Ryan Chappelle had arrived at Division two hours earlier in what for him was a remarkably good mood. Washington's voting a 5 000 dollar a year increase to his salary was responsible for his feeling of euphoria, an event celebrated the previous evening with his most trusted colleagues - Brad Hammond and Alberta Green among them. Life had indeed seemed good as they drank the choicest wine and dined on a host of delicacies including his favorite Polynesian oysters, all the while bearing in mind that Division would pick up the tab. National security becoming a matter of more pressing concern over the last few years, he felt their pay rises were nothing less than they deserved for the often thankless task of defending the public. After all, even such low level staff members as Bauer and Almeida had been voted an extra 2000 dollars each, Almeida's second in command, Michelle, 1500 dollars, Chloe and Gael an extra 1000, and every single individual analyst had received an extra 500 dollars, a decision he had queried, bearing in mind the budgetary constraints.

The staff at Division mirrored his satisfaction. Judging by their relaxed mood the day was free from any major catastrophe, security leak or serious threat. Senior analysts stood gossiping around the water fountain, two programmers shared secret hatreds of the Dodgers, and Carrie Turner smiled a greeting at him for the first time since she was hired. He greeted them all with a firm decision to overlook a natural laxness that morning, pouring himself a coffee and reading the President's latest speech on the environment. His general satisfaction with life continued until precisely 11:43, when Carrie Turner interrupted the beer he shared with Hammond in Hammond's office.

'Mr. Chappelle. The President is holding for you on line one, sir,' she said nervously.

Their eyes widened, Hammond waving his hand at the phone. Sitting straighter, Chappelle took the receiver. 'Mr. President, this is Ryan Chappelle. How may I help you, sir?' he inquired politely, a thousand questions racing through his mind. Why had the President called him when it was the most peaceful day he could remember? His eyes widened as he listened, his glance darting round the room, followed by a curious Hammond. 'Jack Bauer requested what, sir? But that's preposterous! All that trouble just to ascertain the whereabouts of Almeida.' He fell silent to Hammond's arched eyebrows. 'I see, sir. Sir, if you could give my department an hour to look into the matter, I'll let your office know our findings. Yes sir, I'll do that. Thank you for your patience, sir.'

'What's Bauer done this time?' Hammond inquired, sipping more beer. 'He's gonna use up all his lives one of these days. Or was it Almeida who slipped up? One can never keep a close enough eye on the pair of them.'

Chappelle shook his head in defeat. 'Apparently Almeida was on that Italian airline that was shot down over Pakistan this morning,' he sighed.

'You want me to find a replacement?' Hammond inquired.

'Not yet, Brad. There's a chance he's alive.'

Hammond fought down his disappointment. 'Is he?'

'We're not certain of the survivors yet, but he could be. Quite a few made it, apparently. Jack Bauer spoke to the head of our Air Force base in Uzbekistan demanding the man violate Pakistani airspace and rescue the group.'

Hammond shook his head in disbelief. 'Whatever for?' he wondered aloud.

'After which he attempted to beg the president to intercede and order a rescue. He's going to hear from me, now!' Hammond nodded as he left the room.

A gale force wind whipped their faces as they huddled together for warmth, the driving rain lashing them. Tony had organized the wounded, the elderly and the children into the center of the circle to provide them the maximum warmth possible, an eye on the terrorists who set up a tent, watching them through the open flap. They sat immobile, Ali's promise of a bullet in the brain for anyone who moved an inch ringing in their ears. Feeling Michelle shivering in his arms he pulled his jacket round her tighter, bending uncomfortably over her to shelter her from the deluge. 'You awake, sweetheart?' he whispered, shivering uncontrollably in his soaking wet t-shirt.

She groaned faintly, her face warm under his fingers. Worried, he took her pulse, noting it beat faster than usual. She was running a fever, the all day trek dragging a broken leg too much for her. 'Mom, have you got anything?' he whispered, hopefully.

Rita Almeida, a children's nurse, was as loaded with medicines as her husband was with drawing materials. She had already given Michelle several painkillers as the day progressed, noting her lethargy with concern. 'What's wrong, sweetheart?' she questioned. Tony took her hand, placing it on Michelle's forehead, fighting against panic. 'She's got a fever,' his mother told him, fumbling through her pocket. 'I've got a few aspirins, but she'd need some water. I'll go ask those men for some.'

'No, mom, I'll go,' Tony interrupted, hating the thought of her approaching the terrorists.

'Antonio, sit down. I don't want you attracting any more attention than you already have, and that goes for you as well, Marco,' she added, turning to her husband. 'You two stay here with Michelle. They won't hurt me.' She set off, watched by an anxious husband and son. To their amazement she returned seconds later with an empty tin cup, holding it up to catch the rain. 'They said we could borrow this, but didn't have any spare water,' she explained.

Exposed to the full fury of the elements, they huddled closer, his parents wrapped together as they attempted to position Michelle as comfortably as possible. They prayed together, begging for shelter the following morning, aware none of them would last long without it. It was one of the longest nights of their lives.

'Dammit Ryan, there wasn't time to let you know right away,' Jack protested, agreeing with Chappelle's irritation at being kept out of the loop. 'I begged the commander to rescue those passengers whilst they still had some hope. Satellite images show no life near the plane anymore.' He chewed his lip, furious with the DOD for failing to reprogram a satellite in time to track the passengers. 'For all we know those people are hiking through the mountains attempting to seek shelter…'

'They would have stayed with the plane, Jack. I think you're worried they were kidnapped,' Chappelle stated, his eyes boring into the phone. 'And the only reason you'd have failed to inform me of the disaster earlier is that you're concerned Almeida will be broken. Protecting Almeida over national security is quite a charge, Jack.'

'Ryan, I attempted to have him pulled out,' Jack protested, his fifth coffee untouched in his mug. 'And you needn't worry about Tony talking. He's been tortured twice before while he served in the Marines, never said a word either time.'

Chappelle snorted indignantly. 'I'm aware of that, Jack. I checked his file before I interviewed him, remember? Fact is, he's a capable agent and brave officer, with an unfortunate tendency to put his life on the line, but he was alone on those occasions.'

'He had his platoon with him on one of them,' Jack reminded him.

'His men - yes. Not his family. Looking at the passenger manifest, not only is Michelle with him, but his parents as well.'

Jack drew a deep breath, determined to defend his friend. 'Ryan, Tony's aware of the situation. He won't allow himself to be compromised. Besides, we don't even know whether he survived.'

'Your faith in him is touching,' Chappelle told him coldly. 'The moment I receive confirmation he's alive, I'll be forced to take steps to prevent him from compromising us.'

'You'll authorize a rescue?' Jack begged, surprised Chappelle cared enough to attempt anything of the kind.

'I'll do whatever it takes,' Chappelle said coldly. 'And Bauer, that was the last time you called the President on any CTU related matter without running it by me first. Are we clear on that?'

Jack nodded as he held the phone. 'I understand, Ryan.' He sank back onto his chair, drained by the lack of progress they'd made.

It required almost superhuman effort to get moving the next morning. Colder than he'd ever been, drenched to the skin and starving, he nevertheless managed to pull an unconscious Michelle into his arms. His hopes of milder weather dashed, he set off downhill, focusing on nothing beyond the next step. 'I'll take her for a bit, m'ijo,' his father offered, tapping his arm lightly. He shook his head, determined to keep her near him as long as he could, desperately worried she was slipping from him permanently. She no longer responded when he whispered her name or brushed her curls. He wept inside as he stumbled along the path, losing hope. His father relieved him once he sank onto his knees, too worn out to move another step.

'She'll be okay, sweetheart,' his mother said softly as he shuffled along dazed. 'It's the pain from her leg that's keeping her under. She'll come round once we find shelter.' He shook his head, hot tears merging with icy rain. She's never gonna come round again, Almeida. You killed her.

An hour later they rounded a final bend in the valley and came upon some rundown stone dwellings surrounded by a seven foot stone wall. Too weary to care what their original purpose could have been they stumbled through a gate, gasping with relief as they entered a large room. Ali slammed the door behind the last of them and they sank onto a stone floor covered with piles of greasy sheepskins. Too worried for a wise comment, he studied them in silence, noting the rest of the passengers sinking onto them.

They slept wrapped in the sheepskins, worn out from the hike, too exhausted to stir. Only Tony remained awake in the silent chamber, praying for Michelle's recovery. She seemed to be resting more easily, her leg wrapped up by his mother who had attempted to straighten the bone with his help, and raised on a second skin he had snatched and rolled up to keep it elevated. Dear God, please let her get better. She's so beautiful, so kind, so young…Too young to die. She's so sweet, so much better than me. I don't think she ever hurt anyone in her life. If someone needs to die, I can understand that, but don't let it be her. Take me, I don't deserve to live. She's here because of me! A tear worked its way down his cheek as he watched her chest rising and falling. Please God, if anyone got to die, let it be me. I can't live without her. Tears filled his eyes; he wiped them with the back of his hand irritated. If you help her wake up, I'll never let her outa my sight again. I'll never let anyone hurt her, I promise, just please let her wake up.

Hours later exhaustion claimed him as he knelt beside her and repeated his pleas for her recovery. The world went dark and he slid forward, waking abruptly in time to prevent himself toppling over. He sank onto the sheepskin beside her and pulled his own over them, his head in her slightly damp curls. A lingering trace of her shampoo helped him drift off. Tony rested several hours, halfway between sleep and unconsciousness, stirring to a familiar kiss on his nose.

'Tony, are you up yet?' the sweetest voice he'd ever heard whispered faintly.

He stirred, blinking in the gloom. 'Yeah. How are you, sweetheart?' He ran his hand over her face, relieved to find it cool.

'I'm okay, I think. My leg hurts badly, and what's this SMELL?' she demanded, stirring.

Tony laid his arm on her chest, forcing her back down. 'Easy, sweetheart,' he whispered, not wishing to disturb any of the crowd around them. 'You need to keep your leg real still. It's broken, remember? Mom and I set it when we arrived, it should heal nicely. We'll make you a splint when we find some wood.'

Michelle nodded, turning her head to take in her surroundings. 'Where are we?' she demanded.

'Inside some old compound in the middle of nowhere,' he explained, tucking a curl behind her ear. 'We got here sometime this morning. We spent the night out in a valley in the rain.'

She shuddered, pulling him closer. 'You must have carried me all the way,' she guessed, turning crimson. 'Tony, I'm so ashamed I could…'

'Easy, sweetheart,' he muttered, stroking her hair and thanking God for her improvement. 'I can't think of anyone I'd rather hold in my arms than you.'

She gave him a smile that melted his heart, just as it had the first day he met her over at Division. 'Tony, what's this smell?' she repeated, wrinkling her nose.

'I guess it's the sheepskins,' he replied. 'They're real filthy, but they're warm. Full of fleas, too,' he added, scratching a bite. 'I'll find us some water to wash them in soon as they let us out. Try and get some more rest, honey.'

She sighed, her breath tickling his neck. 'I will in a sec. Tony, I need to go…Have you been there yet?'

'I'll go see if I can find something,' he said, struggling to his feet with difficulty. Sleeping bodies lay stretched out in every corner of the dim room, some lying in groups, some individually. Half asleep, he moved slowly, unwilling to trip over one of them, making his way round the room without discovering anything more than a foul smelling bucket beside the door. He glared at it in disgust, aware how dismayed Michelle would be to resort to using such an object. Working his way back to her, he stepped over his parents, noting them resting in each others arms, his mother's head cuddled snuggly in his father's arm. They appeared to breathe as one. Tony swallowed, remembering the amount of times he had spent the night wedged between the two of them, listening to their breathing whilst trying to discover whether his suspicion about their hearts beating together was accurate. He had never succeeded in proving his hypothesis, though he expected he was right. Taking care to tiptoe past them he slid under his own sheepskin, shaking his head at Michelle. After describing the yellow pail, she agreed that it might indeed be better to wait till their door was opened. Sheer exhaustion forced his eyelids shut; he fell back asleep calmer than before, her hand in his.

A loud clang woke him hours later, repeated at regular intervals. Rubbing his eyes he sat up, unable to imagine where he could be. A foul smell assailed his nostrils, strangers rose all around him and Michelle stirred, groaning. His arm moved automatically, pinning her to the ground. 'Sweetheart, you gotta rest your leg, remember?'

Ali spoke before she could respond, his voice drowned in the disorganized babble. Unaccustomed to being ignored, he raised his rifle and fired a shot into the ceiling, glaring at them. Michelle jumped violently under his arm; shrieks rent the air before the incensed terrorist fired a second burst upwards. Silence fell.

'That's better. You people are more ignorant than a herd of goats! When I come and talk to you, you shut up and listen. I talk - you listen. Is that absolutely clear? Anyone else talks when I talk, that person gets a bullet!' He glared at the horrified group, thick eyebrows meeting over the bridge of his nose.

Gee, Almeida, that man is far worse than any teacher you've ever met. He's worse than your principal and Sergeant Wills back at boot camp rolled into one. He sure takes his own voice seriously. You better listen! He turned towards Ali, a polite expression of attention on his face.

'Alright. You're all staying here for a while. How long that will be will depend upon how soon your countries cooperate with us. Your best hope is that they will do so soon. Now you may walk around in the yard when the doors are unlocked. We have a well with a bucket; feel free to collect drinking water. The building to your left is the dining hall. We will feed you whenever we have the food to do that. The latrines are to your right. Use them. During the night you will use the bucket we have provided. I will not permit any of you outside for any reason whatsoever in the dark. You may not walk over to the fence. Don't even think of leaving us.' He threw them an evil smile that chilled their hearts. 'You would freeze in the mountains. Don't disobey me, or you will regret it.' He left abruptly, leaving them staring at the empty doorway in dismay.

'Tony, I need to find the bathroom,' Michelle insisted.

'Me too,' his mother agreed, feeling her face. 'You had us scared last night, sweetheart. Tony, help her up.'

Tony lifted her, determined to make a splint for her leg as soon as possible. 'Which way was it?' his mother inquired, drawing a faint grin from his father. Rita's legendary lack of the faintest sense of direction had long been a standing family joke.

'To the right,' he replied, sniffing the air dubiously. 'Mom, lemme go check it out first.' He laid Michelle on the ground against the building and set off determinedly towards the right, certain he was headed in the right direction. The stench grew, his stomach gagging before he reached the door. An Italian man stood in the doorway, shaking his head.

'You cannot go in there,' he assured Tony.

Peering past his shoulder, Tony could not fail to agree. Heavy hearted, he returned to his family, unconsciously rubbing his face. His action was not missed by either parent.

'What's wrong, Antonio?' questioned his father, eyeing him carefully. 'Didn't they flush?'

Tony shrugged, settling beside them. 'Ah, I didn't see anything,' he admitted. 'There were some holes in the ground…'

'Oh no,' said his mother in disgust, rolling her eyes heavenward. 'I've heard of those before.'

'And I've seen them,' his father sighed, nodding reluctantly. 'They're awful.'

'Well, that's if you could approach them,' Tony sighed. 'Going in there is a health hazard. I don't recommend it! If people are gonna wander in and outa there whilst we all sleep on the floor, we're gonna get sick real soon!'

Gael Ortega pushed open the glass door, entering Jack's office. Instinctively he gazed across the bullpen to the opposite office, shaking his head at its silence. Tony's absence had passed pleasantly enough for Gael. Content with the idea of his boss taking a well deserved break, Gael had seized the chance to relax fractionally, taking a day off to go stopping with his wife Teresa, and a sicky which had been spent at the beach with the kids. His guilty conscience was assuaged by the presence of his cell phone. He could return to CTU within an hour should the need arise. The events he had arrived to that morning had hit him like a fist in the guts. Sometime during his romantic evening, his boss had been shot out of the sky and was in all likelihood dead, or severely injured in some God forsaken corner of the globe. Filled with disbelief he had run the satellite images of the plane's final moments repeatedly on his monitor, hoping he was merely having a nightmare. Tony Almeida was, after all, more than merely his boss; he could also be counted a friend. Their parents were close acquaintances, and he had shared a few classes with Tony's younger sister Rita, and played countless games with his younger brothers Marco and Bobby, joining them for basketball whenever they had leave from the Navy. His current position at CTU was courtesy of Tony, who had felt pity for him struggling to find employment. Sometime in the last few minutes he had stumbled upon a message broadcast to the Italian government, which he listened to carefully, rushing to tape it.

'They made contact,' he said breathlessly, depositing a disk on Jack's desk. 'It's all in Italian, but…'

'Who did they contact?' Jack demanded, snatching the disk and pushing it into his computer.

'The prime minister. You wanna see it?'

Jack threw him a sarcastic expression and they watched Ali's masked face, Gael translating his words as well as he was able to make them out. Of primary interest was a list of names and faces shown at the end, each passport held up to the camera. 'Watch this,' Gael said, pausing the footage. Jack peered at a picture in shock, shaking his head.

'That's Tony. He's alive.'

'It would appear so. Look carefully at the passport, it says Giovanni Agnello. He's hiding.'

Jack nodded, hope surging through him. Tony's photo so boldly displayed in another's passport indicated that not only had his friend survived the crash and capture, he had also considered the grave danger facing him and acted upon it. 'Is there more? What about Michelle?'

'We got her too, a little further on,' Gael told him, as satisfied as though he had altered the passports himself. 'Here she is.' They studied the New Zealand passport carefully. 'And I thought you'd like to know, that's his mother.'

'Why would she need to hide under a false identity?' Jack wondered. 'Unless of course Tony wishes to make certain they can never be used against him…But it doesn't make sense. His father has his own passport. I want a list of all the nationalities on that flight, and all the survivors. We're missing something here. And find me a translator.'

He paced his office, filled with relief for his friend's survival and concern at his situation. He would call Chappelle to inform him of the latest developments the moment he had an accurate translation. 'Sit tight, Tony. I'll get you out,' he promised the silent office.