I know, I know.

It's taken me FAR too long to get this chapter finished. I'm really sorry and I don't have any good reason. Thanks to Kita for giving me a much needed kick up the ass. The only good thing is that it's given me a bit of focus and made me sit down and actually write.

Anyway, with apologies again for the delay, here's chapter 11.

By the way is anybody a Dark Tower fan? Anybody finished the last book yet?

Chapter Eleven

"Mr Jarode."

"Lets not waste each others time, Brad. We both know why we're here."

"Yes we do." Brad walked around his desk. "You want to talk about the Almeida situation." He pointed at the another seat as he sat down. "Please sit down, Senator."

Michael Jarode sat down. "I think this situation has gone on long enough, Brad."

"Tony Almeida breached national security..."

Jarode cut him off in mid flow. "I know what he did Brad. I've read the file."

Brad wondered if he had read the actual file, or just Natasha Grey's edited version. "I must be honest, Mr Jarode. I don't know if we can trust the man again. If it had been my decision, he would have spent a long time in prison." 'And I would have gotten rid of his bitch of a wife. Except she found herself allies very quickly. Powerful allies.'

"How long are you going to punish this man, Brad?" Jarode sat back, studying Hammond's face. "She's his wife, for God's sake. What would you have done?"

"My job."

"You would have sacrificed your wife to torture and death at the hands of a man like Stephen Saunders.?" Jarode shook his head, keeping his gaze trained on Brad. "I don't believe you. And, if you are telling me the truth, then I'm not sure if I could continue to support a man like that in this job. We're trying to keep this country safe for families, not reward men who treat their wives like chess pieces."

Brad knew when he was beaten. There was no way out of this trap. All that remained to be decided was the terms of the surrender treaty.

"What do you want, Senator?"

"I want Tony Almeida off probation. I want him and CTU LA free to do their jobs without any interference from you."

"If I agree to that, do I have your continued support?"

"What about Almeida's position within CTU?"

Brad shook his head. "He stays at his current rank. He helped a terrorist escape. He may have had noble intentions but that fact remains. I want Michelle Dessler to remain in command." 'At least until I can find a way to replace her.'

Jarode thought for a second, then smiled and nodded. "Agreed." He stuck his hand out. "I don't think Ms Dessler deserves punished for your mistake, especially when you're correcting it."

Brad gripped his hand, forcing a smile on his face.

Wondering how Natasha Grey would react when she found out about this. Having Almeida back at CTU was a small price to pay for getting her off his back.

Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad day after all.

xxxXXXxxx

Something really fucking weird was going on.

Kevin van der Melde looked around the inside of the transit van, at the men guarding him. He had been expecting LAPD, maybe some customs officials. Not these guys. These guys were good, well trained, well armed.

And they were expecting trouble.

And that meant Oliver Fredericks. Van der Melde smiled grimly. At least Fredericks hadn't had him killed in prison. He shifted on the bench, the handcuffs rattling against the chair. One of the guards glared at him, moving his fire arm into a more comfortable position, almost aiming at the prisoner.

Van der Melde froze, holding his smile. He raised his hands, cowering behind them until the guard turned away.

His smile grew broader then. They were defiantly expecting trouble.

Maybe he could turn this to his advantage.

Baker signalled for Jeffers to move away from the prisoner. He wiped sweat from his forehead and reached for the bottle of water. He knew it wasn't that warm, even inside the van, the early morning sun still tempered by the nights chill.

It was tension.

Lying across the van, pressing down on them. They could all feel it, the expectation hanging in the air. He swallowed again, trying to moisten his throat.

He lifted the radio. "Delta Base, this is Delta One."

"Go ahead Delta One."

Even Chloe's voice was thicker than normal. Choked up.

"All quiet here, Delta Base. We're on the Eastern Highway, heading towards the city." He stopped, then clicked the transmitter on again. "Any word from the Regan yet?"

xxxXXXxxx

"All quiet there as well, Tom." Chloe glanced over her shoulder at Tony, angrily pacing around the bull pen, stopping every few paces to glance up at the Director's office. "All we're doing is waiting."

"Let me speak to Tony."

"Tony." He turned at the sound of his name, walking quickly, nervously over to her. "Tom wants to speak to you."

He took the radio off her. "Check through the photographs we have of Fredericks and match them against people in the hotel." She stared at him for a second. "Do it now Chloe." He waited until she had pushed her chair to another station, where Adam was working. "What is it Tom?"

"Just wanted to know what the situation was at the Regan Hotel, and I didn't particularly want to drag it word by word out of Chloe."

Tony bit back on a snort of laughter. "Nathan and Ashley are in position. Cronje and his bodyguard are there as well, but Fredericks hasn't showed up as yet."

"We sure about that?"

Tony shrugged, knowing it was a wasted gesture. "According to his recent photos, anyway. We're monitoring the video feed and I got Adam and Chloe checking the footage to see if he slipped through."

"Good idea."

"What about your end?"

"All quiet. I got a blocker and a rear guard. So far so good, but it wont be too long until we hit the city."

"What about the prisoner?"

"Quiet as a mouse." Tony could almost imagine Tom's pinched grin. "I'm not sure what he's more frightened off. Oliver Fredericks getting his hands on him, or time in South African prison."

xxxXXXxxx

Kevin van der Melde shivered as he heard Tom's words.

Difficult choice. He wondered for the hundredth time if he had made the right one.

xxxXXXxxx

"Would you like some more coffee sir?" Ashley paused next to William Cronje's table, a steaming pot of coffee in her hand. She hoped he would make his mind up quickly. She could do with some coffee herself.

"Yes. Thank you."

Cronje leaned back in his chair as the waitress poured the coffee. Staring at her. Wondering if she was one of the agents this CTU had sent to arrest Oliver Fredericks. He doubted it, personally. She was too young, too pretty.

Ashley glanced quickly around the room as she poured the coffee, the strong odour filling her nostrils. She could feel Cronje's eyes on her, calculating, wondering. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Wondering if the man could hold things together long enough to pull this mission off. She could see how scared he was. How pale his face was, how his hands shook when he reached for his coffee.

She straightened, starting to walk away from the table when she felt a hand grab her wrist.

"I would like some coffee, too, miss." Cronje's bodyguard, his eyes fixed hungrily on her.

She thought about pouring the contents of the coffee pot over his head. Then she thought about her cover and swallowed her pride. Leaning across the table to pour his coffee, knowing that he could see down her shirt, the only place he was interested in looking, conscious of his eyes, of his smile.

Ashley walked away from the table as quickly as she could, swearing under her breath.

"Problems?" Nathan moved close to her, close enough to speak into her ear. He covered the motion by wiping the bar with a damp rag. Somehow, he managed to look both smart and uncomfortable in his Regan Hotel uniform.

"Yes. No. Maybe." Ashley set her tray on the bar, looking back over her shoulder. "I don't know how much longer Cronje can hold together." She shook her head. "I hope he doesn't blow this for us."

Nathan glanced at Cronje's table. A couple of mouthfuls of coffee seemed to have settled him down. At least his hand had stopped shaking.

"I think he'll be okay, Ashley." He refilled her coffee pot. "You better keep moving, see if Fredericks is here yet. The Delta Team didn't pick anything up, but he could have slipped through."

"Okay." She lifted the pot, her mouth watering from the smell of fresh coffee. She turned from the bar, preparing to start another circuit of the room.

"Ashley. Be careful."

"I will." She walked over to another table, a fake smile plastered on her lips, her eyes darting around the room.

Nathan went back to polishing the bar, tapping his transmitter twice.

xxxXXXxxx

"There's still nothing from the Regan." Michelle looked up as the door to her office knocked, in the middle of Tony's report. She signalled and a tall man, white haired, broad shouldered with a neatly trimmed white beard, came into her office, walking across it to stand in front of her desk.

Nothing could disguise the burning grief in his eyes, the sense of loss bowing his shoulders.

"Keep me informed." Michelle put the phone down and hastily stood. "Mr Rawlings, I'm Director Michelle Dessler." She extended her hand. "I'm very sorry for your loss."

George Rawlings took her hand in a grip that seemed as dead as his daughter. "Thank you, Director Dessler." She pointed at the seat on the other side of her desk and he sank into it gratefully. "I'm sorry, Director, I haven't slept since I heard that Aly...that my daughter had been arrested."

"Would you like some coffee, sir?"

"No, thank you." He ran his hands across his burning eyes. "I'd like to take my daughter home, if I could."

She could hear the plea in his voice. At least, this time, she could grant a broken man some peace, some comfort.

"Of course, Mr Rawlings." She stood up, walking towards the door. "We've done our best to tidy her up. She's in one of our medical rooms."

"Thank you Director." He held the door open for her, managing to smile as she nodded her thanks. "I'm sure you're busy, Director. You don't have to come and hold my hand."

She couldn't find any words to answer him and led him silently across the bullpen. She recognised the expression in his eyes from the funerals she had attended after the virus outbreak.

She knew that George Rawlings had had all the hope, all the spirit ripped out of him. Ripped out of him by a shard of broken glass.

Michelle hesitated outside the door of Medical One, her key card gripped in her hand. "She's in here, Mr Rawlings." She ran the card down the reader and pushed the door open. "Do you want me to come in with you? Or would you prefer to be alone?"

George Rawlings stared into the room for an instant, his face wet with the tears he had been controlling since the previous night. His jaw worked, but no sound came out.

"Michelle." Adam appeared at the corner of the corridor. Out of breath, leaning against the wall. "We need you on the floor."

"I'll be there in a minute, Adam."

"Go and do your job, Director." George Rawlings took a step into Medical One. "Go and do your job and I will do mine." He walked alone, into the room.

Michelle watched him for a second longer. Wishing there was something she could say, something she could do to ease the terrible burden of George Rawlings' grief.

Then she turned and walked back towards the bullpen.

xxxXXXxxx

How long would they have to keep this up?

Nathan lifted another breakfast from his tray, sliding it in front of a one of a couple of middle aged men, who totally ignored him despite the smile he had plastered across his face. He made a mental note to leave a better tip next time he was in a restaurant.

He tucked the tray under his arm, hesitated for another second, then turned....

....and froze.

With an effort, he forced himself to keep walking, limbs working automatically. He could feel the mans gaze boring into the back of his neck and he had to fight against the urge to look around, just to confirm what he already knew.

Ashley walked across the floor, carrying a tray full of drinks. Nathan caught her eye, jerking his head back towards the door, keeping the movement as small as possible. She followed his gaze, her own eyes widening.

Nathan walked on towards the bar. Setting the tray down on the bar. Pretending to reach for another pot of coffee, another bottle of water, anything to hide the motion. He nudged his transmitter to life. He spoke quietly, irrationally pathologically afraid that someone in the Hotel would hear him.

"Oliver Fredericks is in the Regan Hotel."

xxxXXXxxx

"How far out are we?" Tom leaned forward from the back of the van, his hand gripping the back of the driver's seat, fingers curling into the padding. Suddenly he missed Nathan, wanted the younger man's reassuring presence.

The driver glanced at the computerised map. "Maybe 30, 45 minutes from the outskirts. We should start hitting heavy traffic maybe 10, 15 minutes after that."

"If they're gonna try something, it's gonna happen soon." Tom glanced out the windows, peering as best he could through the tinted glass. "Keep your eyes..."

The rest of his words were swallowed as the van in front of them exploded.