'Hey Jack,' Tony began, speaking softly in the hut. He had managed to return there for a few minutes on the pretext of changing his blood soaked t-shirt.

'Tony are you ok?' Jack inquired, surprised at the unexpected call.

'Yeah, kinda.' He rubbed his face, breathing slowly. 'I got promoted, like you asked. I'm his personal body guard.' That's gotta impress you, Jack!

'Well done, Tony,' Jack told him warmly. 'Wait a minute; you sounded a little despondent this morning. How did you manage it?'

'Look Jack, with all due respects, waiting around for Division to order more stringent border control will take months! I'm NOT staying here that long.'

'What did you do?' Jack pressed, sensing a story.

Tony drew a deep breath and chewed his lip, regarding his phone with a raised eyebrow. 'You really wanna know?'

'I do. It's an order,' Jack told him, sounding a little irritated again.

'I got into a fight with a guy, and his friends came to give him a hand. I dealt with all six,' Tony admitted, unsure what his reaction would be.

'And you're still standing?' Jack teased.

'Of course. They won't for a while though,' Tony boasted. 'Thing is, Christianson came out and appeared impressed, so he asked me do some shooting.'

'Aha,' Jack said. 'Good work, Tony, though beating up his henchmen wasn't exactly the way I expected you to attract attention. Still, Hammond insisted you were the guy to send undercover and it appears he was right. Want to tell me what the original fight was about?'

No Jack, not exactly! 'Nothing much, really. Someone said something and I hit him,' Tony replied, holding the cell a little further from his ear.

'Tony, we don't have time for twenty questions,' Jack snapped. 'What exactly did he say?'

Tony scratched his face, narrowing his eyes. 'He insulted a friend of mine, ok?'

'And you attacked him? Must have been some insult. You know, you're paid to watch Christianson and keep track of his activities, not to make friends!'

'Yeah,' Tony answered, throwing his cell a guilty look. 'Look Jack, I called you now coz I'm off on a run with him and another guy tonight. I'm not quite sure when I'll be back. Make certain none of the border guards search his truck or the whole mission is over.'

'Ok Tony, take care.' He promised he would and hung up, returning the phone to the attic. He rummaged through his backpack, picking out a crumpled t-shirt. For a moment he regarded it critically before deciding to change into it. Its appearance hardly mattered; he was only changing a pipe! Drawing water from the well, he rinsed the blood from his t-shirt and hung it on an ancient washing line.

Fortunately the broken pipe was already removed. Tony added a new piece and attempted to close the hole, wincing at the pain in his back. The progress was slow and he knew for certain he would fail to replace the slabs that evening. Nobody approached him as he struggled with filling the hole. Clarissa must be real mad at you or she would've brought you a drink by now! Think hard Almeida, you'll need to cheer her up! A terrible thought occurred to him as he shoveled more soil in the hole. What if she's not interested in you anymore? You'll be real lonely. Unable to continue with the nagging worry he laid the spade on the ground and set off to find her.

He found her in the kitchen making a pile of sandwiches, the bread laid out the entire length of the counter. 'You like eggs, Tony?' she asked without raising her head to look at him.

'Aha,' he said, moving over to slip his arms around her. 'Clarissa, I love you. I can't go with them tonight knowing you're mad at me.' He turned her round gently, tilting her face to look at him. 'I can't stay here much longer, pulling weeds,' he told her softly, using all his interrogation techniques to read her face. Something about the way he said his last sentence got through to her. He saw her lip tremble, and she buried her face in his chest.

'Just be careful, Tony, promise me that.'

'I will,' he told her, breathing easier. 'Don't worry; I'll only be sitting in the truck. Where does he keep his medicines?' he asked, leaning against the counter. 'I'm gonna need an entire packet if I got to go all the way to Mexico and back in that old truck.'

She opened a cupboard and handed him a packet of aspirins, watching him swallow two tablets. 'You should really have seen a doctor, Tony. Your cut is deep, it could use stitching. And a tetanus booster.'

'I'm fine,' he told her firmly, finishing the water that remained in his glass. He settled on a barstool watching her work as he waited for the painkillers to numb the throbbing in his back. 'You know, they're dangerous things, garden spades,' he told her wryly. 'I'd list them somewhere just below hunting rifles.'

She shook her head at him, wrapping each sandwich into an individual bag. 'Stay and rest till you have to go,' she begged, and he nodded. 'You're not doing well, Tony. Have you seen your face recently?'

He shook his head, aware his eye remained swollen shut. 'Do I want to?' he joked.

'You should – it might remind you to keep quiet,' she advised, sounding more like his mother than ever. 'Why are you smiling?' she pressed. 'It wasn't meant to be funny.'

He reached forward to squeeze her hand. 'It wasn't. You remind me of my mother.'

She gave him a strange look. 'Is she nice?' she asked.

He nodded. 'Sí, she's great. And you're right; I should remember where I am.'

The door was opened and Christianson beckoned to him. 'Come on Tony, we're leaving. You're to sit near the door and keep your eyes peeled for any police. Think you can manage it?'

'Yes sir,' he agreed, kissing Clarissa in a hurry. Her eyes followed him down the passage and he turned to give her an encouraging smile as he shut the door behind him.

Wilson, one of the less antagonistic thugs who surrounded the smuggler sat in the truck. He opened the door as Tony appeared and handed him a rifle once he climbed in. 'Keep that hidden,' he advised. 'We're not looking for any trouble, it's only for protection.'

Tony nodded, placing it under his seat. 'Protection against whom?' he inquired nonchalantly as he fastened his seatbelt. 'The police or border patrol?'

'Are you nuts?' Wilson cried, shocked. 'I just told you we don't want trouble. No, it's against Mr. Christianson's rivals, just in case we meet up.'

'His rivals,' Tony echoed, turning to stare at the man puzzled. 'Are we likely to run into them? Do they do the same thing he does, bring aliens in?'

'You ask too many questions. You're supposed to sit there and protect us, that's all,' Wilson told him annoyed. 'No, we're not that likely to run into them; they usually operate out of different towns. It's just that things are a little tougher now.'

'Is there a problem?' he asked, resolved to collect as much information as he could for CTU.

'We're not sure yet. Border patrol is worse than usual. It happened in the last few weeks. They search more than before, so everyone's more jumpy. Let's hope it's just an anomaly, that they'll grow tired of it and things get back to normal.'

Tony nodded, watching Christianson approaching the truck. Looks like it's working, Jack. You're hurting their business and they're ready to fight it out between them. Keep up the squeeze.

'Let's go,' he ordered, sitting in the middle. Wilson started the truck and they bounced along the driveway. He got out at the gate and pressed a code in which Tony's sharp eyes were able to pick out. You know the code to switch off the power and open the gate. Well done, Almeida, you'll probably need it.

The ride was uneventful as far as the border. Wilson drove steadily, clearly having driven that way several times before, and Christianson kept silent, occupying himself with a whole list of notes in a grey exercise book that Tony was unable to make out due to the angle he held it in. He assumed they contained the names of the next group of people they would pick up that evening. Nothing was expected of him as he sat by the door, gazing outside.

'Take your passport,' Christianson ordered, thrusting the brand new document into Tony's hand. 'Look sharp now; we're coming up to the border.' Tony opened his passport, surprised it had been returned. He hadn't received a stamp in it for entry into the USA after all; he was bound to be pulled up in the next few minutes. To his amazement the second page sported a stamp with an entry date placing his arrival as the day before. He stared at it mesmerized. So you got a little help from someone at passport control too? Wonder how many people are in on this scam? Once they drove up to the booth he stuck his new passport out of the window and waited with baited breath. CTU was counting on him getting through, the arrest of Christianson, which had become a personal mission by then, depended on it.

Fortunately the guard waved them through with a cursory examination of their documents. They all breathed easier once they began the long drive into Mexico. Tony leaned back against the seat and allowed his eyes to close, exhausted from the pain medication. He slept the next couple of hours, waking when his shoulder was shaken vigorously. 'Wake up, Almeida! I need you sharp now.'

He sat up and reached for his rifle, laying it cautiously across his knees. They drew up outside the same three star motel he had been picked up in. Wilson opened the door and jumped out, beckoning him to follow. 'Search the block,' he ordered and Tony set off, the vague order leaving him uncertain as to the nature of the threat he was expected to pick up. All appeared silent as he completed his circle, relieved to meet no police. Christianson opened the cab door and stepped out, beckoning to Wilson.

'Almeida, stay with the truck. See anything at all, come get us.'

'Yes sir,' Tony agreed, propping himself against the back of the truck. The door of the motel slammed shut and he allowed himself to daydream of Clarissa, remembering how desperate their own journey had been. He prayed there would be no children among the group that night. A cool breeze blew against his warm face. Presently the door opened and Wilson returned with the first group, eight men carrying their possessions. He unlocked the back and they climbed in, noting his weapon with concern. Tony's face flushed with shame as he realized he was the cause of their unease. He chewed his lip in silence as the door opened again and another group walked out, two women and three children among them. Their faces paled at the sight of him and he was forced to turn away, cursing Christianson, Jack, Chappelle and Hammond. Once the truck was crammed as full as it could get Christianson slammed the door and climbed into the front, beckoning to his men. Wilson started her up and Tony climbed in with difficulty, reaching for his packet of painkillers.

'Where are we going?' he inquired casually hours later as Wilson left the highway leading to the border.

Christianson frowned. 'Your job is to guard me, Almeida, not to ask questions.' Tony sat in unenlightened silence, his sense of foreboding increasing as they drove onto narrower country lanes.

'Alright, open the shed,' Christianson ordered. 'Get out Almeida, guard the perimeter.' Tony climbed out in front of a large metal shed without ventilation, the surface broken only by a padlocked door. He frowned in concern as Wilson unlocked it and he was waved to the back of the truck.

'Alright, listen hard,' Christianson began, once the aliens stood before the truck with their belongings, the three children hushed by terrified parents. 'It's impossible for me to take you lot across tonight as there's way too much activity on the border. You'll have to wait here till tomorrow. Wilson, take the water inside.' Wilson took a box of bottled water inside and Christianson waved his hand indicating they should follow him. Tony watched the exhausted group stumble inside. The door was slammed on the last one and Wilson bolted it.

'What the hell are you doin'?' Tony exclaimed. 'They're gonna roast in there tomorrow.'

'They got water,' Christianson snapped. 'Get back in the truck, Almeida! We got another pick-up tonight. I'm a little behind coz of those border restrictions.'

Tony climbed reluctantly into the truck, his mind seething. They're gonna die in there. He paid extra close attention to the route they took to return to the highway as he was uncertain how long Christianson intended leaving them there in what, for all intents and purposes was a metal prison. To his amazement they returned to the same motel they had been at previously and repeated the same process as earlier. Once again he was forced to stand guard as the truck was filled with its human cargo. Where the hell are we gonna dump these people? This guy is NUTS!

Wilson slammed the truck on the last of the group and yelled at Tony to get inside. He struggled into his seat, his back hurting again. The night seemed endless as the truck reversed and drove through the silent town, along quiet roads and onto the highway. Tony's eyes closed several times and he forced them open seconds later, resolved to study the location Christianson planned to dump this group. To his relief they remained on the highway, heading straight for the border. Shortly before they approached it they turned off the highway and bounced along a rough track for several miles, coming upon an open truck with plastic crates of fish. 'Out,' Christianson snapped and he jumped to the ground and assumed his customary position at the back as Wilson unlocked it. The disheveled faces of exhausted aliens looked out at him, their eyes pleading for relief. 'Alright, people, move back. Border patrol's taken to examining vehicles nowadays, we're gonna have to load the back with fish! I don't have to tell you how important it is to be real silent.'

The crates of fish were piled near the back door, Tony gagging from the stench. He moved a little way from the back of the truck spitting salty water out, taking gulps of fresh air. Thank God they didn't add any fish when you were in the back, Almeida! You would've died!

'Almeida, where the hell have you disappeared to now?' Christianson called furiously.

'I'm right here sir,' he replied, taking a final gulp of clear air.

'You'll come back here right away! What the hell do you think I pay you for, sight seeing?' He pointed to the back of the truck in a no nonsense manner. 'Stay right there!'

Tony nodded, taking slow breaths, dismayed to find himself downwind of the fish truck. As Christianson arrived to inspect his truck his stomach heaved violently and he was forced to rush off unable to retain his dinner.

'Out of all the hit men I've ever employed, you got to be the most useless,' Christianson snapped unsympathetically as he struggled to climb back into the truck. 'Sure those fish stink a little, but you're a man, aren't you?'

Tony shut his eyes, aware his stomach was far from settled. 'Sorry sir.' Thank God CTU will never get to hear about this! I'd never live it down!

The truck started up and bounced over the potholes, gathering speed. Tony wound down his window and shut his eyes. Minutes later they reached the highway and drove rapidly towards customs, his stomach settling.

The Mexicans waved them through with a cursory examination of their papers. Just as he was about to breathe easier the booth on the American side opened and a middle aged inspector stepped out, ordering them to turn off the engine. Scowling at them, he shone his torch into the cabin. 'What's in the back?' he inquired studying them belligerently.

'Fish and oysters, sir,' Christianson told him without blinking. 'You wanna see it?'

'I sure do. Have you got an import license?'

'Yes I do.' Christianson handed over another official document while Tony watched with bated breath. It was examined by torchlight before the official nodded and returned it. 'Open the back.'

'Stay put,' Christianson ordered and he nodded; only too relieved to be spared the stench a second time. He watched them walk down the side of the truck from the side mirror and heard them opening the door. A few moments passed while he fidgeted in his seat praying the official wouldn't search the truck and blow their entire operation.

'It appears fine,' the official remarked, returning to the front. He glanced at their passports. 'Who's the greaser?'

'He works for me, cleaning the fish,' Christianson replied politely, opening a page in Tony's passport that contained a temporary work permit while Tony battled with himself to remain silent.

The official appeared unimpressed. 'I've got to check this,' he muttered. 'Get outa the truck,' he snapped at him.

'Why? Those papers are issued by your own government…' Tony began. The official's face darkened and he grabbed his shoulder, hauling him out of the vehicle. 'Shut up! Hands on the truck. Don't move or I'll cuff you!' He returned to the booth with the passport leaving him spread against the truck, his rage threatening to burst. You'll relax this instant, Almeida. Keep silent or you'll blow the whole operation. You can file charges against him later.

'Take it easy,' Christianson warned him. 'They're just checking your work permit. It won't take long.' He was correct. Minutes later the belligerent official returned with his passport.

'Fine, you may go. Just make sure you don't overstay your welcome!' He turned to the smuggler. 'Hope you got an ice machine at home or they'll melt soon.'

'They're heading to the fish market,' Christianson assured him. 'Good evening, sir.'

Wilson started the car and they drove off slowly at first so as to avoid arousing suspicion and then more rapidly once they were out of eyesight. 'Whew,' Christianson complained. 'We were damn lucky that fish stank so bad, or he would've made us unload the first line and look further in. Don't speed, Wilson, we don't wanna get stopped by the cops.'

They returned to Christianson's property a few hours later, Tony's back aching so badly the painkillers were unable to numb it. Filled with relief he climbed out longing to wash and curl up in bed. One look at the smuggler's face changed his mind. Without being asked he collected his rifle and moved to the back of the truck. He aimed it at the open door as the aliens tumbled out, noting that he was not the only person with adverse reactions to the fish.

To his horror he caught sight of Clarissa leaning against the side of the palm tree to watch their arrival. Christianson ordered two men to help carry the boxes of fish into the kitchen. 'Might as well make use of this,' he remarked to Tony. 'We did have to pay for it after all. Tell the girlfriend to cook it with a slice of bread for these people.'

'Yes sir,' he agreed and set off towards her, his heart hammering in his throat.

'What the hell happened to you, Tony?' she snapped as he approached, eyes filled with dismay. 'What are you doing with that gun? Who are you going to shoot? Another Mexican or someone from further south?'

He shook his head, reaching for her face. 'You know me better than that.'

'I'm not that sure anymore,' she said sadly, turning away from him. 'What do they need?'

He translated Christianson's order with a heavy heart and settled under the palm tree, uncertain of his welcome in the kitchen and not daring to return to the hut. Exhausted as he was he noted the smuggler enter his office, open a cupboard and remove a piece of parquet, concealing the grey exercise book An hour later the group was herded together on the lawn and he moved over to stand behind him without needing to be called, earning his first nod of approval. The ground swayed around him as he stood in his self assigned position watching the aliens parceled out. It seemed an eternity before he was dismissed and ordered to get a little rest.

Sheer stubbornness kept him on his feet long enough to reach the hut where he took three aspirins without water and sank onto the bed groaning aloud, unsure whether the throbbing in his lower back or Clarissa's shocked face hurt him more.