CHAPTER 3

"Come in, let's have a night cap," said Bailey, pausing at the door to his motel room. "I'm sure John won't be asleep yet."

Rachel nodded, rubbing sand off her hands, and smiling.

"That was wonderful," she said to George. "There's something special about the water at night, isn't there."

Bailey opened the door, and indicated that Rachel proceed him into the room. She turned on the light, and looked around in surprise. It was a big room, with three single beds but none of them contained John, sleeping or otherwise, in fact the room was in silence, the television was turned off.

George also looked around, raising his eyebrows.

"I guess John went for a walk as well," he said.

Bailey opened the mini bar, and handed Rachel a cold beer, and opened one for himself and another for George.

"Perhaps he's at the bar," he commented, sitting on the nearest bed, and loosening his tie. "Nothing feels better at the end of a case, than a drink and a smoke." He opened his jacket and removed a cigar, then stood up, opening the sliding door, and walked out onto the balcony facing the ocean.

Rachel joined him, breathing deeply in the soft night air.

"Well I'd agree with you, but for the cigar," she said. "But it's so good to get a positive result. And not to have to rush back. Grace will be upset she couldn't come on this trip, She loves it down here."

"It's hard with two little ones," said Bailey. "She's doing the right thing, cutting back on work a little, for them."

They stayed that way for a moment, staring out at the ocean, and watching the lights reflected in the water.

Rachel finished her drink, and turned back into the room.

"I'm going to bed now," she said to the two men. "I'll catch you in the morning, what time does the plane leave?"

"About 9," said Bailey. "The pilot won't go without me. Sleep well, see you in the dining room for breakfast at 8."

Rachel disappeared next door, and George flung himself down on one of the beds, flicking the television on with the remote.

"I'm ready to turn in too," he told Bailey. "I hope John keeps it quiet when he comes in."

Bailey sat on the balcony, eyes half closed, utterly relaxed, enjoying the night, the peace, and the cigar.

He was happy for this moment in time, the criminal had been caught, his department was once again vindicated, and his team was relaxed and happy. He stubbed out the cigar butt, and headed into the bathroom to prepare for bed, hoping like George, that when John came in, he would do so quietly.

John was aware of voices around him, but they seemed to be coming from a long distance away. He remembered being pushed into the car, and being called by another name, but it didn't seem important to him, of much more concern was the buzzing noise in his ears, and the fact that when he opened his eyes he seemed to be looking at things through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars. He was aware of the movement of the car, but it seemed to be soothing to him, he wanted to close his eyes and give into the rocking motion, but deep down he knew he should be fighting the drug that was racing through his system.

The car could have been driven for five minutes or fifty, he had no way of knowing, but suddenly he was being dragged out of the back seat, and being shoved forward, being made to walk when his legs felt like they were made from string. He obediently followed the man in front of him, being persuaded by the pushing from the man behind him, into the building, down some stairs and through a corridor; and then stood still as the man in front of him unlocked a door.

He was unceremoniously shoved inside and the door slammed shut behind him. He stood, swaying back and forth uncertainly, in the dimly lit room, and finally stumbled forward to collapse against a wall, sliding down it till he was lying on the dirty floor.

"Christian?" came a voice from the other side of the room. John moaned a little, and tried to sit up.

"Christian, my God, I can't believe they've got you too. What the hell are we going to do?"

John blinked at the man who loomed over him. "What?" he asked stupidly, not able to focus on what the man was saying to him.

"Christian, concentrate! What have they done to you? More botox or what?"

"A tranq. dart, I think," John mumbled, slurring his words slightly "Not that strong, but quick. Sorry can't think straight." And he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Well they grabbed me after I left the clinic this afternoon. It's Escobar

Gallardo's brother and Pepe – We're really screwed now. What are we going to do?"

"Sleep," mumbled John, unconcerned. He didn't know or care at the moment, what was happening, the drug had caused him to totally relax and he could no longer keep awake. The man who was so urgently whispering to him would have to wait.

"Christian, wake up," the man said, shaking his shoulder quite roughly. "Fight that drug, come on! They are going to kill us!"

"Not Christian," said John opening his eyes. "John, my name is John."

Sean McNamara dropped his head in his hands, and tried to subdue the rising panic that threatened to overcome him.

"What is wrong with you!" he demanded angrily. "This is mostly your fault! If you hadn't taken that case, we wouldn't be in this situation. Come on wake up!" and he slapped John's face softly, but repeatedly until John shook his head and sat up in self defense.

"What the fuck is going on?" he asked pushing the other man away. His eyes were beginning to focus a little better in the dim light, he could make out the regular features of the man facing him, even distinguish the color of his sandy brown hair and blue eyes, and especially the pained and panicked expression on his otherwise pleasant face. "Who are you?"

The panicked and pained expression vanished to be replaced by a look of pure exasperation.

"Don't fuck around Christian, it's not the time nor the place. We are in danger, I don't have time for your stupid games now!"

John blinked at this person and rubbed his face where he had been slapped.

"Humor me," he said, his voice stronger now. "Just who are you? And who is Escobar Galliado? And why would they be holding us here."

"Christian, I swear, if we get out of this alive, I'm going to kill you myself." The brown haired man flung himself away from John, and stomped back into the corner of the room, which John now realized was completely empty.

He made several attempts, but finally managed to stand upright, and started taking in deep breaths to try and clear his head. He fumbled around, but found the pockets of his suit jacket and pants empty, he couldn't remember if he had been carrying anything of importance or not, but if he had been, they were long gone now. He knew that he had not been carrying either his gun or his badge and i.d. so as far as the kidnappers knew, he was this Christian character, someone John was beginning to dislike very much.

The other man watched him sourly. After about five minutes, John walked over to where he was sitting, and sat down next to him.

"My name is John Grant," he said softly. "I live in Atlanta. I only arrived in Miami this morning. I don't know who Christian is, but I think we need to work together to try and get out of this place."

"Oh Christian," said the other man. "What the hell am I going to do with you? If you think those killers out there are going to buy that story, then you must have hit your head pretty damn hard when they captured you."

"I guess you know this Christian pretty well," said John, ignoring the other man's words.

"And I understand I must look like him, too. But believe me, I am not Christian. Is there anything I can do, or show you that will prove it? And please, what is your name?"

Sean turned to look at him, shaking his head with anger and disgust, then turned away.

"After what we have been through together, I can't believe that you would do this, deny me, deny our friendship." And he lay down on the dirty floor, with his back to John, curled up in a fetal position, trying to control his panicked breathing.

John sighed and stood back up, prowling around the room. There was only one window, set high up, about 8' off the ground, letting in a weak amount of moonlight, amplified by the light from a street post. It was fairly small, but John was confident he could probably squeeze through, if he could reach it. But when he jumped up a few times, he saw that it was covered with mesh. The rest of the room was completely empty. There was not even an empty bottle or piece of wood he could use as a weapon.

He eventually sat back down, across the room from the other man, and clasped his knees to his chest, thinking. He would rest, and try to figure out what was happening in the morning. The drug was still in his system; whispering about sleep so he lay back down and closed his eyes.

The light on his face woke him, for a moment he didn't know where he was, or why his neck felt stiff, and why he was sleeping in his clothes. With a dry mouth and pounding headache, he forced himself to sit up, and found the other man sitting staring at him from a small distance away.

"You come to your senses yet?" the other man demanded, staring at him. "They'll be coming soon."

John rubbed his hands over his face, and went to stand up, wincing a little at the sharp ache in his side. He unbuttoned his shirt, and looked down; where the tranquilizer dart had pierced his skin was a large bruise, and a small puncture wound that had bled slightly but was now closed over. The other man came up with an impatient movement, and pulled his shirt open, to examine the wound.

"It's just a bruise," he said impatiently.

His eyes then wandered up John's chest, and focused on the scar left by the bullet that had ploughed into him two years before. He then looked up more closely at John's face, and stared intently at him for several minutes, his mouth open with shock.

"My God," he said, eventually "You're not Christian."

"Hallelujah," said John. "Thank you. My name is John Grant. And you are?"

"Sean McNamara." He put out his hand, and John shook it slowly. The two men stared at each other.

"The resemblance is amazing," said McNamara. "Christian and I are partners, I have know him for nearly 20 years. I can't believe how much you look like him."

"You are not the only one," replied John ruefully. "Those men out there thought I was your partner. And some strange and angry blonde woman also. He's a very un- popular person, this Christian. I can't wait to meet him myself."

Sean smiled. "Christian is… well I guess unless we get out of here, you will never know. I can see some differences now, in this light and up close. But you are very like him."

He continued to study John's face intently with the eye of a surgeon. "I think you must be younger than Christian, what, about 30 or so?"

John smiled a little. "I will be 31 next birthday," he said, "if I make it that is."

He re-buttoned his shirt, and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers.

"Tell me what this is all about," he asked, sitting back down, "And maybe we can work out how to get out of here together, and in one piece."

Sean shrugged his shoulders and pulled his knees to his chest, clasping his hands and rocking a little.

"These people are into drugs, in a very big way," he said eventually. "They were blackmailing Christian and I – threatening us with all sorts of stuff. We thought we'd sorted things out, but…I know they are going to kill us."

John raised an eyebrow. "Why were they blackmailing you?" he asked, zeroing in on the one thing Sean didn't want to talk about.

Sean shook his head impatiently. "That doesn't matter at the moment," he said. "We need to work out some sort of plan to get out of here."

"Well I would like to know exactly why these people intend to kill me," said John reasonably. "And the only plan I can come up with, is hit hard, and run like hell when they open the door."

Sean looked at him again. "I've never been into fighting much," he said. "I can't risk injuring my hands at all. I'm a surgeon, not a boxer. Besides, there are three of them, and they are armed."

John looked at him steadily, raising one eyebrow. "I don't intend to go like a lamb to the slaughter," he said. "They will be expecting us to resist, surely."

"They may have something else in mind," said Sean slowly. "They may want us to perform some surgery first. That's what they used to make us do – they were bringing in heroin, disguised as implants in girls' breasts. They were making Christian and I perform surgeries to remove them. We should have gone to the police I know that now. To his credit, Christian wanted to from the first."

John stared at Sean steadily. "What on earth did they have over you, to make you do that?" he asked. "It must have been something huge!"

Sean continued to shake his head. "They know that I won't fight, and they have already tortured Christian, and think that he is cowed as well."

"Tortured!"said John, screwing up his face, "Well perhaps they will give me an opening." He sensed that Sean would not say any more. "I guess I'll have to be Christian for a while, perhaps I can surprise them. But I'm not performing surgery on anyone. Except maybe on one of the guys who brought me here," he amended. "If I get lucky!"

He stretched his body; then touched the ground several times, going through a series of stretching and limbering exercises, anything to keep his mind occupied and muscles warm and ready.