Tony woke several times during the cold night, his aching head resting on his knees which were drawn as close to his chest as the shackles allowed them. He had little idea of the time, but was aware his interrogation drew closer with every passing second. His head pounded in tandem with his heartbeats and he shivered, his last interrogation by militants fresh in his mind. Dear God please help me. I don't know if I can do that again. He wiped the icy sweat from his forehead, envying the passengers the use of a bucket.

They entered his cell before dawn, unshackling his legs and poking him in the back. Tony stumbled before them into the outer room, settling into his chair. Longing to rub the sleep from his eyes he forced himself to sit straight, his eyes squeezing shut as they turned a blinding light onto his face. 'You look sleepy, Almeida,' Hassan said, nodding his head at the guard. Tony forced his eyes open, squinting, in time to witness him raising a bucket. Icy water poured over him, drenching him. All the training he had undertaken failed to prevent his involuntary gasp as his heart threatened to leave his ribcage.

They roared with laughter at his discomfort. 'Feel fresher?' Hassan mocked. 'You had your early morning shower! Almost like home, isn't it?'

'Yeah, except I'm kinda used to changing my clothes,' he muttered back.

Hassan ignored the remark as he appeared fully occupied assembling a computer. Tony watched whilst a modem was plugged into a phone line and the terrorist sat behind the desk. 'I'm waiting. I need your access code to CTU,' he said unemotionally.

Tony remained silent, fully awake thanks to the icy drenching.

Hassan rose from the desk, moving to stand before him. 'You got a fantastic memory, Almeida. Don't pretend you've forgotten what we discussed yesterday. If you fail to help me with my inquiries your wife will become the common property of every single man while you get to watch…'

Tony lunged for him, held back by a more prepared guard who held him taut against the chair. He chewed his lip, filling his mouth with saliva which he spat directly into Hassan's face.

His distraction worked admirably. Hassan wiped his face on his sleeve, roaring a string of harsh words at the guard. 'You dare to insult me, you dog?' he began, changing unexpectedly to English while he opened the front door and yelled something out. 'Let me show you something that'll remind you of just where you are.' A third man entered with a pair of handcuffs which Hassan secured round his slashed wrists. 'Move,' he snapped. Tony noted the guard's hand moving to his hair so he rose unsteadily, uneasy.

Hassan led the way out of the building, the two guards on either side of him. A faint glow lit the tops of the surrounding mountains as he shuffled up the dirt road past houses from which muffled sounds indicated the inhabitants were preparing for the new day. Tony held his head high, nothing indicating his internal fear. Where the hell are we going? These people will be about soon, they won't be pleased to see you, Almeida! The icy wind blew dust into his eyes as struggled forward against it narrowing his eyes to slits. Hassan led him to what appeared to be the center of the miniscule settlement. Tony noticed a few larger dwellings all facing the dusty square with a mosque taking up an entire side. His unease mounted as he was pushed forward.

Hassan pulled his cuffs to stop him as they approached an abandoned wooden power pole. 'Stop,' he snapped, unlocking his cuffs. Tony waited, aware of the two rifles poked into his ribs, wishing they would remove the shackles from his ankles. Instead, his wrists were seized by the terrorist and pulled behind the pole, cuffed round it.

'What are you doin'?' he asked, risking a glance into the man's eyes.

'I'm gonna let you see just how popular you are round here, dog,' Hassan told him, a chilling smile on his face.

The shiver that ran down his spine was not caused entirely by the icy breeze through soaking clothes.

Rita Almeida stirred, tiptoeing from the room, groaning aloud as he stirred fitfully. 'Where are you going, mommy?' She returned to his beside, stroking his damp hair. 'I've got to get the baby, sweetie, he's up. And Janey's been watching TV all afternoon. Try and sleep.' Tears filled his eyes as his swollen head pounded. 'I want papa. Where's papa?' His mother hushed him gently, reminding him that his father was at work. Tony sobbed aloud, insisting on speaking to him, until his mother wrapped him up in his blanket and carried him downstairs to the phone. 'Come home papa,' he pleaded through a parched throat. His father arrived an hour later as his mother read to him, startling them both. "Marco, what about the client? You were supposed to discuss that building with him, show him your plans?" His father shrugged and winked at him. "I told him I got a child with mumps and was feeling a little sick myself. He just backed away! Go get some rest, I'll take over." He removed his clothes and settled in the bed beside Tony, wrapping him in his arms. "I know you're feeling bad, m'ijo, but try close your eyes and sleep a little. I'm not going anywhere!" His mother frowned mildly; reminding him no one could remember whether he'd ever actually had mumps himself. He shrugged, insisting he'd stay whatever happened.

A man walked past, stopping to exchange words with one of his guards. Frowning in disgust he moved closer to Tony, a string of guttural sounds pouring from his throat. He finished his lecture by slapping him across the face, bending down to raise a handful of dust which he threw into his eyes. They cackled together while he struggled to blink the particles out.

Focus, Almeida, it's just beginning… "Marco, would you help peel a few potatoes?" his mother asked, opening the door to the master bedroom he had slept in for the previous week. His father stirred slowly. "Sorry, querida, I'll be right down, I just feel a little dizzy." Rita moved over to him in a hurry, feeling his forehead. "Oh God, you're sick too," she noted. "Stay put sweetheart, I'll call the doctor."

A couple of people walked towards him, the women heavily veiled. They all stopped to stare at him while he considered the alternatives of hanging his head to appear unthreatening, which he dismissed as he refused to act ashamed, or staring them in the eye defiantly, which might be interpreted as too challenging. He opted to stare at the dwelling before him, noting the state of general disrepair. They muttered a few words of disgust at him, the man bringing his walking stick heavily onto his thigh. Tony hissed in pain. Satisfied, they left, continuing their journey to the mosque.

Oh God, they're ALL gonna pass me! Focus Almeida, he ordered himself savagely. Ignore them! You're gonna be black and blue by the beginning of the service. He rubbed his face into his shoulder, drawing deep breaths to prevent the onslaught of panic. "You got it alright," the doctor informed his father unsympathetically. "You should've taken precautions and avoided that child. You'll be sick for a long time; it's a lot nastier in adults than in children!" Tony lay in bed, eyes pressed shut, listening to every word. "Can I ask you something?" his father inquired, his raspy tone indicating a badly swollen throat. "Will I make a full recovery? Will I…" He fell silent and the doctor shrugged. "Most likely you'll be fine. But what's the problem? You already got three kids! Next time stay away from sick children."

The square became filled with every member of the community, all pausing to stare at him. Tony lost track of the amount of times he wiped his face from spittle, or the number of kicks and blows he received. Lips pressed together he gazed ahead of him, his discomfort indicated by nothing besides his constant shivering. Had his clothes hung on a washing line rather than on him they would've dried by then, he was certain.

"He was right, Marco," his mother said softly, feeding his father a bowl of vegetable soup. Sick as he was, his father snorted in indignation. "Oh, he's logical alright, I'll give him that, but he thinks like a robot!" Tony remained unnoticed on the landing, his ear to the door. "What's that got to do with it?" Rita protested. "Mumps is highly contagious." "Querida, my baby was sick. Do you really think I could avoid him, like that man suggested? I'd sit with Tony no matter if I died!" Marco concluded. Tears filled his eyes as he pushed open the door, rushing over to the bed. "Papa, what's wrong? Please don't die," he sobbed in terror.

It appeared every member of the isolated community held him a special grudge as they left the mosque. Tony attempted to move his head to avoid the shower of pebbles hauled at his face, dodging a few of them successfully. Bleeding and bruised he was left alone apart from his two guards who kept a sharp eye on him, the cold numbing his injuries.

Ryan Chappelle stared at the form before him in the greatest astonishment. Its appearance on his desk together with the customary requests for transfers and leave was normal enough, just another simple holiday request. The name on the form was what attracted his attention. Narrowing his eyes he dialed CTU, calling the office direct. 'Jack, it's Ryan. Under normal circumstances I'd appreciate your sense of humor, but …'

'It's no joke, Ryan,' Jack assured him, his eyes on Alberta who had settled remarkably quickly into Tony's office. 'I haven't had a vacation for 16 months. Now you know I'm due 4 weeks.'

'And you know that with Alberta sorting out comm's affairs, and then searching for a permanent replacement, it's out of the question at the moment,' Ryan replied, incredulous that a man with Jack's brains would fail to understand such a simple thing. 'I need one permanent face in charge over there, Jack. You'll have to wait for a while. We'll compensate you, of course.'

Jack frowned at the phone, his eyes on the screen before him, the pink towel drawing them. 'And I'm telling you I'm tired, Ryan. I need a break to function at the optimum level this office requires,' he argued. 'Alberta's got the place pretty much under control. I've already booked a vacation.'

Ryan raised his eyes heavenward. 'Cancel it, Jack. Since Tony's death, I need you there.'

Jack's fists clenched imperceptibly. He's not dead, Ryan. He didn't even send the C code yet. 'I need a week, Ryan,' he said finally, deciding it was best to compromise. If all went as he planned, he should be back in a week.

'One week,' Ryan agreed, relieved he had won a narrow victory. 'You're not leaving the country, I hope.'

There was a pause on the other end of the line. 'I was planning on doing a little fishing,' Jack said slowly.

'That figured,' Ryan decided. Jack was sure to pick some goddamn unreachable place to hold a rod and stare at some unknown river. 'Be reachable,' he ordered, hanging up.

His door flew open as he took a deep breath, Gael bursting in without waiting for an invitation. 'Jack, take a look at this. We just got it on satellite. It's Tony!'

They studied the latest images grimly, an occasional sigh from Gael the only sound in the office. Jack frowned at the series of still shots, shaking his head. 'He's having a rough time. Looks like someone's onto him. Find me anyone at all who accessed his name in the past fortnight, would you, Gael.'

'And you're sending in rescue,' Gael said, watching him intently.

Jack tapped his hand against the desk. 'It's not possible, Gael.'

'You could ask the president to authorize…'

'I already did, and he won't go for it,' Jack interrupted. 'We got too much to lose.'

Gael got up, an icy look on his face. 'You'll get my resignation within the hour,' he snarled, heading to the door. 'Tell me Jack, does it really matter so much to you? You've known Tony for ages.'

'Does what matter?' Jack asked, puzzled.

'Oh come on, let's not play games. The president would pull him out, were he an Anglo!' He left the office, slamming the door, his heart burning.

Jack strode after him furiously. 'Gael, come back. Dammit, there's something I need to tell you,' he snapped, half dragging him back inside the office. 'Siddown!'

Gael frowned, his eyes narrow. 'I'm going for him,' Jack said slowly, opening a drawer and handing him an airline ticket. 'Plane leaves at 22:00 hours. I'm bringing him home.'

Gael sucked in his breath, impressed. 'Is Chappelle okay with it?'

Jack paced the room, watching him. 'As far as he's concerned, I'm fishing in Canada,' he admitted. 'I need you to stay here and watch the place. I'll take a GPS and a sat. phone, I'll rely on you to update me as to Tony's whereabouts. Now listen, this is real important. The moment Tony sends the C code, delete it. I'd be there soon, there's no reason to destroy the place.'

Gael watched him carefully. 'If this goes wrong, we'll be sharing a cell for the rest of our lives,' he observed.

'So you'll do it?' Jack pressed.

'You can count on me,' Gael agreed. 'Just hope you don't snore!'

A soft glow lit the surrounding mountain ranges, shadowing their jagged edges while illuminating the majestic peaks in their full splendor. Tony's eyes examined them slowly to wile away the time and distract himself from his aching body which shook relentlessly in the wind. Mercifully the crowd had thinned after sunset, leaving him to contend with nothing worse than the occasional hostile who wished to haul another pebble in his face or slap his legs with objects ranging from sticks to whips. Judging by the moon's position, he had been there half the night. He prayed to be returned to his chilly cell, out of the sight of the population. There was no chance of him surviving a second day of such treatment without cursing them.

Book in hand, Tony watched his mother emerge from the doctor's surgery with a smile on her face. "Come on sweetheart, let's go and collect the little ones," she said, taking his hand. He returned the book and followed her outside, pulling his hood on. "What did he say? You're not sick, are you, mommy?" Rita threw him a warm smile and pulled him close, tying his hood firmly under his chin. "Oh no. Want to know a secret, sweetheart?" He nodded eagerly, assuring her he would tell no one. "We're having another baby," his mother confided, his eyes dancing. "Do you like babies, Tony?" He nodded eagerly, bombarding her with questions as to when the little one would arrive; shocked to hear it would not be for another seven months. "Now tonight we'll make Papa a special dinner, to celebrate. He'll be sooooo pleased!"

He pressed his eyes shut, worn out. It was too cold to sleep soundly, but he rested, conserving what strength remained for the coming ordeal.

Hassan came for him at dawn, ordering the guards to uncuff him and return him to the cell. He stumbled through the village as fast as his shackles permitted, eager to avoid the inhabitants. 'You see, Almeida, if I released you now, they'd rip you apart,' his captor assured him smugly. 'I'm the only thing protecting you. Piss me off and I'll simply throw you out! You understand that?'

'Yeah,' Tony mumbled, the room spinning disturbingly round him. 'Could I get some food and fresh clothes now?'

'That depends on how cooperative you'll be,' Hassan replied, pointing to the chair. 'Sit.'

'You gotta be kidding!' Tony exclaimed. 'I'm not telling you anything till I get some food and clothes. You can do whatever the hell you like.'

Hassan studied him for a minute before he nodded and spoke to the guard. 'You'll get clean clothes and some food, Almeida, though you might not like it very much!'

Tony struggled against sleep as he remained on his chair, wishing they would hurry with his food.

Marco was also awake, wrapped in his sheepskin, the knife in his fingers. He had tested the blade in the darkness, satisfied. If necessary it would indeed suffice. Just how he would plunge it into someone was something he had put off considering until now. Whilst he would offer his life in exchange for his wife's without hesitation, he needed to make it out alive to find his son. 'Get a grip,' he ordered himself sternly. 'A lot of lives depend on you. A lot of lives could be lost because of you also,' an inner voice told him.

Jack removed his seatbelt, and opened his tray. The first part of his ticket took him to Vancouver. It was the part he would show after his mission. The remainder of the ticket included London, Moscow, and Dushanbe, from where he would have to get to the tiny town of Vrang to cross the border. With all the changes and delays it was a two day trip. Gael had seen him off at the airport, wishing him luck.

'You got the name?' he questioned for at least the fifth time.

Jack had nodded impatiently. 'Am I likely to forget it? Ivan Ivanov, and he works as a baggage handler. With an alias like that, how could I forget? Sure hope he's got everything I'll need.'

'I have it on good authority that he sells the weapon of your choice for U.S. dollars, delivery immediate,' Gael assured him. 'So far none of his clients have complained.'

Jack nodded. 'As far as we know,' he sighed. 'Do you think he's got the pins, the rope and the first aid kit?'

'He's got it all, he's confirmed it. You might check it out quick, he's says he can get every type of weapon.'

They exchanged glances. 'I won't have the time,' he admitted. 'They'll kill Tony. Gael, we still don't know just how they discovered his identity. Unless the passport he borrowed fell apart, we got a mole.'

Gael nodded as impatiently as he had. 'I know. Like you said, I'll check everyone who accessed his file in the last few weeks.'

The plane flew steadily northwards, the weather calm. Jack ate and drank without noticing what he had consumed, racked with concern over his colleague. 'Who're you kidding?' he asked himself bitterly. 'He's your friend, you know it. You wouldn't risk your life for a colleague.' To his relief he was the sole occupant of the row, leaving him free to pursue his plans in what was the first non hectic minute since Tony's capture. The self assigned mission would prove among the more challenging he had ever undertaken. An experienced soldier, he allowed himself to relax while he had the chance to do so, his body succumbing to the gentle motion. Jack fell asleep.