Chapter 20: The Complication

Haiti, West of Petit-Troup-de-Nippes, January 6th, 2008

"Team One to Team Two. Mission accomplished. Over. Team One to Team Two. Mission accomplished. Over."

While Sarah tried to reach Casey and the others, Chuck kept an eye on the beach and village behind them. He had slowed down the boat some so the engine noise wouldn't make talking over the radio impossible - and that would make them an easier target. Granted, they were out of range of most small arms, but if the drug smugglers had an anti-material rifle...

"I can't raise them on the radio," Sarah said. "We must be out of range."

"What about the boat's radio?" Chuck asked.

"Not compatible with our encryption," she replied.

"Ah. I think I could link them, though," he offered. It wouldn't be too hard - there were tools in the boat. Or should be.

"Even so, they wouldn't be able to answer," Bane said.

"We'll move to our rally point and try to contact them from there," Sarah said.

Chuck pushed the throttle, and the boat sped up again. "Aren't we leading them straight to our yacht?" he yelled over the engine's noise.

"They only know the direction down the coast we're using," Sarah yelled back.

"Alright. I don't see them pursuing us, anyway," Chuck replied.

"They might be in vehicles on land," Bane pointed out.

Chuck hoped the drug smugglers were scattering instead. Or looting Lindor and Obas's homes. Although if they had been mind-controlled as well, and that hadn't ended with the death of Lindor… If Lindor was actually dead already.

Couldn't this boat go faster? They had a Vodouist to kill.

The first rallying spot was the cove they had visited before the whole mission had started to go wrong. Chuck guided the boat onto the beach - there wasn't anything to serve as a pier, apart from a couple rocks that were too far apart for anyone but Caridad to comfortably and safely use as stepping stones - while Sarah tried to contact Casey and the others again.

"I've reached them!" she announced as the boat came to a stop with the bow in the sand. "They managed to lose pursuit."

"Did the zombies stop chasing them?" Chuck asked.

"Casey couldn't tell if they stopped because they lost them, or because the mind-control broke," Sarah told him.

"How would that break?" Bane looked at them. "You said they would be following the last order."

Damn. "They probably got confused," Chuck explained, "when they lost their target, and, absent new orders, what with Obas and Lindor dead…" He didn't actually know what would happen. Morgan would. Probably.

Bane nodded, though she didn't look convinced. Or happy. "How long until they're here?"

"They've acquired a car, so fifteen minutes." Sarah jumped on the beach, still carrying the assault rifle he had originally picked up.

"Fifteen minutes?" Chuck frowned. They hadn't taken that long to reach the village from here.

"They're taking a detour to avoid pursuit," Sarah told him.

"Ah." He should've known that.

"How's Morgan?" Bane asked.

Sarah looked surprised for a moment, Chuck noticed. "Casey didn't say anything about anyone else getting wounded," she said.

"Good." Bane smiled.

If it was a fake smile, then she could have become an award-winning actress instead of a spy, in Chuck's opinion. On the other hand, he knew that Bane was a very good spy.

"Stay in the boat, Chuck," Sarah said over her shoulder. "We'll cover the approaches."

"Right," he replied. Because he hadn't a longarm left - and wouldn't be able to use it as well as Sarah and Bane, anyway.

Sixteen minutes after they had made contact, a beat-up car - a Citroën 2CV, Chuck recognised the model without help from the Intersect - arrived at the cove. Casey must have stolen it from a local. Well, they would hopefully get it back after the group had left.

Casey was driving, looking none the worse for wear as he bared his teeth in what probably would have been a friendly smile on someone else. Caridad got out before the car rolled to a stop, then practically ripped Morgan out of the 2CV.

"I can limp!" Morgan protested, but she seemed to ignore him as she lifted him up and carried him over to the boat. "No time!" she yelled.

Chuck looked up to where Sarah and Bane had taken up positions.

"We picked up a tail," Casey explained as he made his way to Chuck.

A moment later, Sarah and Bane started shooting.

Great. Chuck hoped that they had enough fuel to reach the port where they had left the yacht. Or, at least, a safe spot to make landfall.

He started the engine, getting ready to back away from the beach. Caridad dropped Morgan on the bench behind him and jumped on the foredeck. "Wait!" Chuck yelled. She turned her head and glared at him, and he swallowed. "They'll stop them, then fall back and we'll sail away!"

The Slayer frowned.

"We've got wounded," Morgan added.

Of course, Casey didn't take the hint. "I can fight," he grunted and moved towards the foredeck as well. At least he hadn't jumped overboard right away.

Fortunately, just then, Sarah and Bane scrambled back, then slid down the slope leading to the beach, and Casey dropped on the deck with his rifle - presumably to cover them. Were the enemies so close? And were they zombies or criminals?

Chuck wet his lips and gripped the throttle, glancing over his shoulder to judge if he should back out of the cove all the way in reverse, or if he should risk a turn inside. It looked large enough for a spin, but what if he had missed some rock under the water?

Sarah reached the boat first, scrambling up the bow. Bane was close behind but stumbled on the beach. Shots rang out, hitting the sand near Bane - and the boat. One whipped past Chuck, and he ducked with a gasp.

Casey returned fire. "Gotcha, bastard!" Chuck heard him mutter as he straightened. Where was Bane?

There! The spy had reached the boat, throwing her gun on top of the deck, then gripped the railing.

And Caridad reached down and hoisted her on board.

Chuck put the boat in reverse and pushed the throttle forward. Casey kept firing, joined by Sarah - the others must have brought more ammunition. He glanced up the slope. There were several people shooting at them. Stopping would be too risky, Chuck decided. "Hold on!" he yelled, and sped up, weaving the boat a little as he took the direct route to the open sea.

More shots hit the boat, making him flinch, but no one got hit - and nothing vital broke. At least not that he noticed.

Then they were out of the cove, and he turned the boat around in a tight turn before sailing away at max speed eastwards.

He didn't relax until they were out of sight of the cove. "Whew, guys!" He smiled. "Guess we made it. And we should have enough fuel to…" He trailed off as he checked the gauge. "Uh…"

"'Uh'? I don't like hearing that," Casey growled.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked.

"Someone must have holed the fuel tank," Chuck replied, grimacing. "We're losing fuel at a high rate."

"I'll check!" Caridad said. "Stop the boat for a moment!" A second later, she was hanging from the railing, peering at the boat's hull - and at the water.

Chuck coughed after stopping the engine. "Err… the fuel tank is there." He pointed at the location.

She sent him a withering glare - and another at the grinning Casey - then jumped into the water.

Less than half a minute later, she resurfaced. "There're a few leaks. Give me something to plug them!"

"Uh…" What would be the best way to plug the holes? Welding? Or glueing? Did they have the supplies and tools?

"Stuff some rags into the holes!" Casey snapped, interrupting Chuck's frantic thoughts. "Use your strength to push them in so they won't get ripped out once we sail again."

To Chuck's surprise, Caridad followed the orders - or the instructions without complaints, and a few minutes later, they were speeding off again. They didn't have quite enough fuel to reach the yacht any more, but they would be close enough to make it the rest of the way on foot.

Which, now that Chuck was thinking of it, would allow them to check for a trap or an ambush before sailing into the port. If they even wanted to head back to the yacht - their cover was probably compromised, if someone ran the plates of their rental car. If there had been any plates left after the ambush on the road.

Well, that wasn't much of a problem, Chuck thought. Unlike… "So, guys… we need to deal with Lindor's head," he said. With the reduced speed to save fuel, the engine noise wasn't too loud any more, either.

"You took his head?" Caridad asked.

"Well, if he is an undead zombie, you need to stuff salt in his mouth and sew it shut," Morgan said.

"What?" Bane asked. "You aren't seriously proposing that we do such a thing, are you?"

"Well… it's kind of a Vodouist burial rite?" Morgan smiled - rather weakly, though.

"We just need a DNA sample, so we can check it against the samples I took when I killed him," Bane replied. "If it matches, he had a twin. If not, someone passed himself off as him. I know I killed him."

"It certainly wouldn't hurt doing the salt and sewing thing," Morgan retorted. "Just in case, you know?"

"'Just in case'?" Bane frowned. "Is that more superstition?"

"Yes," Morgan said. "Then we burn it and scatter the ashes into a river."

Bane's expression would have been amusing if this wasn't serious.

And, Chuck added to himself, if they didn't have to keep the supernatural a secret from the spy. Something Morgan was apparently ignoring.

"Guys!" Chuck stepped in. Not literally - he still had to steer the boat. "We don't have salt or a sewing kit right now, right? So…"

"I've brought both," Morgan interrupted him. "Seeing as we were entering zombie land."

"Good thinking," Caridad added.

"Thank you."

Chuck pressed his lips together. Was he the only one trying to keep the secret? He suddenly had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Was Morgan trying to tell Bane about the supernatural without being obvious about it? And why?

Well, the obvious reason would be that Morgan had fallen in love with the spy and wanted to show off. On the other hand, he knew what Phil would say about this. As did Caridad, of course.

"Let's just do it," Casey growled. "I've seen enough weird shit in the jungle to not take any chances."

"Agent Casey!" Bane seemed to feel betrayed. "Are you saying…" she trailed off.

"Take the DNA sample," Sarah said. "Then we dispose of the head before we leave the island."

Chuck couldn't see Bane's expression as she went to work, not while steering the boat, but he was certain that she didn't look happy.

Sarah stood up after Grimes started to sew. She had seen enough to do it herself, should the need ever arise. Which she hoped wouldn't be the case.

Shaking her head, she joined Chuck at the helm. "That's the head taken care of," she commented.

"We still should burn it," he replied. "Fire cleanses."

"Save some fuel, then," she told him, though with a grin.

"I'm trying to save fuel," he said.

"And doing a good job," she reassured him. Casey would be able to do better, but since the NSA agent hadn't insisted on taking over, Chuck had to be doing well enough - not even the wounds he had taken would stop Casey otherwise. Especially not with Caridad present.

"Thanks," he said, but he didn't seem to believe her.

She touched his shoulder. "Chuck, you did well," she repeated herself.

"I got lucky," he retorted. After a glance over his shoulder - checking for Bane, she realised - he added sotto voce: "If the Intersect hadn't kicked in…"

"But it did. You had a breakthrough."

"No. I couldn't duplicate it. Not consciously."

Ah. "But you did activate it again. We just have to find out how to do so reliably." And she had some suspicions. Although if she was correct, then testing would be difficult. Or dangerous.

He nodded with a sigh.

So, it wasn't just that. What could…? Oh. "Does it bother you that you killed those thugs?"

"They were trying to kill us," he said quickly. Very quickly.

So, yes, it did bother him.

"I just did it, you know? Hit them, grabbed a gun, started shooting. Without thinking about it. I just knew, and did it," he went on.

She turned around and leaned against the side of the helm's console. That way, she could keep an eye on Bane, who was in the back, looking at the coastline. "It would be a reason to worry if it didn't bother you."

"It feels like mind-control. Only it doesn't. If that makes any sense."

It didn't, so she looked at him and frowned with a puzzled expression.

He sighed. "It doesn't feel like mind-control while it's happening. Or rather, moving like that feels natural, not like being a puppet. I guess that would be body-control."

"Well, you've got the Intersect in your brain," she replied. "But we'll have to look into this." With Orion.

He nodded. "I don't want to start killing without thinking about it. What if I had done this when the villagers were chasing us?"

As Bane had suggested. Sarah winced - that would have destroyed Chuck. Her as well, probably. Maybe even Casey. "We'll look into it," she said again. And Orion better had some answers and a solution. She wouldn't lose Chuck to the Intersect. "And we'll have to step up your training," she added.

"I need more stamina," Chuck replied, looking glum.

"More stamina never hurts," she told him with a grin, "but I was thinking about more martial arts. Your body needs to get used to the techniques you used, or you'll be sore every time you use them." Or suffered strains and similar afflictions.

"Uh…" he winced.

She patted his shoulder. "I'll give you a massage tonight," she reassured him.

"Thank you." He was smiling at her, and, for the first time during their conversation, it looked honest. Then it vanished again. "Do you think Bane has any suspicions about magic? Morgan was a little too eager to dispose of Lindor, I think…"

She let out a sigh through her teeth. Grimes wouldn't know subtle if it hit him in the head. "She might think Morgan is just superstitious, but in light of an entire village being mind-controlled... "

"And there were demons among the guards we fought. Some of them were tougher than normal humans," he said. "If she's working on Morgan…"

"...then he'll spill," Sarah finished for him with a frown.

There wasn't much fuel left when they made landfall, but enough to burn a severed head. An old steel bucket served as both crematorium and urn - after Caridad crushed the bones to powder with two rocks. Chuck approved, of course - he had heard the story of the Master's bones in Sunnydale as well.

They scattered the ashes in the next few streams on the way to Petit-Troup-de-Nippes, hopefully without attracting attention. And now they were in sight of the yacht they had left in port.

"With the setup the scum had, the authorities won't investigate the incident until they believe Lindor and Obas are dead," Casey said without lowering his binoculars. "That means they won't have found the car we rented yet. We go in, sail out, arrange an accident on the open sea for our current cover and use our second set of identities to leave the island. Easy."

"Corrupt cops might have gone in already," Bane pointed out.

"They'll be too busy trying to cover up their involvement - and loot the place - to investigate us," Casey replied.

"Finding - and silencing - a scapegoat is usually a good way to cover up your own deeds," the spy retorted.

"If you have the means." Casey lowered the binoculars and shook his head as he turned back to face the rest of the group. "And the kind of cops working in such villages won't."

"They could have bought the chief of police in Petit-Troup-de-Nippes," Sarah said. "He would have the means and the motive to come after us - or to prepare an ambush for 'drug smugglers' that leaves no one alive. We can't risk simply going to the yacht and sailing out. We need to know the setup in the town."

Everyone was suddenly looking at him, Chuck realised.

"Uh…"

Haiti, Petit-Troup-de-Nippes, January 6th, 2008

"Relax, Chuck. I'm with you. We'll be fine."

But Caridad's presence wasn't as reassuring as she thought. Chuck knew very well that Slayers often had a little problem with cutting and running from a fight. Mostly when demons were involved - which might be the case here.

That they had lost the disguise kits and had to improvise didn't help, of course - Chuck really would have preferred a more thorough disguise than a large hat, different clothes and a different girlfriend. Especially since he didn't speak the language, and if he did, he wouldn't have the local accent, so they still had to pose as tourists. In clothes stolen from a local farm.

Hell, even if no one saw through their disguise, they might be arrested by mistake if a beat cop mixed up their descriptions. Or simply used the opportunity to hassle and extort some tourists for a bribe. And his muscles were starting to hurt.

"Anything?" Caridad asked as they walked across the market.

"No," he replied, terser than he wanted. He hadn't flashed on anything or anybody.

"I guess we'll have to track down the chief of police, then," Caridad said. "Or scout out the port for an ambush."

Brave the police headquarters, or a possible ambush… Great. And the clock was ticking. If, as Morgan suspected, the enchantment on the zombies was ending with the death of the Vodouist responsible, sooner rather than later the local authorities would be hearing about the fighting. And it wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to connect the events to the tourist group who had arrived earlier. "We'll pass by the police on the way to the port," he decided. "Perhaps I'll flash on the building, or catch a glimpse of an underling." Or should that be minion?

"Alright!" She grabbed his arm and all but dragged him towards the older part of the town. "Let's go!"

Slayers - they generally didn't do patience well, unless actually lying in ambush waiting for a demon.

Chuck didn't flash as they walked past the police headquarters. But he didn't break his cover either, nor did he start babbling when a cop asked if they were lost, so he considered the detour a qualified success. Sort of.

But that meant they had to visit the port. They wouldn't stand out - there were a number of tourists there - but Chuck still grew more nervous as they approached the waterfront.

"I don't sense any demon," Caridad whispered. "Haven't spotted any ambush, either," she added as they stopped to look at a picturesque old fishing boat.

"I haven't flashed on anything, either," Chuck replied. It seemed as if Case was correct and they could simply head to the yacht and leave. He smiled as he looked over the port, watching the various fishing boats tied up at the pier, a handful of yachts among them, the motor yacht entering the port.

He flashed. He saw pictures of the yacht. Suspected armament. And pictures of its owner, Enrique Sanchez - a leading member of a Colombian drug cartel. And he suddenly knew what the man was doing here as the Intersect connected the facts.

"He's Lindor's partner…" he whispered.

"Who?" Caridad asked.

"Enrique Sanchez, the owner of the yacht. Which is armed better than a patrol boat, by the way," Chuck replied in a whisper.

"Really?" Caridad asked, staring at the yacht.

"Yes. And a ship that size… At least a dozen crew can fit easily on it." Chuck could see half a dozen preparing to set anchor. "If Sanchez is on the yacht, then those would be his best men, too."

"Or his most loyal," Caridad pointed out. "As a drug cartel leader, he'd have to be wary of assassination attempts by ambitious underlings. Like vampires and demons."

"Ah, yes."

"So, is that the ambush we had to discover?" Caridad asked.

"Uh…" They didn't know, did they? "I think this visit was planned before our attack," he replied. "But Sanchez will either have heard about Lindor's death already or do so soon. And with his powerbase intact, he'll likely take over easily. Which means any confusion among the surviving ranks of Lindor's gang will end soon. And any contacts among the authorities of the town will answer to him."

"We'll have to rush and be gone before he gets things organised!" Caridad said. "Let's head back to the others!"

"Wait! There is someone on the deck… Quick, let us take a picture!" Chuck said, waving at Caridad to pose - in front of him, with the yacht in the background.

"What?"

"Do it!" he hissed. She complied grudgingly.

And Chuck used the zoom on his camera to check out the yacht. There was Sanchez, indeed, wearing a white suit. And carrying a suitcase that…

He flashed again.

He saw a museum in Mexico City. A curator arrested for corruption and theft. An artefact replaced by a forgery. And a courier using a certain suitcase.

"Oh no!"

"What's wrong?"

"Sanchez's brought a stolen cursed Mayan sacrificial dagger." A dagger rumoured to possess its wielders.

"We'll have to abandon the yacht," Casey said. "It's too dangerous to try to recover it. We'll draw attention, and if they notice that we've got wounded…"

Chuck's muscles were really hurting now, but he didn't include himself in that. He could still walk and run.

"That doesn't matter," Caridad cut in. "We need to take out Sanchez."

"We need to recover the stolen dagger," Morgan corrected her.

"Yeah, yeah - once we've taken out the big bad, we can loot his stuff as long as we want." The Slayer made a dismissive gesture.

She wasn't correct, Chuck knew. Unless they managed to avoid drawing any attention - and Slayers rarely managed that - the authorities would get involved. But she was right that odds were, they had to take out Sanchez to get the dagger - it didn't look like he left the dagger alone.

"What's so important about this dagger?" Bane asked.

"There's a stolen chip hidden on the dagger that our allies need to recover," Chuck replied. He had thought of that excuse on the way back.

"Err, yes," Morgan said, nodding. "We only know that it's important, not what's on it, though. But we need to be careful - the dagger is said to be cursed."

"Cursed?" Bane looked sceptical.

"Several people who handled it suffered from violent delusions. It has been theorised that there's an unknown hallucinogenic substance present in the dagger's handle, but Mexico refused to allow a thorough analysis," Morgan explained. Apparently, he had learned the Watchers' 'excuses for the ignorant' by heart.

"Yeah! So don't touch it!" Caridad added. "Leave that to us!"

Chuck silently hoped that Morgan would handle the dagger. If Chuck's friend got possessed, he would be far easier to handle than if that happened to Caridad.

Bane, at least, let the matter drop. "So, how do we get the dagger?" she asked instead.

Which was a good question, indeed. How would they run such an operation on the fly? Unless Lindor had kept a lot of secrets and everyone he had taken in confidence was dead, Sanchez would know, or would know soon, about Bane, which meant he'd be on guard against similar ploys. And he might know about the presence of a Slayer as well. He would certainly expect another attack like the one against Lindor.

Chuck looked at Sarah.

She smiled. "I've got a plan."

Standing in a side alley, dressed in a stolen police uniform, Chuck wasn't entirely sure if he was still on board with Sarah's plan. Not only did it seem to have a quite significant potential to cause collateral damage to the entire port, but his own part also seemed a little questionable - he didn't even speak the local language! What if someone spotted him, and came up to talk to him?

"Calm down, Bartowski," Casey whispered next to him. "Stick to the plan and things will work out."

"Really? You're not just trying to calm me down?" Chuck replied. In his experience, plans tended to run into problems and needed adjustment in mid-execution.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" The agent's grin told Chuck that the answer to that question was 'no'.

He looked away, focusing on the part of the harbour he could see from his spot instead. If he craned his neck a little, he could see their own yacht, still swinging at anchor. As far as they knew, no one had boarded it so far. He pressed his lips together. Compared to his part in the plan, Sarah and Caridad's parts were far more dangerous.

"They'll be fine," Casey whispered - or growled at low volume - as if he had read Chuck's thoughts. "They know what they are doing. Well, Walker knows."

Chuck wondered if being hurt made Casey more sociable. Or whether the man was simply managing a potential weakness of his team. "I'm just worried. What if they have miscalculated? What if the guards anticipated their plan? What if…"

A far louder explosion than he had expected cut him off.

"That's our cue!" Casey snapped. "Move! And leave the talking to me!"

They rushed out of the alley, on to the next pier, into the midst of the crowd staring at the remains of their yacht, which had just been turned into a spectacular fireball. Casey was pushing through the throng, shoving people away with enough force to make them stumble and, in one case, fall, towards the small dinghy that had been tied up at the pier here, guarded by two of Sanchez's men.

They were staring at the wreckage as well, but Chuck saw how one of them noticed Casey and Chuck approaching and hit the other in the shoulder. Damn.

Casey yelled something in Spanish - presumably that he was commandeering their boat to search for survivors; at least, that was the plan.

It was obvious, though, that the men didn't want to hand their boat over. One angrily gestured as he spoke, the other put a hand on his belt, close to his barely-concealed holster.

Casey hit the first with a strike to his chin, knocking him into the second. Chuck rushed forward, wincing at the pain that caused, and drew his baton, but, despite his injuries, Casey was quicker and took the second out with a kick to his knee, followed by a kick to his temple as the man collapsed, then subdued the first with a chokehold from behind.

Chuck half-twirled his baton, trying to look like he had intended that, and went to board the boat. He could do that, at least.

Even in the water, and on the other side of Sanchez's ship, Sarah had felt the yacht blowing up. It was a little disorienting, but she had expected that - and she had a job to do. Kicking her legs, she broke the surface and quickly swam to the rear of the yacht, where the ladder let swimmers climb in. Before she reached it, she saw Caridad grab it, then push off the ship's side with both legs and vault on top of the deck. Suppressing a familiar envy, Sarah quickly climbed up herself after kicking off her fins.

Two guards were on the floor there, knocked out. "Worked like a charm," the Slayer whispered as Sarah dropped her air tank and slid the diving mask up her forehead. "They were staring at the explosion when I came up behind them!"

Sarah nodded. It had been her plan, after all. "Let's go!" she whispered.

Caridad took the lead as they climbed up to the bridge. A guard there noticed them, but too late - before he could cry out, Caridad's punch robbed him of breath, followed by a quick jab to the temple that knocked him out while Sarah grabbed the other man on the bridge in a chokehold from behind. The man struggled but soon fell unconscious. Four down. Two more at the pier, whom Casey and Chuck would be dealing with, made six. That left about half a dozen more.

"Overwatch here. No one else on deck," Grimes's voice rang out in Sarah's ear. Grimes was on the roof of a building on the other end of the harbour, acting as a spotter for Bane, who had their best rifle - it wasn't as if the man could do anything else with his strained ankle.

"Copy," Sarah replied.

"I heard," Caridad whispered, then slid down the ladder leading inside the ship. Sarah followed her example - they were on a timer and had a cursed dagger to recover. And, probably, a drug lord to deal with.

Navigating their way through the burning wreckage left by the bomb that Sarah had planted was a little harder than Chuck had expected. It wasn't as if their zodiac would sink as soon as it hit something, but he'd still rather avoid hitting anything in the first place.

And he couldn't help glancing at Sanchez's yacht, even though Casey was keeping an eye on it. Sarah and Caridad had disappeared inside, and who knew what was awaiting them? Not Chuck, of course.

They could handle it. Sarah was an experienced spy, and Caridad was a veteran Slayer. They were up against half a dozen guards and a drug lord, and they had the element of surprise. Easy.

If only he believed it. He gritted his teeth as he manoeuvred around the remains of the yacht's bow, trying to appear as if they were looking for survivors. Dozens, if not hundreds, were staring at them now, after all, so they had to play their role. The plan depended on it.

"Stick to the plan..." he whispered to himself. No matter how hard it was. Even though he really wished he could have been with Sarah.

Caridad was moving through the yacht's interior as if she were on rails, barely giving some rooms a glance as she descended another set of stairs in one leap. Sarah hoped the Slayer was following a scent - or sense, as Chuck had called it - and not just developing tunnel vision. It wasn't as if she could do anything but stick to the woman - splitting up would have been foolish, and she couldn't stop the Slayer.

Another guard stepped in their way, gun rising. Caridad ploughed into him, smashing the man into the wall with enough force to break a few ribs and crack the wooden panels. But there was a second guard, to the side, who yelled a warning before Sarah could shoot him with her silenced pistol. She cursed under her breath - they had lost the element of surprise.

"No sweat!" Caridad announced with a fierce grin as she rose. "We're close! I can feel the thing!"

Before Sarah could reply, she turned to face the wall to the side, then ran straight at it. The wood splintered under the impact, and the Slayer disappeared through the hole. Sarah pursed her lips and followed, stopping at the opening.

Behind it, Caridad was already fighting Sanchez in a lavishly furnished bedroom. Or, rather, the Slayer was fighting a possessed man - the cartel leader was screaming in a language Sarah hadn't heard before and wielding the dagger with more speed - and force, Sarah added as she saw him cut a chair in half with a single swipe that had missed Caridad - than was possible for a human.

She moved a little to the side, avoiding the splintered wood that lined the hole, but Sanchez and Caridad were too close and too quick for her to take a shot.

The sound of steps on the stairs made her turn around - Sanchez's guards were on the way. And she was in the middle of a hallway with no cover!

Clenching her teeth, she slid through the hole, trusting her diving suit to withstand the ragged edges, and crouched down. She shot the first guard on the stairs before he set foot in the hallway, but there were more behind him. And while they wouldn't brave the stairs and hallway without cover, Sarah and Caridad wouldn't be able to escape through that route either.

She glanced to her side. Caridad broke another expensive-looking antique chair on Sanchez's head, although it didn't seem to faze the possessed man. But he moved back a little to avoid the next swing, and Sarah used the opportunity to put a bullet in his leg.

As the drug lord stumbled, Caridad dashed forward, blade flashing - and Sarah winced as a hand holding a knife went flying in a spurt of blood, followed by Sanchez screaming - until a kick to the head shut him up.

"Couldn't kick it out of his hand, was like glued," the Slayer explained. "Don't touch it!"

Sarah hadn't planned on touching it. She was back to watching the hallway. The guards had to hear the screaming as well, which meant… Yes, another attempt to rush them. She shot the first man down, but the second started hosing down the hallway with a submachine gun, and Sarah had to dive to the side to avoid the bullets - they were punching through the interior walls.

"We need to go!" she yelled as she rolled and came up in a crouch.

Caridad didn't answer; the Slayer simply scooped up the dagger and hand with a plastic bag, then dashed over to the porthole above the remains of the bed. It was large enough to serve as an exit, but climbing through would take time they might not have.

Or so Sarah thought. Caridad apparently had other ideas since she ripped the porthole open, then grabbed Sarah and heaved, and Sarha found herself pushed through the porthole with enough force to fly two yards before she hit the water. She was still on the way back to the surface when another body - Caridad - hit the water next to her. And Sarah hadn't been able to inform the others.

"Two in the water," Bane reported.

Chuck was already turning the boat towards the yacht when Casey asked: "Ours or theirs?"

"Couldn't tell."

Chuck remembered to use callsigns. "Striker? Striker?"

"We're in the water, need pickup," Sarah's voice answered.

Chuck gunned the engine, turning so tightly, he heard Casey curse as the man had to sit down to avoid falling overboard. "Watch it!"

Chuck ignored the complaint and sped towards Sarah and Caridad. There! He could see them in the cone of light thrown by the open porthole… which was suddenly blocked. By a head.

And then unblocked by Casey shooting said head.

Chuck winced. But he had to focus. If he mistimed this… He wet his lips as he cut the engine and let the boat drift to a stop. Yes, right next to the girls.

Casey pulled Sarah into the boat while Caridad leapt out of the water into the zodiac, and Chuck gunned the engine again, turning away from the yacht as they sped up. "Are you alright?" he yelled over the noise

"We're OK," Caridad answered.

"Two men on deck!" Morgan's excited voice sounded through their comms. "They've got an RPG!"

Casey whirled, pushing past Chuck. "Evade!"

Chuck started weaving, the zodiac bumping against some wreckage in the process. Casey began to return fire, though, with the range opening, Chuck doubted that the man would hit anything with his pistol. Not from a moving boat.

But Bane was on a roof, with a rifle. "RPG neutralised," she announced.

"The other is taking cover," Morgan added.

No one else took a shot at them ut Chuck didn't relax until they had left the harbour and turned to sail towards the rally spot, where they'd pick up Morgan and Bane.

Before they'd finally leave the island.