Chapter Six:

Powell was lying down on a medical gurney. Powell had hired the best team of private doctors and surgeons. After all, one he had fled the country, he just needed enough money to be able to live comfortably. Outside of the USA with USA currency and exchange rates, it would be relatively easy.

"Alright Mr. Powell," the head surgeon said, already in full garb and properly protected, "Stacey will now sedate you." Powell relaxed and closed his eyes. He had waited so long for this day—had dreams of it even, and now it was finally coming true!

Neither team had yet been notified about Neal's situation that occurred not five minutes beforehand. Neal's situation and the threat of death made the situation all the more urgent, preoccupying the thoughts of the doctors that rushed to help the still body.

One doctor turned his head to the clock on the wall. "It's five past. Where in the world are they? The donor should have been here and settled into the next room and prepped."

Powell heard the nurse, Stacey, ask him to count backwards from ten. By seven, everything went dark. Distantly, he felt elated at knowing that when he woke up, he would get a second chance at life.

…

"Freeze!" The doctor put his hands up in the air, surprise clearly written on his face. The scalpel fell down to the floor with a clatter. "FBI!"

"The FBI?"

"This surgery is off. Wake him up." Peter commanded, gesturing at the man with his gun. The doctor blinked in shock at the commands. This didn't suite well with either of the agents.

"This man is an escaped felon! Cut off that anesthesia right now and wake him up!" The nurse then was quick to comply. The man had barely been under for a minute. Burke thanked his lucky stars. He took in the form of Neal and felt anger flare inside of him. How dare Powell do this to his friend and partner? His trigger finger itched.

The criminal showed signs of waking, judging by the twitching in his left index finger and right eyebrow. The nurse stepped back, although she was still clearly monitoring his vitals.

"Is it over already?" Powell mumbled, slightly dazed and not feeling even the slightest bit of pain—or any difference at all.

"Not in the least." A low voice said, cutting through the haze. His eyes snapped open. That voice, along with Caffery's had haunted his nights at prison, mocking him and reminding him of his failure and impending demise.

"You!" Powell lurched from his gurney, surprising spry for someone who had just been under sedation.

"You're under arrest, Powell." Burke had his gun trained on him. He didn't trust the wild look in his eyes.

A snarl formed on Powell's face, twisting his features to look almost demonic. The doctor lunged for a scalpel, gripping it in his hands. Neal was still unconscious, unable to defend himself. Powell's arm swung down in an arc, target motionless and waiting for the fatal stab.

"No!" Peter's eyes went wide, his heart pounded, and his body lunged forward on instinct, mouth open in shock as he cried out. "Neal!"

TBC