Tony woke with a shudder, his head slipping lower. His throat throbbed and he coughed, moving his hand automatically to cover his mouth. A clang startled him, and his hand was pulled up short. Frightened, he opened his eyes, noticing grey concrete around him. Grey wall, grey floor, blinding light burning in the ceiling… 'Oh God,' he breathed, as events of the previous day came back to him. He swallowed in a vain attempt to soothe his throat, wandering why it hurt him again. His body ached, starting with his shoulder which throbbed the moment it brushed against the cold pipe. He felt weak and drained, and there was a terrible pressure on his stomach. Moaning slightly as he moved, he turned his head to examine his watch. 5:32 in the morning, no wander he was so cold and stiff. Once again he gazed at the camera and begged to be taken to the bathroom.

It's no use, Almeida. The same guy must still be on duty. His shift should end soon. He rested his head against the pipe, telling himself they would bring him breakfast and take him outside by 7:00. Just wait another two hours, you can do it. You have to do it!

7:00 o'clock passed, and 8:00. Tony woke to another coughing fit, horrified to discover he sat in a cooling puddle. 'Oh God,' he whispered under his breath, his face turning red with shame. What in the world would they say to him, when his breakfast arrived? By 10:00 he had given up caring about it, wondering dully whether anyone would come at all that day. Hammond might well have decided he was too weak to 'question' any further and settled for a day of sensory deprivation instead. He was certain of it by noon.

Tony sat in silence, his impassive mask on his face, unsure whether he welcomed or dreaded his door opening. Would his questioning continue, or had they given up all hope of gaining anything useful from him? Would he be hauled away to federal prison when someone came next? An icy shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the doors closing behind him. No, he wouldn't go there at any cost. He really couldn't!

Better think of something fast then, Almeida. The way this is going, that's exactly where you'll end up tomorrow, if not today. They're gonna lock you up until your trial, at which point their lawyers will come testify against you, and you'll be sentenced to death. You got nothing to lose, running for it, at the worst they'll shoot you on the spot, which is far preferable to facing an execution. He longed to rub his face. Just yesterday he had eaten a late breakfast with his mother, and today his life was ruined. Your fault entirely, Almeida. So there's still a terrorist or two at large, is it really your business to track them down? Why couldn't you just leave it alone?

Whatever would his parents be thinking? 'They're gonna be hysterical by now,' he muttered to himself, testing his cuffs against the pipe. It held firmly. Tony swore under his breath, wishing he could call them to explain.

Tony's mother laid the phone down a lot harder than she intended, startling his father who finished a mug of coffee in the kitchen. He glanced at her and she shook her head. 'No luck. I just don't understand why she doesn't have her cell with her. Young people always do!'

'Maybe that man you spoke to was telling the truth,' Mr. Almeida said mildly. 'She's out on a long case and cannot be contacted.'

Tony's mother glared at him. '"Cannot be contacted!"' she echoed. 'What does that mean? I'm SURE he could contact her. All I wanted was to pass a message to her. God I hate these bureaucrats. They forget they live from our tax dollars!'

'Now sweetheart, you got to try and relax,' he told her, getting up. 'I'll call you from the office.'

She stared at him horrified before she shook her head. 'You're not going to work today, Marco, I know you too well. You're just as worried about Tony as I am. You got an idea, and you wanted to check it out alone.'

He sighed heavily, avoiding her eyes. 'It's not much of an idea, sweetheart. I just thought I'd look round the house again; see if I missed something in the dark. Why don't you relax and…'

'Relax!' She stared at him amazed. 'How do you think I can do that? Tony's in trouble, I can feel it. I won't sit around and wait. I'm going to go to the beach, see if I can find anything. He was going there first.'

'Good idea,' he told her, kissing her. 'I'll call you.'

It was cold in the holding room. Tony pushed his arms as close to his ribs as he could in a vain attempt to warm himself. He rested his head on his left shoulder, slightly soothed by the familiar grey sweater against his cheek. It was made of thick soft wool and had Michelle's scent in it as he had worn it so often in the evenings while he cuddled up to her watching the TV. She had teased him about it mercilessly during the first year of their marriage. 'It's a little old, sweetheart. Why won't you get another one?' He had laughed it off, explaining how he like that one, and that there really was nothing wrong with it. 'It's too thick, Tony. Where do you think this apartment is - LA or Anchorage?' He had laughed with her, pulling her close for a kiss, but the reality was that he really detested the cold.

The chill of the hard concrete floor seeped into his bones. Slowly he pushed his legs towards his body and attempted to stand, noting how cramped they were. It took several attempts before his knees would bend, several more before they could be persuaded to take his weight. Tony stood up, leaning against the pipe, glancing round the holding room. The bare table and chairs, the locked door, the dull concrete all served to remind him of the Special Housing Unit, the prison within a prison where he had been less than a month before. His eyes closed in despair.

His sharp hearing heard movement moments before his door was unlocked, giving him time to straighten and pull his disinterested mask on. Two guards entered, followed by Hammond who stopped short at the sight that met his eyes. 'Clean him up and move him to Holding 2,' he ordered the security guards. He stared at Tony in disgust for a second before he exited the room, leaving the guards to unlock his cuffs.

'Stop. Face the wall.' A guard cuffed Tony's wrist to his own, whilst his partner laid a stun baton to his neck. 'Move down the corridor to your right.'

Face burning, Tony moved to his right, walking slowly to the end of the short corridor. The door was unlocked and he found himself inside a bathroom, where he was released and ordered to strip. Few showers felt as good as that one, as he turned the hot water tap full on and stood under the steam. He was left undisturbed while he washed, the security guards watching him directly in front of the door. One spoke into his radio, the words lost in cascading water. Presently the door opened again and two more security guards entered, one carrying a towel, the other some clothes. One guard ordered him out sternly and all watched as he rubbed himself dry.

'Get dressed,' snapped a guard and Tony pulled the fresh underwear on, examining a plain blue t-shirt and faded pair of jeans. He dressed slowly, aware Hammond's interrogation awaited him. Turning his back on the guards he pulled his sweater from the pile of discarded clothing.

'You don't need any of those things, prisoner. Let's move.'

Tony ignored the order, pulling his sweater on. 'It's clean,' he said softly.

'Alright, whatever. Hands behind your back.' Once again he was cuffed to the same guard, led back along the corridor and pushed into the holding room opposite the one he had spent the night in. He was ordered to sit and watched silently as his feet were shackled to the chair. The security guards left without any further explanations and he laid his elbows on the table, burying his head in his hands. It was all about to begin again, and he doubted whether he would last more than a few minutes. Somehow he had to escape while he still had the strength to move, but it would be hard. He would have to get out of his holding room, unlock the steel door at the end of the corridor, run upstairs onto the main floor of Division and rush down the corridor to the back door, the closest exit - followed by dozens of cameras. Tony rubbed his head to calm himself, knowing the odds against such a plan succeeding.

Once again the door opened and two guards entered, laying the tape recorder on the table. Hammond followed, sitting opposite him. 'I'm continuing the interrogation of Antonio Almeida. It's 15:03.' He glanced at Tony, shaking his head. 'You lack shame, Almeida! Now you've held us up long enough. Tell me all about your double dealing, and you'll be fed and can make your phone call.'

'I have the right to a lawyer,' Tony stated, his eyes meeting Hammond's.

The man shook his head. 'Not under the Homeland Security Act you don't. Not in this case. Your lawyer can try get you a life sentence later, after we know how badly we've been compromised. Right now that is my prime goal, to discover just how many codes we need to change.'

'You need to change all of them and some personnel too,' Tony stated, his voice unwavering. 'You know that too, Mr. Hammond. Some part of you must suspect you got a leak. Sir, you're a highly experienced agent. You don't trust me, that's your prerogative, but you're trained to follow every lead. I'm not lying to you.'

'We are checking your leads, Almeida, but they don't add up. The two agents you suspected are highly decorated men, both devoting their lives to the interests of this country! Which is more than I can say about you.' He gave Tony a hard look which he met steadily. 'You betrayed us all the moment your interests were threatened. Almeida, you might as well confess everything; you're not doing yourself any favor keeping silent. Your illegal hacking into District is enough to get you a life sentence – if you confess the rest of your crimes freely it won't add anything further to that.'

Tony swallowed, the room swaying around him. He HAD hacked in; aware it was an illegal act. Was it really an offence punishable by life imprisonment, when he was so clearly on the tracks of a dangerous mole?

'Almeida, I'm waiting. Tell us about your dealings with terrorists.'

Tony slammed his fist into the table, frustrated. 'Dammit, Brad, I already told you a dozen times, I NEVER dealt with any. You just promised me a life sentence whatever happens next, so why would I keep silent? You think I wanna get "questioned" again?'

Hammond shrugged. 'I think you're protecting someone else, giving them time to cover their tracks,' he stated. 'You're no fool. Now are you gonna start telling me what I need to know, or shall I call Morris?'

Tony gazed into the pitiless eyes. 'Call him,' he said firmly, refusing to show a hint of fear.

'You know my son?' Tony's mother asked, holding out a small photo. The man behind the counter at the beach café nodded immediately. 'Yes ma'am, I sure do! He was supposed to be here for lunch.'

She leaned against the counter, putting the photo back into her bag. 'Was he here yesterday?' she asked, hopefully.

'Sure he was, ma'am. And he was supposed to be here today too, to meet up with Koskinen.'

Tony's mother ran the name over in her head, aware she had heard it before. 'The sergeant?' she asked.

'Yes ma'am. That's him right there. The lieutenant seemed pretty keen on catching up with him after all these years, see, so we can't figure out why he failed to show.'

Tony's mother ran a hand over her face, longing to leave the café and cry. Instead she drew a deep breath and faced a tall golden haired man who appeared before her.

'Ma'am, I'm Eino Koskinen, I served under your son in the Gulf,' he stated. 'Lieutenant Almeida never failed to show unless he was unable to do so. I take it he's missing?'

She looked into the calm grey eyes, trusting him instinctively. 'Yeah, since yesterday lunch.'

'He was going to go back his house for a bit,' Ray told her, hurrying away to serve other customers.

'Ma'am, why don't we take a walk outside,' Koskinen told her, leading her out of the crowded café onto the beach. 'Last I heard of the lieutenant, he caught all the guys responsible for the port explosions. He's a real hero, never left any situation till it was totally secure. You could trust him with your life. We never left an area till he was sure no snipers remained, no explosives, nothing.'

Tony's mother wiped her eyes, gazing into the choppy ocean. 'He wasn't finished with something now either,' she said slowly. 'He just wouldn't let go.'

They walked further along the beach, the man beside her absolutely silent. "He doesn't talk much." "He's a real decent guy, he saved my life." Strong surf battered the shore and she pulled her coat tighter around her. 'He had a tough year,' she said unhappily, aware of the need to speak.

Koskinen nodded. 'Yeah, he did. He saved his wife and got sent down for treason, letting down the nation.' He laughed bitterly, kicking sand with his shoe. 'I wanted to testify, but they refused. What would they know, anyway, about protecting the nation? They gave Almeida every shit problem around, and he dealt with it all. He was the best sniper available, and they sure considered him expendable. Sometimes they sent him in alone, to take someone out…It was all classified.' Tony's mother listened in silence, aware of the need to keep him talking. 'Once we got surrounded by militants, Almeida stayed to provide us cover, offer a distraction and we got away. We got backup and returned two hours later. They didn't treat him too well. Quacks managed to put him together in the hospital.'

'I didn't know about that,' she said, fighting back fresh tears.

'It was all classified. He never even got a medal, they said he should've sacrificed a couple of us instead, but he'd never do that. He had this sense of responsibility no one else did.'

Tony's mother drew a deep breath, gazing at the silent man. 'He was searching for more terrorists responsible for the bombing. Someone here, in the States. He said something about timing, phoning info across.'

Koskinen's face paled. He muttered a few words in a language she couldn't place before turning to face her. 'It makes sense. Someone had to let the men at the port know when the ship would return. The lieutenant was after someone high up, and they might have discovered that. He'll be in real deep shit. I got someone I can call, find out something.' He lowered his voice. 'If he has ANY friends who worked with him, ask them to help. He'll need it.'

'You sure you wanna keep silent, Almeida?' pressed the second agent who had entered the room half an hour before. 'All we need to know is what intel you passed.'

Hammond snorted indignantly. 'Don't tell me you're growing soft, Edwards? He's obviously wasting time to allow his contacts to escape.'

'They would've had plenty of time by now,' Edwards muttered. 'I'm calling the doctor, he doesn't look good.' He left the room; leaving Tony slumped across the table they had strapped him against.

'Keep going Morris, he's close now,' Hammond ordered, and the electrodes whined again. Tony strained against the straps, tossing his head from side to side, beside himself with pain. He had to leave, he would tear his bonds off, couldn't they tell he knew nothing? Once again the electrodes were placed on his stomach, and the fire burned inside him.

The door opened again, he heard people entering thought his eyes refused to open. They obviously came to hurt him, to tell Morris to continue, to yell at him, refusing to give him five minutes to think up a story he could admit to. Something was placed against his chest and he strained against the straps, unable to face further pain. 'Easy,' said a voice, pushing him down. 'This man needs immediate treatment.'

Hammond argued with the new arrival while Tony lay on the table, unable to utter a sound. 'He won't last another shot, Mr. Hammond. His heart is fluttering, are you aware of what that means?'

'Damn it. It's now 18:14, and the interrogation of Antonio Almeida is stopped." Someone loosened his restraints and he attempted to climb off the table before they could grab him again, but his body refused to respond to his frantic instructions. Instead, he was pushed into a wheelchair and entered a lift, arriving at the door of the medical area.

People laid him in a soft bed, tucked him up and gave him a shot. A mask was placed over his face, something was attached to his arm, and he drifted off.

'He was there,' Tony's father's said, throwing his jacket over a chair. 'I checked the garden, the vegetable patch was damp. He must have watered that, and there were snail pellets everywhere. They looked clean, no soil on them, can't have been down for long. And then I went back in the house to search every room, and I found nothing, so I decided, what the hell, I can't just leave like this, and I went to check Michelle's computer, see what he'd accessed. Sweetheart, it wasn't there! The one we saw yesterday beside the monitor was the old Pentium. I remember he said something about it lacking a motherboard; I certainly couldn't power it on. There's no way either of them would have attached it to the monitor.' He rubbed his face. 'Michelle's computer wasn't anywhere in the office.'

'Tony might have taken it, if he had to run,' she argued, forcing herself to believe he was ok.

'He would've called. Someone else took it, and they got him too,' said his father softly.

'I'm going to call Jack,' said Tony's mother, getting up suddenly. 'I can't think of anyone else I can trust right now.'