A/N: Thanks go to Andrea4, chattypandagurl, IcantthinkofaFnick, Shadow Dark Night, Sparkling Cherries, Zeria, charmedtomeetyou, ilovedrew88, FlowerGrl, misscharmed, darcy101, Midnight murderer, cherrygirl1987, girl-with-the-green-eyes. Your reviews provide me the much needed energy to push on with this story and reassure me that there are people out there who actually read the drabble I post.

Providence

Chapter 10

Family bonds, she said. Unbreakable and undeniable. Ever since I could remember, my mother had reinforced the idea that family came first and everything and anything else came, at best, a distant second. Growing up, my brother and I dutifully acknowledged my mother's words of wisdom; looking out for each other became second nature, concern for each other automatic. I wonder what she would think of our familial bonds now?
– From the journals of Chris Halliwell


She shivered, unsure whether it was the crispness of the night air or fear that created the chill running down her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

What now? I can't go back there – even if they don't kill me, they certainly won't welcome me. And I can't go back to Wyatt. I failed. Assassins don't fail.

So what now?

She pushed the question out of her mind. She would worry about that later. Later when she had time to think. Right now she had to concentrate on clearing the 'dead zone' so that she could use her shimmering ability once again.

Funny that, she thought. I never did quite figure out how they got that no orbing spell to work.

The sun had set, the evening dusk quickly turning into night, allowing Bianca to cloak her movements in the darkness. Without her knives, she was a dead duck – good thing she still had that dagger in her boot. But I'd have to get real close to someone to use it, and I really don't think I want it to come to that.

Luckily the moon gave off enough light for her to make her way. It was one of the reasons she had chosen to stay above ground rather than retreating back into the tunnels. Above ground gave her more options; she could cut a more direct path away from the base and the open space gave her a better chance of seeing her pursuers, should they catch up to her.

Too bad it doesn't give me many places to hide, she thought ruefully, as she scanned the fairly flat terrain. Located on the edges of the city, there weren't any developments, not even ones destroyed in the war. This particular area she was crossing had never been developed and was free from the dullness of surburban replicas. I guess beggars can't be choosers…

The eerie silence of the night was broken only by the occasional cricket chirp or coo from the night owls. But just because she didn't hear anything, didn't mean that her pursuers weren't out there. She had no illusions – she had just tried to assassinate the highest ranking member of the Resistance; only an idiot wouldn't send an army after her.

Or a fool, she thought uncharitably. And if there was one thing she had learned about Chris these past weeks…he certainly wasn't a fool.

She still couldn't believe she had missed.

She never missed.

He had killed her mother.

He was the only thing standing between her and currying favour with Wyatt.

A chance for her to be someone…important.

All good reasons.

So then why hadn't she taken his life when she had the chance? Why had she let him go?

Her mind flew over the past few hours, recalling every detail, every action. She analyzed the situation as dispassionately as possible, as she had been taught to do after every mission. She replayed the scenes in her head, over and over, trying to determine what had happened…what she'd done wrong…why she had failed.

It wasn't something that she'd ever had to do before.

She could see everything play out in her head in slow motion, like a movie. The knife leaving her hand…her foot cracking the branch beneath...the vicious fight after. And not once had he struck back. Not once had he harmed her.

His green eyes…when he had looked upon her…not with hatred or fear as she was used to…but with…sympathy.

Understanding.

Disappointment.

In her.

As if she had somehow let him down.

If anyone's a fool, it's me, she thought unhappily. I've got nothing but the clothes on my back. I've got nowhere to go…all because I had to suffer a crisis of conscience.

Her stomach dropped.

She could feel the sudden lift of the no orbing/shimmering spell. Obviously, she'd cleared the dead zone.

So what now?

She sighed silently. She was going to have to make a decision.

She could go back to Wyatt's…throw herself at his mercy and hope that the information she'd gather on the Resistance's base would make him forget that the target still lived. Hope that the information would expose all the Resistance's weaknesses. And leave it, and all its inhabitants, open to attack.

Or she could shimmer away as far as possible and hope that Wyatt's reach wouldn't extend that far. And that by the time he realized she had failed her mission and wasn't ever coming back that it wouldn't be worth his effort to go after her.

Her conscience cringed again at the first option.

Her body shook with fear at the second.

"You're a Phoenix, Bianca," her mother had said. "You're a part of an elite coven of assassin trained witches. Don't be afraid…never be afraid. They should be afraid of you."

Mom was right. I'm a Phoenix, she thought fiercely. And I'm not afraid.

She made her decision.

She shimmered out.

Back to Wyatt's.


He absently gazed out the window on his left, taking in the landscape.

San Francisco was a smoldering wasteland; the once green parks and cosmopolitan skyline replaced by smoking craters and burnt out husks of steel structures were all that were left.

Magic was no longer his duty to protect but to exploit. The so-called powerful Elders had fled in terror, retreating into the underground; ironically hiding in the shadows and tunnels underneath the earth much like the very demons they despised once did. Demons, warlocks and other evil creatures bowed down to his rule.

He was…in all aspects…powerful.

At least…on the surface.

His brother still roamed free, thwarting him at every turn. A thorn in his side, Chris nipped at his heels with his foolish Resistance…challenging him…annoying him...defying him.

His eyes narrowed. No longer. Soon…soon I will crush the Resistance. And remind Chris why I am the 'twice-blessed!'

He returned his focus to the matter at hand, the demon standing before him.

"What do you mean, she hasn't checked in yet?" Wyatt growled, feeling his distemper rise. "How long could it possibly take an assassin to gather information and then kill the target?"

He was surrounded by fools.

If he was afraid of the 'twice-blessed', Zankou's face certainly did not betray it. Smoothly, he replied, "Perhaps she encountered some difficulties in completing her mission."

"Bah," Wyatt spat, disgusted. "What kind of difficulties could she possibly have encountered?"

Zankou's shoulder lifted in semblance of a slight shrug, "I would not know. I was merely trying to offer a plausible explanation for her…delay."

Wyatt's clenched fist came down hard on the arm of the chair he was lounging in. "Damn it! I finally get someone to infiltrate that…that bunch of infidels and hear nothing for weeks!" Glaring angrily at his second in command, "This is unacceptable, Zankou!"

"It would have been too risky to demand that she check in with us on regular intervals," Zankou pointed out. "The risk of detection would have increased tenfold."

"Excuses," Wyatt shifted in his seat, restless. "I want the Resistance eliminated. Destroyed. Terminated. And I want it done now."

"What would you have me do?" Zankou asked, his eyebrow lifting sardonically. "I cannot get in touch with her. We don't even know where the base is located."

Wyatt snorted. "We may not know the exact location, but I can make a fairly good guess. Why do you think I've had those demons running forays into our northern border?"

Comprehension dawned, as Zankou thought out loud, "You think that the humans we encountered in that area are part of the Resistance?"

"Walk with me," Wyatt commanded, abruptly rising from his sitting position to cross the room. Exiting, Wyatt waved off the two demon guards posted outside from following him. "Stay here. I have no need of you."

Striding down the hall, he didn't look behind him to see if Zankou was following him. "Of course. Why else would so many humans be concentrated in that area. Something is there…and I intend to find out. Give the order to move into that region. I want it under my control."

"As you wish," Zankou murmured, hurrying after Wyatt. "Is there anything else, my lord?"

Wyatt turned the corner, heading in the direction of his private rooms. "This situation is intolerable. I cannot have mere mortals defying my rule. Once my brother is out of the way, we can begin phase two."

Following behind Wyatt at a discrete distance, Zankou nodded in agreement, "Of course. Once the assassin has checked in, we will have a better idea of what we are dealing with in terms of the Resistance."

"For your sake, she had best check in soon," Wyatt growled threateningly.

"What if she failed? What if she doesn't manage to eliminate her target? After all, her mother failed you." Zankou questioned. "She could have been caught, which would explain why she has failed to check in."

Abruptly coming to a halt, Wyatt whirled onto his henchman, "Then unlike her mother, she had best not return to beg for mercy or I will eliminate her like I did the pathetic failure of her mother." Before Zankou could utter a word, Wyatt whipped around and continued his stalk down the darkened hall. "Twenty four hours. If she is not back by then, we will commence without her. I'll be in my rooms. Do not disturb me."

Zankou watched as the twice blessed disappeared around the corner, before shaking himself off. Pushing the questionable fate of the assassin out of his mind, he left the hall to carry out his orders.

Neither noticed the figure emerging from the shadows into the now deserted hall.


"Look, old man –," Ben was saying rather heatedly to Odin.

As the shouting match began to escalate, Les rubbed his temple wearily. The Council meeting was currently being held in the command centre. Feeling like a referee at a soccer game, Les tried to mediate between the two rather opinionated members of their group. "Hold on a sec, Ben. Odin may have a point…"

Neither listened to him. Insults were hurled back and forth, low and dirty and completely indiscriminate. Lilah was gaping in shock at some of the choice wording and Riley actually seemed to be amused by the foul language. A mud wrestling match would be a heck of lot cleaner, Les grimaced. How did I let Chris talk me into taking Darryl's place?

It never ceased to amaze him that the telepaths at the communications array could block out all the noise the Council members made. Then again, maybe they just wisely choose to pretend that they don't hear anything, Les mused.

A door opened. Emerging from one of the meeting rooms, Chris was nodding at something Duncan was saying. Leslie watched with interest as Chris shook his head empathetically before giving Duncan a pat on the shoulder. Giving Chris the 'thumbs up' sign, Duncan turned and swiftly left the command centre. As Chris turned to head back into the small meeting room, his eyes met Les' across the crowded space. Ignoring Les' questioning look, he moved to retreat back into the room when a cry of alarm froze everyone in place.

"Holy shit!" One of the telepaths sitting at the communications table gasped, clutching his head.

"Quiet everyone!" Riley roared, banging his fist on the table so that the telepath could be heard over the commotion.

Les recognized the telepath as Jack, "What is it? What's the matter?"

"Incoming message from the south border! Demons are attacking…" He paled, relaying the communication, "They're overrunning the outpost in sector seven!"

"Wasn't that the area you were looking at a couple of weeks ago? The one where you said there seemed to be an inordinate amount of demon activity?" Les asked Chris, recalling the time he'd interrupted Chris' analysis of the scout reports. "You were looking at scout reports…"

Chris had been studying a map of the city when he had asked, "What do those little triangle thingys mean?"

"Ten or more demons spotted. Our scouts have been spotting demons all over the place. I want to know if they're concentrating in any particular area," Chris replied wearily. "I think Wyatt's starting to get more suspicious. See the number of demons that were spotted here?" Stabbing his pen at a cluster of blue triangles on the map, "Five of these sightings were in the last three weeks."

"What do you think it means?"

"I don't know. But they're stationed damned close to our border post for me to feel comfortable. I just don't like it…Remind me to pass this off to Darryl tomorrow. He might have better luck trying to figure it out."

Chris looked away. "Yeah."

"So what's the contingency plan?" Les prodded, wondering why Chris wasn't volunteering the information.

"I…I didn't…there is no contingency plan," Chris said finally. His eyes met Les', dark with self- recrimination, "I didn't have time to finish my analyses yet."

Swallowing, he asked, "Who's in the vicinity? Isn't that Slick's area?", quickly moving to the side of the telepath.

His eyes slightly unfocused, Jack clutched the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening, "They're too far away to reach the outpost in time…Quentin says they're outnumbered ten to one. They can't hold on."

"Tell them to fall back," Chris rushed over to one of the nearby maps pinned up against the opposite wall. Tracing his finger along the paper, he stabbed at a marker on the map, "Tell them to pull back to the alpha quadrant."

Nodding, Jack bit his lip as he 'sent' the message to his counterpart.

"Chris…" Les moved to stand next to his friend. "I know that area…there's a supplies depot in that outpost."

"Jack – ask Quentin if they have time to salvage any of the supplies," Chris ordered over his shoulder. Looking at Les, Chris asked quietly, "What kind of supplies are we talking about?"

"Food. Water. They just finished a major supplies run two days ago. Delivery was suppose to happen tomorrow. I have a team ready to leave tonight for retrieval," Les shook his head at Chris gravely, "We're talking important supplies, Chris. Supplies we can't afford to lose."

Jack interjected. "Quentin says it's too late…he can't hold on to anything. Even if they try to take stuff with them…it'd slow them down too much. They can't do anything. At least, not without sustaining major casualties."

"How long does Slick think it'll take his team to get to Quentin?" Chris asked.

Jack shook his head, "Two hours. Quentin says it's not soon enough. He can hold – but its pretty much suicide."

"Chris –," Leslie gripped Chris' arm, "we need those supplies." He could see the calculations running through Chris' mind as his friend's facial expression seemed to harden. Les cringed, knowing that Chris was coldly deciding whether the supplies outweighed the loss of human life. In a way, even though Les knew he himself was providing Chris the very advice that would lead to more deaths, he felt…isolated…from the effects of the decision. As if by not vocalizing what had to be done, what order needed to be given…he could pretend that it wasn't real. That he wasn't asking Chris to send their friends and family to their deaths.

That their lives weren't as important as the supplies they guarded.

Chris was the leader and it was his responsibility to give the orders.

Odin, who had been listening intently, nodded firmly, "I agree. Tell them to hold the post. Those supplies are the most important factor here."

Chris paused, weighing his options. Turning his cold stare at Jack who was watching him nervously, Chris bit out, "Tell him to burn it. Burn everything."

"Are you nuts?" Odin grabbed Chris' shoulder in protest. "Didn't you hear a word I said? We need those supplies – no matter the cost!"

Chris replied harshly, "I heard you. But we need those fighters more than we need those supplies. What the hell use will those supplies be if we can't hold our borders?"

"But burning the supplies we do have?" Ben's voice was doubtful. "How can we do that?"

"Do you want the demons to get their hands on it instead?" Chris rounded sharply on Ben. "They need to feed just as much as we do. And I for one intend to make it as difficult as possible for them to digest."

Reluctantly, Odin released his grip on Chris' shoulder, hissing, "This is on your head."

Straightening his sleeve, Chris responded coolly, "Isn't it always? We finished here?" Without waiting for a response, he then turned to Jack, "Well?"

Jack's eyes focused once again as he surfaced from his light trance, "Quentin's burning everything. He'll lock down all entrances to the tunnels. The fires should keep the demons away for at least a few days."

"Good," Chris turned his attention back to the map, "tell them to hold position at the quad and get Slick's team to meet them there to hold down the fort."

Jack nodded, dropping into a light trance once again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Les could see Odin mutter to himself before leaving the room in a huff.

"I guess the meeting's been adjourned for today," Ben said wryly, to no one in particular. Shaking his head, he and the other Council members left the command room.

Silence.

Jack cleared his throat, "I know…I know it wasn't the most logical action to take…and I know we need those supplies…but…I thank you. My brother's stationed at that outpost."

Chris nodded, patting Jack on the shoulder. His eyes turned towards Les, who stared back at him in question. Les jerked his head in the direction of the small meeting room, the two friends left the command area for more privacy.

Closing the door behind them, Les studied his friend solemnly, "We needed those supplies, Chris. We can't win this war if we don't have supplies."

His back towards Les, Chris sighed. "I know."

"We're not going to make it, Chris. We need water. We need food. Things are reaching a crisis point," Les reminded his friend.

"I know."

"So tell me you have a plan. Tell me you've got some brilliant idea that came to you in the night. Because losing those supplies could cripple us," Les asked desperately. "It could be the difference between winning and losing this war."

"No plan. Just keep doing what we're doing," Chris replied, tonelessly.

Les gaped at Chris' back in disbelief. Finding his voice, Leslie said angrily, "What the fuck is your problem? You just ordered a ton of supplies to be burned to a crisp that we needed, and all you can say is 'keep doing what we're doing? Where is your head, Chris?"

Chris turned around slowly to face his friend, his posture defensive, "And what exactly do you think my problem is?"

Anger and aggravation tore through Les, his words emerging from his mouth in a burst of frustration, "I think your little infatuation with Bianca has clouded your judgment. Okay…so she was hot. So she betrayed you and everyone else here. And now your head is so screwed up, you don't trust yourself to make the right decisions. Well – here's a bit of advice. Get over it!"

"Is that what it is? Is that what you think drove my decision back there?" Chris responded icily.

"I don't know…why don't you tell me?" Les shot back.

"I weighed everything in my head. The value of those supplies and the value of those men. And I had to make a split second decision. And I made it," Chris replied, his tone deadly. "So fuck you."

The two friends stared at each other across the desk, each trying to read the other. Finally, Les backed down. "I just…we need you, Chris. This war…we're not winning. We're barely holding our own. And I hate to put more pressure on you but…sometimes we have to take the acceptable losses. We have to…make the hard decisions."

"Don't you mean me?" Chris said, bitterly.

Les shrugged, not unsympathetic. "If the shoe fits."

"Well, this shoe sucks," Chris glared. Crossing his arms defensively, "I know what I'm doing, Les. I weighed the pros and cons. It was the…right…decision, at the time."

"All right. I just hope you know what you're doing," Les sighed. "Because I don't think we're going to last much longer the way things are going."

"I know," Chris replied, his voice sounding faraway. "I'm working on it."

"Huh?" Les asked, puzzled, "What exactly are you working on?"

Chris shook his head. "Never mind. Look, I need you to get a team out there…see if there's anything that can be salvaged. Slick and Quentin are going to need a hand," Chris said softly, his eyes focused on the map of San Francisco hanging on the wall.

"Chris –," Les said, hesitantly. "I really don't think they're going to need another team out there."

Chris' shoulders sagged just a bit, before he straightened them again, "Just go, okay? And get back here by tomorrow evening."

Opening his mouth to argue, Les could see the resolution in Chris' eyes. What the heck?, he thought to himself. It's not like it would do any harm. And maybe putting some breathing space between me and Chris is a good idea right now. We've been arguing a hell of a lot, lately. "All right. I'll go ahead with the original plan to move out tonight."

"Thanks."

Les nodded, shutting the meeting room door behind him, leaving Chris behind.

I just hope you know what you're doing, kid.


She peered around the corner, surveying the darkened hall.

It was empty.

The lights from the torches cast a dim light alongside the wall, allowing her to move cautiously forward, hiding herself in the darkness of the flickering shadows.

She had wanted to shimmer in directly to the room she had formerly shared with her mother, but who knew what had become of it since she had left over a month ago? Being foolhardy was not in her training; instead, she shimmered in as close as possible, picking a well-hidden alcove in another less travelled hall before making her way here.

Glancing over her shoulder, Bianca carefully approached the door to her room. The last thing she wanted was to get caught by one of Wyatt's henchmen.

All because she had to suffer a crisis of conscience.

There was something about the Resistance…about Chris, her mind whispered, that deserved her…respect. She had never been comfortable with Wyatt's power hungry snatch and grab, but she had accepted it. Certainly it had never really occurred to her the consequences of his actions on others. As a Phoenix, she thought she was immune to that sort of morality. But as she quickly discovered during her short time with the people in the Resistance, she wasn't. Like an infection, their values and morals seemed to spread unchecked through her blood, causing her endless arguments with her conscience and forcing her to question her motives. She wasn't convinced that she was good per se, but she did know that she couldn't give them up to Wyatt.

No matter the personal cost.

That being said, she hadn't survived for so long as an assassin by being stupid. She knew she needed to put as much distance as possible between her and Wyatt before he discovered her betrayal. But she wasn't an idiot – she knew she couldn't just run off into the unknown…she needed supplies. And she couldn't go back to the Resistance – that was for certain – they had no reason to believe that she hadn't betrayed them to Wyatt. No, the only solution was to slip back to Wyatt's stronghold, gather as much of her stuff as possible, load up on supplies, and hightail it out of there before none were the wiser.

Piece of cake, Bianca thought, sardonically. What does uncle Cyrus always say? Nothing like a good challenge to get the blood running…

Throwing another searching glance over her shoulder, she hastily approached the door to her room, fumbling with the doorknob. Cursing silently, she quickly realized that the door was still locked. Patting herself down, she cursed her luck again, as the image of the key safely tucked away in the dresser at her room in the Resistance's base formed in her mind. Standing back, she looked up and down the hall, and confirming that she was alone, she raised her leg, ready to kick the door in.

Voices drifted from around the corner.

A man's voice, "…is out of the way, we can begin phase two."

Phase two?, Bianca thought, her foot poised in the air. Hearing the approaching footsteps, she frantically looked for a hiding spot. Eyeing an especially dark corner, she ducked into the shadows, praying that the light from the torches would be dim enough to provide enough cover.

Another voice, slightly muffled, "Of course. Once the assassin has checked in, we will have a better idea of what we are dealing with in terms of the Resistance."

That's Zankou's voice, Bianca recognized. The assassin he's referring to must be myself.

Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she felt her heart freeze in fear as Wyatt himself turned the corner. Flattening herself against the wall, she held her breath.

"For your sake, she had best check in soon," Wyatt growled threateningly.

"What if she failed? What if she doesn't manage to eliminate her target? After all, her mother failed you," Zankou questioned. "She could have been caught, which would explain why she has failed to check in. What then?"

Abruptly coming to a halt, Wyatt whirled onto his henchman, "Then unlike her mother, she had best not return to beg for mercy or I will eliminate her like I did the pathetic failure of her mother." Before Zankou could utter another word, Wyatt whipped around and continued his stalk down the darkened hall. "Twenty four hours. If she is not back by then, we will commence without her. I'll be in my rooms. Do not disturb me."

And with that, Wyatt disappeared around another corner and Zankou retreated back from the direction they had come.

And Bianca slowly exhaled, trembling.

But not with fear.

With anger.

Bastard.


Things were boiling to a crisis point. Les had left with the team a few hours earlier, hoping against hope that some of the supplies would be salvageable.

What had Les said?

We're not going to make it, Chris. We need water. We need food. Things are reaching a crisis point.

Tell me you've got some brilliant idea that came to you in the night. Because losing those supplies could cripple us.

He lowered his head into his hands, his eyes closed and breathed deeply.

It was all his fault.

If only he had finished analyzing those scout reports.

The mission to Berkley had popped up, and he had to lead that team. And then there had been the reconstruction of the bridge outside the train station…and then…Sheila had died…

You're going to have to start delegating, Chris. You don't have time to carry out these missions yourself all the time. Other things are going to start to suffer.

And now Quentin's team was screwed because he hadn't found the time.

If only I had listened to you sooner, Sheila, Chris thought. Now because he hadn't, others were going to pay the price.

He was tired.

Sitting on his bed, he sat for a long time. Thinking. Pondering. Weighing.

He had come to the realization days ago. There was no going back now. That was clear. It was time to accept the inevitable.

And it was time to stop procrastinating.

Standing up, he reached under his bed, pulling out his well-worn duffel bag and dumping it onto his bed. Rummaging through his drawers he pulled out some clothes and other odds and ends, throwing them over his shoulder, hoping they'd land somewhere near the vicinity of the travel bag. Closing the drawer shut, he moved towards a metal cabinet, yanking the door open so hard that it banged against the wall as he flung it open. He hastily tossed a couple of vanquishing potions in the direction of the duffel bag. As tall as he was, Chris still couldn't easily reach the back of the top shelf. Stretching, he reached into the back of the top shelf, his hand blindly feeling for the object he sought. The cold feel of steel met his fingertips, and he inched the metal object towards him, listening to it scrap along the bottom of the shelf. As soon as it was within sight, his fist closed around the handle and brought it down. He stared down at the weapon in his hand.

A dagger, sheathed in leather. An athame, to be exact.

He slowly pulled the athame from its sheath, turning the dagger over in his hand, studying the way the light reflected off the cold steel.

We need you, Chris. This war…we're not winning. We're barely holding our own. And I hate to put more pressure on you but…sometimes we have to take the acceptable losses. We have to…make the hard decisions.

It was time to make the hard decision.

It was time to take a stand.

Can I really do this? Chris wondered. Can I really take a human life? If I don't, how many more lives will be lost?

Les had been right.

It was his responsibility…his duty…his burden.

Earlier…

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Looking up from the notepad where he was busily scribbling notes, Chris called out, "Enter!"

Duncan stuck his head around the door, "Hey, Chris. Got that stuff you were asking for earlier…" He entered the room, a bunch of rolled up papers beneath his left arm.

Chris quickly cleared off the desk, making room for Duncan to spread the rolls of papers onto the surface, "Good work. This is exactly what I was looking for…"

The architectural blueprints outlined the layout of a multi-storied office building. It looked like any run of the mill office tower. Except this tower was Wyatt's stronghold.

Duncan smoothed out the edges with his hands, leaning over the desk to get a better look, "We were real lucky to find these plans amongst those maps you brought back on the last mission. The only thing is these are pretty old. There may have been renovations or other structural changes that aren't captured here."

"It's better than nothing," Chris stroked his chin carefully, making a couple of notes on the plans with his pencil. Tilting his head, he pointed at something at the edge of the blueprint. "This look like a maintenance tunnel to you?"

Duncan veered his head in the same direction as Chris'. "Maybe."

Chris nodded to himself. "This could work. This could bloody work."

Looking across at Chris, Duncan finally asked the question he'd been wanting to voice since Chris had asked him to find any and all information on Wyatt's stronghold, "So what gives? This place is locked down, Chris. Do you really think we have a chance on taking it?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do," Chris said, a little distractedly.

Duncan looked doubtful. "That place is solid. And they outnumber us. It'd be suicide."

Chris glanced up, seeing the uncertainty in Duncan's face. "Not if we do the unexpected. Not if we do something he'd never suspect."

Duncan stared at Chris, uncomprehending. "I don't get it. That place is like a fortress. There's no way we could ever plan any sort of tactical manoeuvre that he isn't guarded against. He's thought of everything."

"You're not looking past the obvious, Duncan." Chris paused, before continuing, "Wyatt expects a full on attack. That's why he's so heavily fortified here, here and here." Chris pointed with his fingers at the entrances on the blueprint. "The question you should ask yourself is, why isn't he guarding this area more heavily?"

Duncan craned his neck to look at the point on the blueprint Chris was stabbing with his finger. "That's the maintenance tunnel. It's maybe six feet by three feet, if you're lucky. You can't fit an army in there. There's no point in guarding that access point too heavily…"

"Exactly," Chris' tone held a note of satisfaction. "Wyatt's probably got a routine guard posted there just in case. He's probably even forgotten about that entry point."

"Something unexpected…" Duncan trailed off, as he began to understand Chris' plan.

"A dagger strike," Chris confirmed. "High level of risk, not much chance of success."

Duncan nodded as he began to think the plan through, "A small team could do it. They could strike and succeed where an all out attack wouldn't. Have you thought of a team yet and a timeframe?"

Chris shut his notebook firmly, "Me. Alone. I leave tonight."

"Are you nuts?" Duncan stared at Chris in disbelief. "Not only would Les and Darryl totally not go for it, but…are you nuts?"

Chris threw Duncan a withered look, "Darryl's in mourning. We are NOT going to bother him with this, are we clear?"

Duncan gulped, "What about Les?"

Chris shrugged. "Les is going to be away on a mission. You can fill him in tomorrow night when he gets back."

Duncan shook his head slowly, "You can't just run off without telling anybody. We have to make plans for you absence. Put in protocols."

"I'm not running off without telling anybody. I'm telling you," Chris pointed out. As Duncan opened his mouth, he held up his hand to stop Duncan from protesting further. "I've made up my mind, Duncan."

"Les isn't going to like this," Duncan warned.

Chris reached out and patted Duncan on the shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry about it."

"Easy for you to say," Duncan replied, ruefully. "You're not the one whose head's going to be ripped off when Les finds out I didn't stop you."

Ignoring Duncan's protestations, Chris began to roll up the blueprints, "Last I checked, I was the leader here." Seeing the resignation on Duncan's face, Chris knew he could count on his friend. "You're in charge until Les gets back. Then you can fill him in."

Duncan sighed, following Chris out the door, "I don't like this, Chris. I've got a bad feeling about this."

Shutting the door to meeting room firmly, Chris made sure he had all the blueprints securely in his grasp. Looking into Duncan's worried eyes, Chris smiled crookedly, "I've made my decision – we need to cut the snake off at the head."

"We need to kill Wyatt."

To be continued…