Dana estimated just under two hours had gone by before she heard the apartment door open. Only one set of footsteps, and the door was closed and locked behind him. She didn't think Jack had a key, unless he'd gotten his buddy killed. About fifteen minutes of silence and intermittent shuffling sounds was followed by a chair scraping back and her door unlocking.

Jack's friend- she still hadn't asked for or gotten a name- stepped in to make sure she was still there.

"Where's Jack?"

"Out."

He gave nothing away with either his words or expression.

"How much longer am I going to be stuck here?"

"Until we decide to move you. Sit tight."

He left again, and called someone- Jack, by the sound of it. Dana couldn't hear the specifics, but she thought she recognized the word Ecuador in there- maybe Jack would keep his word about extracting her, after all.

It didn't take long. After two hours she was moved into the trunk of a car. An unpleasant but quick ride later found her at a harbor. A security guard at the ramp leading up to a container ship didn't blink at her restraints. The guard greeted the mystery man- apparently his name was Jim- and directed them to an unmarked container that would have been otherwise lost in the myriad of cargo. Not the most glamorous way to travel, but the thought that Jack was actually letting her escape the country was too good to be true. Literally too good to be true. Escape seemed impossible now. Jack could kill her any time and just dump her body in the ocean. She didn't fancy the thought of becoming fish food.

She was led to the cargo container and once again chained to one of the chairs. This one at least offered her limited reach. The table nearby had a bag of potato chips on it. Jim reached into a cooler in the corner, pulling out two water bottles. He uncapped one and put it on the table, and emptied the other down his throat before sitting down on the cooler.

After an hour of stifling silence, Jim's phone rang. He exited the container and locked it behind him. Dana took the opportunity to open the bag of potato chips. Eating in front of her captor felt like a submission, and she was unwilling to give them the satisfaction. By the time she had eaten a quarter of the bag and downed half the bottle of water, Jim was coming back inside.

Over the next two hours, she and Jim resolutely ignored each other. She had to admit, his silence made her mildly curious, but she knew better than to think she'd get an answer out of him. She'd give it another hour before she spoke. At least the container was reaching a more manageable temperature. Though New York this time of year was fairly cool, the cargo container baking in the sun didn't reflect that climate.

She wasn't sure whether to look forward to Jack's return or fear it. Times like these, she was glad her emotions had left the premises when she was seventeen. Being around Kevin had brought back a shadow of who she used to be- and she hated that weak, fearful person. It was different with Cole. He made her feel safe rather than constantly afraid. She sincerely believed she loved him with every fiber of her being. People like Jack didn't think her capable of it- hell, even Cole probably didn't think she loved him now. They might see it as a fixation, but this was what Dana knew to be love. She let herself think about Cole, hoping he wasn't badly injured by the blast. For a while, she let herself believe that he was looking for her, trying to rescue her. They had both known that Jack originally planned on killing her, and Cole had seemed genuinely concerned for her. Maybe there was still hope for them yet…

Jack finally arrived, alone. Cole was gone now. The only hope she had now was convincing Jack that she had more to offer alive than dead.

"Jack, what the hell- we need to get you to the medic."

"I need- to interrogate-"

"Like hell you do, Jack, I have clients expecting me here and this ship takes off in an hour. I'm not going on a side-trip to South America with you, let's go to the ship medic. I've got your papers."

Finally, something on the mystery man. It wasn't much, but he was still working. The server farm in his lair made intelligence trade a likely profession for him. That meant he wasn't above the law for a bit of money. Too bad she had neither the time nor money to bribe him, though she doubted it would have been successful, considering his ties to Jack.

They left Dana alone once again, as she considered how Jack could have gotten so beaten up. Whatever it was, chances were it was good for her. He knew about Tokarev and Novakovich, and was angry enough to go after them directly. If she could somehow escape Jack, the syndicate should be too busy dealing with whatever Jack had done to look for her. But there it was again, the plan that revolved around slipping past one of the most skilled operatives she'd met. In other words, a plan without a chance.

Dana didn't have to wait long- Jack returned alone after twenty minutes or so. She was finally getting tired enough to lose track of time. He was still in rough shape, having difficulty walking correctly, but the abrasions and wounds had been patched up. Somehow he looked even more dangerous like this, wounded and feral. He was having difficulty moving his left arm- could be useful information. Unfortunately, by the time the slow-moving ship actually got to Ecuador, Jack would be in much better shape while she'd be stiff and sore from being strapped into a chair for days on end.

Jack spun a second chair around and straddled it. The pose served the double purpose of allowing him to look more intimidating while supporting himself- the knife wounds, gun shots, and torture were starting to get to him. He was exhausted, but had to use the fact that Dana would be, too. He stared her down for a bit before gulping down some water.

"We're currently en route to South America, as agreed. Tell me about Nina."

She knew that resistance meant pain. Pain annoyed her. She preferred to avoid it. There was nothing to gain from silence right now but blood and bruises.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Start from the beginning."

"The beginning would be the day I got out of juvie thirteen years ago."