Thousands of grasshoppers chirped in the moonlight as Tony stirred, pulling himself up with difficulty. His face was warm when it came into contact with his lower arm, indicating fever, and his constant shivering told him it was rising. Without medicines he would be unable to move the following day, and he would either be captured or die in some hole. A coughing fit took him in the center of the settlement, and he forced his sleeve into his mouth, aware of the need for absolute silence. He froze, hiding behind a tree, waiting for several anxious minutes before he felt certain no one had heard him. Gritting his teeth he forced himself to walk onwards, ignoring the ground swaying around him.

The drugstore was dark, secured by a stout wooden door. Tony walked around the back, discovering a loose shutter above a window. Taking care to move slowly, he placed his hands against it and pushed, dismayed to hear a loud creak. The sudden sound echoed through the silence, waking several dogs. Tony pressed himself back into some shadows, trembling. A few yells sounded in the distance and the dogs fell silent. He pulled the shutter the rest of the way, breathless, relieved to hear no further sound, and pushed a window open wider, climbing inside.

The place was tiny. Tony moved behind the counter, turning the handle on the door that led into a store room, delighted to find it unlocked. About time you had a little luck, Almeida! He turned on the light and blinked in the sudden brightness, searching the shelves. He found gauze and disinfectant easily, but found it harder to search through the piles of antibiotics for the most optimum one for his throat infection. After several minutes of searching he found a pack whose name he recognized. He also took a second pack for his arm, determined not to let the wound get infected. Was there anything else he had missed? Of course there was, he needed something to dull the pain of his bullet wound. Before he left he glanced around, making certain all packages were laid back neatly on the shelves. Now if only he could find a little food, he would be alright. Tony pulled the storeroom door shut behind him and turned off the light, noticing a low shelf just beside the door. His fingers closed on a plastic bottle of apple juice and a Milky Way, not exactly the meal he needed but better than nothing. He took both tablets and a painkiller, allowing himself a ten minute break to eat the chocolate. He placed the packet in his pocket and pushed the shutter closed rapidly, glad to hear only a faint squeak.

He continued through the silent settlement, pausing in front of the shop window to examine his picture. It was a black and white photocopy, vaguely recognizable. Underneath the picture it described him, adding that he spoke perfect Spanish and that he was armed and highly dangerous. Anyone catching sight of him should notify the police and avoid contact. Tony rubbed his face, mesmerized. Well, you're famous, Almeida. Your picture is posted all over the country. Wanted, dead or alive. Preferably alive, I guess, they haven't finished your interrogation yet. He shuddered and turned his face away, walking slowly along the road.

An hour later he had cleared the settlement, walking past market gardens. He really needed a lift, or he would be on the road for a week at least before he arrived at his cousin's, yet he dared not ask for one. Just before dawn he entered an orchard and picked a couple of apples which he ate under the tree, taking care to place the cores in his pocket. He picked a few more randomly from all round the tree before surveying his surroundings. The entire area consisted of orchards and market gardens; he would be forced to lie low in one of them. He moved closer to the house, noting the layout of the buildings, pleased to find the farm consisted of several outhouses, just as his grandfather's had. He opened a storeroom and moved down a flight of stairs, concealing himself behind a large crate of potatoes, stored till the next season in the cool cellar. It was cold and dark, the floor beaten earth. A musty smell filled the area and he pulled his sweater tight, shivering. If only there had been any sheltered spot outside, but there hadn't been, he supposed he should be grateful for any place.

A few smaller crates lined the walls. Tony put his hand deep inside one and withdrew a carrot, soil still on it. The next box contained some beetroot, the third lettuce. He wandered round a little further, straining his eyes to peer into the gloom along a row of shelves. Presently he came across what he sought, a sharp knife. Holding the carrot in his injured arm, he peeled it, followed by the beetroot, and he removed several outer leaves from the lettuce. Hiding all the leaves at the bottom of the crate of carrots, he ate breakfast. At least it's healthy; he reflected wryly, no oil, no bacon or eggs, no strong coffee! Something told him he would lead an extremely healthy lifestyle provided he recovered from his cold - plenty of walking, lots of fresh air and sunshine, and nothing but fruit, vegetables and water to eat and drink. He ate his antibiotics and a painkiller, before he settled down to rest.

Hours later he stirred, unsure what had woken him. Pressing himself further behind the crate he listened hard, hearing a car's engine driving away. Tony stirred and climbed the stairs, opening the door a crack. The car he had noticed in the morning had left, driving along the lane in the distance. He cursed himself for not having woken sooner to check how many people had driven away. For a while he remained by the door, straining his ears for any sound, but nothing further disturbed the chirping of the birds. He decided to sneak out and examine his surroundings, knowing he needed water to clean his arm. All proved deserted. Tony picked his way past a chicken coup and pulled the door of the house open, listening hard.

An old wooden table with four chairs sat in the middle of the kitchen floor. Despite himself he was unable to resist searching the cupboards, cutting himself a slice of fresh bread. There was no running water inside, so he returned to the garden and drew himself a bucket from the well, settling in a sunny spot to examine his injury. He pulled his rough home made bandage from it, forced to soak his t-shirt in the water to wash away the dried blood before it gave. Tony pursed his lips, steeling himself for the sight. His arm was red and sore, purple bruises around the actual hole, a rough jagged cut marking the bullet's entry. He pulled the jagged edges aside, ignoring the pain, and examined the bullet. He was unable to remove it with his fingers. 'Dammit,' he muttered, having hoped he could take it out himself, aware that infection would set in if the bullet remained. 'You're gonna need a doctor, Almeida.' He sighed deeply, aware his cover would be blown the moment he entered a surgery. Hopefully his cousin would find one who could be trusted to keep silent.

He rinsed the wound, rubbed it dry in his sweater and opened the bottle of disinfectant. Washing his hands again, he applied it all round the wound, groaning aloud. 'Ow.' Sweat trickled down his face as he recapped the bottle. He allowed himself a minute to rest before washing his face.

All was silent. Tony doubted whether anyone would arrive back for a while. Taking a chance, he removed his clothes and drew a fresh bucket, pouring it slowly over his back. He washed as well as he could and moved into the sunshine, drying rapidly. Reluctantly he pulled his grimy clothes back on, resolved to wash them the moment he crossed a stream.

A distant dust cloud caught his attention, and he rinsed the bucket, hung it back in the same location he found it in, checked to make certain no blood remained on the ground, and ran back to the cellar. He pulled the door shut behind him and peered out, ready to flee downwards should anyone approach the building.

Two people climbed out unhurriedly, passing close beside the cellar. 'That man didn't look so bad. He is not some bad terrorista, he must be with some freedom fighters,' a middle aged woman said, reaching for the bucket. 'Bring some water.'

'Sí. It is disgraceful, posting that picture. How could anyone go to church after having sold somebody?' An old man shook his head, carrying the bucket inside.

'Felipe, somebody was here!' the woman cried, and Tony chewed his lip, wondering what had given him away. Silently he pulled Hammond's gun out, pressing himself against the door. 'There was more bread.'

'So someone hungry took some bread! Is anything else gone?'

Tony watched them search the garden, heart beating rapidly. How in the world could he shoot two harmless middle aged people who genuinely owned nothing? He cursed himself again for having eaten that slice of bread. These people obviously lived in extreme poverty to have missed that small piece. The cellar door was pulled open and he pushed his gun into the man's face.

'One move, you'll regret it. Put your hands up.'

The old man stared at him startled before he raised his hands, eyeing the gun. 'OK, they're up. You going to put that gun away now?' He glanced at Tony, seeming to read his thoughts. 'You're not going to shoot me, anyway.'

'I can't afford to have you talk,' Tony muttered, running through his options and discarding them all. He would NOT harm the couple.

'So what kind of people do you think we are?' questioned the man, reproachfully. 'You think we need US dollars, or maybe more pesos? We are old, we got what we need.' He turned his back on the gun. 'We go to church, we are clean in here.' He tapped his chest. 'You think at this age I will ruin that?'

'I'm sorry,' Tony muttered, replacing the gun. He leaned against the cellar door, overcome by exhaustion. 'Just don't tell anyone I was here. I'll go this evening.'

The man turned back, regarding him in silence. 'You don't look like you'd get far,' he observed. 'Better come into the house and have something to eat.'

Tony forced himself to shake his head. 'I can't. If anyone finds I was here, you'll be in real trouble. I'll just go.'

'Not before you eat,' the old man told him, as stubborn as his grandfather had been. Tony blinked, alarmed to find the world misty. 'Come on,' he was told, and his arm was taken. 'Maria, we have a guest. Is there any lunch left?'

The woman regarded him frankly, unsurprised to find him there. 'There is. I'll warm something for you. Sit down.' She pulled out a rough chair and Tony sank down, searching the room uneasily.

'You don't need to be frightened, we're not expecting anyone today,' the old man insisted. 'Or are you looking for a phone?' He laughed at his joke, his wife laughing with him, until Tony smiled too. 'Ah, it's ready. Eat that.'

'Gracias,' Tony said, genuinely moved. He stirred a plate of beans, too hungry to wait for them to cool, placing his spoon in his left hand. The couple watched while he wolfed down the last morsel, silent.

'What happened to your arm?' questioned the woman, nodding her head at the gauze.

'I got shot,' he admitted, propping his head on his elbow before he remembered where he was and forced himself straighter. His action had not passed unnoticed. The woman reached forward to touch his face, muttering to herself.

'Put him in Tomas's bed,' she instructed her husband, who rose immediately.

'Come with me,' he told Tony, helping him out of the chair.

'No, I can't' Tony told them. 'The meal was great, but I have to go now.' They shook their heads, concerned about his health. 'You don't understand,' he attempted to explain. 'They're looking for me. If they find me here, they'll take you too.'

'Nobody comes here,' the old man assured him.

Tony groaned aloud, longing to stay and sleep in a warm bed. His eyes closed and he gripped his chair tightly, feeling both of them around him. 'Come on, the bed's that way,' the woman said, and he found himself led into a larger room where they obviously slept and on into a smaller one that opened from it.

The old man helped him undress, removing all his clothes. 'They need to be washed,' he told Tony, pulling back the covers on a narrow bed. 'Get in. Don't worry, we have four sons, you don't need to look so ashamed.' Tony climbed into the bed and the man took the covers, pausing.

'Electricity,' he said, gazing at the marks left by Hammond. 'I have seen this before, many years ago. Sleep now and we'll look at your arm later.'

Tony closed his eyes, allowing his exhausted body to relax. Before he fell asleep he felt a cold cloth placed on his forehead.

'Thanks for coming in, Ms Dessler,' Hodgeson said, standing up to greet her as she entered his office. 'Normally there is no reason we would interrupt an agent working on a case at Langley, but under the circumstances…'

'You felt compelled to call me,' Michelle finished for him, chewing her lip. 'Mr. Hodgeson, you don't know Tony, you never met him. He's the most honorable man I know. Things look pretty bad for him right now, but I can tell you for a fact that he isn't a traitor. If there is one, it's got to be someone else.'

Hodgeson regarded her without comment. She chewed her lip, meeting his gaze unflinching. 'I only need to know where he is likely to have gone,' he told her, watching her reaction. 'We traced him across the border, but they lost him. We are aware you went to Mexico twice.'

She shook her head. 'We went to Acapulco for the weekend once, three years ago. Another time we went to see some Mayan ruins. He's hardly likely to be in either location.'

'Did you ever meet any of his relatives?' he pressed her, his eyes boring into hers.

'I met all his relatives in Chicago, but few of the Mexican ones. Just one, who lived in their grandfather's house.'

'And you doubt he'd go there.'

'He'd never go there,' she said firmly. 'Tony's aware you think he's your mole, and he'd NEVER involve anyone else in his problems. He's not like that, he'd rather die. He wouldn't even check his suspicions out whilst I was home, to make sure I could not be implicated.' She blinked the tears to the back of her eyes, desperately worried about him.

Hodgeson regarded her steadily. 'I see. So could you explain to me how come he knew your passwords? He's a convicted traitor, for God's sake! He had NO RIGHT to such knowledge. What else did you share with him?'

Michelle shook her head, shocked. 'I didn't share anything with Tony. I never spoke about my work since his release, and he never asked.'

'Next thing you'll be telling me, you weren't even aware of what he did during the day for the past three weeks,' he snorted, watching her.

She turned red under the intense scrutiny. 'To be honest, Mr. Hodgeson, you're right. I had an awfully busy couple of weeks, and Tony spent his time alone. I don't know exactly what he did during the day. I know he went to the beach a lot, but to be honest, he's a lot quieter than he used to be. We used to work together before; we had no secrets, so I guess this is real hard on him. As for the passwords, I had them for a while. We picked it out together.'

'And the code? Did he pick that out too?' Hodgeson inquired, sarcastically.

'The code was an important date to me. I had no idea he still thought about it also,' she admitted quietly. 'I understand if you feel compelled to fire me, sir.'

'That won't be necessary,' he told her, to her amazement. 'Just change your codes. If you can think of anyplace at all Almeida could hide out, let me know.'

Michelle got up, turning back at the door. 'What's going on here, Mr. Hodgeson?' she asked. 'If you really suspect Tony of being a mole, you wouldn't let me go so easily. You know it's not him, right?'

'We're looking into all leads,' he told her, determined not to involve her any further. For a moment their eyes met, before she turned back to the door and opened it, shaking her head slightly. Something was wrong, she knew it. She determined to discover what it was.

'Mr. Hammond, you've got a call from a Miguel Alvarez, Mexican Intelligence,' his receptionist told him.

'Thanks, I'll take it in my office,' he replied, searching his memory. 'Ah yes, the head of some bordering state's intelligence service, he had been to LA once before.' Almeida had introduced him during his trip to Division, and Hammond had muttered a few words before ignoring him. He struggled to recall what the man looked like. 'Mr. Alvarez,' he said, coldly. Hopefully the man had captured Almeida, and solved a major headache.

'Mr. Hammond,' began a voice, irritation sounding over the line clearly. 'Why was I not informed about your search for Tony Almeida? As head of Baja California's intelligence agency, you owed it to me to let me know'.

Hammond cleared his throat, hoping to placate him. 'Ah, Mr. Alvarez, ah, it all happened rather suddenly,' he began.

It appeared "Miguel" remained dissatisfied. 'I understand that, but the police were notified yesterday morning. When exactly did you plan on letting us know? We're supposed to work together, right?'

'Right, and we are,' Hammond told him, remembering why he had failed to exchange more than a few words with him on his trip. He reminded him too clearly of Almeida.

'It sure doesn't appear that way, from here,' Alvarez continued. 'What did he do, anyway?'

'Now Mr. Alvarez, I'm sure you realize that it's classified,' Hammond exclaimed.

'Yes, I do. I wonder whether you realize that this is MY country. I noticed a couple of your agents crossed the boarder this morning. Unless you tell me why you are hunting Tony Almeida, I'll have them picked up and deported!'

Hammond gazed at his phone, speechless. He was being threatened by a man Tony's age, who had spent the entire evening at the party eyeing the female agents, charming the lot of them. 'Alright, Mr. Alvarez, let me apologize again for causing offence. It was unintentional,' he heard himself saying. 'Almeida is wanted for treason, selling intel to rogue states, and terrorist groups.'

'Selling intel?' the voice echoed, amazed.

'Yes. He's highly dangerous, take care.'

'Dangerous?'

'Yes, he is. He's armed too. I'm asking you to back up the police and use your agents to locate Almeida and secure him till we arrive.'

'Secure him?' repeated the voice, disbelievingly.

'Yes, arrest him. Use several restraints; he's good at escaping custody.'

'Arrest him?' echoed the voice.

Hammond stirred impatiently. 'Do you need an interpreter, Mr. Alvarez? Yes, arrest him and hold him till we arrive to bring him back.'

The voice on the other end was no longer incredulous, it was hard. 'My English is fine, Mr. Hammond. I was thinking maybe there is something wrong on your end, with your br…Never mind. Your agents may search for him, and we will too, but let me make one thing very clear. I will not have any of them using lethal force in his capture. Should that happen, that agent will be prosecuted under MY law.'

'All our agents have been instructed to capture him alive,' Hammond muttered, clenching his fists. 'We need him to answer a few questions.'

'Aha. Now if you'd give me the number of his lawyer…'

'I wouldn't know that, Mr. Alvarez.'

'Then I'd appreciate your finding out and letting me know. Almeida has certain rights while he is here. Good day, Mr. Hammond.' The phone was laid down before Hammond could reply.

Hammond cursed under his breath, sick of the whole affair.

It was dark when Tony next opened his eyes. He turned his head slowly, jumping in fright as something slid over his face. He pulled it off rapidly, forgetting to use his left hand only in his panic, rewarded by a jolt of pain along his right arm. A damp cloth lay on the pillow beside him and he sighed, breathing heavily. He sat up and looked around, pulling his jeans on before he pushed the door open and crossed the dark room, emerging into the candle lit kitchen. Both the old man and woman got up in a hurry as he pushed the door open, before the old man spoke.

'You're not well at all; you'll have to stay at least another day. Don't be frightened, you're quite safe here. Look, I'll help you back to bed.'

They brought him a bowl of soup later that evening, handing him his tablets. Tony swallowed them down and ate his dinner, waiting while they took his fever. '41C,' they told him, 105F he translated automatically. No wander he failed to stop the room spinning round him when he attempted to walk. He coughed again, his ribs aching from the constant jerking. The woman handed him something in a cup, dipping a spoon inside.

'Take it,' she said. 'Your medicines might help, but they will take a few days. This will help you too.'

Tony swallowed the spoonful obediently, a grimace crossing his face. 'Ahhg,' he said, grabbing his glass of water and swallowing some. 'What is it?'

'Some local herbs that are good for the chest, and some honey, to make it taste better,' she told him, smiling gently. 'You'll have to have it all, Señor?'

'My name is Tony,' he told them, allowing them to prop him up. 'All of that?' he asked, gazing at the thick brown liquid in the cup.

'Sí, all of it. You'll breathe better.' Tony sighed and allowed her to feed him the contents of the cup, shuddering in disgust. 'Good, now you must sleep again.' She laid another wet cloth on his forehead and tucked him up.

'What if someone comes to search the house at night,' Tony protested. 'You'll never hear them till its too late, and you'll be in real trouble too.'

'This is my house, Tony. Let me worry about that,' the old man told him, placing a hand on his good shoulder. 'You just concentrate on getting better. Buenas noches.'