The following four days dragged by at an infuriatingly slow pace. Enforced captivity and idleness took their toll and the passengers grew less willing to overlook each others' eccentricities. Small arguments broke out several times during the day, one ending with a minor scuffle between dedicated supporters of AC Milan and Juventus. Tony dragged them apart with difficulty, earning a punch for his pains. He rubbed his face in silence casting both protagonists a reproachful look. His restraint paid off. Their faces reddened and they mumbled abashed apologies to each other and him, walking off together, but it was a temporary reprieve at best. Things were bound to get out of hand soon, either with the captives or their keepers. More worrying than their annoyance with each other was the terrorists' growing antipathy towards them. Insults flew throughout the day, ever more vehement. A different nation was selected for special attention each day and the citizen of that country was yelled at and abused to the point of a slap across the face for the injured Canadian woman. He supposed the rage was a direct result of the countries' refusal to negotiate a deal.

Marco recovered within three days, wandering the yard in his usual manner, back straight and head slightly forward, deep in thought. He tolerated the insults he received with the air of a long suffering parent resigned to poor behavior, ignoring their captors as best he could. Maintaining a calm exterior, he was approached by several passengers in need of a sympathetic listener. Over the course of the week he had learned all their life stories, offering advice on a range of subjects from raising children to changing employment. He was generally considered a 'nice guy', by far the most popular member of the group.

Tony wandered the yard alone, examining every individual stone in the wall, studying the terrorists' schedules and fighting his rage at his detention. He had heeded his father's advice to settle down and chat to the group the day before, his father assuring him his citizenship was a secret from no one bar the terrorists. He had rubbed his face, aware his father was right, but unwilling to socialize while he failed to come up with a workable escape plan. He had nevertheless settled among them before dinner, joining in the discussion about the only topic that interested the entire group, football. Wisely he steered the discussion towards South American teams, as they were less likely to excite passion.

'What are you doin', Papa?' he demanded sharply, seeing Marco struggle to haul a full bucket from the well. 'You're supposed to be resting, remember!'

Marco shook his head. 'I'm fine now, Antonio. This was my job, right? I won't have you burdened with two.'

'I'm not exactly burdened,' Tony replied, attempting to remove the bucket. 'I got the whole day to sit around before I gotta clean out the latrines. I'll take the water.'

'Tony, I can do it now,' his father assured him. 'Sit down.'

'Like hell,' Tony snapped, his patience at an end. 'There's no way you would've recovered yet, it's impossible! Now gimme that damn bucket and go rest!'

Marco's eyes widened. 'Antonio, remember who you are speaking to,' he said calmly, his tone reminding Tony of the countless lectures he had received as a child. 'If I say I'm fine, then I am. Find yourself something to do.'

'Fine,' Tony snapped, glaring at him. 'Kill yourself if you want to, but do me a favor, right? Don't let mom see.' He stalked off, fists clenched; slamming it into the wall once he entered the men's room. Why the hell is he so obstinate, dammit? What's he trying to prove? He scowled at the wall as though he considered ripping it apart bare handed.

'Let him take the water for a while,' the pilot advised, startling him in the silence. 'He needs to regain a little dignity. How do you think he felt, with all of us hovering over him?'

Tony rubbed his face, letting his breath out in a long sigh. 'You're right, Paolo. I wasn't thinking clearly.' He shut his eyes, sick of the entire day. If you don't get to see Michelle soon, or hug her, you'll go nuts, Almeida!

Had they possessed x ray vision, they would have pulled her over and removed the contraband, most likely beheading her once they done so. Even though she was aware they had no idea what she concealed beneath the chador she was unable to prevent her heart beating a little faster. Eyes lowered, she followed the other women in a group to the latrine.

'Your country appears to show a little interest in your fate, Kiwi,' Ali remarked, crossing the courtyard to join her. 'Some charity sent a box of medicines and a towel! You didn't tell me you require antibiotics for a chronic lung infection.'

Michelle remained silent, eyes lowered.

'Come and see the box, anyway,' Ali ordered, nodding his head at the kitchen. She took a deep breath and followed him back, her fingers brushing the knife. After the dismal week they had all had, she felt she might even be able to stick it into him should he try anything.

Ali, however, was a devout Muslim. Nodding in the direction of the kitchen he waited outside while she entered and collected the box, noting it contained several packets of antibiotics, aspirins, blood pressure tablets and rolls of bandages as well as a warm pink towel. It appeared Grace Rowe had been a person burdened with extremely poor health. She lifted the box, thankful for small mercies until her eye fell on the packages. "Made in the U.S.A." was marked clearly on each packet of medicine. Tears filled her eyes while a pang of hope rushed through her. They know we're alive.

'An Islamic charity group signed for the box,' the New Zealand embassy official informed Jack. 'They assured me she would receive it later today.'

Jack sighed in relief. The week had been trying with little activity beyond the disappearance of his friends to focus on. Alberta Green showed up half an hour early every morning and worked till late, monitoring and annoying Tony's staff. He had spoken to several of them privately in the rec. room asking for their continued support for Tony, but all the goodwill in world wouldn't keep them at CTU for much longer if Alberta continued her haranguing ways. 'You got a name or address?' he questioned.

'Of course,' the New Zealander replied, supplying him with both. 'Let me know if you need anything else, Mr. Bauer. My government is willing to cooperate to the fullest extent with this mission. They are responsible for the death of one of our citizens.'

Jack thanked him and hung up, smiling at Gael and Chase who waited with bated breath. 'Looks like we got the medicines through. It should keep them going for a while, at any rate. Now if only they would manage to place that package outdoors, so our birds would have a chance to see it!'

'Tony will do it,' Gael said, eyeing them both as though challenging them to differ. 'He'll know what's going on.'

Michelle slipped the knife into the darkest corner of the room against the wall, knowing Tony would discover it as he cleaned the place. Kneeling on the floor as though undressing she wrote a swift note above it with red stone, informing him they were fine, the knife was his, and of the arrival of the box. Once she finished she hurried over to the other women, washing in the freezing water that no amount of exposure would make less unpleasant. Once again she wished for a hairbrush.

Tony lifted the knife in his hands, drawing a deep breath. Whew. Well done, sweetheart, you're something else! Now if only you could write me something. He knelt down above the spot, straining his eyes, unprepared for the message. Reading it aloud twice he chuckled, rubbing it off with the mop. "Sweetheart, check that box. If possible, bring it here. I also need you to leave that pink towel. Thanks for the gift. Keep going, it won't be much longer." He hoped Ali would fail to see it.

Returning deep in thought he was pressed into playing a game of cards with a bored group moments after he stashed the knife deep inside his sheepskin. He nodded, settling on the floor beside his father. 'Ok, but I got nothing to lose except this crap,' he waved a hand at his drab attire. 'You're welcome to it!'

'Oh no, we got our own,' Paolo cried, dealing the cards swiftly. 'Homeless people dress better in Italy.'

'Sí, you'd find better in any rubbish dump,' a mechanic informed him proudly.

'I'll bet,' Tony agreed, casting a glance at his father from the corner of his eyes. We talking yet, Papa?

Marco Almeida remained focused on his cards, effectively ignoring him. Tony sighed, placing his hand over his father's arm. 'I'm sorry, okay,' he said, meeting his eyes. 'I was outa line.'

'No, m'ijo, you don't have to apologize. You helped me though it, and a doctor has the right to speak harshly to an obstinate patient!' He grinned at his son.

Tony grinned back, relieved. He hated nothing more than quarreling with family members. 'Alright, Papa. Let's teach the Italians how to play cards!'

Tony winced as Paolo held up his full deck, conceding defeat for the fifth time that evening. His father shrugged and stretched. 'That's it for me. I'll just watch,' he decided, leaning more comfortably against the wall.

'Gimme a minute,' Tony told them and hastened inside, emerging with a sheepskin which he placed behind his father's back. Marco stared at him for a moment before nodding his thanks. Relieved, he settled back to the game, determined to win back the pile of rags they had lost so dismally, as determined as though payment had been demanded. 'Alright, deal. I'm gonna win my stuff back this time,' he insisted, generating loud laughter and much head shaking.

'No you won't. I like these things, I refuse to part with them,' an electrician insisted, raising louder laughter from the group. 'We're gonna walk past the Coliseum wearing them!'

A shadow fell across the full deck Tony laid on the ground a while later. Frowning, he glanced upwards, meeting the outraged Ali's eyes. Oh boy. Something's pissed him off again, for a change! Wonder who did or didn't do something this time!

'Stand up,' Ali ordered, harshly. 'Now,' he yelled, grabbing the nearest Italian by the hair and slamming him into the wall. 'I want those cards. Gambling is a sin! Gambling is not tolerated in an Islamic Republic! You choose to ignore our laws! You will be very, very sorry. Get moving.' He pointed towards the locked building behind the kitchen he had been unable to explore. 'You too, Sombrero.'

'He wasn't playing,' Tony said hurriedly. 'He was only watching.'

'Committing a crime or simply watching others do so makes little difference. Get moving, Sombrero!'

'Sir, nobody was gambling. We were just playing a game, that's all. I can guarantee that none of us have any money,' Tony insisted. 'Playing games is not unlawful…'

'Shut it, Spaghetti. I'm growing REAL TIRED of you,' Ali yelled, giving him a vicious shove towards the kitchen. 'Get moving.'

Surrounded by armed militants they were herded across the courtyard, Tony risking a quick glance at the kitchen. He was rewarded by Michelle's horrified face peering out at him. He held her eyes as long as possible before they were marched past and stopped before the locked room. One man produced a key and unlocked it, holding the door wide open. Ali grabbed Tony and forced him against the wall, slamming his head into the cold stone. 'Clothes,' he demanded.

They stared at him uncomprehendingly. 'Strip,' he repeated, slamming Tony against the wall a second time to emphasize his orders. They obeyed unhappily, herded into the room in their boxers. 'Alright, you can stay there. You WILL NOT pollute my country!' The door was slammed on them, leaving them in pitch darkness.

'Hey, Ali, what about our bucket?' Tony yelled, having noted the empty room as he entered. 'We need one!'

No one replied. Straining his ears, he heard the departing footsteps. He turned slowly, his eyes meeting only blackness. His training kicked in as he identified the position of each man by their breathing.

'I'm sorry,' the pilot said softly. 'I didn't know the cards would upset him.'

'Not your fault,' Tony assured him. 'We can't be expected to keep everyone's rules in mind.' He settled on the icy floor, folding his arms. How long does that nutcase plan on keeping us here? Hopefully he'll calm down in a day or so. It's gonna be a little cold tonight.

The night was the worst since their arrival in the compound. The temperature so high in the mountains dropped rapidly once the sun set. Left without protective clothing or blankets they huddled together for warmth, cold and hunger keeping them awake. A dismal attempt at conversation failed shortly before dawn, each man struggling with his own survival. Tony shut his eyes, feeling his father breathing beside him, recalling a similar occasion he had listened in silence to those same breaths.

'Think he'll remember?' his younger brother Marco asked him anxiously. Tony shrugged, his eye on the key so tantalizingly within reach. 'We could go get it,' he suggested, glancing out of the window to where his father was safely occupied clipping a bush. Without further thought he stood on tiptoes and took the cellar key, unlocking it. Breathless with excitement Marco followed on his heels. Tony pulled the door shut and turned on the light, glancing round the cellar rapidly. It was neat, furnished as an office with an additional couch and reading lamp surrounded by bookcases. Their father had commandeered the cellar as his only escape from his numerous offspring, forbidding any of them to enter on pain of death! The boys searched the room rapidly, Marco discovering the toy robot they sought. Their father had removed it the day before, telling them that as they were unable to share, neither would have it. 'I got it. We should take him back to the space station.' Tony nodded, halfway up the stairs when his sharp ears picked up the sound of the front door opening. He shook his head warningly and fled noiselessly downwards, narrowly avoiding a collision with the terrified Marco. Placing a finger on his lips he slipped behind the couch, his brother tight against him, the robot on top of them. 'Think he'll come down?' Marco whispered. 'Nah,' he'd replied wrongly. The next moment the door opened and his father emerged, beer in hand, settling at his desk to finish his latest design. The boys remained where they were, not daring to move a muscle, avoiding each other's gaze, successfully concealed until Marco failed to contain a sneeze…Tony grinned, remembering his father's annoyance as he hauled them out, removing the robot. 'This is the office,' he told them sternly, obviously considering spanking them both. They apologized humbly, Tony praying he wouldn't forbid them to watch TV for the week. 'But since you came in…' His father's eyes lit up and he produced two sheets of paper, handing one to each boy, together with a couple of books Tony hoped never to set eyes on again. 'You can work through these sums.' He opened the books, choosing a page for each of them, nodding at the couch. 'Make yourselves at home!' Unsurprisingly, his sanctuary remained inviolate ever since, Tony avoiding the place to the present day.

He grinned faintly in the darkness remembering they had needed something from there 2 months ago, and he had casually suggested Marco go collect it. The young lieutenant home to celebrate receiving a medal for outstanding valor gazed at him unhappily. 'Downstairs? In Papa's office? Why don't you go get it, Tony?' He'd shaken his head. 'Nah. We'll wait.' In the end it was their sister who volunteered to go, shaking her head at them. 'Look at the pair of you! A Federal Agent and a naval officer, scared to go into a cellar!' Marco had stirred, fixing her with a lazy grin. 'Hey, it wasn't you sitting there doing sums for an entire afternoon. I still have nightmares about it!' During the coldest part of the night he huddled close to his father feeling an arm wrapped round him.

The following day taxed their endurance to the limit. Confined in the darkness without food or water they were left with little else to occupy themselves with than speculating as to their probable release time and Ali's biography. 'He's American,' Tony predicted. 'Either that, or he was real young when he arrived. By that I mean real young, his accent is flawless. And another thing. He's smart. Don't underestimate him.'

The day passed at last without relief from the darkness and stench, a back corner having been mutually agreed upon to serve their needs. Once again they spent the night huddled together, hunger making them less resistant to the cold. Tony knelt down in the middle of the night, praying to be released the next morning.

The car wound its way up the mountains on one of the few passable roads driven confidently by a driver well used to the terrain. He drove over to the compound, hooting impatiently as the door was opened. Michelle stared at him from her seat by the kitchen window, watching Ali rush to embrace him. 'Hassan. You came.'

'Sure I did. You finally done it brother, just like you promised!'

'Lying is a sin, Hassan you should have known I would do my sworn duty. Did you see the aircraft?'

'Yes, I drove over to it. Those people got plenty of stuff.'

'Don't touch it Hassan. It'll contaminate these villagers. Why would they need silk or linen? How's the media taking our demands?'

Hassan shrugged, smoothing his hair with a hand on which a thick gold ring sparkled. 'Officially, we're not even on the news. Unofficially, the Americans are running scared. I'm surprised you failed to break the agent yet.'

'What agent?' Ali inquired, quieter.

A sick feeling spread through Michelle, her body shaking as she leant closer to catch every word.

Hassan laughed aloud, clasping Ali on the shoulder. 'You don't know it! Ali, you went fishing for cod, and caught a shark. You got the director of the Los Angeles Counter Terrorism Unit right here, an Antonio Almeida. He's got access to just about every piece of classified intel in the U.S. and you know what else? His wife and parents are here too!'

'I don't recall the name,' Ali mused, frowning at his brother. 'The only Almeida I got is a Mexican.'

'Yeah, that's the father. Line them up and I'll point him out to ya. You see, it's worth it after all, having Hanifa working as a translator. Every dollar we spent on her will be paid back, and more!'

'The Mexican is one of a group being taught a lesson. I'll get them. If he's the father, then presumably the son is with him as well.' Ali produced a key and inserted it into the lock, opening the door. 'Out,' he snapped.

Michelle watched, each breath forced out through her trembling body as the men stumbled out, hands flung over their faces to shield them from the brightness. They looked pale as they stood disoriented, swaying in the fresh wind. She sensed their discomfort, longing to boil them all hot tea, her heart sick at the upcoming drama.

'Get in a line,' Ali ordered, removing the safety on his rifle. It had the desired effect of moving the men into a single row, blinking. 'Hands by your sides. Heads up. Hassan?'

Hassan moved along the row, peering at each man as they studied the new arrival. Something in his eyes filled Tony with dread before he reached him. He's Ali's boss. He's here to start ordering executions. It's been eight days now…The new arrival paused before him, his fingers under Tony's chin. 'Lift your head up, agent Almeida. We got so much to discuss!'