Whiskers twitching, the well fed rat studied the intruder in annoyance, gauging his reaction. The human appeared shocked at the encounter, staring back at it before he had the audacity to stamp his foot and clap his hands. 'Shoo,' he ordered, taking a threatening step forwards. The rat retreated unhurriedly, returning through the hole to the comfort of the kitchen, leaving a small trace of its presence.

'Dammit, this place is filthy. That was a rat, Papa; I swear it just stared at me. It looked like it was daring me to remove it.' Tony glared at his father, who shrugged laconically.

'M'ijo, it probably lives here. We should see about constructing some traps tomorrow. Right now we're supposed to get some dinner, remember?'

Tony nodded, pushing his way into the kitchen to collect two mugs of brown water and a couple of pieces of dry bread. 'Is that it?' he asked, unable to remain silent.

The man on the other side of the table ignored him, pushing further slices of bread out, but his question attracted Ali's attention. The terrorist rose from a chair where he had been observing the passengers and moved over to scowl at Tony. 'You again, Spaghetti! You got quite a big mouth! You got a problem with the dinner?'

Yeah, I got a problem! 'No sir,' Tony replied, chewing his bread hungrily. 'Just, what are we having after this?'

'There's nothing after this. We are poor people; we can't afford to feed our own children, let alone a bunch of uninvited westerners.'

'Uninvited,' Tony muttered under his breath, his comment reaching Ali's sharp ears.

'Uninvited, yes. We did not invite you to fly over our lands.'

Tony chewed more bread, determined to keep his temper in check. 'Since we are here, what are you gonna do about basic hygiene? You're gonna need to get a coupla hundred rat traps and loads of detergent…'

'You like to organize things, don't you, Spaghetti?' Ali noted, taking a step towards him. 'Who the hell do you think you are, lecturing me about hygiene? You so concerned about it, you should do something about it. You're welcome to clean things to your satisfaction tomorrow! In fact, it's probably a good idea.' He rose, beckoning Tony to follow him outside, where he fired another round into the air. The passengers assembled, his mother's face pale as she saw him before the terrorist.

'Listen up. This place hasn't been cleaned in quite a while, as this man has informed me. He's right, it hasn't been. I'm putting him in charge of the clean up! He likes to give orders! Obey him and help him, for if I see anything on the latrine floor by tomorrow night, he'll be hanging from there!' He pointed to a solitary tree in the center of the yard. 'You've got ten minutes to finish up.'

Michelle stared at him shocked into silence as he turned away, cursing himself. Now you've done it, Almeida! Of course cleaning the latrines is necessary, but how the hell are you gonna get that done with nothing but water from a well? He lifted Michelle into his arms, whispering a question to her.

Resigned, she nodded. 'Yeah, the bucket will do!'

Gael watched the Italian interpreter impatiently, his thoughts hundreds of miles away, concerned for Tony. This was proving to be a long day, and it would not end on his return home. Sooner or later the Almeida family would call, demanding answers. He mentally rehearsed what he would tell Tony's sisters, something along the lines of doing everything humanly possible to discover the passengers' whereabouts. That might satisfy them temporarily, but it would fail to satisfy his brothers. He sighed aloud, annoying the interpreter who held up a hand to silence him.

They stared at the mess on the carpet in horrified silence, unable to decide how to clean it up before the adults returned. Bobby moved closer to Marco, his eyes wide. "Do something," he insisted. "They'll be back soon." Marco, two years Gael's senior, shook his head slowly, admitting the task was beyond him. Gael winced, knowing he would not escape the punishment facing his friends when his parents returned with the Almeidas. "Tony will know what to do," Bobby exclaimed in relief, rushing up the stairs. "I didn't think he was home today," Gael said in surprise, not having seen him all morning. "He's home, alright," Marco informed him, racing after Bobby. "He didn't hand in some assignment and Papa's mad at him." Not wishing to be left alone with the mess he rushed after them, in time to find the lanky teenager on the floor in the center of the boys' room watching the longest domino train he'd ever seen toppling over. Once the final domino lay on its side Bobby settled on his lap, explaining the disaster with the coke bottle and begging for assistance in eliminating the evidence. Tony sighed aloud, getting to his feet reluctantly. "You know, if Papa gets back and finds me outa this room, I'll be grounded for the rest of the year," he informed no one in particular, rushing downstairs to organize the carpet's clean-up. Gael couldn't remember what he had done, but the stain disappeared within minutes. "There, that's just water, it'll dry. Don't even try shaking coke bottles again! And now I'd better get back to my chemistry assignment!" He caught Gael's bemused expression and grinned, the corner of his lips turning up. "You haven't seen me today!"

Gael climbed the stairs to Jack's office as fast as he was able, handing him the translation of the transcript. 'Jack, they shot an American. Listen to this, they said, "We shot the American woman." Thing is, we had quite a few Americans on that flight.'

Jack read the transcript frowning thoughtfully. 'We have another young woman, Sylvia Smith with a baby, as well as the Almeidas,' he said slowly. 'Gimme her picture again.' Gael found the photo on the young woman's license on the police database, nodding his head at it. 'Does that match any of the passports?' Jack demanded, scanning the pictures rapidly. 'Hey Gael, take a look at this? Is that her?'

They peered at a German passport in silence, unable to decide. 'Get someone onto that,' Jack ordered. 'I got a feeling the Almeidas are not the only Americans hiding under false ID's.'

Michelle snuggled into the crook of his arm, gazing at the unplastered ceiling. 'I think even I would've managed to make that dinner,' she grumbled, her leg throbbing. 'A piece of dry bread, and they call it dinner!'

'You see, honey, you'd fit in perfectly,' Tony teased, allowing her to punch his shoulder a lot harder than before. She had to work off her frustrations somehow, and being confined to sitting either inside or directly outside the chamber he had named the 'bedroom' wasn't allowing her to do so. 'I really hate this place. How are you going to clean out the bathroom?'

He shrugged. 'Just keep pouring water on it until it all flows out,' he guessed. 'You hungry, Michelle?'

She snorted in the darkness. 'Of course I'm hungry. Who wouldn't be, after such a large dinner? What's that?' she whispered, startled to feel his hand pressing a package towards her. 'Tony…'

'Eat it, honey,' he urged, determined to keep her healthy. 'It's the last bit.'

She was aware she should save their last Mars bar, but was too hungry to exercise such restraint. Tearing open the package, she stuffed it into her mouth, chewing rapidly. A pang of guilt ran through her as she noticed his dark eyes watching her devour his gift, his tongue inadvertently licking his lips. 'Tony, you're starving! Didn't you eat one yourself?'

He shook his head, squeezing her hand lightly. 'I only had this one. You were sick, sweetheart, you need it more than I do.' Tucking her up with instructions that she should rest, he edged his way through the throng to a corner of the room where his mother was busy examining a host of injuries, some from the crash and others from their forced march, treating everything from blisters to a broken arm. He knelt beside her, offering his services, reminding her he had been trained in basic first aid. It was too dark to see anymore before they were forced to call a halt to the activity, stumbling back to their 'beds.' He squeezed her hand in the darkness, secure in the gloom.

'I didn't check your head,' she reminded him, settling onto him onto his 'bed.' 'It's got a massive bruise.'

Tony ran his fingers over it tenderly, wincing. 'Yeah, it hurts alright.' He allowed her to place a wet cloth over it, hugging her tightly. 'I love you, mom.'

'Me too, sweetheart,' she whispered back, kissing his forehead before she tucked him up and returned to his father. Michelle slept beside him, her breathing deep and even. His parents whispered together in the darkness, discussing their other children and their house, hoping one of their daughters would collect the mail and water the garden.

This is all your fault, Almeida. Papa, mom and Michelle are all here because of you! He stirred restlessly, consumed by guilt. What if something happens to one of them? Michelle's got a broken leg, you'll have to stay here at least five weeks till she can walk on that again. Papa's got a massive blister on his foot, all purple where it burst, he's got to be in real agony too, and mom is worn out. What if they get sick? These people didn't even feed us. Do you imagine they'd bring us medicines? He rolled over restlessly, cursing himself.

'Antonio, close your eyes. Get some rest, you'll be busy tomorrow,' his father ordered, mere feet away in the darkness. 'It's not your fault,' he added, reading Tony as easily as ever. 'We weren't even supposed to be on this flight. Get some rest.' He reached over, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 'Buenas noches, m'ijo.'

Ryan Chappelle glared at Jack, refusing to be intimidated by the man's unapologetic scowl. 'This is inexcusable, Jack! I ordered CTU to keep me informed of ALL events, and I find that you're keeping me in the dark again. What is it with you, some sick desire to go against protocol for the hell of it?'

Jack shook his head, plagued by a nagging doubt as to Chappelle's intentions with the rescue. 'Ryan, I've got my people looking into all leads,' he began.

'I can see that. You discovered Almeida was alive and using a false identity over five hours ago and failed to inform me! That's the last time I'll tolerate this,' he warned, pointing a finger at Jack. 'I'm keeping a close watch on you from now on, you can be sure of that. And you're obviously swamped with incomplete reports, so I'm sending someone to take over for Tony.'

Jack looked up sharply, hating the thought of a stranger in Tony's office. 'I can manage, Ryan,' he assured his boss. 'I've been running the entire department for the past week. I can do it a few more weeks, if necessary.'

Chappelle shook his head. 'Tony's not coming back; get that into your head. He's been kidnapped by a group capable of downing planes and ruthless enough to shoot a young woman for being American. They'll kill him too, the moment they'll discover his identity, after they've milked him for every piece of information he possesses. We need to find his location immediately.'

Jack narrowed his eyes, his unease increasing. 'And when we find the group? We send our choppers in to get him out, right?'

Ryan sighed and pulled out a chair, indicating Jack should sit back at his desk. 'Look, I realize you and Almeida go back a long way but…I can't risk this nation's security. Almeida can log in and reveal everything – our undercover operations, agents, spies, ongoing investigations…We can't risk that. Changing our codes won't help much; the man's a natural hacker.'

'Ryan, a coupla of helicopter gunships could take out an entire group of militants within minutes. They could be airlifted to safety…'

Chappelle shook his head. 'You don't get it, Jack. That would be violating Pakistani airspace. We are in no position to annoy their leader, he's holding on by a bare thread. If he goes, the nation will turn fundamental. Any rescue attempt on our part will make him appear weak, and he's out.'

Jack shook his head in anger. 'So what are you saying, Ryan? You wish to silence Tony but you won't rescue him. How the hell do you plan on accomplishing it then?'

Chappelle rose, looking apologetic. 'We take out the entire building they're held in. A tragic accident.'

'My God, Ryan, that's crazy!' Jack snapped, shocked. 'You'd be responsible for the deaths of over a hundred innocent passengers, most of them foreign nationals. The international ramifications…'

'Like I said, Jack, a tragic accident. I'm certain we will pay due compensation to their immediate family members,' Chappelle assured him. 'I need CTU to work on locating that group. And call the embassies of the countries our citizens are posing under and let them know the situation. Ask them to respond as though they were genuine citizens.'

'Ryan,' Jack yelled, racing down the stairs after him. 'Wait a minute. There's another thing I didn't let you in on.'

Chappelle threw him a resigned expression and followed him back upstairs, shutting the door behind him. 'Hurry up, Jack. I need to get Division working on this.'

'Tony was working on a program before he left,' Jack began, leaning on his desk as though to seek its support. 'It was his pet project and it wasn't entirely complete, but…'

Chappelle sighed; unsurprised to discover another detail he had failed to be informed about. 'What kind of program?'

'He called it a C code. Compromised code,' Jack explained. 'All agents with a level five clearance and above were to be given a personal number and password in case they were captured. He set up an entire website of false information, it's real detailed, enough to keep any terrorists busy for days. It also sends us a red flag, letting us know he won't be able to hold out much longer. Gives us time to change all our passwords.'

Chappelle nodded, impressed despite himself. 'Good thinking,' he remarked, congratulating himself for having approved Almeida's position as director of CTU. The man was actually useful, though his unorthodox methods never ceased to irritate him.

'Sir, I think we should wait till we get that C code,' Jack finished, softly. 'He deserves that much.'

Their eyes met across the room, neither willing to concede defeat. 'Very well,' Chappelle agreed, secretly relieved to delay the massacre. 'But understand this, Jack. The moment we get that C code, we eliminate our threat.' He turned, walking out of the office without shutting the door.

Tony slept fitfully, not exhausted enough to require more sleep but unable to find anything constructive to do in the darkness. Thoughts whirled through his head, from old instructions he had received on surviving capture during his military training to a vague attempt at picturing CTU. They would be aware of the disaster by now, he was certain. The plane had, after all, crashed more than 36 hours ago. Are you aware we're alive, Jack? He desperately hoped so; aware the only way CTU could possibly know such a thing was if the terrorists had shown their passports on the internet. He prayed that they had done so; aware they needed rescuing as soon as possible. The conditions of their confinement were poor – it was a matter of time before they started getting weak from lack of food or disease. The general health of the passengers was another matter worthy of urgent contemplation. Did any of them require prescription medication on a daily basis? What would happen should they exhaust their supplies? In a group of this size, it's a safe bet at least a coupla people will require medication, Almeida. You'd better find out what they'll be needing tomorrow and try to talk to Ali. He rolled over restlessly, ordering himself to approach the terrorist submissively and beg for whatever was required. The cloth slid off his forehead. He groped for it in the dark, replacing it.

They were woken at dawn the following morning, their door unlocked and hammered on with a large stick. Tony stirred, mercifully woken from the familiar nightmare dating back to his capture and interrogation during his military service. I don't think I can do that again. He managed a weak smile at Michelle, relieved to note she appeared healthy. Her eyes smiled up at him, her hand reached towards his face. He knelt down, kissing her warmly. 'How are you doin', sweetheart?'

'I'm fine,' she assured him, looking a lot more rested than on the previous day. 'If only I had some kind of splint I could walk a little…I'm so sick of lying around.' He detected a note of genuine frustration and nodded in understanding.

'I know, honey. I'll make you something today right after I'll get us some breakfast.' He gave her another smile and rose, watching her hands running through her curls.

'Dammit, Tony, I really need my hairbrush. Just look at this mess,' she groaned.

He knelt beside her, attempting to run his fingers through her hair, tangling them in snarls instead. 'Sweetheart, we'll put lots of conditioner in it when we get outa here,' he comforted, hugging her.

She sighed, resigned to his ignorance. 'Tony, if I don't do anything with it real soon, the only way to untangle it will be by using the scissors,' she explained.

A frown of concern appeared on his face, melting her heart. He appeared prepared to argue the point, unwilling to see her part with her curls. 'Sweetheart, I'll help you comb it out, even if it takes a whole day,' he promised, sounding genuine. 'There's no way I'm letting you cut anything, do you hear? And don't worry about it being messy here, everyone else looks the same. Lemme get you some breakfast.'

He left, stepping over the stragglers, his eyes blinking in the brightness. It appeared the storm was over, leaving a perfect day in its wake. Pale clouds floated lazily overhead obscuring the peak of the mountain range. He shaded his eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the place, until his eyes rested on the massive wall that held them confined. Quit sightseeing, Almeida. You're to collect whatever it is they've given for breakfast and take some back to Michelle. His mother joined him, obviously determined to ensure he accepted whatever was served without comment. To their dismay they received a slice of bread each, identical to the previous evening's 'dinner' with one exception, it was now rock hard.

Rita Almeida shook her head, nibbling a small piece. 'Hopefully none of my fillings will fall out,' she said. 'Do you see anything to drink, sweetheart?'

Tony walked through the empty dining room, returning with a few tin mugs of water. 'That's all they got. Try soaking the bread in it.'

They ate on the sheepskins, the single stale slice doing little to assuage their hunger. Marco returned to see whether there was any spare bread but returned empty handed. Leaving the women, they walked outside to the tree, searching for sticks that might serve as splints. Everything on the ground appeared brittle and damp. Tony glanced round, noting their hijackers appeared occupied with overseeing the remainder of breakfast. He swung himself a couple of feet up, breaking off three stout branches, and handed them down to his father. Seizing the opportunity for a little recon, he noted there was a dirt track leading away from the opposite side of the building, running in a straight line as far as the bend in the road.

'There's a road here, Papa. I'm guessing we're not far from some sort of settlement,' he guessed.

Marco nodded. 'I was thinking there would have to be something close by. Those terrorists didn't expect all of us, Antonio. You can see how unprepared they are to handle so many people. They just wanted to destroy a plane. We're an unexpected bonus.'

Tony nodded, eyeing his father.

'Tell me the Mexican government negotiates with terrorists,' his father asked hopefully. 'I'd need to get your mother out of here with my passport as soon as possible. She's too clean to deal with this kind of place.'

'No one negotiates with terrorists,' Tony admitted. 'We'll just have to get outa here on our own. It shouldn't be too hard, once we know their routine.'

His father nodded, an eye on the wall. 'Oh, we'll get outa here alright, but then what? They know these mountains a little better than we do! They'd round us all up in a coupla hours! We don't even have suitable clothes or shoes for this kinda adventure. Won't CTU try to get you released? They're aware we're here, by now. They might worry you'll be questioned.'

Tony's eyes sank, examining his damaged shoes. 'They can't, Papa. Only the president could authorize such a rescue, and it's unlikely he'll risk destabilizing the entire region for me. We're on our own.'

Marco Almeida nodded, moving towards the 'bedroom.' 'I was afraid you were gonna say that,' he admitted. 'Tony, let's keep this to ourselves. Michelle probably knows it already, but her leg's so painful she needs something to hope for. Let your mother expect rescue, it will keep her calmer for a while.'

Tony nodded. 'You got it.'