Blinding light directed onto the table showed every scratch on the surface, running in zigzags round the tape recorder. Tony stared at them mesmerized, struggling to collect his thoughts. Opposite him Hammond tapped a pen against the table, impatient for the recording to begin. Two security guards stood inside the room along the wall behind Tony, watching him for the slightest movement. The tape recorder's gentle hum was the only other audible sound in the room.

'Mr. Hammond, I done wrong, I'll admit it, ok? I hacked into District's files, I used Michelle's password to get inside in the first place, but that's all I done! There's a mole in the higher echelons, I was trying to figure out who it could be.' He fell silent, raising his eyes to glance at the man opposite him. 'You know me, Brad! I'd NEVER betray this country.'

Hammond snorted, shifting on his chair. 'You already did, Almeida! I was there, remember? You'd still be in jail if President Palmer hadn't pardoned you in a moment of weakness!'

Tony swallowed bile down, leaning his elbows on the table. 'You know I did what I did to protect Michelle. For God's sake, her life was in danger. I meant to capture Saunders myself, I had my gun! I didn't work with him voluntarily; I never worked with ANY terrorist. You know me better than that.'

'I know you, alright! You got sent down unfairly, as you saw it, and you turned against this country the moment you were released, to try and obtain a little revenge for your hard time in prison.'

'No,' Tony whispered, shaking his head.

'And so you sold confidential military information to the most violent group on this planet. You done so because you knew they'd be the only group capable of attacking us. You want to see us hurt now.'

'Mr. Hammond, that's not true,' Tony exclaimed, his shoulder aching. 'I never had any contact with terrorists. I was looking for a mole who sold information to the terrorists about the exact location of the USS Stormwater. Dammit, I found all twenty guys who were responsible for the explosion! Doesn't that say anything to you?' He raised his head, fighting his pain, unable to comprehend Hammond's position.

'You gave us 20 names of low ranking men,' Hammond agreed, 'diverting suspicion from your other activities.'

'I was IN PRISON when I gave you those names,' Tony yelled, struggling to contain his outrage. He took a deep breath, aware of the need to remain calm. 'I didn't get as much as a thank you note for my information that led to their capture. I sure as hell didn't benefit in any way. And I wasn't able to do anything suspicious, locked away there.'

Hammond nodded grimly. 'Maybe not then, but you used your time well, Almeida. We know you studied Arabic, in preparation for joining some militants.'

'I had the choice to study something, so I picked Arabic to help track terrorists, should I ever be released,' Tony protested.

Hammond got up and wandered round the room, while Tony stared back at the table. 'All that's immaterial. I wanna know exactly what you sold to Islamic militants over these weeks, Almeida. Stormwater might have been an incident, though no evidence was ever found of any link. Since you've been released two vital pieces of intelligence have fallen into terrorist hands, causing several lives. You will hang for it, Almeida. No one will show you mercy a second time. Now if you admit everything freely and show us just how badly we're compromised, you might cut a deal.'

'"A deal?"' Tony echoed.

'Yeah, you'd possibly avoid the death penalty. You'd get away with a life sentence.'

'Gee, what a deal,' Tony muttered. 'I'm sorry, Brad, I doubt whether anyone would take that. Anyway, I didn't sell any information, so you'd do better to find out who the mole really is, because he sure as hell sold information about the USS Stormwater's movements on the day of the explosions. Think, how else could the terrorists in the port know…'

'I've heard enough, Almeida,' snapped Hammond. 'That case is CLOSED. Now shut up and answer my questions accurately. What was the first piece of information you sold to the militants and when?'

Tony shook his head, disgusted. 'You're not really listening, Brad. I just told you, I never dealt with them. I hacked in today to look for the mole.'

Hammond reached over to switch off the tape recorder. 'I'll give you exactly five minutes to consider your situation, Tony,' he said, getting up. 'If at the end of that time you still refuse to cooperate, you'll get to meet a certain specialist you'll remember for the rest of your sorry life.' He left the room followed by the two security guards, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts.

God help me. They're aware District's been compromised, and instead of searching all employees they wanna pin it on me! Just because I hacked in, just because they sent me to prison. They're convinced I blamed them for that, that I want revenge, but I don't! I did wrong, I deserved what I got, and it wasn't their fault that life inside was pure hell. His head sank lower onto his left arm as he chewed his lip. They're not gonna believe anything I say, coz they're already convinced they caught their guy. They're gonna hurt you real bad, Almeida, and if you survive it, they'll take you right back to prison. Sweat trickled down his forehead at the thought of being escorted through the double steel doors of LA Federal. Icy shivers ran down his spine, whether from the agony in his shoulder or his fear he couldn't tell. I can't go back to prison!

The door opened again, revealing Hammond and the two guards, followed by a silent man carrying a black box. 'You never met Morris.' Hammond switched on the tape again, glancing at Tony meaningfully. 'Alright, it's 18:56 and I'm continuing my interview with Antonio Almeida. Morris is with me. When did you first contact the terrorists?' Hammond began.

'I NEVER contacted any kind of terrorists,' Tony replied hotly, gazing at the solid glass. Someone was behind it, watching him, someone who held as much power over the next few minutes as Hammond did, someone who would need convincing of his innocence.

'He's all yours, Morris,' Hammond sighed, pulling out his chair. 'Restrain the prisoner.' The two guards moved over to Tony, one shackling his ankles to the chair, the other securing his cuffs to the back of the chair with a second handcuff. Tony sat immobile, aware any struggle would result in harsher treatment. Despite himself his eyes roamed over the table, noting Morris opening the black case. A row of needles caught his eye. A vial lay beside them, containing a colorless liquid. A smaller vial lay beside it, the truth serum. He found himself praying he would escape with a shot of that.

Morris placed his hand inside the bag, removing electrodes. Tony gazed at the table, sickened. Oh no, they can't! 'Roll up his sleeve.' A guard pushed his sweater up his left arm.

'Just talk when you're ready, Almeida,' Hammond told him, nodding his head at Morris. 'Begin.'

Tony watched horrified as the electrodes charged, beeping. Morris lifted two electrodes, placing them just above his elbow. Fiery heat burned through the arm, while he jerked involuntarily in the chair, beside himself with pain. After an eternity they were replaced in the charger. Tony slumped against the back of the chair, shaking.

'That was a little taste of what awaits you,' Hammond informed him. 'You sure you want to continue, Almeida?'

'No. Please don't.' Tony forced his voice to steady. 'Give me a polygraph; give me the truth serum, please.'

'You've been trained to beat both,' Hammond reminded him. 'Now what was the first piece of intel you sold?'

Tony squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, unable to watch the electrodes charging. 'For God's sake, Brad, I didn't sell anything to anyone! I can't tell you what I haven't done! Do you really want me to make something up?'

'I want the truth,' Hammond snapped. He nodded his head at Morris. The whine intensified, and he removed the electrodes. Once again they were pressed against his arm, sending fire rushing along the nerves to his shoulder. He was reminded of a time he burned his arm in the kitchen, only this was a hundred times worse, traveling up his entire arm, while he was unable to jerk it free.

His head slumped forward when the electrodes were removed and he rested silently, struggling to get his breathing under control. Easy, Almeida. They'll keep this up a while longer. You're gonna have to take it. You can do it.

Hammond shook his head once Tony was able to raise his eyes. 'I got all night, so does Morris. Spare yourself further pain, keeping silent won't help you. You'll break in the end, you know it too. Everyone has a breaking point, and you appear close to yours. The longer you keep silent the less likelihood you got of cutting a deal. He's ready.'

Tony shook his head, denied the opportunity of defending himself before the electrodes were returned. He pressed his eyes shut, picturing a large wave bearing down on him. 'OK, Almeida, this one's gonna get you. It'll knock you round a bit, drag you under, slam you against the ground, but you'll swim up and escape through the water tunnel. He heard someone moaning but lacked the time to examine who else suffered along with him, as he fought to reach the surface and escape the wave.

Head slumped forward; he fought for air, coughing his lungs out. His body shook against the restraints as instinct took over and he attempted to rise.

'Where do you imagine you're going?' Hammond asked him, examining the tape recorder. 'We haven't begun our conversation yet.'

'Mr. Hammond, please listen. I didn't sell anything to anyone. Why won't you check out my leads? At least check them out, and if you don't get anything you can come question me again.'

Hammond snorted. 'And give you a chance to think up some crap to delay us further? No way Almeida, you'll tell me what I need to know tonight. Take it to the next level,' he instructed the silent Morris.

Tony felt himself pulled backwards, his back pressed into the chair. The hum of the electrodes intensified, signaling its readiness. Morris laid them on either side of his neck, pressing them to his skin. The largest wave in the world caught Tony, curling over him, submerging him and tossing him around like a cloth in a washing machine. His mouth opened to breathe but nothing entered, leaving his lungs screaming for air. It came in shaky jerks when he finally fought his way to the surface. Once his tortured lungs managed to get enough air he heard the intense whine from the table, resembling 10 000 mosquitoes locked into a room with him. His body shook uncontrollably as he was once again pulled backwards, before he had a chance to even open his eyes. Another wave washed over him, dragging him deeper... lower… slamming him repeatedly against the seafloor. He opened his mouth for air, but fire entered instead, burning him from within. Tony's head slumped forward while the shock continued.

'I just said no,' a voice said, close beside him. 'He's too weak to continue. Do you want to kill him or question him? I doubt whether he's much use to you dead.'

Tony rested his head against the chair, struggling to open his eyes. 'Alright, thank you Morris, we'll continue this later. Thank you, doctor.'

'I'm not done yet. I presume you wish the prisoner to live till the morning?' Tony's right sleeve was pulled up and his arm examined with interest. 'Why has the prisoner's shoulder been dislocated? I'll have to set that; he really needs to go to medical.'

'Do what you have to here,' Hammond snapped. 'This man is staying down here, he's extremely dangerous.'

The doctor remained silent, before giving him a shot. Tony felt a little warmth spread through his chilled body and was able to force his eyes open moments later. 'I'll need him on the table,' the doctor continued, and Hammond waved a hand. His cuffs were removed and he was lifted on the table by the two guards, held immobile while the doctor tugged his shoulder back into place. Once again he screamed, lingering between reality and darkness. Reality won, and he opened his eyes again, seeing the doctor leave the room.

'Alright, Almeida, you're stubborn, I'll grant you that,' Hammond told him. 'Don't imagine you got away this lightly, we'll continue this first thing tomorrow. Now I'm off to my office and you... let me see, we can't leave you wandering round the cell unrestrained. You learned too much from all those scum in the prison. I want him shackled to that pipe,' he told the guards, who dragged Tony off the table and over to a corner of the room. A solid pipe entered the room from the floor above and continued below him. His arms were twisted behind the pipe and cuffs were tightened round them.

Hammond knocked his hand against the pipe, nodding in satisfaction. 'That won't give for the next century or so, Almeida, you'll be quite secure. Goodnight!' They exited the room, slamming the door behind them.

Tony leaned against the pipe, wishing it were wider so his back would be supported. His head spun, he allowed it to fall forwards on his chest. Unable to find a comfortable spot he tried sliding forwards, but his arms fastened behind the pipe prevented him from lying on the floor. Eventually he gave up and wriggled closer to the pipe, leaning against it.

His door opened. He dared allow himself to hope the nightmare was over and he was being released, but the four guards who entered carried only a jug of water and two tablets.

'Doctor gave you some painkillers,' one commented in a flat tone. He filled an orange plastic cup with water and held it up to Tony's mouth, tilting it so he could drink. He swallowed the tablets down and drank the rest of the water. Without commenting the guard refilled the cup and held it up in front of him. Exhausted, Tony drank every drop.

'Thank you,' he said softly, grateful. He felt battered and torn apart and would have been unable to manage any food, but he had been terribly thirsty. They left him alone with his thoughts. Tony tried shuffling a little closer to the pipe, seeking a less uncomfortable spot. He forced himself to stay awake, to ponder his situation, which was bleak. How in the world could he convince Hammond to examine his evidence? How could someone with a closed mind be forced to "see"? He had no idea, but he struggled with plan after plan, casting them aside as useless. Unless someone different came to interrogate him the following day, he would end up in Division's morgue.

A couple of hours later he stirred restlessly, seeking the camera mounted opposite him. 'Please could someone take me to the bathroom?' he asked, hating the need to ask but unable to wait much longer. The red light blinked as he moved, attempting to stand. Several minutes passed without anyone opening the door. 'Come on, how much trouble can that be,' Tony remarked, standing up with difficulty. His door remained locked, the silence relentless. He kicked the pipe in desperation. 'Come on Brad, don't do this,' he begged. 'There's no point. There's a bathroom down this corridor, it's absolutely secure. I really gotta go.'

After a while he settled back on the ground, desperate to find a tolerable position. The night stretched ahead of him, filled with pain and fear. Craning his head and pulling his arms high he attempted to peer at his watch. It was slightly after midnight. Oh mom, you'll be beside yourself by now. Dinner would've been ready hours ago. He kicked the pipe harder, hearing the echo in the empty room. 'Dammit Brad, I need a phone call. My parents will raise hell if I'm missing.' If he hadn't worked at CTU he might have been fooled into thinking the camera was unmonitored, for the lack of attention paid him. In despair he sank back down again. It was clear he was to be ignored that night, and that order had to come from someone higher up. He chewed his lip in fury, calculating the hours remaining till morning. When would they feed him? Six o'clock? Seven?

'Where's Tony?' his mother inquired, laying her bag on the couch. 'I thought he'd have warmed up the dinner by now. Sorry I'm so late, it was an awful day.'

Mr. Almeida glanced up from the newspaper he had been attempting to read. 'I don't know. Was he supposed to come home?'

His wife cast him an alarmed look. 'Sure he was. He said he'd be here.' She looked around unhappily.

'Sweetheart, he might have met a friend. It's not late, and he's an adult.'

'He would've called,' she insisted, staring at the phone. 'It's not flashing, he didn't leave a message. Tony never let us down before, Marco.'

His father got up and slipped his arms round her. 'Maybe he had a drink,' he said softly.

'No,' she exclaimed, pushing herself away from him. 'Tony wouldn't have done that without letting us know. He's still got that cold; he'd have come home early. And he doesn't need a drink, he's fine!'

His father shook his head slowly. 'He's not exactly "fine" yet, sweetheart. He was really struggling last night. Where did he say he'd go?'

'To the beach, and then over to his house. He needed to check something on Michelle's computer.'

Mr. Almeida grabbed his keys wordless.

'Marco, where are you going?' his wife called, hurrying after him.

'Over to the house. He might be asleep, he was tired, and he's not well yet.'

She caught up with him by the car. 'You don't really believe that, Marco, or you wouldn't go over there. You're worried too. I'm coming with you.'

'Now Rita,' he told her gently, opening the door for her, aware she never listened to him. 'He's probably fine.' They drove in silence for a while before he sighed deeply. 'I just wish he would've listened to me and left that damn computer alone!'

Tony's mother shuddered, taking his hand, feeling his reassuring squeeze moments later.