Toby lay on the bed, watching the ceiling fan spin slowly above him, stirring the heated air and providing absolutely no relief. Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of his face, due as much to stress as the humid air. This was asinine. He was going to kill them, both of them. There was no excuse for this, no reason to leave him worrying with absolutely no word. Okay, so he hadn't wanted to join them on their girl-searching party, he had merely wanted to spend the evening alone in his room, relaxing, reading the latest La Carre novel, drinking his mixed drinks and enjoying himself. And he stayed behind and did just that while Josh and Sam hit the bars, turning off the lights at one am and burying himself in the covers of his bed, pulling the sheet up over his head and sighing away his exhaustion. He never budged, never had an uneven breath, even as the late party-goers staggered back to their rooms, as the music blared around him then dimmed in the wee hours of the morning. He woke to red rays of sun beating down on the colorful streets, breakfast ready for him on the veranda, and no sign of either Josh or Sam.

He still hadn't been worried, figuring that they had either scored, or drunk themselves into a stupor. He was fully prepared for the sight of them stumbling into his hotel room, disheveled and ill, each trying to outdo the other with stories of events too improbable to have happened. So he spent the morning browsing though the speciality papers sent up to him, dipping his bagel into the cream sauce and sipping his black coffee, determined to enjoy even more peace and quiet as he waited. But the hours drifted by slowly, and he had become restless. By noon he was constantly watching the view from his window, an hour later he was on the streets. Four hours later he was asking people if they had seen Sam or Josh milling about, and now, nearly twenty-four hours since they had departed, he lay still on his bed, waiting, wondering, and trying not to call Leo. They had accused him of being too stiff, of being a party-pooper, at least that was Josh's phrasing. Sam had merely said that Toby needed to let off some stream. Toby insisted any steam that was to be let off didn't require the company of beautiful women, which sent the other two into hysterics as they walked out of Toby's room. Toby had merely shaken his head and picked up his book.

Now he stared at the fan and wondered if this was their idea of a joke.

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It wasn't a sound Sam expected to hear. The room was darkening, and it was evident that no artificial light was going to be provided. The two men were sitting close, each fighting the shadows in their own way, but still. . ."Josh?"

"Huh?"

"Are you humming?"

"Yeah."

"Now?"

"It's a way to keep myself from succumbing to the intense terror I feel."

"Ah. Hum away."

"Actually I've been thinking," Josh glared at Sam, "don't give me that look. . .these people have no clue who we are."

"They think we're dip-lo-mats," Sam muttered.

"Yes, but they don't know WHO we are."

Sam eyed him askance. "What's your point?"

"My point is. . .that – they don't know who we are."

Sam blinked at him.

"Yeah, I know." Josh resumed humming.

Sam pushed himself to his feet. The air was thick and suffocating, breathing it was like breathing underwater, or filling his lungs with heavy lead. He forced his tired legs forward, concentrating on the movement, feeling the blood flow through a maze pins and needles. For the first time he really took in his surroundings.

The room was actually a shack, probably a tiny house at one time. There was a battered wooden fan half hanging from the ceiling, and the windows were blocked with thick planks. The walls were fairly sturdy, sturdy enough to hold people in for a while, but the door had seen better days, looking like something thrown together from a refuse pile. He rubbed his shoulder and limped across the room to look through the slats in the door, only to see brown eyes staring right back. "Shit!" He jumped and stumbled back. Laughter could be heard, and rapid speech, which faded into the distance.

"Problem?" Josh asked, his eyes closed.

"More than one. But nothing we can do anything about." Sam crossed back and sat beside him. "How are you?"

"We gonna keep asking each other this?"

"I'm trying to show some concern here."

"Fine. I'm. . . fine."

"Right," Sam responded in disbelief.

"Well, ask a stupid question. . ."

"Look, forget I asked." He tried fumbling in his pockets, but they came up empty. This led to yet another sigh as he leaned against the wall, arms propped on his knees.

"What do you think of Amy?"

The question was startling, to say the least. Did Josh have a fever? "What?"

"I asked, what do you think of Amy?"

Sam hesitated. "I don't know. Can she get us out of here?"

"Only if we were being held by the woman's coalition."

"Then I don't think much of her at the moment." Sounds of shouting caught his attention, and he placed a hand on Josh's arm, then crawled carefully to the door.

"Sam, what the. . ." Josh found himself crawling behind him, only to stop in the middle of the room. Sam continued on, settling on his stomach to gaze underneath the door, which was a good inch and a half from the ground, hearing Josh hiss behind him, "What are you doing? Get back here!"

"Shh!"

Josh caught his breath in irritation, then focused his hearing on the anger in the yard before them. Sam peered, unmoving, and concentrated. "Something about a meeting, you understand this?"

"Shh. Shit, they're. . ." The door flew open before Sam could roll fully out of the way. It caught him on his sore shoulder, but that was nothing compare to the pain he felt as he was hurled against the wall. Josh was saying something, but he couldn't understand it over the cacophony of shouts, and Sam yelled out as he saw Josh double over from a blow to the stomach. Everything happened too fast, like a movie on speed, and before he knew it he was on the floor and alone.

Sam lurched and threw himself on the door, pounding his frustration onto the battered wood, his shouts echoing in the sudden silence. "Josh! JOSH! BASTARDS! Josh!" The door flew open and he stumbled back, and found himself looking down the deadly hole of a gun barrel. Slowly Sam backed away, trying to steady his breathing and glaring at the man with every ounce of animosity he could muster. The man walked in, calmly closing the door behind him. It was the first time Sam had been able to take a good look at their captors, and he was surprised to see that they, at least this man, looked too young to be able to hold a gun, let alone use it. But his build revealed high physical training, and his eyes held a fatal gleam. Young, maybe, but this a was person to take seriously. He took a cautious step, holding the gaze. "Shouldn't you be at home with your mom or something?" Sam asked, the sarcasm capping his anger. He tensed as a familiar shout barely registered in his ears. "What are you doing to him?"

"Training him to listen." The young man curled his lips in a semblance of a smile.

"You son of a bitch." Sam's voice was low and poisonous. It coaxed a laugh from his guard, causing Sam to clench his fist as his chest tightened like a tense band. "I'm glad you think this is funny, really, cause I bet you don't get many laughs around here, but if you hurt him," Sam looked the man square in the eyes, "I swear I'll kill you. I'll tear you to pieces so small the birds can't find them."

The smile grew, then fell as the seriousness of Sam's threat weighed the air, and his eyes never waved from the locked gaze. The boy snarled, and the butt of the rifle met Sam's cheekbone with violent force. Another stab had him doubled over and gasping. The boy reached down and snatched a handful of dark hair, jerking Sam's gaze back up to his. "You mistake me," he snarled, "you will die, not me. Your friend cause trouble, you die." Sam glared up at him, his arm wrapped around his mid-section. He jerked back as the man spat on him, then walked out. Sam braced himself on his knees, his head sunk to his chest, trying to block the sounds from the other shack, and wondering what had happened to Toby.

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Toby was finished with worrying. He was rapidly approaching full blown panic, to the point that he called the White House on his cell to see if either Sam or Josh had checked in for some unknown reason. He didn't want to say they were missing, but dammit, it had been too long. Way too damn long. "Leo?"

"Toby? What are you doing calling here?"

"Well, last I heard I was employed by the President."

"Yes, but you're supposed to be taking the weekend off."

"Oh, if that were only the case."

"Toby, is something wrong?"

"I. . .don't know."

"Toby. . ."

"Have you heard from either Josh or Sam?"

"Should I have?"

"I had hoped so."

"Aren't they with you? I thought Sam talked you into going to some sort of resort. . ."

"They were, he did, and now they aren't."

"I don't follow."

"I haven't seen them since yesterday, Leo. They aren't answering their pages or their cell phones. I can't find anyone who has seen them, I have no evidence that they even returned to the hotel at any point during the night. Now, I know I'm not the greatest company, I wanted to be left alone to read my book, but they wouldn't just disappear. Not unless this is a really sick joke."

"You think something's happened?"

"I'm trying not to, but this is a bit out of character for them. They'd at least check in, and at this point I'm looking at twenty-six hours and no word."

"All right, let me make some calls. Keep your phone on, you may be going to the nearest Embassy. I'll get back to you in half an hour, and call me if you hear hide or hair of them."

"Thanks, Leo." Toby hung up and sighed, then sat down to resume waiting.

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Leo waited in the Oval office. The sun was setting low, casting orange shadows along the walls, giving him a headache. It was the same kind of light that followed the fall storms, only there hadn't been any rain. He paced the room, unable to sit, unable to get the tone of Toby's voice out of his head. It wasn't so much the words that alarmed him, it was the subtle panic. Toby wasn't given to panic, or jumping to conclusions, and he had as good an instinct as anyone when something didn't feel right. And Leo had to agree, being in the situation they were in, being that they were who they were, it was rare that the White House staff didn't check in with each other, even while on vacation. That was simply because they never stopped working. Something was always going on that warranted at least one call a day, if not to the offices, then to a staff member. The fact that Toby was there with them, and had no word from them was disconcerting to say the least.

The President entered the room with his usual flourish, filling it with a regal presence. His brow was furrowed, however, and he instantly recognized the look of concern on Leo's face. "What's happened?"

"Toby called. He's lost touch with Sam and Josh."

"How long?" He stood before Leo, his hands in his pockets, his head dipped slightly as he tried to catch the other man's gaze.

"Twenty-six hours." Leo met the gaze levelly.

"Nothing?"

"No signs they've been in the area."

"No calls?"

"Nothing."

"You sure they aren't pulling Toby's leg?"

"I doubt it, sir, not and have it last this long."

The President nodded and walked to his desk. "Get Rob in here. And notify the Embassy."

"Yes, sir."

"And see if you can secure a line to Toby for me."

"Thank you, sir."