrin's systems."

"It's the best we have to work with," Nathan said seriously, "and it's a good lead to follow." He gave Lucas a nod, encouraging and reassuring. The teenager gave a shadow of a smile in return, grateful for the support.

Wendy understood Brody's concerns, in fact she shared them, and she couldn't help but be concerned as well. It would be devastating to have come this far only to fall at the last hurdle, ultimately losing not only one of their own but also a great deal of potentially dangerous and world-changing data. They had to work fast, and with everything at their disposal, in order to stop this woman from putting that knowledge she had stolen to use, or more to the point selling it on to those who would do with it as they pleased, everyone else be damned. There were too many people out there who would do untold amounts of damage with the sorts of things that had been stolen from the seaQuest. They could shake the world's economy to its core, destabilise all that the UEO had worked for years to establish and enforce.

They had to stop Irina Dvornikov. Permanently. Wendy didn't know what that meant for how they would proceed, but a woman with not only her fiercely selfish and frankly deadly ambitions but her sheer psychic power couldn't be permitted to go free. As much as it sickened her to even consider persecuting a fellow psychic Wendy knew that they were leagues apart. Irina had no consideration for others, despite the fact that there was no way she couldn't feel the pain and suffering she caused, and she would do anything and everything in her power to ensure she came out on top. Anyone with such reckless abandon and disregard when it came to the lives and well-being of others had, quite frankly, sacrificed the right to the kinds of freedom she was currently taking advantage of.

"All right, Lucas," Nathan said, with the kind of sure finality that told everyone present that he had come to a decision and it was time for action. "The systems are yours. Get us a heading."

Wendy imagined Lucas might give the Captain a kind of salute but instead he gave a confident nod, saying as he did, "Yes, sir." The salute would probably inadvertently come across as disrespectful, he had decided, a thought that Wendy didn't even have to search for in order to pick up with crystal clarity. She gave him a smile as he passed her on his way out of the ward room to get to work. He would be on the bridge, very likely flitting from one station to another, working furiously in order to get the job done. She couldn't help but admire that quality in him, that desire to make Captain Bridger proud. It was a wonderful thing. Rare in someone so young. Something to treasure.

The rest of the staff filtered out and Wendy watched them go, making ready to do the same before Nathan's voice stopped her. At the sound of her name she turned her head to him and waited, knowing that he would speak his piece whether she invited him to or not. It helped that she usually did want to know what he had to say.

"Are you going to be all right with this?" he asked her, making her frown a little. She could have read his mind to understand him fully but she preferred to give people the freedom to explain themselves in the traditional way. It was much less intrusive. "You've already gone head to head with this woman once." Nathan paused. "Quite literally." She had to give him that one. It had been as literal a head to head confrontation as anyone was likely to find. "I won't ask you to do anything that you're not comfortable with."

"I know," she told him, and she had already known that. He was a good man, always considerate when it came to her sensitivities and vulnerabilities, such as they were. "But who else on board can go up against that power of hers?" Allowing a little of her fear to show, just a fraction of it, she went on, "Even I'm not sure if I can withstand whatever she might throw at me, but—" She took a deep breath. "Even if I can just provide a distraction so that someone else can subdue her, then I want to try."

Nathan frowned. "We might not be able to subdue her."

Wendy's nod was slow and accepting. "I know." Despite all that the other woman had done, the idea of doing anything permanent and irrevocable was unsettling to her. And sad. "But she has to be stopped," she said, surrendering to the notion with that statement, and letting the man before her know that she would come to terms with it in her own way. "By any means necessary."

Nathan held her gaze for a few moments, almost as if he was trying to read her, and then he nodded as well. It was a gentle motion, almost apologetic, before he said with the same air of surrender, "By any means necessary."

Restless didn't even begin to cover it. Neither did frustrated. In fact, Tim was hard-pressed to remember a time when he had ever felt more of either, and he had to fight to keep from fidgeting in the bed to which he was confined for the foreseeable future. He wanted to get out of this bed. He wanted to help.

"I know, Tim." Doctor Smith's voice was understanding but it still bristled his already frayed nerves.

He turned an unhappy look in her direction. "I thought you didn't read minds without permission."

No sooner than the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, even more so when Wendy instantly averted and then dropped her gaze, a hint of shamed colour flushing her cheeks. His own shame wasted no time in rearing its head and taking centre stage in his mind. He sighed, heavily and hurriedly, and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said, feeling terrible. "I'm just—" Frustrated. She already knew that. But Tim knew that she had probably cut herself off from his mind well and truly after what he had said. That meant having to be articulate enough to explain himself. In a way he had shot himself in the foot. All things considered it would have been much quicker, much simpler, to just let her read his mind. "Miguel is my best friend." That wasn't news to anybody. "He needs our help, he needs my help, and—" Impatiently he gestured at the bed, and himself in it.

Wendy's voice was sympathetic when she said, "You're in no condition to be out of that bed, Tim." With a soft sigh of her own she laid a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I know you want to help. We all do."

Tim felt miserable, and then he felt ridiculous for feeling that way. It was a vicious cycle. He was an officer in the UEO Navy and he was behaving not unlike a child. He was suddenly incredibly glad that none of the senior officers were anywhere close by where they could have overheard any part of his petulant little outburst. "I should have said something earlier." He lifted his eyes and looked at Doctor Smith. "Right away, as soon as I realised something was wrong. If I had then none of this would be happening." And he might not be stuck in this bed, recovering from surgery after being stabbed.

"We can't change the past," she said, her hand still on his arm. "And I'm sure Miguel knows that you would have done everything in your power to help him."

Save him might have been a more accurate term, Tim thought grimly. That was about as far from comforting or reassuring as anything could be. "I just want to help." He heard the weariness in his own voice, the tired and reluctant resignation to the fact that there was nothing he could do.

There was a minute or so of quiet, something that Tim normally would have found quite enjoyable under any other circumstances but right then it just seemed to draw a line under how useless he would be in the mission to come.

"Maybe there is something you can do," Doctor Smith said then, thoughtfully, and when he lifted his gaze he found hers fixed on him, her eyes slightly narrowed. Her brow was furrowed in consideration.

Tim couldn't help but be intrigued, hopeful even, almost desperately so. The idea of being able to do something, anything, even made him sit up in the bed a little straighter. This was an opportunity he didn't plan on wasting and if he could genuinely help somehow? Maybe he could make up for his earlier shortcomings, his failures. More importantly he might be able to play a part in saving his best friend. Whatever it was, Tim wanted to try.

This was more like it. The knowledge that something was being done, that some kind of action was being taken, it rejuvenated him and successfully lifted him right out of that irritable state of impatience that he had spent the last several hours in. Was it just hours? It felt more like days at that point, the time spent waiting for others better suited to such tasks to figure out how to proceed, where to go next, what needed to be done.

But now that part was over. Finally. Thankfully. Blissfully.

Jim had been standing looking over Lucas' shoulder when the teenager had been manipulating the seaQuest's systems in order to get them to do what he needed them to do and for a while he had barely been able to tolerate the tension. The anticipation had been unbearable, and Jim had found himself genuinely wondering if the teenager wasn't somehow doing it on purpose. It didn't fit with his character, he knew that, but part of him still hadn't been able to keep from thinking it.

"Captain." Lucas' voice had been tight with that same anticipation that Jim himself had been feeling and he had looked from the screen to the teenager to the Captain himself as Bridger moved over to the Communications station where the action had come to a head. As soon as the older man had been close enough for him to be able to do so without raising his voice too much Lucas had said, "I've got it." He hadn't been able to keep from beaming, grinning from ear to ear as he leaned back enough for Bridger to lean in and see the results for himself.

"Put that up on the main screen," the Captain had said, his voice restrained, almost as if he didn't quite dare believe what he was being shown. Lucas had wasted no time in doing just what he had been told and the rest of the bridge crew had turned their attention from whatever else they had been doing to look at the screen, and the map it now displayed. In pride of place, not moving from one particular spot not far from the shore on the eastern coast of the United States, was a pulsing marker. "That's it?" Bridger had asked, looking down at Lucas briefly.

The teenager had nodded. "That's the device. It's still active, fully functional as far as I can tell, which means it hasn't been removed."

"Not as far as you can tell." Ford, always the voice of reason and pragmatism, had offered from the attack board.

Lucas hadn't really dignified that scepticism with an answer, saying instead, "From what I've been able to gather the signal hasn't moved for a while, but that could mean anything." He had glanced across at Ford, almost as if he had been daring the older man to say something cynical.

"For now," Bridger had said before the Commander had had a chance, "we have to work on the assumption that it means he's still alive."

"Just not moving," Jim had offered at that point. As Lucas himself had said, it could have meant any number of things. Miguel could have been unconscious, or restrained somehow, or—well, he wasn't going to go there. The moment any of them starting considering that grim possibility they would start to lose focus. That was when people made mistakes, and they couldn't afford any of those.

Bridger had issued the command for the helm to set a course for the coast, all ahead full, and then he had turned to Jim and told him to get to work. He knew exactly what that meant and he had wasted no time in making the necessary preparations. Too large a force would lessen their chances of successfully infiltrating the location where the signal was coming from, and as it was they were fully expecting the psychic to anticipate their arrival. It was just a matter of how much time they could get and how far they could advance on the target before she saw that she had company. With any luck she wouldn't be able to see just what they were bringing, how many people and their gear. For all the good that it would do them Jim had told his men, those who would surround the location and establish a perimeter, to keep their minds as clear as possible. It had worked well enough with Clay Marshall, and it was worth trying again in what was to come.

Personally, Jim wasn't going to take any chances. He made one last check of the magazine of the handgun he was going to carry on the mission and then slid it firmly back into the butt of the gun. He felt it click home, a satisfying sound and sensation, and then he racked the slide. A quick motion with his thumb ensured the safety was engaged and then he confidently holstered it at his upper thigh.

It would be a last resort weapon, something to fall back on if things got out of hand, if things got desperate. If there was no other way.

Captain Bridger had said by any means necessary. As grim a reality as it was, those were words that Jim had taken to heart.

They, he, would do whatever was necessary in order to retrieve one of their own. That woman had made her choices and showed no signs of going back on any of them. They couldn't expect her to go down without one hell of a fight and Jim wanted to be ready for her. Ready for anything.

Given what they were up against that was easier said than done, he knew, but that only made him more determined to see this through to the bitter end. By any means necessary. Those words kept going around and around in his head, and would continue to do so until this was done, one way or the other, he knew. Jim didn't plan on fighting that. It was a good thing to keep in mind. The best thing, ultimately.

Whatever happened, they had to see this through.

It was like a prickling in the back of her mind, a quiet buzzing that refused to go away. On and on it droned, little more than background noise, but by this point in her life she knew not to ignore such things. Small signs, the tiniest tips and signals that could tell her so much. In her youth she had ignored them and paid the price but now she was experienced and cunning, always aware and on the lookout for possible dangers and complications.

This one was the former. She could feel it. It had that certain resonance to it, that distinct humming undercurrent of threat and intention. It made her sit forward in her chair. Sit upright. Ramrod straight.

Evan's eyes were on her at once. "Trouble?"

Irina pulled in a breath, tight and tense and irritated. She clenched her jaw, frustrated. "Yes." Damn them. She had been hoping for more time, a bigger window to work with. The opportunity that had landed in her lap was far too good to pass up but she had been intending to take her time with it, utilise deftness and subtly in what she was planning to do.

Now she no longer had that luxury.

If she didn't want that window to slam shut, quite possibly on her fingers if not her whole hand, she had to act now. Hopefully she would be able to compensate for it later, reel it back and rebuild from the ground up if necessary, and that would take even longer than what she had been planning on in the first place. But needs must. Desperate times.

Pushing up from the chair she cast a glance at Evan, not needing to say anything in order for him to follow her as she crossed the floor and unlocked the door to what had once been the manager's office. She felt the trip and catch as the mind within struggled to find its footing, letting her know that the painkillers were doing their job even if it meant he was dulled in more ways than one.

That would work in her favour, luckily. Their favour, ultimately. What came after would be easier to handle because there would be less force required for what she needed to do now. Not considerably less, of course, the painkillers weren't as strong as that, but it was still an unforeseen advantage.

Her irritation pulsed through her veins, carried in her blood with every steady, sure beat of her heart. She hated having her hand forced. Having any kind of control stripped or outright torn away from her was close to maddening and she intended to ensure they realised their mistake and paid for it. Dearly.

Miguel looked from one to the other, figuring out that something was happening a little belatedly but still fairly easily. "They're coming," he said, with a kind of surety that she might have found admirable at any other point but in that moment it was just one more reminder of how much her plans had been shaken, unbalanced, in need of rapid and rough reshaping.

He actually managed a smile, no doubt thanks to the drugs she had given him. It was still a fleeting expression, falling away as he said, "You should run."

"I don't run."

"But you should."

Was he trying to give her an out? How very chivalrous. She found herself smiling back at him. On the one hand he was right, they didn't need to stay here and could easily get underway, but if the crew of that damned submarine had figured out some way to track them, and she was sure that they had, then they would continue to do so.

No, she needed to stand her ground. Stand her ground and fight.

"You can't win," Miguel told her, but he wasn't gloating on behalf of his friends, those coming to try and save him. It was a fact, freely offered and plainly stated. "They'll stop you and they'll catch you, and then—" He jerked back in the chair as much as the ropes would allow, an involuntary motion in direct response to Evan's single certain step forward.

Irina had to be quick to catch his arm, not grabbing it but laying a hand on it. His other, she noticed, was already cocked back, ready to strike. She realised she was holding her breath, her gaze broken from Miguel to fix on Evan. If he struck again he could very possibly shatter the other man's jaw, crack his cheekbone or even fracture his eye socket. A particularly savage strike in just the right place could leave a hairline crack in his skull.

She could not allow that.

Miguel was looking up at Evan, a mixture of fear and realisation on his face. Irina felt them swirling inside of him, a small tempest that quickly calmed until one overpowered the other. Realisation. Miguel's voice was completely steady, free of all that fear from only a moment ago, as he said, "You love her."

Another fact. Freely offered. Plainly stated.

For all his strength and indomitability Evan hesitated, wavering. He had responded to her touch immediately, his forward motion freezing at once, leaving him rooted to the spot like some kind of hulking statue. Irina thought she could hear his knuckles creak as he clenched his balled fist even tighter.

She had known, of course. She had known for a while now. How could she not?

Wait outside.

Evan blinked, turning his eyes without moving his head to glance at her. Questioning.

She hadn't wanted to say the words aloud, wanting to spare him the possible humiliation, no matter how slight. Irina had wanted him here in case Miguel wanted to fight, kick up his usual kind of fuss, but it had been an unnecessary precaution on her part. When hadn't she been able to control the man before them? And now he was bound to a chair, hurting and exhausted. He was in no position to put up enough of a fight to trouble her.

Evan.

He let out a breath through his nose, reminding her for just a second of a riled bull, and then he rocked his weight back, lowering his cocked arm slowly but surely. His eyes had turned back to Miguel and they were slightly narrowed then, giving her just a moment of concern before he let out another huff of a breath and turned away. As he went he glanced at her briefly, almost as if he hoped she wouldn't notice, but of course she did. When he left the room he pulled the door closed behind him, even without her asking him to do so.

The tension that had shot through her shoulders and upper back eased and ebbed as the door closed and silence descended on the room, broken only by Miguel's slightly laboured breathing. She watched him collect himself, trying to gather together the small pieces that Evan's near-outburst had frayed and scattered. She allowed him a moment to do so, waiting until he turned his attention to her before she approached him.

Instantly she picked up on the weary frustration that her approach triggered but it didn't amuse her in the least. There was no room for that now, not with what was coming, and not with what had just happened. That close call had hammered home a point that she had been turning over in her mind for a little while now, since the man before her had come back to them. To her.

Evan was loyal, fiercely, even furiously so, and that loyalty had always been fuelled by his feelings towards her. Now, with the potential of someone else in the mix, a third member to their little party, those feelings were showing themselves in other ways. Problematic ways. Protective ways, yes, but there was no way Irina could have missed the bright flash of white-hot jealousy that had burst through Evan for just a moment when he had had his fist reared back like that. When she had stopped him.

For a moment it was all she could do not to curse. Yet another complication she didn't need, didn't have time for, but would have to deal with sooner rather than later.

"You knew."

Irina looked down at Miguel as he said those words, once again stating a fact. "I did." There was no point in denying it, and it would cast doubt on her abilities to do so. That still mattered to her. It always mattered.

His brow furrowed and she felt the concern flicker through him. "Did you make him?"

Perhaps she should have been insulted by that, or at the very least amused, but she was neither. Instead she simply said, "No." And she hadn't. She hadn't needed to.

"Will you make me?"

The mental projection of the question surprised her but only for a moment and she didn't show it. She held his gaze, seeing the fine threads of fear there even as he fought to rein them in, and she shook her head. "No."

It was too risky. Too much to keep up for prolonged periods of time and too easy to destabilise. It wasn't worth it.

And, she had to admit, even if only to herself, she didn't even want to try.

Before he could think to ask her anything else, and even before he could properly sort through his doubt and scepticism in the wake of her response, she straddled his waist once again. He tried to shy away, stopping himself when he remembered the futility of it. She looked him in the eyes up close and said, "I'm sorry, handsome. I really didn't want to do it this way, but—" Irina actually let out a sigh. "We're out of time."

The frown hadn't even fully formed on Miguel's face before she raised her hands and threaded her fingers through his hair on either side of his head. Too late he realised what was about to happen, that something was about to happen at least, but any fight he might have tried to put up was stopped short when she swept into his mind, forcefully and without reservation, to do what needed to be done.