Chapter 5
Michael sat in the doorway of his apartment because it was too hot inside. It was late, he should have been in bed, but between the heat and nightmares about his friends, he found it impossible. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Sam and Jesse standing before him, disappointed in him and his choice to keep going. Arguing. He wanted them to leave because they'd done more than enough to help him, and as he got deeper and deeper into the mire, the last thing he wanted to do was drag them down with him. They left with reluctance. Michael hugged himself around the shoulders and felt Sam's grip as he said goodbye, heard the warning all over again.
"Mike, this has got to stop soon before you lose yourself. Before you become like Larry."
"Dead?" Michael joked, although he knew what Sam meant.
Sam pulled back and said nothing, letting is pursed lips speak for him. He clapped Michael on the arm and said, "Good luck, Mike. We'll be waiting for you. Come home soon."
"I'm working on it, Sam. I'm close, real close."
He'd done everything he was asked and more, but still it never seemed to end. He was exhausted physically and mentally, and he needed closure. His head drooped and his eyes closed, and his mind wandered to a small yard behind a house. He saw a child there, one who looked like himself when he was young. The boy played on the swing set, climbing the poles to get to the support at the top. He loved hanging from it and scurrying back and forth like a monkey.
"Carlos! Carlos!"
Michael opened his eyes and his head shot up as he gasped. He looked around and in the new light of dawn he saw a heavy-set woman wearing an outfit that was more suited to a slimmer one wandering the street below calling for Carlos. It was probably that kid he'd seen around the neighborhood recently. Between missions for the moment, Michael had time to observe his neighbors. Carlos was a nice kid. He just didn't have many friends because he liked to investigate and get into trouble. Kind of like Michael when he was a kid. He smiled.
A sound to his left got his attention, like something bumping against the wall, followed by footsteps. Wary, he readied his side arm. The footfalls came closer, around the corner, and he stood to meet the challenge. It was Strong, the last person Michael would have expected to call on him at his temporary home.
"Michael, you look like hell," Strong said with a low tone.
"Thanks. You're not so bad yourself," Michael quipped in reply and took his hand off his weapon. He crossed his arms and asked, "What are you doing here? Won't this blow your cover or something?"
"I have bigger things to worry about right now, like you, the guy who's getting things done."
"Me? I'm fine." Michael smiled, because he may have appeared fine on the outside, inside he was close to being beaten and broken down. He wanted more than anything to go home.
"You won't be when you hear what came down from Langley." Strong hesitated before dropping the bomb. "Larry Sizemore is alive."
Michael chuckled, but when he saw the serious expression on Strong's face, he stopped. "You're serious."
"Dead serious. Pardon the bad pun." Strong let out a breath and shoved his hands into his pockets. "It gets worse. You know the Agency has been keeping an eye on your friends, making sure they stay safe..."
"Yeah, whatever lie you wanna tell yourself, that's fine." Michael broke eye contact and surveyed the area. "What's your point?"
"My point is this." Strong grasped Michael's arm and forced him to turn back to him. "Larry has kidnapped Sam, Jesse, and Maddie. Fiona wound up in the hospital, and Carlos..."
Michael didn't care about Carlos. The only one in that couple who mattered was Fiona. He took a step toward Strong as his eyes took on a hard look, as if he would rip out the man's throat if he didn't tell him more. "What happened to Fi? Where is she? How badly was she hurt?"
Strong took a step back with his hands up. "Woah, woah, Mike. Relax, she's in good hands. The cops have't quite figured out what happened yet, but our agents figured she and Carlos went on an arms dealing run. She thought she was meeting clients, but most likely it was Larry or some of his recruits. Fiona was shot, Carlos got away, but he turned up later at the hospital." Strong paused, working up the courage to tell him more. His eyes met Michael's and he saw the pain deep inside the tortured man.
"What's going on, Strong. Why are my friends being targeted?"
"Can't you see it, Michael? Larry is trying to get you to come out of the woodwork. He wants you." Strong let out a breath and bowed his head before looking Michael in the eyes again. "If I were you I'd get my mind back on the game. Larry wants his revenge on you, and you'll only wind up dead along with your friends, and your mom..."
"My Mom? Larry's got my Mom too?" Michael grabbed Strong's shirt lapels and pushed him against the wall. "I want you to tell me everything you know. Where he is. Where my Mom is, and Sam and Jesse. Don't tell me you don't know, because I know the Agency."
Strong was not pleaseed with the look in Michael's eyes. It was like those water blue orbs had turned to fire, and the firm, imposing set of his facial muscles told Strong that Michael was ready to punch something. It was going to be him if he didn't talk. His aim had been to give Michael the news and use it as an incentive to get him out to finish his mission. It backfired, and now nothing would get done until his friends and family were safe.
With a deep sigh, Strong forced himself to relax in Michael's grip. "Okay. Let's go get some coffee and we'll talk about this. I know a cafe where we can keep things on the down low. Come on, Mike."
He didn't call him 'Mike' very often, and when he did, it was to diffuse the time bomb inside the man. No doubt it reminded him of his friend Sam, and Strong made sure he used his name in the same tone that Sam would. Surveillance devices were a wonderful thing, allowing him to learn Michael's friends' quirks and characteristics that made them unique and allowed Strong to use that information when the need arose.
After Strong finished telling what he knew, the last place Michael's head was at was 'in the game'. He was worried about his friends and family, more than he'd ever been. Larry was alive, which half angered and half scared him. He wanted to get on the first plane back to Miami so bad, he didn't realize when he muttered aloud, "I need to go home."
"You can't go yet, Michael. There's still business to take care of here," Strong reminded him with an edge to his voice. "We've got to find who was working with Burke, and Sonya..."
"No," Michael screamed at Strong and jumped to his feet, upsetting the even keel of the table. His cup tilted and spattered coffee onto the surface and it jiggled into a puddle at the edge, held in place by the lip of the metal strip that ran around the table's edge. Pointing at Strong and not caring what anyone thought, he bellowed, "Every time I do something for you, you tell me this is it. One more step and we're done. Then it's another step, or another mission, or another cover. When does it stop, Strong? How long do I have to play your indentured servant until I finally earn my freedom? And my peoples' freedom?"
"I thought you were a patriot, keeping your country safe," Strong came back with a subdued voice. "All this time you were just looking out for yourself?"
"I love my country, Strong, but this..." He swept his arm out pointing at the scenery around them. "This is above and beyond." Michael leaned forward, rested his fists on the table, and stared into Strong's scared eyes with a piercing fire in his. "If I don't look out for myself, who will? Certainly not my government. If there's any selfishness going around here, it's the CIA taking advantage of me, my family, and my friends."
"Michael, you're overreacting." Strong looked around and relaxed a little upon seeing that the people at the other tables had gone back to their business and ignored the two men.
"I don't think I am." Michael's voice was deep and raspy. He pulled back and straightened, and he pulled something out of his pocket and threw it onto the table. "That's the last of what I owe you, for the coffee. I'm out of here, and you can find some other fool to play."
"You're making a big mistake," Strong warned, his mouth forming a thin line. "You go back now, you might as well just march yourself back to the holding cell."
Shaking his head, Michael replied, "You and I know that Larry has to be stopped. After I know everyone is safe, they can lock me up for the rest of my life. I don't care anymore."
He ran away before Strong could stop him. The old agent didn't have the chops to run after him, so Michael took full advantage of the man's bad knees. He sprinted to his apartment and picked up the few things that were worth taking, and he took one long look around the place knowing he would never see it again. Michael was glad. He was tried of it, fed up with the Agency and its games, and he really believed that if his disobedience cost him his freedom, he was resigned to his fate. At least he would have a nice long vacation. He'd been to enough places, he felt confident that he could just imagine himself somewhere else and get by. God knows he'd had to deal with more psychologically challenging situations in his life.
Michael trotted down the stairs and when his feet hit the ground he ran to the bus stop. He slipped into the crowd and blended in, rode the bus to the airport, and hoped that he could find a pilot willing to take him to Miami. By nightfall he was still on Dominican soil. His spirits flagged. No options presented themselves, and Michael's brain raced in an attempt to figure out a way to go home. Sitting at the back of a dingy bar near the airport, he studied the clientele. Someone there had to be slippery enough to accept a few hundred dollars to take a guy to Miami in the dead of night. Unfortunately, they would probably be too drunk to fly. If only he could call Sam now that he knew his friend could fly a plane. But Sam was being held somewhere until Michael made an appearance in front of Larry. With despair wrapping around his shoulders, he sagged over his drink.
Vinyl creaked as someone slipped into the booth bench opposite him, and if it weren't for the fact that he was always wary of movement in his surroundings, he would never have looked up and seen a familiar face. The older man smiled even as his eyes studied Michael with concern.
"Of all the dives in the Caribbean, I never thought I'd see you here, Michael."
"Virgil." Michael took a sip. "I could say the same. What are you doing here?"
"A client asked me to sneak something into port," Virgil replied with his head hovering over the table and his voice low enough so only Michael could hear. "I've been a little strapped for cash lately. Bad business investment." He grimaced. "Anyway, I'm making a few bucks here and there. I was going to grab myself a beer and head out after dark."
Michael gaped at him for a moment. Asking Virgil for help would be a huge pill to swallow, but at this point, Michael was willing to take the major ding to his pride. There was something bigger at stake here, bigger than himself. "Virg... would you give me a ride back to Miami?"
"Miami," Virgil said, stroking his chin as he thought about it. "I'd have to gas up, and I'll have just enough fuel to get me there. Then I'll have to fill up again to go back to the Bahamas." He shrugged. "If you make it worth my while..."
"I can pay you. It's just that you'll have to hold off until we get back, and I can get into my account. That is, if the government hasn't frozen my funds again," Michael muttered. He watched the smile wipe off Virgil's face. "Virg, please, listen. I need to get home. Larry's got everybody, including my Mom."
Madeline Westen was Virgil's Achilles heel. Knowing she might be in danger made all the difference in the world. With newfound vigor, he stood and pushed himself out of the booth, and he pulled on Michael's sleeve, saying, "Well, come on, Mikey! We've got people to rescue!"
The corner of Michael's mouth tipped up into a smile. He set some change on the table next to his empty glass and followed Virgil out of the bar. The sun had gone down and it was dark on the streets except for a weak lamp shining onto the street every once in awhile. It was the perfect cover for him and Virgil to sneak back to the marina. He followed Virgil's instructions and even took the responsibility of fueling the boat. When the tank was full, Michael paid for the gas, Virgil fired up the boat and untied it from the dock. Michael leaped over the rail and landed in the stern.
On the way back to Miami he filled in Virgil on what he knew. Virgil said, "So you don't really know where they are, and you have no clue how to get a hold of Larry. Great."
"I have a feeling if I show up at Carlito's, he'll find me there," Michael responded. "I want you to stay with the boat until I call you."
"What? You can't take on Larry by yourself! That man is plumb crazy!" He lost his grip on the wheel and quickly fumbled to get it back before the vessel went out of control. "You need help, Mike!"
"Virg, my Mom would probably kill me if I used you to help me find her."
"Your Mama would probably kill me if I let you go off by yourself." Virgil's eyes were dark sockets under the glow from the control panel. "I guess that settles it, doesn't it. We go together."
"I'll think about it," Michael said as he disappeared into the hold. He popped up, the top part of his head the only thing visible as he said, "You don't mind if I take a snooze, do you?"
"No, I don't mind at all. You're gonna need your rest." Virgil waved him down the steps. "I'll let you know when we get to Miami."
