Marco rubbed his icy fingers together to keep his blood circulating in the cold. Cramped and uncomfortable he watched the sun sink below the mountain peaks, casting lengthening shadows through the settlement. 'About time,' he muttered restlessly, his eyes on the building Michelle had described. It had taken him roughly two hours to reach the settlement and he had noted its activity, deciding it was prudent to seek a hiding spot and wait till darkness drew the citizens indoors. The pile of rubbish he had hidden in stank of animal and vegetable remains, plenty of broken stone and glass among it. He sighed again, telling himself he had another half hour at most before he could enter. At one stage the door had opened depositing Hassan and he had sighed in relief, glad to confirm it was indeed the correct building. He shifted position, rubbing his cramped legs. The beauty of his surroundings lost on him he focused on the nearest peak, following it till a cloud hid the summit, imagining the purity he would discover up there. It was bound to be covered with a cleansing white snow, washing away the evil he had been forced to participate in down below in the valley. Once again he prayed for forgiveness. Michelle was right when she had comforted him by insisting they were all ruthless terrorists. They had shot down a passenger airliner, murdered the pilot in cold blood and starved them, but they were human beings that he had in turn massacred. Sitting in the gathering twilight he doubted whether he would ever gain forgiveness for his deeds, ever kneel in prayer and rise with a clear conscience. You're no better than they are, Almeida. The moment your wife and son were threatened you turned into a savage, just like them. You blew their brains out when it might have been enough merely to wound them and leave it up to the hands of their local doctors to determine who lived and who died. Instead, you decided it for them, killing everyone that moved. Hand pressed over his mouth he shivered, ordering himself to forget his actions temporarily. The day was not over yet, he would torment himself some more once he had the luxury of safety to contemplate his deeds. Right now he had to prepare to take out yet more people and collect his son.

The final rays of the sun dipped below the mountain range and the world went dark, reminding him of his childhood on his father's farm. He rose silently and crossed the street, ears pricked for movement. For a moment he was reminded of his own youthful escapades of climbing through the window of his dormitory in boarding school with his friends to share the illicit pleasure of a swim in the local river. Not the cleanest river in the world, but hell, those midnight swims were among the greatest pleasures in his teenage life until the night that ill tempered policeman had flashed his headlights onto them…

Reaching the other side of the street without mishap he slid noiselessly by an entrance and over to the 'jail' where he turned the handle, unsurprised to find it locked. He rapped authoritatively on the door, rifle aimed. The louder you knocked the more legitimacy you appeared to have, he had discovered ages ago. Quiet hesitant knocks tended to be ignored, while a wholehearted thumping was sure to bring the householder to answer. True to his expectations the door was opened wide by an unsuspecting local he had never seen before. Marco pressed the rifle into his head and entered the room behind him.

'Where is my son?' he demanded in a harsh whisper. The man threw him a terrified look, his eyes large. An obvious idiot, he concluded wryly. 'The American,' he snapped.

The man pointed to the door at the other end of the room, eyeing the rifle. 'Unlock that door,' Marco snapped, pressing the rifle further against his skull.

It appeared the guard understood his orders despite a lack of English. Shaking, he lifted a key and inserted it inside a keyhole, revealing a pitch black room. Marco nodded his head at the flashlight on the desk and the man obeyed, turning it on. Rifle against his skull, he entered the room, pushed into the most distant corner where Marco pressed a rag into his mouth and forced him to cuff himself. Satisfied, he dragged the figure bundled into the familiar skins out, locking the militant in.

'Tony,' he whispered urgently, unwrapping his son from the tight cocoon he had created. Hearing no response he knelt down, shocked into silence. Watery brown eyes blinked at him in the dim light, his face swollen and burning hot to the touch. 'M'ijo, can you hear me?' he asked gently, looking around for some water.

'Yeah,' Tony whispered unintelligibly as his swollen tongue failed to move.

'Okay,' Marco whispered, ruffling his hair. 'Drink this.' He raised Tony's head gently, holding the tin cup to his lips. 'Tony, we've got to get out of here now. Can you walk if I help you?'

Shaking from his high fever, he shook his head. 'No. Gimme the rifle.'

Something in his eyes sent a chill through his father, who removed it. 'Oh no. No, Tony. I'll get you out.'

'Papa, how far would you get? Go now and help mom and Michelle. Just shoot me first. Please.'

Marco knelt beside him carefully, slipping an arm round his shoulders. 'You're tough, Antonio. I know this sounds cruel, but you're going to walk out of here with me. We go home together, or we both die here.'

'You're crazy,' Tony gasped, pain from his slashed back forcing him to grit his teeth.

Marco collected the rifle, the mug, the flashlight and a bottle of water he discovered on the desk, helping Tony to the door after his second search of the desk failed to reveal any medicines. 'Seeing you're delirious, m'ijo, I'll let that remark go,' he said softly, blinking back his tears. 'Come on, your mom and Michelle are waiting.'

Jack wrapped the sleeping bag round his chilled body, breaking open a ration pack which he was forced to eat cold. Of course he had had dozens of such meals before but rarely alone and never at such an extreme altitude. The Russian's request for a warm flat state no longer surprised him as he munched in silence. He thought of the man who had brought him that far, admitting that he had in fact crossed the border several times during the Afghan war to scout around. Filipov had proved unusually entertaining, teaching him more about the various inhabitants of the region than hours of top secret reports could have done. They had parted company an hour ago, the Russian reminding him to do what he could for his visa application.

Jack answered his sat. phone, greeting an obviously stressed Gael. 'Bauer. What's going on back there?'

Gael's sigh carried over the phone clearly. 'Same as usual since Alberta came. She's poking her nose into everything. Chappelle was here yesterday afternoon. I got news for you, Jack. You're fired. He actually told me to let you know!'

Jack stared at the phone in alarm. 'How the hell does he know where I am?' he demanded, finishing the last morsel and debating whether to open a second pack. 'Did you tell him?'

'Of course not!' Gael hissed. 'We're entering jail together, remember, to watch each other's backs! No, I sat there and listened. He called the Canadians, the British and then the Russians to find you. Last I heard, some Russky in Moscow said the guy in Dushanbe was also missing. Did you kidnap him?'

Jack snorted in indignation. 'Me? No, he was keen enough to come along as my guide. He's quite a character. His name is…'

'I know his name,' Gael interrupted.

'Good. Do me a favor, would you. Run through the INS records and find out why his visa was rejected.'

Gael's eyes opened wider. 'You gotta be kiddin'!' he exclaimed.

'I said I'd do what I could for him. He refused money, and judging by his clothes, he would've needed it. He's got a useful knowledge of the area. He done military service in Afghanistan. We could use him. Find out what part of the application he bungled and correct and resubmit it!'

'Hah,' Gael muttered, nodding his head. 'You got it. How far along are you?'

Jack read out the exact coordinates and Gael grinned for the first time. 'Jack, you're practically there! You're already in Pakistan! You've only got three mountains between you and the compound.'

Jack groaned, his eyes on the majestic peaks. 'Only three,' he repeated. 'I'd rather cross the wildest ocean than these three mountains. They just come to these halts where the only way down would be with a parachute, and you gotta go back and try someplace else!'

Rita moved, her maternal instincts identifying the distant figures before her eyes could do more than distinguish two dots working their way up the slope. She raced to meet them, stumbling over loose gravel, her tears of relief lit by the rising sun, causing them to glitter as diamonds. 'Tony, sweetheart.'

Marco laid him down taking her in his arms. 'He's unconscious, querida. I had to carry him the last hour. Take a look,' he begged.

She felt his face, noticing his damaged hands in horror. 'Oh God…'

'I know, sweetheart. That can be fixed,' he assured her, nodding his head at Tony's rashes. 'Look at those. Look at his back.'

Rita cried as they took him between them, struggling under his weight as they climbed to the cave the others had sheltered in. 'He needs medicine and rest,' she gasped. 'He'll need to stay put till he recovers, or he'll die. I'll stay with him.'

'We'll all stay with him,' Marco told her as they entered the cave, Michelle throwing herself into his arms. 'Look who I brought,' he told her gently, depositing Tony in a quiet corner. He sank onto the ground beside them worn out, enjoying her joy.

One by one their fellow passengers moved cautiously to take a peek at Tony who lay unconscious in a sheep skin, oblivious of everyone including Michelle. The all night walk had pushed him beyond the point where he could force himself awake, despite his father supporting him. His breathing was slow and shallow, his fever rising until Rita removed his clothes and washed him with water from a deep puddle. Once again the passengers crowded round, cries of horror at his injuries echoing from them, though they refused to take the cloth and dip it in the water as they remained unconvinced typhus was not infectious.

'We should go now,' a man said, gazing at the surrounding mountains impatiently. 'They'll come after us.'

Marco rose, wearily. 'Tony needs to rest a day, probably two. This place is secure enough, we got the water we need and a few plants to eat. I can't go.'

'You're staying with him?' someone inquired incredulously.

'Sí. I'd need a few of you to stay too, to help him once his fever has gone down. He won't be strong enough to walk by himself.'

They threw him pitying looks, shaking their heads. They were terrified of the terrorists and refused to wait, expressing regret at their decision.

Michelle's face darkened as she stared at the group, longing to grab the rifle and hold them at gunpoint. 'We got you out,' she began, outraged. 'Tony saved some of your lives when he persuaded Ali to let us carry the injured rather than have him shoot you by the plane. He saved you on the plane,' she turned to the stewardess who avoided her gaze. 'You can't just abandon him when he needs you!'

It appeared they could. In the end the pilot offered to stay but Marco refused, insisting he was the only one among the group who had any knowledge of mountains. They left the moment the outraged Michelle was persuaded to lower her rifle, winding their way up the mountain face heading north. The Almeidas watched them leave depressed beyond words.

'Looks like we're on our own,' Rita remarked as they moved out of sight.

'We always were, querida,' Marco told her, wiping her tears. 'Come on sweetheart, where's the toughest girl in college? Rita Torres would never have been fazed by a camping trip in some mountains. As far as I remember, she was the wildest, most fun loving girl I'd ever met.'

Rita smiled through her tears, pressing her face into his shirt. 'I wasn't a mother yet. I didn't have a son who's dying in a cave.'

'You don't have a son who's dying in a cave,' Marco argued, squeezing her hand. 'He's resting. He'll be okay honey, he's tough. We won't let him go.'

Michelle folded her arms, glaring at him. 'I would've made them stay!'

Marco shook his head. 'Sweetheart, we got two rifles. Together, they got nine.'

'What are you saying?' she asked, forcing him to voice his concerns.

'Just that when the worst comes and life is threatened, people change. It's every man for himself. They were prepared to mow us down had you remained in the entrance.'

Michelle chewed her lip, agreeing with him. 'Let them go. We'll be better off alone,' she muttered, throwing her rifle forcefully against the rough floor.

They spent the day fussing over Tony, taking it in turns to lower his fever with the icy water. Marco volunteered to act as lookout, sensing the need of the women to keep Tony company. Rubbing his eyes he stared at the road beyond the curve of the mountains, noting nothing more startling than a stray dog wandering the road in search of food. 'How's he doing?' he asked as Rita appeared for more water, risking a glance away from the road.

'The same,' she replied tiredly. 'He'd need antibiotics.' She stared round at the silent peaks, shaking her head at the sight.

'What's the chance of recovery with it?' Marco asked softly, returning his gaze to the road.

'I'm not a doctor, but I think it's about even in a healthy individual. Tony was starved and beaten…'

'Tony's extra tough,' he assured her, risking another glance in her direction. 'Hey, sit here with me a minute. Let Michelle have a little time alone with him.' He drew her into his arms, remembering to keep his eye peeled on the road.

'What were you thinking about?' she asked softly, desperate to think of a topic other than Tony's struggle for each consecutive breath.

He turned to face her, aware of the need to cheer her. 'That my old sergeant's comment about me being the most useless soldier he ever saw, ever even heard about, was uncalled for!' Their eyes met as he hugged her tighter against him, stroking her hair. 'He'll be okay, Rita.'

She shook her head, a cascade of tears spilling from her eyes. 'He's dying as we speak.'

Marco gazed at her shocked, refusing to accept it. 'He really needs antibiotics that badly?'

She nodded, wiping her eyes. 'He should've had it a long time ago. It might not even work anymore.'

'What about penicillin?' he questioned.

Rita stared at him in despair. 'Where would you get that from? He's allergic to it, anyway.'

Marco rose and wandered over to a nearby rock, pointing to a patch of mold. 'Never heard of anyone allergic to natural penicillin. It's not as strong as the real thing, but I know some people used it back home…'

His wife leapt to her feet, staring at it. 'We'll have to try. Bring as much as you can get.'

Hopeful eyes met them as they entered the cave. Michelle lay beside the tortured body of Tony who remained deep in delirium. Their heads lay side by side, her auburn curls spilling over his white face, her eyes wet.

'Hey, look what we found,' Marco told her, determined to offer hope. They watched in silence while Rita pounded it with a rock and slipped it into the tin mug adding a little water to the mixture.

'Tony, sweetheart, open your mouth,' she said gently, stroking his hair.

Marco raised his head, while Michelle slid her fingers into his mouth, pulling it open. 'Tony, please just swallow this,' she whispered. Rita poured the drink down his throat while Michelle held her breath, terrified it would go the wrong way and choke him, but their homemade medicine went down without mishap.

'He needs to sleep,' Rita told them, and Marco took it as his cue to squeeze Tony's arm and return to his outpost, while Michelle settled beside him, falling asleep herself.

It was warm and quiet, so silent he could hear his own breathing. His keen hearing picked up her rhythmic breathing beside him. She's here with you, Almeida. She'll be ordering you up soon…He cast about, struggling to think what day it could be and whether he had to go to work, reassured by the darkness that he had several hours of sleep before he needed to move from the cozy bed. A bitter taste filled his mouth; he swallowed in a vain attempt to get rid of it. His throat constricted and ached. Must be getting the flu…He sank deeper into the rug, hearing footsteps approach.

'Tony, open your mouth a moment,' his mother begged, brushing his hair from his forehead. 'It's time for your medicine, sweetheart.' Mom's here! Somehow he accepted the information without questioning it, focused on his breathing which was strangely hard work. Why had he never found it such a chore to breathe before?

'Marco, come here for a minute. I need you to raise his head and open his mouth,' his mother whispered softly. Whose head, whose mouth? A moment later another set of footsteps approached him and cold hands burrowed under his neck, raising his head. A hand pried his lips apart.

'How are you feeling, Antonio?' his father asked, obviously worried. 'I'm ready, sweetheart.' Bitter liquid flowed down his mouth, the taste making him gag. 'I know, m'ijo, it tastes bad, but it'll help you. Can you open your eyes?'

Tony forced his eyelids apart, blinking in the sight of his anxious parents hovering above him, Michelle asleep beside him and an outline of a cave's mouth. Squeezing his eyes shut he attempted to process the unusual sight, drifting off before he could begin to succeed. The last thing he was aware of was his mother kissing his cheek, insisting he was going to feel better the next day. He slept soundly, dreaming he was being fed some bitter herb a few times.

Things were a little clearer the following morning. He opened his eyes to discover Michelle gone, while his parents slept beside him, pressed together under the one rug. The cave he lay in was the same as the one from his dreams, faint sunlight pouring through the opening. His hands were bound in some cloth as far as his wrists, each individual finger attached to twigs. A sharp pain in his back caused him to wince as he propped himself up on his elbows, the events of the previous few weeks returning to him. Dammit. The rest of the group abandoned us. They fled for their lives as they're aware Ali will follow us to hunt us down, and your family stayed to protect you. Nagged by guilt he stumbled to the opening, shielding his eyes.

He appeared to be roughly halfway up a steep mountain, a narrow trail leading downwards, winding round a bend and out of sight, the valley far below them, graced by a stream or river, the thin trickle of water gleaming in the sunlight. Above him the mountain peaks ranged against the clear blue sky, snow capped at their summits. Tony sank onto the path, legs dangling over the precipice, awed by the view. Apart from the narrow trail there was no other evidence of human habitation as his gaze searched the surroundings. Lulled by the peaceful scenery he shut his eyes, enjoying the sun's rays on his face.

'Tony.' He smiled without opening his eyes, turning his face in the direction of her voice.

'I'm here, sweetheart.'

Michelle settled beside him, pulling him back from the precipice. 'Don't sit so close to the edge honey,' she admonished, slipping an arm round him. She felt his face, satisfied to discover it slightly cooler than the day before. 'You look a lot better already,' she encouraged. 'How do you feel?'

'Like I died and woke up in some paradise,' he admitted, resting his head against her shoulder.

'You came real close to it, to dying, I mean,' Michelle told him, her voice shaking.

Tony nodded, the chirping of thousands of crickets merging with the sound of her shaky breath. 'I know,' he muttered, pulling her closer. 'It's okay now honey, I'm fine!' He paused while she snorted, smiling an assurance at her. 'Really!' Noting her dubious expression he laid his elbows on the ground and struggled to his feet. 'See. I'm ready to go home!'

'Sit down before you drop,' she exclaimed, pulling him down by his arm much to his relief as the path dipped alarmingly around him. 'You need to rest, honey. This place looks real peaceful but let me tell you Hassan isn't far away. You need to regain your strength as soon as you can.'

Tony bowed his head, studying the thin grass around the path. 'I know that, sweetheart. We need to get moving while we're still able to.'

Michelle frowned anxiously, refusing to meet his eyes. 'He won't find us here.'

'Oh yes he will,' Tony protested, sliding a bandaged hand under her chin. 'He'd discover this cave the moment he walked past it!' She's aware of that, Almeida. Look at her face, you can read her like a book. You're obviously too sick to attempt a journey across the mountains yet, and she's prepared to give her life to defend you right here while you recover. As though she shared his ability to read his thoughts she dropped her gaze, her eyes searching the mountains. 'You gotta keep moving, sweetheart. I'll wake mom and get her ready as well.'

'Nobody's going anywhere,' she replied heatedly, turning to glare at him. 'We stay together, Tony!'

'Honey,' he began using both palms to turn her to face him as his fingers were unable to bend. 'I'll catch up. Trust me, I got no intention of getting captured by those guys again, but I stand a much better chance alone. I'll find someplace to hide if I see them. You MUST go now, your leg is broken, you'll need the time to get ahead.'

They glared at each other, neither willing to back down. 'I'm staying, Tony,' she said at last, nodding her head at the rifle beside her. 'I got the gun!'

His shoulders drooped in defeat as he realized that whilst he would certainly succeed in making a grab for the rifle she left so carelessly beside her, he was unable to use it with his broken fingers. 'Michelle,' he began, searching his brains to find a reason compelling enough to get her to leave him. 'Listen to me.'

She shook her head, laying a hand over his mouth. 'There was something about "in sickness and in health", remember? I meant that promise.' She rose before he could protest, the rifle safely in her arm. 'Get back to bed, Tony. You're distracting me!'

To his chagrin he required her help to get to his feet, the rifle prodding him back into the cave. 'Get some sleep and let me keep watch.' She helped him settle in the rug, her lips pressed against his. 'I'm not letting them take you again, sweetheart.'

Tears filled his eyes as she tucked him up, pressing her lips against his.