A/N (AtlantisGirl12): SO sorry for yet another delay! I know I promised a ton of you that this was going to be posted a few weeks ago…Unfortunately, my plans got derailed as I started school again. At least it wasn't a three month delay this time, right? : ( Sorry! Just as a heads up, this semester is going to be cra-azy for me…I have a ton of papers to write, including three chapters of a YA novel for my fiction class. So, chapters once again will probably be slow in coming. Don't worry though; this story will not be abandoned! Ever! We both love it too much for that to happen. Anyway, thank you guys so much for your patience/favoriting/revewing…it means a lot and definitely encourages us! :) Enjoy this next installment!

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A/N (Feathered Filly): Wow! You guys are absolutely amazing! Thank you all for the continued support of this story. I feel awful for not being able to respond back to you all individually, because I appreciate each and every review. My personal and home life has been extremely, EXTREMELY hectic and I've been in charge of training a new person at my work (which has been very frustrating). Anyway, here's chapter six! Hope you all enjoy. =)

Echoes of the Past

Chapter 6

Eames strained against the handcuffs as Andrew approached the still unconscious point man. "Don't do this, Andrew! You back away or—"

"Or what?" Andrew taunted. "Please. You're in no position to be making threats."

"Cobb will—"

"Cobb will do nothing. Face the facts. You're playing by my rules now, Eames old boy. And there's nothing you can do about it." He turned to Cavendish. "Is he awake?"

Cavendish gave Arthur's head a sharp jerk but elicited no response. "Nope. Still out." Andrew smiled. "Let's rectify that, shall we?" He motioned to his associate. "Press on his wound." To Eames' horror, Cavendish leaned over and roughly ground his palm onto the open, still bleeding wound. The effect was immediate; Arthur jerked and let out a sharp groan. His eyelids fluttered as he began to regain consciousness. Running short on patience, Andrew yanked Arthur's head up from where it was slumped on his chest.

"Welcome back, Arthur," he smiled. "We were worried there for a moment. Eames did a real number on you."

Now fully aware, the point man glared at him, the gag preventing him from speaking. Eames spoke up in his defense. "Funny, I seem to recall you and your henchman being the ones shoving us around and tying us up."

Andrew leaned over the point man, speaking softly into his ear. "But I wasn't the one who shot him now, was I?"

"It was an accident!" Eames shouted. He caught Arthur's eyes, hoping that the point man believed him.

"Be that as it may, he could die from this wound alone. He's already gone over an hour without medical treatment. And in this lovely Mombassa environment, I'm thinking infection will set in, say, a lot sooner than you think. Combine that with blood loss?"

"What do you want?" Eames growled, determined to draw Andrew's attention back to him and off Arthur.

"Let's start with some information. Your team did a job about a month or two ago, an extraction. My employer would like you to provide the details of the job—what you stole, who you provided it to. He also wants all of your equipment and outside contacts."

"Is that all?" Eames scoffed sarcastically. "And what would we get in return?"

Andrew crossed his arms. "My employer is aware of our past history. If you cooperate, he gave me limitations on my methods. If you make our negotiation difficult, however, these limitations will not be put into effect. In other words, anything goes." To emphasize his point, Andrew roughly dug his fingers into Arthur's shoulder. The point man gave no outward sign of pain other than a small tightening of his jaw that Eames noticed.

"At least tell us who your employer is first," Eames said.

"Greenberg."

Eames hid the dismay welling up inside him. Greenberg was a notoriously shady company that often dealt in the black market. They had no scruples as to whom they worked with as long as it resulted in them acquiring a profit. He, Cobb, and Arthur had been hired to extract important information from CEO Dave Greenberg regarding various aspects of the business, such as contacts, meeting locations, buyers, etc. Arthur had then delivered the information to a private company known for theirpeacekeeping enterprises, who planned to use it to bring down Greenberg. Were Greenberg to know the details of the extraction, he could take measures to protect the company and the job would be pointless.

Eames' gut churned. He wasn't the noblest of men; in fact, he often dabbled in things less than legal. But even he couldn't assist a company that often aided terrorists and mercenaries, many of whom killed women and children. At the same time, being in the hands of a man who not only had a vendetta against them but could also employ whatever means necessary didn't sound like a picnic either. He raised his eyes, catching Arthur's steady and unwavering gaze.

"So what's it going to be?" Andrew's voice cut in. "You know there's really only one choice. You give us what we want or you both die. It's really that simple."

Eames clenched his fists and glanced at Arthur. The point man was still gagged, but his eyes spoke clearly. Don't tell them anything. "You'll just kill us both anyway," Eames retorted.

Andrew chuckled lightly and a glint shone in his eye. "Maybe, maybe not. But I can tell you that one thing is for certain. If you don't cooperate, your buddy here will be hurting more than he already is. Haven't you done enough to him, Eames? You really want his death on your conscience just because you wanted to delay the inevitable?"

The forger looked back at Arthur, feeling an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt at the resolve he saw in his eyes. He wished fervently that Cobb would burst through the door, guns blazing, and end this nightmare.

"Well?"

Reluctantly, he met Andrew's cold gaze. "No."

Andrew's lips curved into a cruel smile. "I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way, then." He snapped his fingers. "Cavendish, give our point man a taste of what you can do." He plopped down in a nearby chair and lounged back, carefully watching Eames' reactions.

Cavendish smirked and drew his fist back, planting it hard on the side of Arthur's face. As his head snapped to the side, another fist landed on his uninjured side. Eames closed his eyes, but couldn't block out the sound of Arthur trying to control his ragged breathing through his nose, the gag still in place preventing deep breaths.

Smack.

A muffled groan.

Smack.

Eames was now staring a hole in the floor.

Smack.

"How much more do you think he can take, Eames?" The forger refused to look up. "Hey!" Andrew stalked across the room in a few strides and yanked his chin up. "How much more will he have to take because of your stubbornness? Look at him!"

Slowly, Eames raised his gaze, and saw Cavendish helpfully holding Arthur's head up by his hair to offer a better view. The point man's lip was swelling and bleeding and several bruises were already beginning to blossom. His eyes, though half open, still glinted with a hint of defiance. Eames felt a surge of pride. Arthur wasn't done yet. They could hold on. Cobb would be coming any minute now. They could hold on until then.

"Forget it. We're not telling you anything."

An unreadable expression crossed Andrew's face. "If that's the way you want to play, so be it. I won't complain." He violently shoved Eames' head back so that it cracked against the wall. He turned to Cavendish. "Uncover the water tank." The henchman dropped his grip on Arthur's head and crossed the room to where a large metal container stood. He shoved the lid, causing it to fall to the ground with a loud bang.

Andrew tossed the gun over to his accomplice before untying the ropes that bound Arthur to the chair but kept the point man's hands tied. He roughly dragged Arthur over to the tank and held him before it ominously. "Still won't talk?"

Eames steeled his voice. "Nope." He hated how callous his voice sounded but hoped Arthur was still lucid enough to understand why he was doing it.

"Alrighty then." Andrew suddenly shoved the point man into the water. Without any warning and with the gag still on, Arthur had been unable to draw any kind of breath. Now he bucked and struggled in Andrew's iron grip, a rush of adrenaline giving him momentary strength. All too soon, his movements began to weaken and the tension began to leave his muscles. He was drowning.

"Stop! You'll kill him!" Eames shouted. He strained against the handcuffs, barely feeling the sharp metal cutting into his skin.

Andrew glanced at Cavendish. "I guess we can't do that just yet, huh." He yanked Arthur out of water and threw him to the floor. In a rare display of mercy, he also cut off the gag. Probably to make sure Arthur doesn't die, Eames thought bitterly.

At first, Arthur didn't move—only lay there limply. For several awful seconds, Eames thought the younger man was dead. Then suddenly, Arthur gasped, filling his starved lungs with precious air. Wracking coughs shook his body as he expelled water that had gone through the gag and his nose. Even from across the room, Eames could see that the water was tinted red. After several minutes, Arthur's coughing spell lessened and he lay there exhaustedly, his head lolling on the dirty stone floor and his eyes closed.

"Will you give it up now, Eames?" Andrew leaned against the tank. "Your pitiful display of bravado is only making your teammate suffer. I have to admit I'm surprised. I didn't think you'd last long when someone you're close to was being hurt. I guess you don't care about him after all."

Eames felt fury rising in his chest, but he fought to keep himself calm. This was a game of wits and he'd have to beat Andrew at his own game. "Well maybe I don't. He's an annoying little runt anyway."

Andrew raised an eyebrow at the forger's sudden turnabout. "You certainly seemed to care before."

"I was afraid of what Cobb would do after he killed you and found out that I hadn't protected his precious little point man. Cobb's the best extractor in the business; I wouldn't want to lose my best source of income. He's weird about these things…loyalty and all that."

Andrew tapped his chin thoughtfully. "So you honestly don't care what I do to the kid do you?"

Eames swallowed but kept his voice level. "Not a smidge."

"Hear that, Arthur?" Andrew bent over the point man's head. "Your pal Eames doesn't care about you at all! In fact…." He grabbed Arthur's arms and held him over the water. "He wouldn't mind if I do this to you again!" With that he dropped him into the water once more. This time the struggles lasted less. Eames fought to keep his eye contact with Andrew unwavering, trying to ignore the fact that Arthur was slowly dying. He couldn't give in…not now. Unfortunately he had underestimated Andrew's apparent lack of caring of whether or not Eames did or didn't care about Arthur.

"Okay, okay! Just stop it!"

Andrew quickly hauled the point man out. "Your wish is my command." He cruelly toed the coughing point man. "Just in time too. Guess you like him after all." He chuckled. "As you still won't cooperate, I suppose I can just continue on with my revenge. Thank you for that, Eames. I was afraid that icky little clause in the contract would prevent me from doing so, but your uncooperation is cooperating nicely for me." He turned to Cavendish. "Strip him. We'll see how long it takes to freeze in an African basement."

Cavendish handed his boss the gun and proceeded to remove Arthur's outer layer of clothing, leaving him only in his boxers and bloodstained t-shirt.

"Good." Andrew handed him the gun back and walked over to where the duffel bag rested on an old wooden table. He rummaged through it and pulled out a shiny silver case. "Ah, here it is." Opening it, he removed a syringe and some vials of clear liquid. "I'm not a chemist by trade, but I did learn a few tricks here and there," he remarked as he mixed various amounts of solution in a separate glass. "This is my masterpiece—Brand X."

"Brand X?" Eames snorted, hiding his uneasiness. "That's the best you could come up with?"

Anger crossed Andrew's features. "You won't be making fun of it for long, Eames. Simple though the name may be, its effects are quite potent. They can cause death if the antidote isn't given within 24 hours." He filled the syringe and tapped its sides, before glancing at Eames. "I suggest you begin counting now."