Josh stood stiffly. He wasn't going to collapse. He wasn't going to let himself. No matter how hard he'd been beaten, no matter how he'd been whipped or punched. His ears roared, he hardly heard the demands anymore. The two men holding him were meaningless, the pain was meaningless. His attachment to the real world was meaningless, and drifting. He was in hell, and burning.

The man before him grinned. He was a good bit older than the others, who seemed like children compared to him. Very strong, very serious children. "You help us." Dark eyes gleamed from beneath a speckled bandana.

"Go spit." Josh could hardly talk. His split lips ached, blood caught in his mouth, and he was certain that talking would make his tongue fall out. There wasn't a bit of him that didn't sting or feel bruised beyond recognition.

"You talk. You are dip-lo-mat."

It was like being in a bad film. One of those G, H, or I things that was so bad it couldn't have a realistic rating. "Talk? To who?"

"Ah, you understand now." The man leaned into him. "Weapons trade. You talk to them. Get us guns, comprende?"

"You. . .want me to negotiate a weapons trade," he barely gasped, "that's what this is?"

"You get us guns. We protect our people. You live, your friend lives. You say no," the man shrugged, "you watch your writer friend die."

"Why me?"

The man-child thumped Josh on his chest with the back of his hand. "You talk a lot. You stand tall."

Josh almost laughed, then thought about what was said. He'd been on television a lot lately, much more so than Sam, who had been holed up in his office with Toby preparing for the state dinner speech that was rapidly turning into a meaningful proposal. . .the precise wording it required had been giving them fits and Josh had been filling in the appearances that week that were assigned to Sam. That meant. . . "You know who we are?"

"Amelican dip-lo-mat."

"Yeah, I got that, okay. Look. I'm not going to negotiate anything for you." He spoke softly, almost conciliatory, but underneath his words there was a sense of danger, and he could feel the grips on his arms tighten in response. "Apparently you don't know who you have. I suggest you let us go."

The dark eyes narrowed, and the rough face pressed close to his. "You are certain?"

"I've never been more certain," Josh responded in a low, even voice.

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as he backed away. "Fine. You have just killed your friend by saying no." He gestured to a man in the corner, who left quickly.

"What? No, wait, WAIT!" Josh choked back disbelief, then panic as felt himself being pulled backwards and shoved through the door into the bright sun. He could see the shack where they were held, and Sam being pulled out. Once again his hands were bound, this time in front of him, and he was pushed along until they reached Josh.

The relief on Sam's face at seeing his friend safe was evident, as was the quick look of concern that followed. It touched Josh, for a moment. Sam's eyes squinted in the bright air, struggling to adjust, yet they narrowed further as he took in the new injuries. Josh kept Sam's gaze locked with his. "You don't have to do this," he said to the leader, quietly, hoping his calm tone would have an effect.

"You will help us." There was no room for debate. A gun was pulled and pointed at Sam's head. The hammer cocked, and Sam flinched.

Josh swallowed hard, his breathing rapid as he looked into Sam's eyes, trying to offer what reassurance he could, which wasn't much. His friend stood still, afraid but struggling to hide it. "Don't do it, Josh," he muttered.

"Don't be a hero," Josh muttered back.

"I'm serious. Don't help them do a damn thing." Sam winced as the gun was shoved hard against his temple. The man holding him barked out in his foreign tongue, and Josh caught one word, 'trigger'.

Josh stared at the gun. He knew the sound of it, knew what would happen if the trigger was pulled, where the bullet would exit, how Sam would fall. . .he fought past his own flashbacks, the sounds of gunfire, the wailing sirens, the searing pain. . ."I can't. . ."

"Enough! You will help us." The leader's voice cut through the air like a machete.

Josh blinked rapidly. He looked at the gun, a mass of metal that seemed too large to fit into such a young hand. He looked at Sam, at the stiffness in his posture, the conviction in those expressive eyes. "No," he whispered.

The man holding Sam wrapped his arm around his throat, pulling him back, and cocked the gun. Josh pulled forward, felt himself held back, and thought he was going to lose control of every physical function he possessed. Sam's eyes closed, he swallowed and waited. And waited.

He slowly opened his eyes to see the leader staring at him, then at Josh, his dark face deepening in anger. Josh was pale, shaking, unsure, his face turned away. Slowly he looked back, meeting Sam's confusion with his own.

"Take them." The leader turned on his heel and walked into the jungle, yelling obscenities and signaling for two men to follow. Josh's shoulders sagged as the gun was lowered and they were led back to the shack, thrown in, and the door locked behind them.

They collapsed on the earthen floor, each breathing hard and in shock. The cool dirt pressed to their faces, and they didn't move. The young men outside were yelling, arguing, and the sounds faded as they walked further away, leaving only the pained gasps and rapid breaths. They lay that way for a good while.

Josh rose first, his head thumping, his breathing steadied, and he crawled over and unashamedly pulled his friend to him, holding him, trying to let his embrace say what words couldn't. "Jesus Christ, Sam. . ."

"It's okay. I told you to do it." Sam started to pull away, then let himself collapse onto Josh's shoulder for a moment.

"My god, I could've – you'd be, oh god. . ." Josh suddenly pushed him away and crawled to the corner, as far from Sam as possible, and vomited.

"Josh?" Sam started towards him, then turned away, granting the man a bit of privacy. Using his teeth he set to working on his bonds. "These people are obsessed with ropes," he muttered around his grip, hoping to ease Josh into a bit of humor. When Josh recovered he sat back, looking at Sam, at the friend he felt he almost killed, the horror still pasted on his face like an evil mask. He watched until the shock subsided, then crawled over to him.

"May as well keep this on," he muttered, looking at the knot.

"One wonders." Sam held out his wrists. His eyes followed the thin line of blood that snaked from the corner of Josh's mouth. "Bastards. I swear to god. . .are you – dammit!"

Josh was taking deep breaths, and trying to focus his mind on the situation. "Y-You know what I think?" he asked shakily.

"?"

"I don't think he wanted to kill you. I mean – I don't think they're very experienced at this."

"That's. . .comforting. . .I guess. . ."

"I mean, we may can use that."

Sam sat back and gave Josh a good, hard stare. "You know, I thought they were going to kill you. When they took you out of here." He took in the swollen eye, the purpling cheek, the shaky fingers.

"I'm . . . sorry."

"I swore I would kill them if they did. If they so much as touched you." Josh glanced up and allowed a faint smile of gratitude cross his lips as he continued to work the ropes. "What did they say to you?"

Josh couldn't understand why Sam was looking at him like that. He'd never seen such controlled fury on the man's face. "They want me to negotiate a weapons exchange of some kind."

"You're kidding."

"Yeah, I decided on the way in that I'd think up a joke to lighten the mood."

"Why us?"

"Well, they saw me on TV. Guess they liked my looks." He gave the rope a final tug and tossed it aside.

"Do they know who we are?"

"Precisely?" Josh sighed. "No, I don't think so."

"Not precisely?"

"They just know that we're associated with the US government. Now what that means in their warped, distorted minds is anybody's guess." Josh jumped as the door was opened and a man entered with two trays.

"Eat. You like. Good drink too." He slammed the two trays down and snatched the discarded rope from the ground before leaving.

The two friends stared at the door in silence. "See?" Sam finally said, "rope obsessed."

"They fed us!"

"If this is food."

"I'll take my chances." Josh picked up a tray and sniffed. "Or not."

Sam just set his aside and lay back. His head was swimming again and he felt sick. "Sure it's wise, I mean, you just threw up." The words made his own stomach churn.

"I eat when I'm stressed."

"Right. You eat then, I gotta. . .sleep or something."

"You okay?"

"Dizzy again."

"Right," Josh said slowly, his concern peeking through. "I'll keep watch." Sam snorted in response as he walked over to the back wall and curled up.

Josh sat quietly, knees pulled to his chest, listening to the sounds outside, and the mild conversation on the other side of the door. He wondered what was going on at the White House, what Leo was up to, if Toby was okay and worried, and if he'd called anybody. He wondered if anyone would find them, or look, or if they'd just be chalked up as missing. Of course someone would look, but just for so long, and they had no idea where to start. And he had no way to get in touch with them. They were lucky today. He'd have to come to a decision, and the thought that the life of his friend hung in the balance here didn't help. Sam knew it. He was putting a good face on it, but he didn't want to die any more than Josh wanted him to. He couldn't believe they were in this situation. Never would have imagined it. Sam knew Josh would never question his loyalty, and Josh knew the same about Sam, but that knowledge wasn't going to save them. At best it would help them delay things a bit. "Sam?"

"Hmm?"

Josh heard the crickets outside. At least he assumed they were crickets. They sounded too large. "Are you, you know." He hesitated, his head tilting to the side before looking down. "Are you scared?"

There was no reply for some time. Josh had given up on an answer when a small, tired voice said, "yes."

"We're gonna get outta here. Toby'll make sure of that."

"Sure."

"You believe me, right?"

"Sure."

Josh didn't like the doubt in Sam's voice, and chalked it up to fatigue. He glanced behind him, and crawled near his friend, curling up on the floor and thinking of the three of them, he, Sam and Toby, playing basketball in the summer heat. He tried to think only of that as he fell asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Toby marched into the Embassy. It wasn't so much a march as a bonafide stomp, his heavy shoes echoing in the thin halls, his heels scraping, each step betraying his anger. He didn't hesitate as he burst though the door and bypassed the secretary, hunted for the proper room as she protested behind him, and hurled himself into an office during a meeting. "You're done. I need to talk to him," he pointed a firm finger to the man behind the desk, "so if you will excuse me I'm certain this meeting can be resumed when US National Security isn't being compromised."

The man behind the desk slowly rose. "As concerned as I am for the security of our United friends, our own security must take precedence, and at the moment we have a pressing issue, so if you would please," he gestures to the open door, "I have been informed of your situation and will be with you as soon as possible."

Toby huffed and look at the cabinet. "This isn't a meeting of the country club, the courses are closed, which I'm not happy about, by the way, and I don't see how. . ."

"This is a meeting which affects our own national security, so if you would, sir," he pointedly gestured to the door once again, "Elana will see that you are refreshed and comfortable."

Toby fumed in the center of the room, then gave a curt nod. "Of course." He eyed the men, and two women, sitting in the chairs around the room. "Of course. I apologize." Toby lowered his head and walked out, and into the presence of Ms. Elana.

"I told you not to go in there," she said, smugly.

"And I heard you, I just chose to ignore you."

Elana looked at him down the thick bridge of her nose. "May I offer you a drink?"

Poisoned, judging by her expression. Toby decided it was best to calm the waters. "That would be nice, thank you," he replied, rather humbly, suddenly realizing where his anger had taken him. He sat in a hard chair and fingered the fax he'd received at the hotel, holding only a name and address, and thought back to the conversation with Leo.

"You get the fax?"

"Yeah," Toby pieced the two halves together with tape, phone propped on his shoulder,"yanked it too hard. These crappy machines grab the damn paper and won't let go."

"What?"

"I'm saying I tore it, Leo, what is this?"

"This is the man you are to meet. There isn't much that can be done at the moment, you need to meet with him, give him your information, and book the next flight out of there."

Toby straightened. "Ex-excuse me?"

"I said you need to leave, Toby. It's not a request."

"No, you're saying to leave Sam and Josh. Why?"

"The situation over the border is escalating. Two factions that have been at peace for years suddenly decided to take a crack at each other, and I don't think diplomatic immunity is going to be of much use."

"Warring factions? I really did walk into a novel."

"I wouldn't know, I don't read what you do."

"Leo. . ." Toby glanced around him and lowered his voice. "This is a long shot, but what if they were snatched off the street by one of these factions?"

"At this point I'd say that is a real possibility. I'd also say there is no evidence to that fact, and if they are in the habit of snatching political profiles off the street then your ass needs to be on the next flight to Washington!"

"I'm not leaving them."

"Toby. . ."

"No. I'm not just going to up and run when I don't know where my friends are, okay? I'm sorry if you can't understand that."

"Of course I understand, what do you take me for? Now I'm giving you a direct order. . ."

"I have an appointment. I'll get back to you in an hour." And he did something he'd never done before.

He hung up on Leo McGarry.

"Sir, he's ready for you." Elana continued to watch Toby down the odd angle of her nose. Toby stood slowly and bowed in an exaggerated, sarcastic manner then walked in, shouldering past the exiting cabinet members.

"Have a seat, Mr. Ziegler. I'm Donald Mainstaff."

"I know who you are," Toby said, still standing, "what I don't know is how you can allow two American citizens, government personnel, to go missing and not give a rat's ass about it?"

"Mr. Ziegler, we have a conflict that must be dealt with. I assure you we are concerned for your friends. I have talked at length with Mr. McGarry, and he understands the situation. I assume you are taking the next flight out?"

"I'm not going anywhere." His tone was matter of fact, and left no room for debate.

"Sir, we have people looking. You saw nothing, and we have little to go on."

"Oh, I'd say you have a lot to go on," Toby said, leaning over the desk. "Look, Mainstay. . ."

"Mainstaff. . ."

"Whatever, what about these factions? They could have been walking down the street and-and shoved into a car."

"Which someone would have seen and reported."

"Okay, coerced. Dammit, there are a thousand scenarios and infinite possibilities, and you aren't going along any of those lines?"

"Mr. Ziegler," Mainstaff said patiently, "if there are as many possibilities as you say, wouldn't it be impossible to go along all of those lines?"

Toby clamped his mouth shut and clenched his fists. With a heavy sigh he turned and sat in a folding chair along the side wall, rubbing his face.

Mainstaff watched, and quieted his tone. "I assure you, we are doing what we can with what we have to spare. With the situation escalating, we cannot bring in external help. To ask for foreign aid at this point could only make matters worse and force a war that we are trying to avoid. We have to temporarily close the airports and the seaport. We are caught in the middle, Mr. Ziegler."

"I can't believe Sam wanted to come here."

"This was unwarranted. No one saw it. We were. . .unprepared."

Toby nodded slightly. "I'm sure you're doing all you can."

"I assure you, we are."

"They're my friends."

"I know."

"I'm not leaving."

"You can't do much to help us here."

"That may be, but I may can do something at some point, so I'm not leaving."

Mainstaff straightened. "Are you not needed?"

"I have four days leave."

"With the understanding that you can return to the states at a moment's notice. That will not be possible in 28 hours time."

"Then we have 28 hours to find something, don't we?" Toby met Mainstaff's gaze with a penetrating one of his own.

Mainstaff nodded slowly. "I admire your loyalty to your friends. I will devote what I can to help for the next 28 hours. Then we must go on lockdown."

Toby sighed in semi-relief. "That's all I ask, I understand, thank you."

Mainstaff tore off a sheet of paper and scribbled on it. "Inspector Salentre is available to you, he's the one taking notes on this."

"Thank you." Toby rose, then hesitated. "You think it's possible though, that one of these factions recognized them and took them off the street."

"US television is everywhere here. CNN is a favorite in the business district. I think it's very likely."

"Such is the power of the media." Toby folded the paper. "Thank you for your time, and. . .I'm sorry about. . .you know. . ."

"Perfectly understandable under the circumstances. I'll be in touch."

"Yeah, well, thank you." Toby raised the paper and started to leave. He turned. "Mainstaff, sound like an usual name for these parts."

"My father was British."

"Right. Thanks again."

Mainstaff nodded a farewell, then his expression soured. He picked up the phone.