The Trap.

May of 1992.

Sanok, Poland.

"You know, I know what spies do and all, but I never saw it like that. I mean, sure, you lie to people, but you just made up a new accent on the spot – and you were cool as a cucumber the whole time. Is this even your natural accent? What do you really sound like, Mike?" Sam lowered his voice as they entered the safehouse, but the questions went on. "Did you have a plan going into that? Or were you just winging it? How often do you just wing stuff like that? Were you winging it the whole time we were in-?"

I cut in, "Sam, please."

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, "Sorry."

I waited halfheartedly for him to open the door, but he just stood there, waiting.

"I use my natural accent. I leaned the southern one from my dad."

Sam cocked one bushy eyebrow, "So for this meeting, if I get to play the badass boss, I was thinking I can use this one I learned on Magnum P.I."

He dragged a smile out of me. "I'm gonna go ahead and veto that."

He opened the door to a wave of sound. Harrison Belcher was furious. He was pacing the living room, stopping every now and then to scream at his son. Luca sat on the couch, angry tears in his eyes, but when he tried to say something his father's voice drowned him out.

"What were you thinking?" Harrison roared.

"I-" Luca began.

"What could you possibly need money for?"

"You-"

"I never should have gotten you that computer. I never should have let you use the internet."

"You never-"

"How could you be so stupid? How could you do this to us?"

Luca jumped to his feet, finally making himself heard, "It was fun!"

Harrison wheeled on him, fumbling for words for a moment. A series of angry grunts and growls poured out, and then his brain caught up, "Your mother could die because of this! You put your sister in danger! You put us all in danger, for what, for a thrill? For the fun of it?"

"Just shut up!" Luca yelled back. "Shut up!"

I looked at Sam, because there was nothing I wanted less than to get involved in a domestic problem. But it was decided for me when Harrison started toward his son. I stepped between them, putting my hand out as a barrier, and as a warning. If he tried to push through me, I was ready to disable him, US ambassador or not – and Sam must have seen that, because he put himself between us, grabbing Harrison by the shoulders.

"Hey, hey, can we all cool down here?" Sam said. "Luca is your son. He never meant for any of this to happen. I think you should take a time out before you do something you'll regret."

It was a standoff. We all stood there for several seconds, waiting to see if Harrison would try to bully his way past Sam. It would not go well for him if he tried. He might have realized that or realized how much of an ass he was making of himself, because he shrugged Sam off and headed for the back bedroom. When he was gone, his daughter crept over from the kitchen and sat on the couch behind Luca, watching them all with wide, glassy eyes.

Luca tried to leave now, and I caught him by the arm before he made it two steps. He tried to worm away, but the kid was scrawny. I tossed him onto the couch beside his sister.

It was another tense moment as Luca stared at me, deciding whether he would try again.

I lowered my voice, "You don't get to leave again."

Sam hovered behind me, maybe wondering if he should try to get between us.

Luca hastily wiped his tears away, his voice raspy from all the shouting, "You heard him. He doesn't want me here, anyway. Just let me go."

"Go where?" I demanded.

"Just somewhere else – anywhere but here!"

I sat on the coffee table across from him, unable to help drawing connections between us. He was sixteen, a year younger than I had been when I left home. It was strange looking at someone and seeing a child and imagining them where you had been. Was I ever this young? I was only twenty-five now, but it seemed like a lifetime ago that I was in his shoes.

"He never said he didn't want you here," I said. "But it doesn't matter. You don't get to walk out on your family again. I'll give you the first time, because you thought you were helping them, but this time you would be abandoning them to clean up the mess you made. Your dad is scared and angry and he doesn't know how to cope with it right now. So, you just have to suck it up. Leave all that hormonal, angsty, mad-at-the-world stuff at the door and man up, okay?"

Luca seemed uncertain, but he finally responded, "Okay."

"Okay." I stood up, looking between him and his sister. She was still staring at me, so I focused on the boy instead. "I'm gonna do what I can to keep your family safe and get those people off your backs, but I need you to stay here and stay quiet. I can't worry about you going rogue."

I was not a fan of family drama. I could gladly go the rest of my life never worrying about it again. But it did feel good to get Harrison away from Luca, and to talk him down off of his proverbial ledge. People appreciate honesty. I stayed with them for ten more minutes, until Harrison returned from his exile a calm, but somewhat defeated man. He sat in the chair and wrapped his young daughter in his arms, occasionally looking up at Luca, but saying nothing.

Deep into the night, an email finally came. Sam and I were in the middle of a card game with Thompson when the computer dinged. It was from the buyer.

Sam read over my shoulder, "He wants to meet. Good."

"St. Anne's Fountain," Thompson read, frowning. "Belcher, you ever heard that name?"

Harrison was listening, and he jumped when his name was said. He came over to them, "Uh, yeah. Famous place, about an hour from here. We visit it every now and then. My wife likes the way it lights up at night. Is that where they want to meet?"

It requested a meeting at four in the morning. It was a quick turnaround, too quick for their boss to really be there. It was definitely some kind of ambush. But I kept my thoughts to myself.

"We have, what, an hour before we have to leave?" Sam said.

I sent a short response saying I would be there, and then shut the computer. Sam and Thompson followed me into the living room. I said, "I'll go alone."

"Like hell you will," Sam snapped. "If this trap were any more obvious, there would be a 'free birdseed' sign out front with an anvil hanging over it!"

"Sam, this is my job. It's why I'm here." I strapped into a bulletproof vest, zipping my winter jacket over it. "And they've already shown us they want the information more than they want me, or Harrison Belcher, dead. They won't stop going after Belcher and his family until we get to the bottom of this – and if someone is looking to steal US intelligence, it's my duty to stop them."

"I'd like to see the orders telling you to dangle yourself like bait!" Sam said.

"That's what makes us different. I don't need orders."

Thompson intervened, "We can at least back you up from a distance. If something goes wrong, shots go off, we can get to you."

It was a stretch, but I gave my consent.

Sam glared at the computer, still sitting on the table. "I don't trust all this internet stuff. Mike, are you sure-?"

"I am." I looked at the computer, too, wondering if what I was seeing was a temporary change, or the start of something much bigger. "It makes my job a lot easier in some ways, and harder in others. Anyone can just go on AOL and get an account, send messages to vulnerable links in the government – like Luca. Anyone can offer them money, and then if they turn down the bribe or call the police, there's no chance of catching them. It's anonymous."

Sam crossed his arms, still uneasy.

"Sam, this may be our only chance to stop this. We can't let them slip away."

"Right, right. I just wish you had a better plan."

He was oddly protective, or perhaps I just wasn't used to having a team. When I was on a mission with Larry, whatever strange affection he had for me was one-sided, and tenuous. It always felt like he could turn his back on me at any moment. But this was just one of the many ways that Sam was different. He really cared that this mission was dangerous.

I looked away from him, "I'll tell them my boss is in the US. I want to move this to the States."

When I was strapped in and ready to leave, Luca came over, looking like a completely different kid than the one I had defused earlier. He was vulnerable.

"Your going to meet them, huh?" he asked, eyeing the collar of my vest under my jacket.

I nodded, "Yeah."

"I'm sorry. This is all my fault."

"Don't be sorry. Be better."

Luca looked up sharply, curiously, "Were you in the military? I mean, before…"

"I was." I tapped my hip reflexively, where my weapon would be stashed, but I wasn't bringing it to this mission. Suddenly I realized this kid was making me nervous. I cleared my throat, "I, uh, joined when I was seventeen, so not much older than you."

"I just wanted to go home, you know."

"Hmm?"

"I wanted the money to buy a plane ticket back home." Luca glanced back, making sure his father was not listening. "We've been here for two years. I miss my friends, the rest of our family. I mean, I know it makes my mom happy, being here – she was born here, you know – but I wasn't!"

I wished I knew what to say to him.

"Sorry kid. Life sucks sometimes."

We left on the hour. Sam and I rode together, and the other SEALS took a car behind us. Sam was quieter than usual, his face dark, and as the ride went on, he sunk deeper into his chair. I was awake and alert, maybe a little manic at this point for lack of sleep. I went over possible outcomes in my head, mapping out my moves, deciding what I would say. I threw together a fake life story for my new persona, gave him a family, gave him a purpose. He was just in it for the money, but he was intensely loyal. He would not give up his boss, he would not turn on his friends.

Billy Fields made another appearance when we stopped. I sat in the car with Sam five miles away for another ten minutes, while the time ticked away, and the meeting grew closer.

"Well, good luck." Sam turned toward me and held out his hand, shaking mine. "No matter what happens out there, I've got your back."

"I know you do, Sam."

He left the car, and I drove the last five miles.

It was four. I stopped by a divider, leaving the car running, and approached the fountain. It was deserted. I took a casual look around, and then sat on its edge, watching the road I thought they might approach on. Five minutes later, a car appeared, headlights growing steadily brighter. It stopped too far away, and four doors opened.

Spies are supposed to have the best instincts. We can smell traps. When a room feels wrong, we leave. But anyone can sense a bad situation. What really sets us apart is the ability to swallow the panic, to pretend that we have a situation under control even when something unexpected happens. We can let ourselves be captured, if it better serves our missions.

I stood up as the men approached, aware that there were guns on me, eyes on me, from beyond the car. If this was a kill mission, it would have only taken two guys.

"Mr. Fields, you have your wish," the closest man said in Russian.

When they were close enough, they lunged. I didn't fight back, but I was still thrown to the ground, my head cracked against the pavement. My hands were bound, and I was lifted, carried smoothly away, tossed into the trunk. I lay on my side in darkness, listening. Someone was giving directions and the car was in motion. We were leaving, but the destination was unclear.