They left the room together and headed straight to the restroom. The orderly, James, wasn't just outside the door, like Sam had suspected. Sam finished his business and they continued down the hall, past the common room, through several security checks, and made their way past two other offices, before they came to hers. Obviously, she was the head of staff, because of the size of the double doors that marked her office. The whole time, Sam was busy remembering exits, camera positions, and potential hindrances. A camera over the door beeps and lets them in. Apparently the camera had scanned her and read her vital signs in a matter of seconds, before it verified her identity and unlocked the door.

"Very clever." Sam tried to compliment her, but she just ignored him.

"You're uniform is in my closet." Dr. Zithers tossed him the key and sat in the overstuffed, leather chair behind the desk. "I suppose you'll want to take Ms. St. John?"

"Of coarse." Sam opened the closet and let out a pent up breath. His uniform, OPSAT, and weapons were all neatly stacked in the closet. "Where can I find her?"

"You wouldn't consider taking me with you?" The doctor handed him a stack of well organized notebooks, before she told him that Carly was in the West wing of the compound and that she was heavily guarded. "She's in room C27."

"I see." He stripped off his pajama tops and bottoms. "You don't mind my dressing in here?" She shook her head, biting her fingernails in the process. "I guess not."

"Do you need any help?" She fiddled with a pen on her desk, trying not to look interested in watching him dress.

"I should be able to manage getting this on." The Kevlar enhanced, super-hero suit went on easily, even though Sam felt like he was out of shape.

"No, I meant getting out of here." This time she looked directly at him. "If you are caught, they'll shoot you for sure."

"And they won't shoot you for helping Carly and I escape?" He packed the journals in his Osprey. Usually it was just for a few pieces of street clothes, or extra equipment. "Or don't you care?"

"It's my life. I could have chosen another profession." She remarked flippantly. "I knew it wouldn't last forever. Besides, a quick shot to the head would be the least of my worries if they catch me helping you."

"Where's that big lout?" Sam asked, referring to James the orderly.

"James? I don't know. He shouldn't be a bother though. Not for you anyhow."

Sam checked his OPSAT. He looked quite heroic with his black, mesh uniform on. The Five-seveN was unloaded and SC-20K was still loaded with sticky cams. They were stuck. He yanked on them really hard, but they didn't budge. Well, that's why they called them sticky. Loading the Five-seveN, he slung the SC-20K over his shoulder.

"I need to get gone. What time is it?"

"Ten forty-three P.M.." Dr. Zithers stood up and buttoned her blouse with one hand, while smoothing her hair with the other hand. When she was done, she sauntered over to Sam. Her hand reached out to take his night-vision goggles and put them on for him. Her fingers lingered in his hair. She took a minute to look him over. "Perfect, Mr. Fisher." She leaned in, pressing her body full length against his and gave him a tender kiss. Sam didn't know how to react, so he just stood there with his arms at his side. She doesn't seem to notice his lack of participation. "Lets go, Sam."

"I'm sorry." His heart felt heavy in his chest.

"Sorry for what?" She's oblivious, so he dropped the subject all together. "I don't see anyone, but they'll be doing bed checks at eleven." They scurried past the camera.

"Eventually, they'll know I'm gone. They'll come after you." Sam tugged on her hand. A guard walked by and he pulled her into the shadows. "Are you sure that you want to go through with this?" Jerika ignored him again. "Time to get down to business."

Dr. Jerika Zithers, the woman who had held him captive, didn't know what hit her. Sam brought the edge of his palm down on the back of her neck hard enough to knock her out, but not kill her. She collapsed with a muffled whimper, like all her bones had been suddenly ripped from her body and no linger there to support her. Sam got a hold of her just before she hit the floor and thwacked her head on the floor. She would awaken with a minor headache, but he couldn't help that. It would be better than being shot for conspiring with the enemy. He arranged her demurely, so she was a comfortable position. Her hair had some loose from the rubber-band and was draped across her face like a veil. Sam had only a few minutes to rescue Carly and get out of there, but he used a split second of one, to brush her hair out of her face. After all these years of working in the mental institute, she had succumbed to her surrounding and had become as much a prisoner there as the inmates. They would find her and assume that he had knocked her out, if things went like they should.

The West wing was separated from the main building by a long hall that slanted down at a sharp angle. It was lit up like mid-day down there and had a camera at either end. It would be like walking up a muddy embankment on his way back through here with Carly. Taking out the cameras was easy enough to do with his Five-seveN. He had, maybe, twenty minutes to work with, before they would discover his departure. It would take five to ten minutes to get to his room during their routine bed checks and after that, the building would be swarming with guards, doctors, and orderlies.

He hurried down the hall, after shooting out the cameras, and swiftly ducked around the corner. This area was shadowed, except for a stream of light that spilled form under the door of the room on his left. Sam took out his optic cable and slipped it under the door. There were two guards watching a set of small TVs that showed a black and white live feed from several surveillance cams. One of the guards had his feet on the desk, his arms acting as supports for his head, while he dozed. The second guard was also relaxed, but he was watching one of the little TVs with rapt attention. He laughed raucously, waking the other guard, who shouted at him to be quiet.

"Hey, this is funny." The laughter was still in his voice. He turned to the sleepy-eyed guard and slapped him good good-naturedly on the back. "Don't be such a grump."

"Turn the station back." The previously sleeping guard grumbled. "We're supposed to be working."

The first guard snorted. "All right mate, but I'm telling you...those loonies aren't doing anything but sleeping."

"Yeah, well I wish I could be them right now. I hate the night shift."

The station was switched back to the surveillance channel and both men stared at the screen. "Snow?" Both guards looked at the screen and then at each other, dumbfounded. "Camera must be on the blink...go check the cam." The older fellow said.

"Me! Why do I have to go do it? I did it last time." The second guard complained. "It's your turn to fix it."

"I outrank you. I'm the senior officer on duty." The first guard flipped the station on another TV to another camera. Both TVs shown static. "Shit. This whole place has gone down the crapper." Something must have clicked in their thick skulls, because they both ran towards the door and Sam had to dodge out of the way as they flung open the door, and bolted down the hallway.

Sam worked his way down the narrow passage to Carly's cell. His eyes felt un-natural, looking through the night vision and thermal vision. He checked for any laser sensor traps or light beam triggers, that might set off any alarms. The one cell and the guard room seemed to be the only rooms in the West wing. Sam knew that these small rooms couldn't take up the immense allotted area that the blueprints suggested was here. There would have to be a passageway or secret room, that he couldn't see from this corridor. He pressed the key-card to the locks on Carly's prison and the light flashed over the bar-code and blinked green. The latch clicked and he swung the door open, cautiously listening for any squeaking hinges. His night vision was switched on once more. Carly was sleeping fitfully on the cot. She was curled up on her side in a fetal position, alternately moaning and whimpering. Sam closed the door, but kept it from latching shut, by wedging a slipper in the jam.

"Carly." Sam shook her, but she didn't come out of her drug induced sleep. Shaking her more forcefully, he tried to wake her up again. "Wake up." Her head looked like it was on a slinky. "It's time to go, Carly." Her slapped her across the cheek. "Carly St. John!" He demanded that she awaken, like an army sergeant barking at a new recruit.

Carly's eyes popped open and snapped shut again. Squinting, she focused on him, although the lack of light made it nearly impossible for her to see him in his uniform. "Who are you...I know you, don't I?" Her words were slurred.

"Carly, it's me...Sam Fisher." He was no doctor, but he knew when somebody had been doped up. Sam took out the penlight from his OPSAT and shined it in her eyes. She cringed back from the light, but he held her still with a hand on the nape of her neck. "Your pupils are dilated."

"Sam?" Carly rubbed her forehead. "You can't be Sam. He's not real. They told me so." She was confused. "Or, he's dead. I can't remember anymore." She began crying and repeating that he wasn't there. "You're not here. You're a part of my imagination. I'm just tired. I need more sleep." She went to lay back down and Sam stopped her decent.

He needed her to snap out of this crazy ranting quick. He tried to get her attention the only way he knew how. Shaking her, he called her name. "Carly St. John!"