A/N: Hello, everybody! I hope youall enjoy this chapter. And don't forget! Season 5 begins on June 18! Until next time!


"You remember the precautions?"

"Yes, Malcolm. Don't worry. It will be taken care of," Serge answered, trying to reassure his employer.

Janus hung up the phone.

Serge, at almost six feet and weighing 180 pounds, was in optimal physical condition. He was strong, quick, and agile; perfect for his line of work. He was also extremely intelligent, and had great instincts.

He loved working under pressure.

He was in his late 20's and had jet black hair in the form of a crew cut. His eyes were a steely blue, almost gray and lifeless. He was clean shaven and felt refreshed; more refreshed than he had felt in a while.

His color of choice was black. He loved darkness and preferred to work at night. He wore black jeans, black hunting boots, a black shirt under a black leather jacket. Plus a black Lexus SC 430 to boot.

He didn't like talking much or going out much. His work was his life. Period.

He was a clean freak. Always keeping everything in order and organized. He hated the feeling of disorder or having to worry about something he didn't have to. He would absolutely lose it.

But that was a whole other issue.

If there was one flaw Serge possessed, it was his flaring temper. One moment, he would be calm and composed. The next, he would simply snap and get lost in emotion. Serge is a perfectionist. One small inconvenience is all it would take. One minor detail that popped out of nowhere. One thing that didn't go according to plan.

That one thing hadn't happened.

He scored a perfect record up till now, completing every mission, executing every obstacle, jumping over every hurdle. No one was as good as Serge. He was more efficient than anyone he had ever known. He was a born predator, always catching his prey, and always hungry, never satisfied.

He worked with and for the best. He kept a low profile and made sure he stayed off any watch lists. Most of the people he had done business for never knew his name and vice versa. If the price was right, that was all he needed to know. No matter what country you came from, money meant the same thing.

But this… this was different. Serge was well aware that this would be his toughest mission yet. There was an interference that came in the form of John Smith. He was the real deal. And Serge knew that. He would not, under any circumstances, underestimate him. He never underestimated an enemy. Ever. No matter who it was, underestimating an enemy or target was a weakness he never allowed himself to become a victim of.

Serge stepped into the dark and barren parking garage, his suitcase in hand, footsteps echoing through the tunnels and shattering the silence. He walked a good 40 yards where his Lexus, all alone, waited. He stepped in and tenderly placed his suitcase in the passenger seat next to him. He adjusted the rear view mirror. Perfect. Then he reversed and sped down the empty parking garage.

Tara Preston stepped out of the van, yelling at her cameraman, Joe, to get moving. Joe was rolling his eyes. She's been screaming at him for the last ten minutes. Actually, more like the last two years. He had already grown used to it.

Tara was a drop-dead gorgeous brunette with striking green eyes, driven by ambition and maybe too much caffeine. At 25, she was young and sharp as nails; a workaholic who simply wanted to cover the story. And she'd do whatever it took to cover it. And sometimes, most of the time, it meant screaming at poor Joe.

As Joe jogged to the back to the truck of the van gathering all the equipment, Tara looked around. She stood across the street, directly in front of the WPOV building. There were news reporters from a couple of the local newspapers around, but no vans. Which meant she was the first T.V. crew here. She smiled to herself, briefly taking in the victory. There were a few groups of people, she guessed probably 30 to 40 people, gathered around the building, making phone calls and listening to the ongoing broadcast.

This is gonna boost their ratings…

And no cops yet.

As usual…

Joe at 50 wasn't in the shape he used to be. He has been a cameraman for 30 plus years, but age took a toll on you sometimes. He needed to retire. As if two years of Tara's yelling at him had been enough, his wife has been screaming at him for about 5 years now, begging him to walk away and get a house by a lake somewhere.

He closed the back doors of the van, snapping his little daydream, and with his camera in hand, getting heavier by the day, jogged to where Tara stood. "Where do you want to set up?"

"Right here's good," she said without so much as glancing at Joe.

Joe looked down at his watch. "Alright, we have about a minute before we go live."

Tara smiled. "Let's do it."

Joe was ready, and Tara tried quickly to fix her short, auburn hair. "How do I look?" she asked with a hint of worry.

Joe had gone through this a million times. Has this job become this predictable? "You look like a million bucks," he said flatly.

"Okay."

Joe began counting down. "And we're on in 4…3…2…," and the little red light on the camera blinked on.

"We are here live at the studio of the local radio station WPOV, where just minutes ago, a man we now know is Judas Kane, previously thought to be deceased, made a disturbing phone call during an interview with local self-proclaimed psychic John Smith and ex-congressman Harrison Fisher. Kane claims that he has kidnapped a young boy."

Just then, police sirens could be heard approaching.

"Now, we are not sure who the boy is or where Mr. Kane maybe. That information is still forthcoming. We do know that Congressman Fisher has a connection to Mr. Kane. It is unclear whether there is any connection between Mr. Kane and John Smith or Jack Jericho.

"We will give you live updates as soon as this crisis unfolds. This is Tara Preston, reporting for Channel 4 News."

Just as Tara finished and the red light on the camera blinked off, three police cars parked out in front of the station.

"You betrayed your citizens, you betrayed your country… and you betrayed me. You tossed me aside. How long had we worked together, Congressman?"

Kane sighed and switched gears. "There's one more thing and then I'll let you go. You'll be busy for the next few hours."

Kane paused and continued. "I said before I wanted justice. Please allow me to elaborate. I'll keep it real simple. I want Congressman Fisher dead by midnight tonight, or the kid dies. Take care."

Kane clicked off, leaving Johnny, Jack, and especially Fisher, hanging in absolute disbelief.

The clock on the wall showed exactly 4:00 P.M. They had eight hours.