MikaSamu: Oh, just wait. This chapter should clear up a bit of stuff before I start playing with the plot again. (laugh) I'm glad you're enjoying it, and I'll strive to keep it coming! (rings gong to announce another chapter's posting) And as for that twist in the last one… it couldn't be helped :)

YiyangYoung: I'm glad you liked my little twist. (wicked smile) As for clues, this chapter will help a little. Happy you're still reading and liking this story!

Disclaimer: I in no way own Gundam W. Don't sue; I'm simply an E-5 in the USN, therefore I have no money. Ha.

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22:58 Hours --

Trowa snarled curse after curse in his mind.

'Good one. Good one. Land yourself right back where you started. Damned moron! Argh!'

He would have kicked himself if he weren't overly bound.

Cracking his green eyes open once more, he stared at the increasingly familiar scene of pitch-black darkness.

His arms were once more shackled from wrist to elbow behind his back, tugging at his aching shoulders, straining his injured side. His feet were bound together as well.

Trowa wiggled his feet back and forth.

'Feels like rope. At least it isn't shackles.'

Turning over again in the dark chamber, attempting to relieve the pressure being placed upon his still healing rib, he grunted quietly.

How long he'd been in that chamber was quite a mystery to him.

12:15 Hours --

Trowa's eyes widened as he finally broke through security, and the spreadsheet began to load.

'Finally!' his mind cried even as he began typing the sequence of commands necessary to send the document to Zipit and burn it onto his CD-R.

His fingers suddenly paused as he heard the click of a gun's safety being disengaged behind his head.

"I knew you'd try."

Raising his hands carefully and slowly, Trowa felt his facial muscles form a frown.

"Turn around… Trowa."

Turning, he kept his face systematically blank as he did as his capture commanded.

Facing the person who'd caught him off guard, he let the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding slip from his lungs.

He was staring down the barrel of a familiar Desert Eagle Magnum.

Beyond that barrel was a pair of familiar dark blue eyes, framed by a far too pale face and platinum blond hair.

"Hands on top of your head."

Trowa complied.

And with a sigh, the blond boy walked to the wall and picked up the telephone hanging by the door, keeping his extremely deadly gun aimed at his target, his eyes focused on the kill. Lifting the receiver, he breathed into the device before sighing quietly, "Lab 19. I have our infiltrator."

23:00 Hours --

Trowa let his breath slowly escape his lungs.

'Of course he'd turn me in. Stupid Trowa.'

'I was going to blow his cover.'

'But the way Johnson, Lesley and Waverly had made it sound, obtaining the information Quatre's after should have eliminated the necessity for him to be in this overly dangerous position.'

22:47 Hours, 2 Days Ago --

"Weeeell," Duo began, stretching out one leg, "why don't you gentlemen please inform us of your great and glorious plan is for getting our buddy out of danger?"

Xavier was the first to speak, holding up a finger. "Actually, it's not our intention to break him out. Quatre knows what he's doing. I don't think he'd appreciate the break in his plans."

Trowa snorted softly. "However, in doing what he's doing, he's endangering himself and the mission."

"True," said James, shrugging. "Which is precisely why we're going to snatch everything Gregory has on the Foundation from his personal computers while he's busy playing with our little blond friend. That way, the mission's covered. And he can get his ass out of there more quickly."

23:02 Hours --

'But in turn, all we've successfully done is endanger Quatre.'

'Could that be their plan?'

Trowa sighed. 'No. If that was their plan, why would they go through such elaborate means?'

'Unless, of course, he was already a step ahead of them and they've been scrambling to catch up.'

'But why him?'

22:56 Hours, 2 Days Ago --

"Very true," Chad said, "but you forget that you're talking about what I call your most perfect strategist. His weapon is his intellect, Mr. Maxwell, and he has that in excess. He'll be able to compensate for any unexpected turns."

08:13 Hours, 4 Days Ago --

"You strategize using a Chess board?"

"Hai. And it usually works very well. Chess… it's very insightful. It replicates real life so very well… all the unpredictable pitfalls… all the plotting that's required to reach your goal…"

23:05 Hours --

'When seeking a victory, always go after the brain of the operation.'

'That's the key signature of Chess, isn't it, Quatre?'

'The King directs the actions and movements of his loyal subjects, who would willingly lay down their lives for his majesty.'

'The King is the brain behind the movements of the army.'

'Capture the King, and you win.'

'So very obvious…'

Trowa slowly flexed his fingers, attempting vainly to keep blood flowing to his fingertips, which were as of that moment starting to go numb.

'Going after Quatre is obvious. The round about methods would be necessary if Quatre's a step ahead of them. Blowing his cover in this operation would do it.'

Trowa suddenly stopped in his pondering.

'But…'

'They left the blow to me…'

16:22 Hours, Yesterday --

"How'd you like it, Trowa?" Xavier questioned.

"Like any other job. Get anything done with the computer system?"

"Some," Xavier said with a sigh. "Security on that damned system is tighter than I expected. They've got more passwords than a whore's got clients."

James chuckled from the back seat. "Vivid imagery there, Xavier."

"How about you?" Trowa interrupted, turning slightly in his seat to set his gaze upon Waverly.

Shrugging, James sighed. "I'm an interrogator, not a computer hacker. What more do you want from me? Tried my best, got next to nothing. As Xavier said, there's pretty tight security 'round that thing."

"Because it's all Romefeller archives," Xavier said with a shrug. "Of course it's going to be locked down tighter than we're used to."

12:07 Hours --

Trowa arched a brow as he broke through the seventh firewall he'd thus far encountered.

'They certainly weren't kidding when they said that security was tight. However…'

He smirked, as Codebreaker 3001, a program of his own design, shattered the next 15-digit login sequence in record time.

'They're amateurs. It's not the worst I've ever encountered.'

23:13 Hours --

Pressing his forehead into the cool concrete he was laying on, Trowa let yet another sigh escape him.

'They had me set up.'

'They were after me…'

'And Duo…'

12:08 Hours, Yesterday --

Trowa was the first of the two to speak. "You have any ideas?"

"Some."

"Better start talking buddy."

"Is that braided kid still around?"

Trowa felt his eyes narrow. "We'd better check."

"Yeah, you better."

Arching a brow, the green-eyed pilot regarded the man at his side. Waverly ignored him, keeping his gaze on the building.

23:14 Hours --

'And they got Duo out of the way, too. Somehow.'

'I wonder if that guy's alright.'

Trowa's thoughts were interrupted as the door was drawn open.

Squinting as bright light poured across the chamber, Trowa attempted to focus his gaze upon the shadow of whoever it was that was entering the small, damp chamber he'd been tossed into.

Soon, he was staring at a pair of dark boots. One of those boots lightly tapped his forehead.

"You awake, mister?"

'James Waverly.'

"Aa," Trowa replied with a sigh.

"Good. Come with me."

Trowa barely managed to keep his footing as he was yanked roughly to his feet. He remained still as another soldier pressed the barrel of his rifle between his shoulder blades, allowing James to bend over in safety and confidence to untie the ropes that bound his feet.

Struggling to keep up with the swift pace James set, Trowa kept his face stoic and flat, even as his eyes bored into the man.

"I'm going to be questioning you, sir," James stated quietly, glancing over at his captive.

Trowa nodded with understanding as they arrived at a large oaken door.

Throwing it open, James shoved him inside, then turned to the soldier who had accompanied him. "You're free to go, Private."

"Yes, sir!" the boy cracked, snapping his salute and marching off.

Turning, James sighed, unclasping the top buttons of his uniform shirt as he rested his other hand upon his hip. "I'd suggest you simply answer the questions I ask you, sir. Be aware that this room is under video surveillance, and that if you make any attempt to overpower me, not only will you regret it because I'll severely kick your pathetic pasty ass, there'll be fifteen soldiers with Tommy Guns in here faster than you can say 'Holy Shit.' Got that?"

Trowa nodded.

"Good," James said, his smile cocky and arrogant as he leaned over to Trowa's face. "Sit down."

Trowa obeyed.

"Now, tell me about your real name, sir."

"Samuel Whitney."

James smirked.

22:30 Hours, 5 Days Ago --

"Now you will tell me why you are here, and what you were intending to do."

Silence filled the room, as dark green eyes peered darkly at the man in the folding chair.

"He was following my directives."

Trowa and the officer turned as one, both setting surprised gazes upon the short blond boy who, until now, had stood silently.

"Do tell," the austere man said with a smirk.

"His name is…"

'NO! What do you think you're doing, Quatre?' Trowa's mind screamed in rage. 'You're going to blow everything!'

"Samuel Whitney."

'Eh?'

"Really," the OZ officer said, arching both brows. Rising from his chair, he walked over to the slender boy.

Quatre seemed to suddenly weaken, his face showing fear for the first time since Trowa had laid eyes upon him, his lips trembling. Taking a step back from the man who suddenly seemed to tower over him, Quatre's wavering eyes looked with what could only be called the highest degree of utmost terror and respect. "Samuel Whitney. Following my orders."

Trowa stared.

23:28 Hours --

Trowa bit his lip as fire raced along his back, ripping cleanly through his shirt and lacing across his bound arms.

Walking around to face his front, James Waverly flashed a predatory smile at Trowa and lifted his chin with the haft of a whip he'd procured from somewhere.

"I've heard that shit before, sir. And frankly, this time, I'm not going to believe you. So I want the fucking truth. And I want it before I have to flog every last scrap of skin off your pathetic, skinny little frame. Is that clear?"

Trowa hissed softly as the pain flared along his skin.

"This whip's been treated, if you're wondering. Soaked in a nice alkaline base for a few days. The leather's really set to fall apart. Doubt I'll be able to use it after today… but such is quite a small sacrifice, considering what it'll do to you in turn."

'That explains it. Burns…'

"This shit'll eat right through your flesh, sir. And the more I flog you, the more gets into your body, the worse it gets. If you don't give me an answer I like within the next, oh, ten minutes, I start getting creative. So talk."

And, leaning forward, James rested his lips beside Trowa's ear, using the banged boy's head to block the view of the camera, reaching around with a hand to finger the long wound running along his back thereby causing the stinging sensation to only increase further than it already had.

"And for both of our sakes, Barton," James quietly whispered, "make your lies good."

tbc...