Hello ladies! I know it's been soooo long since I updated this story. Well, you know how life can get. But I'm in the right frame of mind(and I don't have a clue why)to write, so here it is! LOLOL, it's been so long, you all probably don't even remember the story.
Anyways, thanks so much to all of you for taking the time to read and review chappies 1 and 2. It means more to me than I can say!
Disclaimer: Of course, as we all know, we don't own Frank(what a crying shame!)or any of the other characters from the series. Only those unrecognizable folks are my property.
MALICIOUS INTENT
CHAPTER 3
FLIGHT TO PERDITION
Frank was more than a little agitated on the day scheduled for their departure. He'd packed a duffel bag with the few necessary items before remembering that he really wouldn't be needing any of that stuff anyway. 'What the hell,' Frank thought. 'Might as well take it for the trip there and back.'
Zipping the bag up, he turned and looked at the surroundings in his apartment. He always had a habit of doing that; making sure that everything was off and perfectly in its place. He afforded himself a laugh; the habit always got on his last nerve, but nevertheless, he always wound up doing it.
Frank walked to the front door and opened it. Closing his eyes, a great sigh escaped his lips and he leaned his head against the door frame. He didn't want to go, didn't want to go through all the brutal treatment all over again. He'd had more than his fair share the first go-round, but now, here he was, willingly heading straight into the worst program the FBI had ever conceived. But the most important thing that kept crossing his mind was that he was going for the benefit of his team. Never in a thousand years would he ever consider letting them walk into 'that' program without him. Regardless to whatever good it would prove to do, he would be with them through it all.
Pulling into the Nest, Frank sat behind the wheel of his car and stared into nothingness. Thinking back on 'that' time on the island would do him no good. Maybe they had improved on the techniques in the program and made it more 'agent friendly' because of past events? He doubted that, since all of the agents who went there seemed to be disappearing from the face of the earth.
'Vanishing,' he thought. 'Where could they have gone?' They had to go somewhere and someone on that island had to know where. Were they all dead? He wished his team hadn't been chosen for this.
A knock on the window brought him back to the here-and-now. Frank jumped slightly at the sound and saw that Monica, Cody, Alex, and Jake were all standing together, waiting for him to get out.
"Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts," Frank said sheepishly. "Everybody ready to leave?"
"As ready as we'll ever be," Monica replied, trying to project a confidence that she didn't feel. She wished to comfort Frank, but words couldn't be found that would help him through this repeat training.
Frank had never finished telling her all that had happened, but had promised to finish filling her in on the plane. It was a special FBI jet and no others would be on board except the pilot and co-pilot.
Everyone watched Frank carefully as they waited for the ride that was coming to pick them up. Frank looked at Cody and shook his head at the number of bags he was toting. All of the others had two bags each but Cody, well, Cody had five.
Frank had needed a good laugh and Cody provided one. He looked more like a tourist than an FBI agent going on training. "Cody…you know we aren't going to be needing much on the island, right?" Frank said, still shaking his head. "In fact, everything we're bringing, the bare necessities even, aren't going to be used down there."
"What! What do you mean?" exclaimed Cody. "We aren't even going to use toothbrushes or deodorant?"
"Nothing," Frank said blandly. "Nothing at all. This is a training mission and one like you've never been through before. Like I said, its description is basically hell on earth."
Jake had listened to everything that was being said and just couldn't understand Frank. He'd never understood Frank. The man was made of steel or something. He was walking into a training mission that had wound him up in a psychiatric ward for therapy. Now, the man was walking into the same thing again and worse yet, he knew what he was facing.
"Why, Frank?" Jake asked.
"Why what, Jake?" Frank said, a puzzled look on his face.
"Why would you want to go through training that already sent you to a psychiatric ward for therapy?" Jake replied. "Why Frank? YOU don't have to do this. I can read it in your eyes; you're dreading this! But yet, here you go, heading into the training again!"
"Because we always do missions as a team," Frank said, skirting the issue. He didn't want his true feelings to surface, and fought to keep them buried.
Jake just stood and stared at Frank for a few minutes, in total silence. The others looked on and wondered what was going on between the two, staring each other down.
"The real reason, Frank," Jake asked. "Let's get down to brass tacks. I want to know the real reason."
Frank looked at the ground and shuffled a foot nervously, raking the loose gravel to and fro. He didn't want to show his feelings to his people. Didn't want to make them see everything that weighed so heavily on his heart. He always kept tightlipped about his feelings and had developed a hard-nosed reputation for it. However, deep inside, his heart was aching for them all. Concerning Monica and Alex, his emotional stress greatly multiplied. The things they would go through would be beyond any imaginable humiliation and torment.
"Because I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't. Because where you go, I go. Because deep down inside, I'm compelled to do it," Frank said, shocked that he divulged that much.
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The van arrived just as they had finished locking all the luggage in the Nest for safekeeping.
Pulling up to the curb, the van's widows were darkly tinted, giving an ominous impression.
Monica and Alex looked at each other rather curiously. This van was stifling looking; black exterior, fathomless windows, everything giving way to a sense of foreboding.
"Ah, I don't know about this," Alex said giving way to her initial feelings.
"OH! Come on Alex!" Monica retorted. "You are just letting your imagination take hold of you! Look, we're all in this together. Everything is going to be just fine, trust me."
The van doors slid open automatically, the interior barely visible with the meager amount of sunlight allowed in through the dark windows.
Jake took the initiative and reached in to introduce himself to the quiet driver. The driver had not so much as even looked their way. He stared ahead of him through the windshield, waiting for the group to board.
"Hey, I'm Agent Jake Shaw," Jake said reaching out a hand to the driver, to which no response was given. Not one to be put off, Jake pressed the issue. "And you are?"
The reticent driver continued to stare ahead through dark sunglasses, never once giving any indication that he had heard Jake. With a cynical look in his eyes, Jake turned to look at his teammates and rolled his eyes.
Alex leaned sideways, whispering to Monica. "Look at this guy! I wonder what's up his behind?"
"I don't know. Maybe he is not the talkative type," Monica replied.
"Maybe he's just the rude type," Jake whispered.
Suddenly, Cody's eyes opened wide. "Maybe he's been through the training? Maybe this is what it has done to him!?" a strained whisper crossed his lips.
Startled eyes flashed recognition with those two simple statements. All eyes fell on Frank who stared back at each team member. Frank only response was a raised eyebrow and slight tilt of his head in probable concession to the questions.
"Maybe it isn't going to be just fine after all," Monica muttered, desperately trying to hide her rising anxiety.
The drive to the airport was uneventful. All were lost in their own gloom and doom with the prospect of being victimized by the Bureau for this dread training. Cody tried to make small talk, but there were no takers. He settled back into his seat trying to get as comfortable as possible. Cody eventually decided that studying Frank would be a far better form of amusement considering that he couldn't even take his notebook computer with him. He felt naked without his notebook and desperately needed something to pacify his ever-increasing unease.
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The flight commenced on schedule and Cody, Alex and Jake continued to submerge themselves into thoughts of what they were facing. Monica watched Frank intently. She didn't like what she saw in his eyes. The look spoke volumes. He was a man tormented beyond any possible hope of redemption.
"Frank, how are you?" Monica queried, wanting to get some form of response from him.
Frank continued to stare out of the window. Deep within the recesses of subconscious thought, Frank's mind was reliving his experience on the island. His most haunting memory was being isolated after the interrogation/beating at the end of the day. Being caged like an animal was humiliating. The inability to sit or lie down in that cage multiplied the problem. But being caged alone and unable to communicate with the other agents being subjected to the program was pure torment. The times they were allowed together, albeit few, the agents seemed to draw strength from each other, which helped them endure the harshness of the program.
"Frank?" Monica said, gently grabbing his shoulder.
Frank jumped as he was brought back to the present. He looked at Monica, the haunted expression still in his eyes. For once, he actually wanted to reach out to someone, but he couldn't. Shifting his field of view momentarily, he tried to shake off the rising anxiety. "Sorry Monica, I was lost in thought," Frank said, attempting a slight smile. "You need something?"
"Well, sorta," Monica said, hoping he'd respond. "I was thinking...."
"Oh now, that's dangerous!" Cody quipped, interrupting Monica.
"Shut up, Cody!" Monica snapped. It always irritated her when he did that while she was trying to breech a difficult subject.
Cody grinned ear-to-ear at Monica, to which she conceded for the moment; a smile erupting on her face. She was glad in some small way for the diversion from the stifling tension surrounding them.
"Now, if you will; let me finish, hmmm?" Monica said, smiling.
Cody shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his seat, giving in to Monica's wishes.
"Frank, as I was starting to say," Monica said, rolling her eyes at Cody. "You didn't finish your story. Can we hear the rest of it now?"
Frank looked at her, not really wanting to relive the rest of that nightmare again. He had made a mistake of opening up about it. He had talked too much. Now, he would never hear the end of it.
"Monica, I really don't feel like talking about it," Frank said, hoping he could postpone the inevitable.
"Come on Frank," Monica looked at him with pleading eyes. "I'd really like to know what else happened. It might help you to talk about it."
"We want to know the rest of the story too," Jake said, never breaking his gaze through the window. "It's amazing how the Bureau can cover-up that kinda mission and its end results from the eyes of other agents. I'm not saying that the end result was your fault, Frank. I'm just saying that nobody has ever heard of that undercover operation. There's no information in the Bureau files to even suggest of such an operation. Why the coverup?"
"Because of the cartel planted within the Bureau," Frank explained. "They know there are more. They just can't smoke them out yet."
"Do they have any leads to their identity?" Monica queried.
"No clues. Whoever they are is anybody's guess. They're really slick and I hope that we find out who they are very soon. I'm tired of being a target," Frank sighed in exasperation.
"What!" Monica said, joined by three other voices in unison.
Frank looked at them impassively. He knew that he shouldn't have told them about this, not yet at least. Everything had been touch-and-go from the time he had made his escape from Cortino. Everywhere he went, he was being watched by other agents for the benefit of his protection. On more than one occasion after his escape, he'd been targeted. Death threats sent through the mail were the norm. He received them every day for a couple of months and the Bureau's upper echelon thought that it would be better if he were out of the picture for a while. They were formulating a plan to protect his identity when a team of geniuses from the Bureau had come up with their newest training exercise. His boss happened to be on the team that devised it and thought that Frank would be a good candidate for it. Also, it would keep him out of the line of fire for a while. That way, if anyone tried to get to Frank, the FBI would be able to determine who they were.
But things didn't work out the way the Bureau had planned. There were no attempts on Frank's life and none of the Cartel plants gave up their cover. But after the first team went to the training, things went haywire; the training did more harm than good. All of the agents were placed in a psychiatric facility in an attempt to analyze and treat the psychological after-effects of the training. Frank's file was sealed and he was sent away for an extended vacation as a protective measure. When he came back, Frank was given charge over a team; his current team. But he was never the same.
"Frank?" Jake queried, bringing Frank out of his thoughts.
"Sorry, I was thinking," Frank replied, feeling stupid to be caught staring into space yet again.
"Ok Frank, let's here the rest of the story," Jake said, taking a seat next to him.
Frank sighed again, relenting to his team. He knew it would do no good to divulge what had happened at Cortino's villa, but Frank trusted his team implicitly and knew that whatever he said to them would remain confidential.
"Where was I?" Frank asked, not remember exactly where he left off.
"You ran to where the rest of the agents were supposed to be, only to find that they were dead," Monica replied.
"Right," Frank said, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out in front of him. "I ran to the outbuilding that the other agents were in. As I said, they were all dead. Cortino knew about the whole undercover operation, thanks to Hernandez. He had them killed and I was next, so it seemed. I turned to run, but was met by the cold muzzle of a gun firmly placed behind my right ear."
Frank fidgeted in his chair, fleeting images passing before him of his near-death experience.
"If the odds had been a little more even, I would have tried to fight, but there were just too many of them. All of Cortino's men were heavily armed with semi-automatic weapons which just so happened to be trained on my head. I knew I didn't have a chance; even if I managed to take one down, the effort would have proven to be futile."
Frank closed his eyes, pausing once more, a slight shiver coursing through him with the remembrance of that frightening night. Opening his eyes, Frank noticed that his whole team had moved out of their seats, forming a close circle around him, all wide-eyed and intent on hearing how their boss had gotten out of that deadly predicament. Frank briefly scanned their faces, knowing that they were totally baffled at how he made it out of their alive and desperately wanted some answers.
A deep sigh escaped Frank's lips as he continued. "No one said a word to me. My eyes were trained on the man standing in front of me when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs of the building. It was Cortino and Hernandez. Cortino didn't say anything but rather just stood there and stared at me. I guess he was sizing me up, I don't really know for sure. Cortino then looked over at Hernandez and nodded his approval about something."
Turning to look out the window, Frank shook his head at the dire thoughts he remembered having as he awaited his fate. But now, sharing his experience with his team was rather disconcerting, as it would only prove to them that the first major mission he had been placed in charge of had ended in disaster. This was the ultimate thorn in his side—knowing that he had failed the men under him.
"Hernandez moved so fast, I didn't even know it was coming. He hit me in the face with the butt of his rifle, knocking me to the floor. I was stunned from the impact and had difficulty trying to rise. Not moving fast was a big mistake, because Hernandez then kicked me hard in the stomach—really hard."
Frank looked up at Monica, her eyes full of anticipation.
"It was difficult to breathe. So much for being able to defend myself," Frank said ruefully. "I remember looking point blank into the eyes of Hernandez. Despite the head wound and the abdominal pain I was experiencing, I put every bit of effort into lunging at him."
Frank's smirk betrayed his inner-satisfaction at what had transpired.
Everyone's curiosity increased tenfold with Frank's smirk, betraying his pleasure at some hidden memory.
"Frank, was it worth the effort?" Jake asked curiously. If the look on Frank's face was any indication; it definitely had been worth it.
"Without a doubt," Frank said without further thought on his answer. "They hadn't yet checked me for weapons and I had a knife stowed away in my boot. I quickly pulled it out and gave Hernandez a scar to remember me by."
"Where did you cut him?" Monica asked.
"As I said, I put all my effort into it. I lunged and sliced him from his left shoulder all the way down to his waist—diagonally. I imagine he is sporting quite a scar today, if he's still alive," Frank replied, still a slight smile on his face.
"You think you may have killed him," Jake's said, his expression one of extreme curiosity.
"No, the cut I gave him was a really good one, but not one that would kill. But Cortino may have killed him. That man is well known for his extreme distaste of failure and Hernandez failed him by underestimating the situation—by being too sure of himself. I'm sure that Cortino executed him because of my escape."
"What did they do to you after that—how did you get away from them?" Cody exclaimed.
"I wasn't able to escape right away. After I cut Hernandez, Cortino's men had the pleasure of beating me up. The last thing I remember was a sharp pain in my skull. I guess someone kicked me in the head, I really don't know," Frank said, wincing at reliving the pain. "All I can remember is a blinding pain in my head when I woke up. I was tied up in a chair in a dark, damp room. I really couldn't make out my surroundings too well, as my vision was really blurred," Frank added.
"You must have had a concussion. That would explain the blurred vision," said a sympathetic Monica.
"I don't doubt that I had a concussion at all," Frank concurred. "But I believe the blurred vision was because of all the blood that had congealed in my eyes. I don't think there was an inch of skin on my face that wasn't covered with dried blood, not to mention the rest of my body." He sighed, remembering the agonizing pain he'd suffered. "Sometime later, I managed to escape through a window. That's basically it," Frank said, hoping that what he had told his team would satisfy their curiosity. He didn't like re-living the past, and he was getting to the most painful part of that particular brush with death. Actually, he had told his team the truth. He had been beaten, thrown down into a dark cell, and had escaped through a window. But he didn't wish to go into detail about how long he had suffered at their hands and 'how' long it had taken for him to actually escape the clutches of Cortino and Hernandez. Most of all, he didn't want to face the memories about the woman who had aided him in his escape, only to leave her behind to face her own fate. If he did that, demons from his past would surely surface and hinder his concentration on the problems they were to face on the island. He needed a clear head for that.
"Just like that, huh?" Alex said, knowing that Frank was leaving most of the story unsaid.
"Yeah, just like that," Frank replied curtly, getting aggravated with being the center of attention. "Can we change the subject no, please?"
"Sure thing, boss," Monica said, focusing gentle eyes on his weary face. "We shouldn't have pressed you for that information. I know, it must really be hard to discuss, much less having actually gone through it."
Monica was truly worried about Frank's state of mind. He was a man who valued his privacy, and she was well aware of that fact. But something just wasn't right about this story; too many details had been left out. Something must have happened that had permanently damaged his heart—his soul.
Monica and Alex looked at each other, knowing well that they were both thinking the same thing. This particular mission had been the beginning of a chain of events that had turned Frank's world upside down. Monica gave Alex a look that silently told her she would find out the information to fill in the gaps. All she needed was a little time.
Frank had been staring at his watch, noting that they had been underway for nearly an hour. Vaguely remembering what Monica had just said, he leaned back in his chair once again, closing his eyes to rest.
"No need to apologize, Monica. That's all water under the bridge," Frank said earnestly. He didn't want his team to worry unduly about something that had nothing to do with their own welfare on this island——or would it?
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Everything had been prepared for the new recruits who would arrive by day's end. All staff members had been briefed on each agent arriving on the plane and the month's schedule had been meticulously planned.
The administrator smiled as he read over the Bureau files of each agent. He had enjoyed his newly acquired position and had utilized it to the fullest. Two teams of agents had already been through the training under his leadership; eight members of those teams were now dead and two were soon to follow.
Leaning back in his overstuffed chair, he watched the rising smoke ring that had formed as he puffed on his cigar. In that smoke ring, he visualized the face of the man he despised above anyone else floating lazily towards the ceiling—Frank Donovan.
Too many times had Donovan dashed his plans. Too many times had the effects of Donovan's interference in his business with his connections in the States led to severe financial loss and credibility with his business associates.
Laughing at the prospect of having Donovan landing right in his waiting arms after all the trouble Donovan had caused him, gave the 'administrator' the irresistible urge to kill him on sight. But that thought was quickly suppressed, as there wouldn't be any enjoyment in a quick and mindless kill. No—he wanted Donovan to suffer, and watch his team suffer. Above all, he looked forward to seeing Donovan's reaction when he saw what had become of the woman he left behind.