Adam pushed the door closed silently and hurried over to Gael, glancing round furtively. Tech One appeared deserted as he leaned over a console. 'Take a look at this. It's pink.'

Gael understood his colleague's excitement. 'Show me.' They studied an ordinary washing line in great detail, deciding that yes, the pink item was indeed a towel. 'Enhance,' Adam muttered and they studied the compound. 'They're there.'

Gael nodded, replaying a few minutes' footage. A few armed men walked the perimeter fence, though that in itself was nothing unusual for that area. Women hidden in chadors walked a small part of what resembled a yard, again, nothing unusual, except…Gael frowned. 'There's just too many people for those few buildings,' he mused. 'They can't all live there. It's definitely a camp of some kind. Yeah, Adam.' He picked up the phone to invite Jack downstairs.

Jack studied the footage in silence; pointing to the women they had captured wandering the yard. 'If only they weren't covering their heads,' he said.

'Look at this, Jack,' Gael said, fast forwarding the images till the group of women withdrew and two were led out. 'Here, this one hanging that towel. If only I could enhance that image further. I need to see her hand.'

'Get over to Division and do so. What are you looking for?' Jack pressed. 'A ring?'

Gael nodded. 'Yeah, a wedding ring.'

'And we'd identify the ring and the wearer,' Jack guessed. 'Good thinking.'

Gael leaned against the door, meeting his eyes. 'That's Tony's mother,' he said, turning the handle.

'Wait,' Jack ordered. 'How could you know that?'

'They're old friends. I've seen her hanging washing hundreds of times.'

His door opened unexpectedly while he slept on the icy floor overcome by sheer exhaustion. A flashlight directed onto his face followed by a swift kick to his ribs woke him and he blinked groggily, rolling over instinctively to protect himself. 'Get up,' Ali ordered in an icy tone.

Tony rolled over, bending his stiff knees with difficulty. Keep it together, Almeida. They're gonna start their interrogation, stay focused. Try getting your wrists freed. He was hauled to his feet following an order snapped at another armed man who yanked him out the door by his hair. 'Lemme go, will you. I can walk by myself,' he snapped, his protest falling on deaf ears. The armed man deposited him less than gently onto a chair in the center of the 'office.'

His heart skipped a beat as he noticed Hassan perched on the desk, eyeing him from deep pools of black, his expression unreadable. He had seen that look before as another group had prepared to interrogate him - he felt violently sick. Staring in front of him with an expressionless mask he awaited the questioning with trepidation.

'Antonio Almeida,' Hassan began, narrowing his eyes. 'U.S. Federal Agent, assassin and spy. You think you can come interfere in MY country?'

Tony shook his head in protest. 'I wasn't exactly plannin' on entering your country! Your invitation was a little hard to refuse,' he said, unable to allow the insults to pass unchallenged.

A slap across the face sent him spiraling out of the chair, landing sprawled on his side as he spat blood.

"Dammit Almeida. Do you fail this exercise on purpose?" yelled a justifiably outraged instructor, slamming his file on the table. "What the hell have I just suggested you do during enemy interrogation?" Tony squirmed on the chair, aware he had acted rashly. "I'm sorry sir; I'll do better next time." The instructor scoffed at his apology. "That's what you said the last five times! A marine officer reacts in a calm and calculated way in every circumstance, especially such a critical one. Don't you realize the enemy will seek to rile you up to break you down quicker? You're their ideal candidate. Now we'll repeat this one final time. Show any emotion at all, I'm failing you! Now what in particular bothered you about that final interrogation?" Tony chewed his lip, unwilling to reply until the instructor rose to stand over him, his expression threatening dire retribution should he remain silent. "That bastard insulted my mother," he admitted, longing for the session to end so he could seek out his classmate who had taken the role of interrogator and strangle him. The instructor's frustrated sigh appeared to come from his mouth and nose simultaneously. "Almeida, just take it, alright. These people are expert at discovering which buttons to push. Look at it this way; they never even MET your mother! Now are we ready for this?" Tony nodded firmly. He would pass the test, whatever it took! "Yeah, I'm perfectly calm!"

"Garrison," he snapped, grabbing his fellow officer candidate by the arm and shoving him against the wall in the deserted shower hours later. "Your interrogation techniques suck! Lemme tell you this just once – you EVER insult my family again, you'll drink from the toilet, that's a promise!"

He remained where he had landed, not wishing to risk a further blow. Hassan said something and he was dragged back to his chair by his hair, that being the preferred method of moving a prisoner, he guessed.

A silence ensued during which both groups studied each other in distaste. 'Alright, Director Almeida, let's start again,' Hassan decided, lighting a cigarette and leaning towards Tony to blow the smoke into his face.

Sure wish we could! We'd have picked a different flight. He remained silent, eyes narrowed.

'Let's make this real simple and get you back to your family,' Hassan began, tapping the cigarette to drop a pile of ash on the floor. 'You have access to the FBI database. Open the files we ask for, and we won't hurt anyone.'

Tony shook his head nonchalantly. 'You know I can't do that.'

'We've got time, Mr. Almeida,' Hassan assured him, accepting his refusal with equanimity. 'I can afford to give you another day to consider the matter before I hand your wife over to my colleagues. Few of them had the chance of knowing a Western woman. And there's your mother too, I believe?'

The room spun around him as his vision blurred. He sprang from the chair in a single fluid movement, too fast for the guard to restrain him, and slammed his head into Hassan's chest, knocking him to the ground. Before the guard had a chance to grab him he deposited a few furious kicks at the terrorist who struggled to his feet. 'Son of a bitch! Don't you dare threaten my family. I'll…'

Hair yanked backwards, he spat out his final words… 'rip your throat out.'

'I'll rip yours out if you try that again,' Hassan assured him, settling back onto the desk and waving a hand at the guard, who pulled the chair two feet further back. 'That type of cowboy behavior is not tolerated here. We respect our superiors in an Islamic Republic.'

'Oh, I respect all my superiors too,' Tony hissed, 'when I see any!'

The blow his guard gave him was worth it, he decided as he struggled to his knees for the second time. Keep going, Almeida, get them mad at you. Hopefully they'll forget all about mom and Michelle. Draw their anger onto yourself, you can take it. 'So far, from what I've seen of you, I'd be surprised to find one man who can sign his own name without help!'

His remark appeared to have hit a raw nerve. Hassan's eyes flickered for the first time since their meeting, red fire scalding the bottomless black depths. Leaping to his feet he shoved Tony into the wall, slamming his head against it repeatedly. 'Shut up, you infidel! SHUT UP' he roared, goblets of spit spraying Tony's face. 'You know NOTHING! NOTHING,' he yelled, backhanding him.

Tony slid to the ground beside the wall, cursing the lack of the use of his hands. His head threatened to burst as he struggled to slow his ragged breathing. Easy, Almeida. These people get riled up as quickly as you do! They'll rip you apart right here and forgo any confidential intel if you don't shut your mouth! It's worked, they've forgotten all about your family. He glanced warily at Hassan who strode the room, muttering under his breath. 'Get up, you dog!'

The guard hauled him upright yet again, holding him in a vice like grip while he struggled to simulate a healthy prisoner. Hassan snapped something in Urdu and he was shoved forward into his cell, both men following close behind. The guard lit a blinding flashlight and Hassan gave him a push, slamming him face forward into the back wall. Blood trickled from his nose which he wiped into his shirt's shoulder. Someone grabbed his wrists, twisting the wire. Warm blood trickled over numb fingers and Tony screamed aloud.

'That's better,' Hassan told him, obviously pleased to inflict pain. 'Annoy me again, dog, and I'll cut both your hands off!'

'Leave the wires this tight, they're gonna need amputating soon anyway!' Tony retorted, tears stinging his eyes.

Hassan snorted, flashing the light at his hideously swollen fingers. 'You could be right. You wouldn't be much use that way, right? Don't move.'

Tony remained where he was while a knife sliced the wire, freeing his hands. He rubbed his fingers together, wincing.

'Get into that corner,' Hassan ordered, nodding his head at the corner of his choice. 'Sit down.'

Tony obeyed; dismayed to see the guard withdraw shackles that he fastened round his ankles, securing the chain round an iron hook. 'Why chain me up, Hassan?' he demanded, eyeing the terrorist. 'I'm not exactly able to dig my way outa solid stone!'

'You got a real poor attitude, dog,' Hassan replied. 'I've seen enough movies to know the classic "stand behind the door and run when it opens" move! I'm just being prudent.'

'You saw plenty of those movies, right? In America, I'll bet,' Tony said, watching his legs pulled straight by the guard. 'You're American too, Hassan, let's face it! You don't belong here anymore than I do.'

'Shut up, agent, or you'll lose your tongue!' the terrorist snapped.

'The threats sound different, but your accent tells me you're from around Alabama. What did we do to you, Hassan, to get you to hate us so much?' He studied his captor in silence, wishing he could gain insight into the mind of a Western terrorist. Here was a living, breathing example of the speech he had given back at the conference in Melbourne. For a fleeting moment he envisioned himself walking onto a platform with a gun at Hassan's head, using him as the ultimate prop.

'You've got a lot to answer for, more than you'll ever know,' Hassan assured him.

Tony's eyes narrowed in deep thought. 'Did the kids at school give you a hard time?' he guessed, closer to the truth than he knew. Hassan ignored him, examining each stone with his flashlight. 'I'm right, aren't I?' Tony continued. 'You know, you're not alone there. When I was little there weren't many Spanish kids close to us…' He fell silent, watching the terrorist. 'I had a hard time too, trust me.'

'You don't know what "hard time" means.' Hassan spoke without bothering to glance in his direction.

'Oh no? I got beaten up everyday, until my father taught me how to fight back. Then he got called in to be told I was the one causing the trouble!'

The terrorist snorted, remaining silent to Tony's amazement. You hit the nail on the head, Almeida. He's still bitter about what happened back there…

'And now you're going to tell me you're good friends with all of them, that they're really nice and it's okay to gang up on strangers.'

Tony shook his head. 'No I won't, because it wouldn't be true. I made friends with a coupla them in the end, enough not to get picked on. Wouldn't have a clue what they're doing now, we moved to the other side of the country! And no, it's not alright to pick on strangers, but it happens everywhere, if you're realistic.'

Hassan snorted again, dismissing his words. 'Next thing, you'll be telling me I had as much chance to succeed as anyone else!' He glared at Tony, begging him to differ.

'Now you know the richest top percent get stuff handed to them all over the world,' Tony admitted, rubbing his face. 'I didn't belong to that group, and a lota people I know who're doing okay now didn't belong there. You went to college too! That's not so bad for the son of penniless migrants.'

The look of pure hatred directed in his direction stopped him temporarily. 'I won a scholarship to college, if you must know. No one handed me anything.' He glared definitely at Tony. 'I used my brains, rather than join the military, like you did!'

Seems like they scrutinized your file while you were locked in here, Almeida. 'If you got to college, you could've tried to fit in. They're not as bad as elementary school kids.' He folded his arms, his interrogator's skills fully honed. 'I'm guessing you DID make friends there, fit in real well. Fit in perfectly, in fact. You had a good career too, don't deny it. I can tell, it shows. Couldn't you just have forgotten those early insults...?'

'It's not about forgetting,' Hassan assured him. 'You got a real long memory also, Almeida, so don't preach to me!'

Tony shook his head slowly. 'There's a difference between remembering sometimes and reliving the worst times on purpose. You missed a lot of tough times too, Hassan, growing up in the states.'

Hassan snorted indignantly. 'I missed out on a normal education, yes. Now let me tell YOU something, Almeida. Muslims have long memories. We never forget. One day, maybe now, maybe in a hundred years, we'll give you back what you gave us! You'll die then.'

'What are you talkin' about?' Tony demanded, startled at the deep vehemence. His entire experience with Islamic militants had consisted of brief encounters in his military days and later interrogating a few in CTU about specific deeds, never about the background that gave rise to such acts in the first place. 'Why don't you try explain it to me?'

'I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, Almeida.'

Tony shook his head confused.

'The Crusades. You're going to regret taking part in that. You think we've forgotten?'

'But you're from Pakistan, not the Middle East,' he exclaimed bewildered.

'And you imagine it's nothing to do with us? Muslims fight together to avenge insults, no matter where they take place. We will make you pay for your crimes,' Hassan assured him, watching him carefully. 'Enough talk now. You will sit there and think about your situation.'

Two weeks ago you were on holiday with Michelle, exploring remarkable coastlines. Today you're locked in some disused stone cell debating the legitimacy of the Crusades. He decided Hassan was as pig headed as his grandmother, who never failed to let his brother-in-law John know how the European powers let Spain down, heading off to the Middle East rather than help free Granada. He sighed guiltily. At least his grandmother gained satisfaction by making John blush and apologize. Hassan would not stop till he had taken the lives of dozens of people. Tony shut his eyes and rubbed his aching temples, wondering just how many sacrifices would suffice to fill his revenge.

Michelle took a step backwards, instinctively seeking the support of Tony's parents as the door opened and two armed men waved them out. They filed into the yard, blinking in the twilight. Ali met them, glaring at them. He told them they were being returned to the rest of the group but he would watch them extra carefully. The slightest hint of rebellion would see them returned to the store room.

'Where's my son?' Marco demanded, glaring at him. 'You'll be in real trouble if you hurt him!'

Ali threw him a mocking look. 'Will I? You'll see him again just as soon as he answers a few questions. He's a little stubborn, so I guess you'll have to wait a couple of days.'

They exchanged nervous looks. He's hurting Tony. Michelle's fists clenched. 'Where is he?' she asked.

'That's not for you to know,' Ali replied, waving his hand at the segregated groups. 'Go join your friends. Like I said, don't try anything.'

The little group crossed the courtyard desperately worried. 'You remember the knife, Marco?' Michelle said.

He nodded. 'I do. We'll get outa here, don't you worry. Tony seemed to mean we should go soon.' He shook his head in defeat. 'Thing is, I just can't for the life of me see a way we could do that. I understand what he's saying, they could use us as leverage against him…but to just make a dash for it would doom a lot of us to death.'

'They're going to kill us all sooner or later,' she assured him with quiet conviction. 'It's a poverty stricken area. How long do you think they can keep dead weight?'

'As long as they're financed to do so,' he guessed.

'We're going to need to discuss a break-out,' she said slowly, eyeing the approaching guards. 'One of us should make a real diversion, and we can storm the gate.'

Marco chewed his lip reminding her of her of the absent Tony, drawing fresh tears to her eyes. 'Michelle, I was never much of a soldier,' he admitted, hoping their friendship would survive the revelation. 'I've seen so many people struggling to eke out some kind of existence, so much disease, I always figured we got enough problems without adding to it! I've never even seen anyone killed!' He paused, watching her reaction. 'I never wanted to, either.'

Rita slipped her hand in his, squeezing it. 'It's okay, sweetheart.'

Michelle swallowed, her heart warm. 'If everyone were you like you, Marco, this world would be a better place,' she said gently. 'I'll think of something.'

He shook his head. 'I'm no coward, Michelle. If Tony told us to get out as soon as possible, he had a reason. I don't know what they're doing to him, but it's gonna turn bad. I am not going to sit by and allow them to hurt him. I'll create a diversion tomorrow in the yard; get the ladies ready to flee.'

'They'll kill you,' Rita whispered, her heart clenched.

'I'll do my best to avoid that, querida. If it should happen though, I want you all to leave Pakistan and get help for Tony.'

Ali appeared, giving him a violent shove. 'What's your problem, Sombrero? You were told to get back to the rest of the men. Want another whipping?'

'Not particularly,' Marco hissed, turning his back on their captor.

Gael sent the picture back to CTU, thanking his counterpart in Division. He left the building cautiously, aware the fabricated reason for his use of their superior technology would fail to go down should Chappelle notice him. He nodded his head in a friendly fashion at an analyst, walking nonchalantly over to the exit. Keep going, Ortega, you're almost there! He smiled at a particularly attractive young woman who was obviously new and breathed easier as the front entrance came into view.

'Mr. Ortega. What a surprise. What does CTU need?' a voice inquired, halting him. Gael had learned a thing or two in the military also, his expression was blank as he turned.

'Good afternoon, Mr. Hammond! I was just leaving.'

Hammond pursed his lips, eyeing him in disapproval. 'I can see that. Would you mind stepping upstairs to my office for a moment? There's something I need to discuss with you.' He turned abruptly, crossing the floor without bothering to check whether his wishes were complied with.

Gael cursed under his breath, briefly considering just leaving before he dismissed the thought. Pulling his polite, fake smile onto his face he turned and followed his worst nightmare upstairs. He was about to be grilled and experience taught him it would be awhile before he was allowed to leave. Teresa was going to have something to say to him again, if she were forced to go to their son's school play, Snow White and the seven Dwarfs alone. Damn you, Hammond!

Hassan glared at the terrified women, pointing his hand at Michelle. 'Get out, bitch.'

Heart beating wildly she moved to comply hoping to be taken to Tony. Rita helped her to her feet and supported her to the doorway where they were marshaled into the deserted yard.

'That signal of yours was a foolish idea,' he began, eyeing Michelle in a rage. 'You surely can't imagine anyone is scrutinizing satellite images to search for it! You're wasting your time.' He threw the pink towel at her feet, his mouth foaming with anger.

Michelle looked bewildered. 'We did our washing today. Why are you talking about satellites?'

'Don't play me for a fool,' he snapped, annoyed. 'Try anything at all a second time, anything at all, I'll have you beheaded! I'll be sure to keep your son alive long enough to watch that,' he continued, turning to Rita. 'He's not doing too well right now!'

Red hot rage flared through her as she took a step towards him. 'Now you listen to me, whoever you are,' Rita hissed. 'My son will never tell you anything, so you might as well return him to us. If you hurt him, I will kill you. However long it takes, however much it costs, I won't rest till I shoot you! No place on this earth will be safe for you.'

Ali listened in silence, his admiration for the woman increasing.

Hassan took a step towards her, grabbing her hair. 'What…'

'Leave her for now, she's just an ignorant woman,' Ali muttered. 'She'd be best used later should the agent refuse to talk.' He said something in Urdu and Hassan nodded, slapping Rita hard before he turned and left them to be returned to the 'bedroom.'