'Have you ever done this before?' Michelle inquired dubiously as he fumbled with the sheepskin, struggling to tear off a piece.
'Yeah,' he replied, nodding his head at the branches. 'I fixed a broken leg before with a splint. The doctor said I done a remarkable job, too.' He turned to regard her with a satisfied expression. 'I got all kinda talents, sweetheart.'
'Sewing doesn't appear to be one of them,' she chuckled, removing the skin from his hand. 'What are you trying to do? You don't need a large piece; a few threads would do just as well. Brains over brute force,' she teased, unrolling a few strands.
Tony folded his arms, wincing. 'Yeah. I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but a few threads are never gonna hold the splint together. I'll see whether I can find a tiny piece of sheepskin. Dammit, it would be so easy with a knife!'
Michelle nodded soberly. 'There weren't any, in the Stone Age,' she reminded him. 'That's where we arrived, Tony, into the Stone Age.'
'Except that they got hold of our missiles from somewhere,' he muttered, peering carefully at the spread out skins.
'Tony. Was it one of ours?' she questioned, her face serious.
He nodded grimly. 'Yeah, from the eighties. I'm guessing it was given to some Mujahaden fighting the Soviets, and this one got overlooked. Tell you what, they were made well. You can imagine the kinda place they'd be stored.' He moved further, poking through the skins, dissatisfied with the selection. 'How's your leg?' he inquired casually, lifting a piece of cloth up to examine it. 'Does it hurt real bad?'
'No, it's already a lot better,' she lied, avoiding his gaze.
He nodded as though he believed her, impressed with her self control. It's bound to be painful as hell, Almeida. After all, she's only been taking a few aspirins to deal with it! 'Alright, I found something,' he told her, kneeling beside her. 'You ready to get this done?'
She nodded, a faint trace of wariness in her eyes. It's okay, Michelle, I won't hurt you. You should know I'd NEVER hurt you. Keeping his face neutral, as they taught in first aid back at the academy, he bound the cloth round her leg firmly enough to hold. 'How's that? Not too tight?' he asked.
'It's fine,' she assured him comforted by his quiet confidence. He slipped a finger inside to make certain he was not about to cut off her blood circulation before applying the branches, binding them together with the thin threads she held in her hand.
'We'd need as many more of those cords as you can make,' he told her, bending forward to sweep some hair from her forehead and kiss her. 'Just to make it a little more secure. Michelle, I got you a walking stick!' He reached behind his parents' sheepskin and held a stout branch in the air, displaying it proudly. 'Lemme tell you it was hard to snap this one,' he told her, displaying his scratched palms.
Michelle breathed a sigh of relief, glad to regain her independence. 'Thanks, honey. Let me see if I can get up alone.' She took her 'walking stick' and pulled herself up leaning on it, hopping towards the door. 'So far so good,' she breathed.
Tony nodded, a step behind her in case she stumbled. 'You're doing fine, honey.'
Jack laid his briefcase on the floor, removing his laptop. He was exhausted, having spent a large part of the night on the couch sipping beer, contemplating Tony's fate. You sent him over to deliver that speech, Ryan. It's your fault that he's in real danger right now, and you were ready to blast the whole lot of them to hell. To kill Tony and leave the militants free rein to down as many more planes as they choose! Worn out, he stared across the bullpen, noting Adam working on something down below with his usual quiet efficiency, his presence barely felt. Gael was there too, half an hour early, head buried in his monitor.
Jack sighed. Tony's replacement was due to arrive any moment. The thought of some unknown taking over his friend's office bothered him more than he cared to admit. Another person sitting at that desk would finalize Tony's departure, the 'replacement' part of the title obviously temporary. Whoever would arrive would most certainly be his new co-director, and he wasn't willing to acknowledge anyone in such a position. Not yet. Not while Tony was obviously alive. Maybe not ever.
The sharp clicking of high heeled shoes grabbed his attention. He frowned, unused to hearing such rhythmic taps from anyone at CTU. Peering through his window, he groaned aloud. 'You gotta be kidding!' he remarked to the silent office. Head held high, narrow skirt accentuating Barbie style legs, Alberta Green crossed the bullpen, heading directly to Tony's office. The groan he had struggled so valiantly to keep inside slipped out. 'Shit,' he breathed.
Alberta Green switched on the lights, staring disapprovingly round the office formerly occupied by Tony Almeida, a man she thought little of. Oh, he was capable of running the place alright, provided one overlooked his frequent sarcasm and intrinsic loyalty to what he "thought was the right thing to do," which was a short explanation for what Jack Bauer thought was the best thing to do, another man she was definitely not thrilled to be working with. His desk was as cluttered as she had expected. She laid her bag on the floor and set about the thankless task of clearing herself some space. The corners and shelves were filled with an unbelievable collection of knickknacks. There were dozens of framed photos of Michelle Dessler in various locations, at the beach, in the hills, and some in what appeared to be their home. Filled with natural curiosity she studied these pictures, noting the style of their lounge suite, their dining room furniture, and their kitchen. Several photos graced the top shelf, displaying crowds of brown haired people, one holding a baby, a lot of them bearing a striking resemblance to Tony. In the center of the second shelf, in a corner by itself stood a mug with some sporting emblem on it. Alberta sighed, turning her attention to the drawers under the desk. The first one was filled with folders, CTU related, while the second appeared full of sporting magazines, baseball in particular. Alberta gave a little shake of her head. It was as she had suspected. Tony Almeida obviously spent a great deal of his time following his team's results rather than concentrating on his work! Alberta peered into the bullpen, noting with disapproval that though it was but ten minutes to the beginning of the day, very few people had arrived. She picked up her phone, summoning the brown haired man she saw directly beneath her.
He walked up the stairs obviously preoccupied. 'You rang, ma'am?' he inquired.
'I did,' she replied, eyeing him in distaste. The man's lack of attention to his surroundings could have been tolerated by no one apart from Almeida, but then again, what could she expect of someone who collected so much baseball trash? 'Your name,' she asked icily.
The man stared at her startled. 'Adam, Adam Kaufman,' he introduced himself, falling silent again.
Alberta sighed. Obviously top IT specialists picked jobs in the better paying private sector, but this man was about as slow as they came. 'Adam,' she said, each syllable expressing disdain. 'Could you find me some boxes?'
The man stared at her in such bewilderment that the thought of firing him on the spot ran through her mind. 'Boxes?' he repeated, his eyes indicating an absolute lack of discernment.
'Yes, boxes. Cardboard boxes,' she explained as slowly as she would have to a dim witted six year old. 'Boxes to pack things in.'
The man's eyes flickered as he snapped out of his daydream. 'You're packing Tony's stuff!' he asked incredulously. 'Ma'am, he'll be needing them when he gets back.'
'He may collect them on his return,' she informed him chillingly. 'But no, I don't think his owning a few dozen baseball magazines would in any way help him with his work. Now I need at least three large boxes,' she finished, opening her laptop.
Adam stared at her a moment longer before leaving the room, his disapproval of his task expressed by the wide open door. Alberta got up to close it in irritation, noting him crossing the bullpen and heading straight up into the Field Ops. section, obviously on his way to complain to Bauer. Ah well, she had a few things that required discussion with him as well.
Tony fastened the handkerchief across his nose before throwing the bucket of water into the entrance of the latrines, hoping to dislodge some of the filth on the floor. A little of the filth moved, flowing backwards towards the holes. Tony straightened, heading back to the well for a second bucket. He would be occupied with the task for the entire day, fortunate if he finished by the evening. After a few dozens trips he paused for a break, leaning against the tree as he didn't wish to walk over the courtyard towards the crowd in his grimy shoes.
'Antonio, give me the bucket,' his father said, appearing beside him. 'You look worn out.'
Tony shook his head, straightening. 'I'll do it, Papa. I'm fine.'
'Of course you're fine, but you need a break. We shouldn't waste time, this job is important. It gives me something to focus on rather than just staring at the walls,' he explained, taking the bucket from his son. 'Go find a broom, it would help,' he suggested as he drew the first bucket.
They worked steadily for the following three hours, taking it in turns to draw water or to sweep the slime from the floor, changing whenever the stench became too much to bear. Marco refused to accept his son's assurance that he was capable of finishing the task himself, hobbling back to the well to avoid the discussion. 'You think I'm gonna leave you with such a task, Antonio?' he questioned reproachfully, removing the broom from his hands. 'You go fetch the water now.'
Tony drew a deep breath once he stood in the fresh air, his eyes stinging. 'Sure don't notice anyone coming to give us a hand,' he observed, throwing the water as hard as he could against the back wall in a vain attempt to remove what looked suspiciously like, well, he wouldn't think about it!
'It's okay, at least we get a chance to talk a little,' his father told him, patiently. 'Antonio, promise me one thing, ok?' He watched Tony nodding. 'If anything should happen to me, I want you to take care of your mother just as I did, and watch the younger ones as well. Keep the family together, hmm.'
Tony swallowed, his heart aching. 'You know I will. But now you gotta promise me something. You gotta survive this. I'm gonna need all the help I can get when we leave this place.'
Division's systems administrator opened Tony's emails (in the interests of national security – by direct orders from her) within half an hour. Alberta studied the folder fascinated, unable to resist casting a hurried glance down the now crowded floor. The emails were organized into two separate folders, one CTU related, which she idly clicked through, the second one marked private. Curiously she clicked onto that box, opening a folder containing several hundred messages. The chance to snoop into the lost director's personal life proved irresistible. She clicked on the latest one, sighing to discover it was in Spanish. Ah well, her hours of struggle at high school were about to be rewarded.
Hey Tony
The sprinklers aren't working. The bore keeps making this humming sound. Got any ideas? Jose.
A detailed technical explanation followed from Tony, also in Spanish, ending with the fascinating statement that the bore should work were that one valve replaced as "I dug the well and installed it myself!" She shook her head in amazement. So the director had installed an entire sprinkler system and bore! Alberta pursed her lips, noting the message was from Mexico. That explained it, then. She was aware he had relatives there. Eagerly she opened the second message. It was just as intriguing.
Wanna get together for a beer sometime? Just thought I'd let you know, I actually beat that coach I was telling you about 6-4 7-6 (6-3). How's that? John.
She stared at it fascinated, wondering who the unknown John could be. The following email was from someone called Jane, who warned him not to fail to purchase a toy kangaroo while he was in Australia for someone called Sandy, who was certain to love it. Next was a long letter from Rita in San Francisco, who grumbled about a man taking the promotion she was due, followed by a cheerful letter from someone who addressed himself as Bobby, your favorite brother, who described a rowdy shore leave in the United Kingdom which concluded with the description of a fellow lieutenant falling drunken into the sea and being pulled out by his hair. The favorite brother had a certain talent for writing, she had to admit. She found herself absorbed in his detailed description of smuggling the soaking wet lieutenant back onboard his destroyer, away from the vigilant captain, who apparently strongly disliked that young man. Well, reading the details of the shore leave, she fully sympathized with the captain. It appeared he suffered from the same lack of quality in his junior officers as she was forced to endure at Division. She closed the email, clicking on the following one, which also originated from the US navy, from someone called Marco. To her annoyance, the letter refused to open. She clicked on it again, only to have the entire page close. Outraged, she peered outside. The person who had cut her off would pay for that dearly.
Jack nodded at the door, fully aware whoever knocked would enter regardless of his lack of invitation. In the hour Alberta Green had been at CTU he had placated just about every member of Tony's staff with the exception of the man who now stood before his desk, a dangerous smile on his face. 'You needed something, Gael?'
'Who's that bitch?' Gael demanded, never one to waste time with beating around the bush.
'Alberta Green. She's filling in for Tony temporarily,' Jack said, repeating the lie he had told all morning.
'She was reading Tony's private emails,' Gael hissed, narrowing his eyes.
Jack shook his head in defeat. The woman was impossible, clearly feeling herself invincible, alienating a dozen people in her first hour. He already had a letter of resignation on his desk, and from the gleam in Gael's eyes, he would need to recall his officer training in a hurry, the kind needed to placate hostile civilians. 'Just put them someplace she can't get to them,' he instructed. 'There's nothing I can do about it, Division sent her. Look, Gael,' he lowered his voice, 'Tony needs you here right now, to help locate him and to keep an eye on his stuff. Think you're up to that?'
Gael's smile was chilling.
The unflavored green slime was consumed by the famished passengers only because of their intense hunger. Michelle cast him a few miserable looks while he struggled valiantly with his own portion, nodding his encouragement at her. 'It's not so bad, really, sweetheart. Just take a deep breath and swallow it down real quick. It's probably healthy.' She nodded at him dubiously, struggling with another spoonful. 'I guess we should be grateful for getting a warm meal,' he concluded, forcing his final spoonful down. You deserve to be congratulated, Almeida. That was great foreign relations, managing to eat an entire plate of slime…Who're you kidding? You ate it because you're starving… He gave her a hug and returned to the latrines, determined to finish his task by the evening. The last thing any of them needed was an outbreak of cholera.
His father joined him, taking the broom. 'Look, Papa, you helped me all morning,' he protested. I can finish up here. Why don't you sit down and rest your foot? I saw that blister.'
His father shrugged. 'I'm not putting any weight on it. Tony, your mom offered to take over…' Tony shuddered. 'So I'm back.' He nodded, returning to the back breaking task of hauling water from the deepest well he had ever seen. Look at it this way, Almeida. At least the drinking water won't get contaminated by the latrines…He threw it where his father pointed.
'You can take a break now, Tony. I just need to scrub here…'
'I'll do that,' he insisted, watching while his father folded his arms.
'There's so many things I wanted to tell you, Tony, things I just kept putting off till later…Perhaps things I was not so proud of…'
'You can tell me in a coupla years, Papa,' Tony insisted, noting his progress with satisfaction. It appeared as though they would be done by the evening after all. Don't talk as though we're just waiting to die, Papa. We're getting out of here!
His father shook his head slowly. 'You resemble, me, m'ijo - you inherited my mathematical talents, and my personality also, but you got a lot of your mother's family in you too. I wasn't like you and Marco and Bobby, capable of organizing groups of people. I was interested in one thing mainly, drawing buildings.'
'I know,' Tony replied, smiling.
'I wasn't that successful in the army,' his father admitted. 'I finished high school with near perfect grades and won a scholarship to study architecture in Chicago, and I thought I had it all made, till I discovered I had to complete my national service before I could go. You can imagine how 'thrilled' I was. We ended up in the south, keeping an eye on some Indians…At least there was one good thing about it, I'd always longed to see the Mayan ruins, and I figured if not now, then when?'
Tony paused, leaning on the broom, studying his father with interest. 'Did you sneak off, Papa?'
'Sí. I knew where the nearest site was, just an old ruin really, so after I finished guard duty I set off. It took a coupla hours of steady walking, but I got there in the end. It was some old temple as far as I could make out, just one wall of it really, far from any tourist trail. I examined the stones, walked round a bit, then sat down and drew it. It was so peaceful there, just me and this ancient monument. I completely forgot my rest period would soon end and I'd be required to go on duty again. I could almost 'see' what that temple would've looked like complete, so I drew it in all its glory, complete with a road and people.'
Tony chewed his lip in silent amusement. He understood why his father had refused to entertain them with tales of his army days despite their begging him to do so. He had been every sergeant's worst nightmare, a dreamy intellectual. 'How long did that take?'
Marco Almeida raised his eyebrows. 'Quite a while. The first owls were hooting round the ruins when I remembered I was expected back…I got a month in the stockade.'
'I'm sorry, Papa,' Tony said sympathetically, resuming his sweeping.
'Don't be. I had it coming. Anyway, my military service eventually drew to an end, and I hadn't managed to kill myself or anyone else, so I set off for Chicago. It was the first large city I'd ever lived in. College was real tough. All the English I'd learned at school was rusty after the army…I had very little money and knew no one. That first year we were required to pick a variety of subjects apart from our majors, and I chose American History.'
Tony nodded, remembering hours of sitting on his father's knee listening to stories about ancient civilizations populated by heroes with unpronounceable names. 'But you done okay.'
His father raised his eyebrows for the second time. 'Eventually. I picked this dark spot at the back of the auditorium and settled in to listen. You know, I had no trouble reading English, but understanding people speak it was a lot harder. I figured I should go home…Then, about ten minutes into the lecture, the door opened and this girl appeared…'
'Mom,' Tony guessed, his eyes lighting up. 'She's always late everywhere!'
Marco Almeida nodded, removing the broom and waving at him to take a break. 'Sí. I still remember what she wore. She had the most beautiful eyes I ever saw and I just stared at her…She noticed me too…She grabbed a chair, told the man sitting next to me to move a little further and sat right beside me! She asked whether she was late. I don't remember what I answered, but she spent the rest of that lecture whispering to me. I decided to stick with college after all, even if I barely understood a word. She promised it would get better.'
Tony glanced at him, noting the smile his father always displayed when speaking about his wife. 'I'm glad you stayed, papa.'
His father nodded back. 'Me too.'