A/N: I'm back from the dead ya'll with a quick update. I got stuck so hard on this story and I finally, FINALLY found my footing again. I'm super busy with life guys so I'm sorry that I'm gone for these long periods of time, but I just want you to know I appreciate each and every one of you that comments and reads my fics. It means the world to me. This chapter is a short one, but we're getting close to the end. I don't own SVU or its characters! ENJOY!

Tuesday – 4:15 p.m.

They were back on the tarmac, this time with their luggage, and the feeling of impending doom resting on their shoulders. Amanda watched Liv most of the time, noticing the grim lines in her face and the frown that was ever present since Noah and Jesse left with Rita and Finn back to the city that morning.

They were all still slightly steaming at the knowledge that Cruz had known about their whereabouts all along, but they had come around to understand. The man had done them a favor, because Liv and Amanda and everyone else even remotely knowing where their children and Rafael were being kept, would have charged head first into a situation they might not have made out of alive.

There were a good fifteen agents roaming around the outside of the plane, and Cruz stood in front of it, arm in a sling and fresh bandages covering his body, but he looked like the stoic leader they had all come to notice he was over the past day. It was crazy that they had only been here for a few days with all that had happened.

Liv reached into the pocket of her jeans and slipped out her phone, seeing Finn's name light up her screen. She stopped and swiped, answering urgently and was greeted with a small chuckle.

"Chill. They're both fast asleep on your couch. I gave Lucy about as much info as we had. She's worried."

"Tell her not to," she said softly, grateful for the woman who had become a close friend to her, "And tell her she's getting a hefty check when I get home."

"Already did. How are you guys holding up? What's happening down there? I'm headed over to 1PP to see Dodds as we speak."

"I can't really say. Top secret government classified bullshit. Just know I'll be back in the U.S. in a few hours. From there…who knows." She could tell he wanted to pry for information, but he wouldn't. She had probably already said too much. Cruz had mentioned CIA checking them out and a huge fight with his superiors, just to bring them in on the mission, but she was glad he did.

"Alright. I get it. I'll talk to Dodds and check in on the kids later tonight."

"Thanks Finn. You're the best."

"Yeah, yeah. Hey Liv?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay safe…all of you. Bring him home."

"I plan on it."

She cracked a smile and slid her phone back into her pocket just as they came to a stop in front of Cruz, who looked them over with a grim look on his face. For a second, she thought he had terrible news and her heart slammed in her chest, but when he just nodded them up the stair and into the plane, she realized he always looked like that. She wondered if the man ever smiled, and that made her think of Rafael, because she had been convinced for the first few months of working with him that he didn't smile either. She felt tears sting the back of her eyes and willed them away. Now wasn't the time to descend into worried tears.

"Detectives. Lieutenant," Cruz addressed them and turned on his heel, climbing up the steep stairs of the jet. They followed wordlessly, handing over their baggage to a few agents who were loading up big black cartons labeled with the seal of the United States Government into the cargo hold of the jet. Their movements were quick, and it prompted all of them to pick up their pace, knowing they were on a tight schedule.

The inside of the plane looked nothing like they had expected. It was stripped of all the lavish décor and tan upholstery and replaced with black benches and all kinds of technology they weren't privy to seeing in their day to day. Liv took a seat closest to the emergency exit door and bit her lip. She realized that this operation was bigger than she had thought it was. Their sole purpose wasn't to get Rafael back safe and sound; it was apparent given the numerous pictures posted to the cork board across the aisle from her that they were after a much bigger objective.

"Olivia Benson."

She jerked her head to the right and looked up, seeing a slim woman with sharp features and dark grey hair staring down at her. She felt unease creep in upon hearing her name fall from this stranger's mouth, but that was relieved when she spotted the CIA badge clipped to the woman's blazer.

"Amanda Rollins. Dominick Carisi, or Sonny, as you liked to be called."

Liv glanced to her detectives, who were just as confused as her. Amanda spoke up, "CIA? I thought this was a DEA operation."

"This operation is taking place in the states deal with foreign dealers. All units work cohesively on an operation of this magnitude."

The woman walked to stand in front of them all just as the plane engines whirred to life.

"I've taken the liberty to get to know all three of you. Normally, we wouldn't allow three cops from Manhattan to take part in our operations, however, given the fact that one of the most notorious Sicario's in all of Mexico is sitting in the back of a heavily armored vehicle, being transported to one of the most highly secured prisons in the world because of your friend's quick thinking, we thought you could provide a fresh perspective on things."

The woman took a seat on the bench across from them and strapped in, telling them to do the same. Cruz sat down next to her and, with assistance, strapped in as well.

"No offense," Liv said, "Whatever you have planned once we get there, makes no difference to us. We just want Barba back. That's it. That's all I care about."

The woman nodded, "Rafael Barba will be returned safely and…mostly unscathed. He has been put at the epicenter of one of the biggest trade deals between traffickers in the world. Right now, there are five different heads traveling to San Diego as we speak. A little after 9 o'clock tonight, they will be holding a meeting in a suite at the Pendry. There, they will make an exchange of various goods and go their separate ways."

"What kind of goods?" Carisi cut in. "Because it must be something scary if all of you are trying to stop it."

The woman suppressed a grim frown and shook her head, "I'm afraid I can't go into detail, Detective. However, I can tell you that if these goods fall into the wrong hands…well…let's just say we won't be living in the land of the free anymore."

An eerie silence fell over the entire cabin as the plane took to the air. Liv clenched the seat in her hands and stared at the cork board of pictures next to Cruz's head. A sick feeling swirled in her stomach at what she just heard, but she willed it away. She needed to stay focused.

Once it leveled out and they were able to unbuckle, the woman smiled at them and reached out hand to each of them. "My name is Agent Annette Ridgeford. I've been with the Central Intelligence Agency for 43 years. Special Ops. I normally oversee operations of this magnitude, so I want you all to be sure that I know what I'm doing. Your friend will make it out of this alive. It's a…personal priority of mine."

Liv wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but it put her mind, body, and soul at ease. She tore her eyes away from the corkboard and glanced at Annette, who was looking at her like she could see straight into her soul. She looked away and sat back, closing her eyes as the plane leveled out in the sky.

Tuesday – 6:19 p.m.

They'd been on land and sitting in this beachside motel for less than twenty minutes, but the fear and anxiety had yet to quell, despite being in the same vicinity as Rafael. Well, almost. Their informant, whoever this man was, had given them an estimated time of arrival. Liv had tried asking questions about this mysterious man, and how he could possibly know all of this, but she'd been shut down at every turn. They were protecting this guy at all cost, and she could understand why. He was close with the man who ran this whole set-up.

Ronaldo Marquez, world's biggest weapons and narcotics dealer. The US had been watching him for decades now, and only until now did they have the real chance to bust him. She could tell he'd been the center of Agent Ridgeford's entire career. The way she spoke about him, a fire in her eyes, the way her hands gripped the classified file she waved around in her face as she debriefed them spoke volumes. She wanted this guy. She wanted him bad.

It worked out that he had done all this. Posted videos of their children being scared to death, guns pointed at their heads as Rafael pleaded and begged, all for the world to see. This informant had changed the game though. Flipped it on its head. Little had Ronaldo known, his entire world had been exposed for almost a year now, thanks to their informant. He was also probably the one that kept all three of them alive and kept Rafael from getting his head blown off. Her stomach clenched at that thought.

"I need coffee," Carisi muttered. He sat across from her, next to Rollins, who was rolling her neck to try and relive some tension. Liv nodded, needing something in her stomach. She glanced over at the various monitors set up along the walls of the small room. They were in adjoining rooms, the door to the other hotel room revealing another mass of electronics. Radars, sound systems, complicated surveillance computers she could never truly grasp the idea of. They were distracting and the lights shining from them in the dimly lit room was giving her a small headache, but she wouldn't dare complain. They needed to do what they needed to do to get Rafael back.

"I saw a machine in the lobby," Rollins answered and stood up. She was trying to shake some of the tension out of her limbs. She was wound just as tight as Liv was. Carisi stood up, too.

"You comin', Liv?"

Liv shook her head and bent forward, elbows resting on her knees as she stared holes into the carpet. She heard Carisi say something about bringing her one back, and she merely nodded. She couldn't think straight right now.

It was only a few seconds after they left the room that Ridgeford dropped down on the bed where the two had been sitting. Liv straightened and allowed the small, sad smile the Agent shared with her.

"So…what's the plan? Go in, gun's blazing with nothing but a prayer?"

Ridgeford laughed, "God, no. That's always an option, but definitely not in this situation. We can't spook him. If he even suspects something's up, the plug gets pulled and your friend is dead."

She winced at that. Ridgeford was silent for another stretch of time and then, "We'll get him, Liv. I know we will. Like I said on the plane…this is personal."

"Why?" Liv furrowed her brow, shaking her head, "You don't even know him."

Liv watched as the woman withdrew slightly, leaning forward slightly. She glanced around the room, seeing just a few of her agents mindlessly working on the set-up, speaking in low tones as they discussed something that sounded completely electronic.

"Twenty years ago, I lost my husband to Ronaldo Marquez."

She hadn't expected that. Ridgeford looked down at her hands, laced together between her knees. Liv was silently urging her to continue.

"He was on a recon mission in Guadalajara. Him and his best friend Schmidt had a nice set-up down there. Informants left and right, people practically begging them to listen to the information they had to take him down. He called me on April 7th at 9 o'clock before he was set to go out and gather more intel with a couple of DEA agents. I was pregnant with my Amy then, and he would call and check in twice a day. Once in the morning, once at night, before I fell asleep," Ridgeford smiled sadly, and Liv looked away when she saw the shine of tears forming in the agents striking eyes, "I would hold the receiver up to my stomach and he would sing her a little song before he wished me a goodnight. He was supposed to be home the following week."

Liv's heart clenched at the choice in wording. Was.

"Two hours later, he was lured into the center of town and they hung him from an overpass with his stomach cut open and his organs hanging out of his body. And that fucker Marquez gave the order. He knew all along they were out there looking for him. The informants gave them false information and my husband, and his best friend paid the price for getting involved."

The silence that followed was heavy. The shining, unshed tears were gone, replaced by an anger that seemed to somehow fade into the worry lines creased along her brow. It was an anger that had been stewing there for twenty years, and then they came along and some twisted, fucked up way, Rafael was giving this agent the ultimate gift of revenge. And this agent was going to repay the favor by making sure he got out of this alive.

"Rafael Barba will not die today. I will make sure you see him again, Lieutenant."

Liv could only nod, releasing a shaky breath after it. They were interrupted by the door to the motel room opening, and Carisi and Rollins holding coffee cups, with a spare one in Rollins hand. They looked surprised to see the agent taking up their spot.

"Ah, good. Caffeine. You're going to need it."

"What's that mean," Rollins furrowed her brow, looking at the woman skeptically. Liv marveled at the sudden change in energy as she stood from the bed and flipped her silver hair over her shoulder. She looked back and forth between the three of them before she crossed her arms and cocked her hip out.

"How familiar are you three with going undercover?"

Tuesday – 7:45 p.m.

Rafael kept his gaze transfixed on the ports they passed by. Their boat was bigger than most of the ones that were bobbed in the water, tethered by ropes to their docks, but farther down, in the distance, sat large cargo ships. Rafael spotted another cruise line further to the west, looking cloudy. The setting sun made it appear hazy and distorted. He didn't give it much attention.

He spared a glance towards the front of the yacht, seeing Rolando, clad in an all-white summer suit. It contrasted sharply with his skin tone and he looked every bit the rich piece of shit he had proven himself to be earlier. Rafael could still feel the sharp press of the knife against his throat almost ten hours ago.

He shifted in the hard seat uncomfortably and found himself growing anxious to get off the boat. The entire ride, he'd been distraught at the thought of stepping off it and into in the unknown city, to go and do God knows what, but his body hurt from sitting in the same spot, under the hot sun in heavy clothes for hours on a jumping and jostling yacht, racing across the ocean at a speed it wasn't meant to travel. He was starving, grimy, sweaty, and he had to use the restroom. Most of all, he just wanted Liv in that moment.

God, he would give anything to see her in that moment. Knowing the kids were back in New York, safe and sound, left him to worry about her whereabouts. According to Juan, they were also headed back to the city, and part of him was hurt that they didn't seem to be looking for him personally. Or, maybe they had. He wasn't so naïve to believe that they would just think of him dead and gone and wouldn't bother to try and find him as hard as they could. He was positive the entire continent was looking for him if Liv had anything to do with it, but still. Part of his mind whispered that he was a dead man, and he had been fighting those thoughts ever since that knife had been pressed against his throat that morning.

He took little comfort in the fact that he was going to be surrounded by crowds of tourists in a bit. The streets, from what he could see perched above the docks, were lined with tons of people walking, talking, riding bikes, and taking pictures. It was summer time in California. From the little time they were in LA before they got on the cruise ship just a few days ago, he could tell this part of the country was a tourist hotspot, much like New York City was all year round.

Surely, these people wouldn't do something to him in the middle of crowded streets, right? Rolando was crazy, but it was well hidden beneath that lazy smirk and white suit. Juan looked out of place standing next to the man in a beat up red button up and cargo shorts, but he supposed he also looked out place wearing such thick clothing in the middle of summer on a boat in San Diego. He wondered if that was part of the torture part he was sure he would be facing soon.

It was another ten minutes before they were actually docked, and he was roughly pushed out of the boat and onto wooden slats. Rolando stood a foot away from him, greeting two other men in dark suits and sunglasses, looking every bit of the muscle, they were. Juan and the driver of the boat emerged from the cabin underneath, dragging luggage behind him. He huffed when Juan punched him in the stomach with a heavy duffle and a thinly veiled threat not to drop it or run away from them.

For good measure, he flashed the gun shoved in the back of the man's pants and Rafael hid his fear behind a poker face he only reserved for the court room. He found the more a gun was being waved around in his face, the less scary it became. Of course, he knew that having a gun in his face could result in a very gruesome, bloody death, but Juan had yet to even put his finger on the trigger.

They weaved their way through the docks, passing by towering yachts, filled with rich passengers setting sail on a sunny day. The streets were filled with tourists and the beaches stretched out for miles along the coast. The dock workers moved past them without contact and Rafael wondered just how many of them knew who Ronaldo was. He guessed a good number of people who populated these boats knew him. Old, rich, white men waved at him from the balconies of their yachts, cigars poised between two fingers and young women dripping gold pressed against their sides. Rafael kept his head down and resisted the urge to wipe the sweat trickling down his face. Even at this hour, with the darkening sky and lowering heat, it was still stifling to be walking around in thick jeans and a jacket.

When they made it up to the bustling street corner, they were immediately met with a stark white limo that looked far too clean to be driving around in the hot California sun, so close to the beaches. He was ushered into the back and pushed over into the corner, right next to the privacy glass that was up and blocking the view of the driver.

"ETA…ten minutes. We're still waiting on Sokolov and Nakamura. Everyone else is there."

Ronaldo hummed and accepted a shot glass of tequila, downing it seconds later without hesitation. He handed it back and took the offered tumbler of some amber liquid. Rafael guessed it was whiskey, and his mouth watered for a glass of it. Anything, to take off the edge. Juan, seconds later, passed him a bottle of water, and he readily took it, needing something to wet his dry throat. It had been a while since he'd had something of substance to eat, but his stomach was in knots as the limo pulled out into traffic. The thought of food was the farthest thing from his mind.

"Dinner is at 8:15. We'll make the exchange at 10 o'clock. From there, we have the presidential suite until 9 o'clock, and the boat will leave at 9:30. You'll be back in time for the meeting with Baez."

"Mmm," Ronaldo hummed, sipping from his glass. He lifted the sunglasses from his eyes and shoved them into his hair, staring straight ahead at Rafael. He wanted to squirm under the scrutinizing stare, but he didn't dare move. He met his eyes briefly before he flicked them back to the moving city outside.

"Are you a good actor, Mr. Barba?"

Rafael locked eyes with him and shook his head after a few seconds of silence.

"Let me give you a few tips," Rolando chuckled and sipped from his glass, "When I say jump, you jump. When I say move, you move. When I tell you to shoot somebody, you shoot. You do what I tell you to do and maybe I'll think about letting you go home. But if you try to run, I'll cut your head off and hand deliver it to Lucia."

His eyes widened, and his throat went dry, mouth opening with an uncontrolled gasp at the sound of his mother's name. Rolando's smirk grew wider on his face, eyes betraying nothing but truth behind his words.

"216 Holland Avenue, apartment 3B, Bronx, New York…does that sound right?"

His stomach sank further, strengthening the nauseous feeling in his stomach he'd been able to suppress thus far. He could feel sweat beginning to form on his brow and he licked his lips, desperate to stutter the plea begging to leave his mouth.

"Please."

"Do as I say…and the men I have posted outside her apartment leave like that," he snapped his fingers, the hard sound burrowing fear deep inside Rafael's chest. He could only think of his mother, sitting alone in her apartment, crocheting that fucking sweater she's been working on for ages for him despite his protest. Endless, uncontrollable thoughts swirled through his mind as he looked out at the passing scenery.

If they knew where his mother lived, they had to know about Liv. Or the kids. Or everyone else in his life. They did their homework on him.

"Don't make me dirty my hands, Mr. Barba."

He didn't want to think about what he meant by that. He rested his forehead against the cool glass of the limo, swallowing the bile in his throat, resigned to his fate as they neared their destination. If he said jump…he would do it.