A crescent moon lit the ocean as he walked along the sand, moving noiselessly towards the shore. Two boats bobbed on the heavy surf, straining at their anchors. Tony paused, examining them critically. They were both small, neither of them appearing sound enough to take onto the open ocean, yet he was forced to choose one. Time was running out for him, it was essential he reach the relative safety of Mexico by morning, where he would disappear. By now his picture would be spread all over the States, and every small town sheriff would be on the lookout for him.

After a few minutes of silent deliberation he chose the larger of the two vessels, a small fiberglass with an onboard motor. Tony put his hand into the water, confirming that it was indeed cold. The swim would be hard with his clothes in the strong surf, but he had little choice. He had no chance of crossing the border by car, and he was aware the illegal crossing tracks would be monitored extra carefully that night. Taking a deep breath he walked in, caught almost immediately by a strong undertow, dragging him along the shore. He swam as hard as he could to break free and head out to sea, arriving chilled to the bone. He climbed into the boat, dismayed to note the waves had claimed a shoe. That's great, Almeida! You're really gonna fit in, walking around with one shoe!

He pulled the cord and the engine spluttered to life. Tony breathed a silent prayer and nosed her out of the relative shelter of the bay. On the open ocean the waves towered over his small craft, sloshing in. Tony turned her into them and hunted along the bottom, discovering a rope, a fishing rod and a bucket. He set about bailing out determinedly, one hand on the tiller. An hour into the trip the heavens opened and rain poured down, reducing visibility and drenching him for the second time that evening. Thoroughly miserable, he settled in the wet boat, thankful the waves grew no stronger. Come on Almeida, pull yourself together! The storm's passing. Sure you're all wet, but you hadn't exactly dried after your swim yet, so what's the problem? At least the boat is beginning to move. He thought of Hammond alone in the dark cave, watching the rain, and a little of his depression lifted. He wasn't the only one spending an uncomfortable night – the only difference being that Hammond would return home sometime the following day, while he had little idea of where he would end up.

Tony kept a sharp eye out for the coastguard as the boat battled its way south, struggling to think where exactly he planned to go should he arrive across the boarder safely. He had no money, no change of clothes and only one shoe, and he was well aware District would have sent his details over long before he arrived. An unbidden memory came to him of his grandfather's house before he dismissed it as ludicrous. That was sure to be searched, and his grandfather was dead years ago, having left the place to his eldest cousin Jose. He had no right to disturb the family. He swallowed, casting around for anyone else who could help him. His father had a brother with several children, but they all lived in large cities and would likewise be watched. 'Pedro!' he exclaimed suddenly, with a groan. Pedro was the one relative he found it impossible to get along with, a drifter who dabbled in shady deals. Just recently Jose had called him and had explained Pedro worked as a builder in some small town, and appeared to be highly successful. Maybe he could borrow a little money and get himself some passport and flee. Mexico was not safe enough; he would be handed over the moment he would be caught.

A distant glow caught his attention. He turned the boat towards the shore, pushing her to the limit, lowering the anchor the moment the larger vessel came into sight. The coastguard passed him without giving him a glance while he lay on the bottom, heart pounding. Hopefully that was it, Almeida. Keep your eyes open though, they'll be extra vigilant tonight!

The poor weather continued, rain pouring out of a grey sky. As the darkness turned to murky shade Tony pulled into a quiet beach, aware he was still on US soil. His only chance lay in his theft having gone unnoticed; in which case the boat anchored close to shore would attract little comment. He swam ashore, aided by the rough waves, and dug himself into the sand between some coastal vegetation, able to keep his eye on the boat. He opened his mouth to the rain, cold, thirsty and hungry.

Tony's father opened the door, shivering in the wind. He was exhausted, having stayed up the majority of the night with his wife. Neither of them could imagine why Jack had failed to call them as he had promised he would. They had spent the night in despair, torn between worrying that he had failed to locate Tony, or that he had in fact done so and hadn't dared pass them any further bad news. Rain poured on him as he stepped outside, determined to reach his car as fast as possible. Two men directly in front of him pulled him up short.

'Federal Agent Main,' the older one informed him, pulling out his card. 'We need to search your house.'

'Why?' Tony's father demanded, alarmed. 'Where the hell is my son? You've got no right to deny us access.'

'We're here to discover his whereabouts,' stated the same agent, stepping into the house. He glanced round rapidly, nodding his head towards the dining room. 'Sit down, Mr. Almeida. Where is your wife?'

'This is my house,' Tony's father began, furious to find himself led into his dining room. His wife appeared a moment later, her face red. 'Now sit here, please, while we take a look around. Agent Armstrong will remain with you.'

'And you call this a free country!' Tony's father's muttered.

Agent Main turned back to him. 'We can hold our discussion down at CTU, if you like,' he said, leaving the room. They sat in silence while the house was searched, noting two more agents arrival. Presently Main returned, a resigned look on his face. 'Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Almeida,' he began, pulling out a chair and facing them. 'Your son is obviously not here. Now I need to know where he is, and you're gonna help me locate him.'

'Me help YOU?' asked Tony's mother, startled. 'I haven't seen Tony for three days now. You better tell us where he is.' Her husband threw her a warning glance, squeezing her hand.

Agent Main looked unimpressed. 'He was being held pending an investigation into treason.' He paused, allowing the word to echo round the room. Tony's father looked unimpressed. 'Your son is a traitor, you should know that. He is responsible for the loss of lives. Now I suggest you tell us where he is.'

'I thought you had him,' Tony's father said, coldly. 'It's a waste of time hunting for him though, I know my son, and he is no traitor. I don't doubt you got a couple, but you better look elsewhere. As for Tony, I don't know where he is. Did you lose him?'

Agent Main's face turned red. 'He escaped from custody with a hostage. That man's life is in danger. Let me warn you that under the homeland security act, knowledge of the likely whereabouts of a person or persons suspected of treason brings an immediate charge of aiding and abetting if not treason itself. You'd do better to tell me where he is likely to have gone.'

Tony's parents glanced at one another. His father squeezed his mother's hand firmly. 'You just searched my house. He's not here. I have no idea where Antonio is. You have an expression; let me think, ah yes, "It's a small world." Look for him.'

He noticed a flicker in Agent Main's eyes and felt a shiver run down his back as the man turned to him. 'Any further comments, Mr. Almeida, and I'll take you into custody, where you can await the arrival of your son!' He paused for emphasis, staring at both of them, while they stared back, holding hands under the table. 'Alright, I'm glad we understand each other,' he continued, without removing his eyes from them. 'Let's get to work!

'I want a list of every one of your relatives, and their exact address,' he ordered, handing over a notebook. 'Yours too, Mrs. Almeida. That includes parents, siblings, cousins, nephews, nieces, the lot! And the list better include everyone!' He glared at them, while Tony's mother rose to fetch their address book.

Tony chewed a green stalk, remembering basic survival training when he joined the Marines. It tasted bitter and slightly minty, but it was edible. Apart from providing him with food it was high in water content, easing his thirst. The rain poured down ceaselessly, never stopping for longer than 10 minutes, leaving him drenched and extremely uncomfortable. The sand the majority of his body was concealed in was cold and wet too, and the rain dropped relentlessly on his head. Once again he cursed Agent Castle for dragging him out of his home minus his jacket. He coughed, placing his hand firmly round his mouth, his training fresh in his memory. His bones ached and his body was racked by shivers, which failed to respond to his arms pressed ever tighter round his ribs. The day appeared to last an eternity before he noticed the faint shadows stretched along the shore. He swam out to the boat again, fighting his way through the surf that threatened to deposit him back on the beach, using the last of his strength to climb into it.

The second night at sea proved uneventful. The rain poured down steadily and the coastguard vessels patrolled several miles further out, missing his tiny craft. Tony arrived at a quiet beach, certain he had reached Mexico. He anchored and swam ashore, his body numb from the cold water. Nothing stirred in the early morning light, the sand wet from the previous rain. It would be safer to move away from the ocean, in case anyone noticed the boat and suspected he had a connection with its presence. Forcing his weary body to move, he stumbled along the dunes, seeking a path that would lead him to a road.

'Stop!' ordered a voice, and he froze momentarily, searching for the location of the order. A man in a Mexican army uniform appeared, carrying a rifle. Tony fled further into the dunes, the bushes providing him necessary cover. A shot rang out, passing alarmingly close by him. He paused for an instant, as the track divided into two, choosing the one close to the soldier, as it offered greater cover. A second shot rang out before he could move, lodging in his upper arm. Old military training kicked in. He picked himself up before his mind fully registered what had occurred and raced for the safety of the tallest shrubs, breathing deep shallow breaths.

Blood mixed with pieces of sweater covered his wound. Tony peeled them away as best he could, checking the injury, searching in vain for an exit point. 'Damn' he swore softly, aware he would have trouble removing it later. Listening hard, he heard the soldier searching down the second path, convinced he had rushed further away.

Now Almeida, I know this hurts, Tony told himself, tying his sweater round his arm to staunch the blood. It hurts real bad, and you're exhausted, but you got this far, and you sure don't wanna get captured here. You'd end up in back in LA Federal by the evening, if not sooner. Now this guy is gonna call for backup any second, it's imperative that you leave this area now. Hissing with pain he moved noiselessly forward, keeping to the shelter of the dunes till he reached a road. It appeared deserted. Tony slipped across and disappeared into the coastal vegetation, heading inland.

An hour later his weary body could go no further. He sank down under a tree, allowing his eyes to close. His clothes steamed in the sunshine, damp enough to keep his fever down while he slept. Footsteps close beside him woke him - he grabbed Hammond's gun and released the safety, determined not be captured alive. Someone passed a couple of feet from him but failed to spot him. He lay back, allowing himself to relax. It was certainly time to get moving, he just needed a minute to pull himself together. His head ached, his bones hurt, his throat was so sore he doubted whether he would be able to swallow anything and his arm throbbed sickeningly. Placing a hand across his mouth he coughed, deeper than before, aware his cold was catching up with him.

Memories of prison helped him find the willpower to get moving. Tony stumbled along beside a narrow road determined to reach a settlement where he would be able to steal some medicine. He really needed it, he was too sick to continue much longer. Most of all he needed a place where he could stay, where he would be permitted to rest until his cold cleared and his arm healed, a place where he would be fed and maybe fussed over. Tears filled his eyes at the final thought, which he blinked away before they could fall, knowing he had instinctively thought of his parents' home. Keep moving, Almeida. One foot, then the other, you're doing great. He was not, he knew it, he just encouraged himself the way he had first done in the war when a building had collapsed on top of him. You really can't stop. Look, there's a village just ahead.

Tony managed to approach the village unobserved, forcing his weakness aside and creeping silently ahead. It appeared heavily populated for the handful of buildings he could make out, but he was aware extended families occupied most of the dwellings. Children played noisily in the town square outside a tiny school, a few old men smoked pipes on a bench under a tree, an old lady dressed in black entered the small church and two women stepped out of a shop, bags laden. He wondered where the pharmacy was, not daring to risk exposing himself by creeping further. Straining his eyes he made out a small building beside the shop and he relaxed slightly, aware it would either be the drugstore or the post office. He settled in the shade, extremely hungry and thirsty, forced to wait till darkness.

A vehicle drove down the road, covering him in a cloud of dust. Tony closed his eyes, turning his face away. Once the dust settled he slithered closer to the edge of the bush he lay inside, gazing at the town. It would really help if he could find out in advance which shop was the drugstore. What he saw next caused his heart to skip a beat. Three policemen stepped out of the car, greeted by a fourth who appeared to be local, judging by the haste in buttoning his shirt as he waited outside the station. Two of the policemen wore uniforms he had seen before, identifying them as ordinary officers on patrol in larger settlements, while the third wore a distinguished uniform, perfectly at ease in the crowd of gaping onlookers. He spoke to one of his aides, his words lost in the distance. Tony crawled forward, longing to hear whether his name would be mentioned. Why else would he be here? That local guy was certainly surprised by the visit.

One of the aides held up a large picture, waving it round slowly to ensure all in the crowd had a chance to examine it. 'Alright, this man is Antonio Almeida, an American. He's wanted, preferably alive. There's a reward, I'm still waiting to hear how much. I will stick his picture up here, and if any of you see him, you go tell Señor Ramos,' he pointed to the local policeman whose mouth was as wide open as the crowds', 'and he'll call me and you'll get the reward.' A murmur ran through the assembled throng. 'Oh, one more thing. If ANYONE at all helps this man, they will go to prison. That's all.' He climbed back into the police car and his aides followed him, driving through the other end of the town. The local policeman fetched some tape and stuck his picture on the shop window before turning to walk back inside the station. The crowd split into smaller groups, the adults discussing this unusual incursion into their routine with interest, the children beginning games of police.

Tony rubbed his face vigorously, attempting to recover from his shock. Looks like they're really out to get you, Almeida! They didn't just hang your picture up; they made a point of offering a reward! Who decided they need you back so bad? Hammond doesn't have the authority to offer financial incentives. He pressed his hand over his mouth as a coughing fit took him, determined to remain concealed. There goes any hope of catching a bus or getting a lift, or even driving down a road. He rubbed his face again, unsurprised to find his forehead hot. It would be hard to survive the next few days in full health, let alone in his condition. Focus, Almeida! Sure they're a little excited round here, its right near the border and you were spotted this morning. Things will be a little quieter further south. You just got to wait till night and get some food and medicine, and you'll be fine!

Brad Hammond stared at his visitor speechless, unable to believe what he had just been told. 'You want Almeida to get away? With all due respect, sir, the man's a traitor!' His visitor remained silent. Outraged, Hammond continued his protest. 'I don't understand. Do you realize what he done to me? He took me hostage, he held me at gun point, he abandoned me in a slimy cave on some God forsaken cliff, I could've died!'

His words failed to impress the head of District, who sat on a chair opposite him. 'Did Almeida hurt you? Did he steal any money?'

'No, but…'

'Listen to me, Mr. Hammond.'

'The man's a traitor, for Chrissake! He hacked into your department, he sold information and codes, he…'

'Mr. Hammond,' snapped the head of District, losing patience. 'I need to ask a few questions, kindly answer them! How did Almeida leave medical? I understand he was restrained. And why was he there in the first place? Was he sick?' His eyes bore into Hammond's.

'Sir, we questioned him and he refused to cooperate. He kept stalling for time, obviously to allow his contacts to disappear.' His visitor raised his eyebrows and Hammond groaned. 'He kept insisting he was trying to find who sent information about a ship's location.'

'And you had him tortured?'

Hammond gazed at his boss in increasing concern. 'Of course I did, sir. He was hard to crack, we had to push him a little, and then he needed a rest in medical.'

'His files say he nearly died,' remarked Hodgeson, head of District. 'My question, Brad is, how does a man who's nearly dead free himself from restraints and take someone hostage?'

Hammond shrugged. 'We're still looking into it, sir. He was a little better by then…Jack Bauer came by to question him, he got away soon after that, but we couldn't find anything on our tapes.'

'Jack Bauer asked Chloe O'Brien to examine Almeida's information. She was able to trace his research and passed it onto me,' Hodgeson said, his voice emotionless. 'Almeida did in fact hack in only once, to check what we had on that ship.'

Hammond squirmed on the edge of his chair. Would he be reprimanded for being too harsh? 'But the codes were compromised, we lost agents abroad.'

'We sure did. Almeida's investigation opened a can of worms. District's in an uproar. Fact is, we got a mole, and it's someone high up. We got a problem, we arrived at a blank around the same place Almeida did. Now here's what I want you to do. I made it a priority to every department in District to catch this dangerous traitor, Almeida, and I'm gonna watch who is most interested in doing so. That person will probably be our mole, and he or she will attempt to kill Almeida. I want you to post a coupla agents to keep an eye on him, and to watch who'll go in for the final kill from his end, while I'll watch from here. Ideally we would need at least a fortnight to collect any evidence. Is that perfectly clear, Hammond?'

Hammond swallowed, nervous of the intense gaze. 'Yessir. I guess he'll prove useful after all – bait for the hunters. We'll monitor Almeida and see who comes to capture him and bring him back.'

'Good,' Hodgeson told him, getting up. 'Better send a coupla agents trained in undercover operations down to Mexico at once.'

'I will sir, only we got a slight problem,' Hammond admitted, quietly. 'We're not exactly sure of his location, sir.'

'Then I suggest you find him,' Hodgeson told him. 'It's an order, Brad. Do so immediately, before he gets too deep into Mexico. He's our bait to draw out a dangerous traitor. It's a matter of national security.'