Hey, it's a new chapter! Fleming wakes up.

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Chapter seventeen: For All The Wrong Reasons

Finding Doctor Samuels was a matter of some urgency, so the lack of information—even from the suspiciously helpful Orwell and the madman Anarchy—was a bit…annoying. The ARK personnel assigned to finding his hideout had combed through every bit of paperwork that could possibly be involved, and had even co-opted every intern in the building to help. Nothing had worked. There were no records in Samuels' files to indicate that he'd bought property anywhere but his home in Gold Beach and the office that had been burned. (The teams had gone through the secretary's files too, thinking she might have known something if Samuels had gone to the trouble of burning her with the building, but nothing had been there either.)

By the following evening, Sawyer had given up. The Cape's vague hint had petered out to nothing. (Okay, it'd narrowed the search down to about a hundred square miles, but it was on a mountain, in a forest, with several mine shafts buried in the side of the mountain.) The security captain was about ready to throw a chair—or himself—out the window in frustration by eight pm. His bad mood had been made worse by the fact that he had to coordinate security on the Faraday woman and Trip after the two were moved into protective custody at ARK Towers while Samuels was still on the loose. It wasn't helping anything.

Sawyer sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He'd been up since two the previous morning, and had been running on coffee and pure adrenaline. It wasn't a good combo, and he was wearing out. The final straw was probably Mrs. Faraday coming into his office. She was dressed in the same dark blue suit she'd been wearing when she'd been escorted out of the public defender's office.

"Yes, Mrs. Faraday?" Sawyer sighed wearily. He really didn't need a lecture on legality at this point, not when one of his men was missing, or when his best friend was in a coma, or even when his boss was in a coma.

"I…heard you were looking for Samuels," Dana replied quietly, sitting down across from him. She crossed her legs at the ankles—ladylike and proper—and sat back, apparently waiting for him to make the next move.

Sawyer rubbed his temples and nodded, closing his eyes. He really needed to take a nap; any more coffee, and his wife and doctor would kill him.

"I…may know something," Dana said, chewing her lower lip nervously. "About where he could be hiding."

Sawyer sat up, eyebrows raised. He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, waiting to take notes.

"It was…back when Trip was still going to therapy with…with Doctor Samuels," the public defender started. "We were discussing treatment, and places where he could be treated. We agreed on his office because it was more public, and well…I thought Trip would feel safer there. But Samuels did suggest his home, and…" She trailed off.

"Yes?" Sawyer said encouragingly.

"Samuels also mentioned that he had another place, where he treated violent patients… It was in the state park, I think?"

Sawyer was pretty sure six gallons of coffee wouldn't have given him this much energy at this point. The Cape had narrowed down the location to the side of a mountain, which included a small chunk of the state park. Dana Faraday—who was probably the Cape's wife, if his suspicions were right—had narrowed it down to about a square mile, maybe less once he checked a map.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Faraday," Sawyer breathed as she left the room. He leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. The security officer let out a relieved laugh and punched in the number for the research team. Now that they had a smaller area to work in, they could find that fucking cabin and send Samuels straight to the Gates of Hell. (Well, the lawyers would have to give him a fair trial, but fuck it, they'd finally get the bastard!)

Sawyer sent off the relevant information to the search and rescue teams in the area, breathing a sigh of relief at last. The security captain stood up, running his hands through his hair with a grimace. He needed more coffee, and there were some people he needed to give the good word too. The man grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and headed for the elevator, steps lighter than they'd been in almost two weeks. There was very little that could dampen his good mood at this point, he was sure.

Half an hour later, Sawyer was at the private hospital that provided the care for ARK employees. Peter Fleming had had the place built about…ten years ago, maybe. The hospital provided the best care in the tri-state area, and there were rumors that heads of state flew in to use it on occasion. (Sawyer knew this, because he'd had to provide security on a few of those occasions. It was a logistical nightmare.) Now, however, there were two people he needed to talk to.

Sexton was first on his list. The other man was in a medically-induced coma to keep him from aggravating his injuries. To see him lying on a hospital bed, surrounded by monitors and medical equipment, was strange. Sawyer was used to Sexton being the crazy headstrong leader of the assault teams, who occasionally deigned to help the police arm of ARK Corporation out of boredom. Sawyer sat down next to his bedside, trying not to look at the neck brace, or the IV lines, or the soft restraints around his friend's wrists and ankles, meant to keep him immobilized in case the drugs wore off. (Not that that would happen, but it was always a possibility.)

"Well, Tom," Sawyer said, stretching his legs out in front of himself. "We've almost got the bastard that tried to kill you. He's going down tonight, and we're going to have him—or what's left of him—in custody by tomorrow morning. Hey," he added brightly, "maybe you'll be awake when we get to haul Samuels into court to slaughter him."

The security officer sat next to his friend's bedside for a few more minutes, listening to the machines beep softly. He sighed and stood up. "See you tomorrow, Tom, if all goes well. I have to go check on our boss." Sawyer smiled at his friend and left the room, tucking his hat under his arm. He hated the uniform, but it got results with the hospital staff.

Sawyer paused in the doorway to Fleming's room, studying the situation. A girl he didn't recognize was sitting next to the billionaire's bedside, holding his hand. She was half-asleep, by the looks of it, and was resting her head on the mattress. The security officer's training took over and he undid the clasp on his holster, just in case.

As he stepped into the room, the girl woke up, blinking sleep out of her eyes. Sawyer froze, one hand on his service pistol.

"Um…this isn't what it looks like?" Jamie Fleming said, smiling sheepishly. Sawyer rubbed his eyes with one hand, feeling a headache coming on.

Oh, this was going to be fun to write down in his report…

- o – o -

Jamie had shoved her Orwell persona as far down as she could make it go since being discovered by Sawyer. She was polite, sweet, and about ready to claw her own eyes out because she couldn't snark. Jamie was a sweet, girl-next-door girl—despite being filthy rich; she couldn't be connected to Orwell, even if everyone was under the assumption that Orwell was a guy. (At least they didn't think she and Anarchy were having sex. That was just wrong.)

She was dressed in regular clothes now, nursing a mug of cocoa and a thick book. Anarchy had left an hour ago, muttering about keeping Vince from doing something stupid on the day that Philips was most likely going to end up dead. Not that anyone would find out if Philips had been killed, though, considering that the dump site was being too closely watched for anyone to actually go near it. Hell, even the reporters were avoiding it for the time being, and they were human vultures.

Jamie sighed, rubbing her eyes tiredly. It had been a long two weeks. She looked over at her father, still sleeping the sleep of the drugged. She'd have curled up next to him on the bed, just to make sure his heart was still beating and hadn't been replaced by a machine, but the stuff keeping him alive was in the way. The hacker ran a hand over his face, fighting back tears as she came in contact with the tube that was keeping him breathing.

It wasn't fair. Why did Samuels have to attack her father? Why couldn't he have just left?

The hacker knew, realistically, that whining and raging against an entity that didn't exist was kind of stupid. It wasn't effective, and it didn't do anything it should have. All she could do was wait. Wait and see, and hope that he'd wake up none the worse for wear.

Half an hour later, Jamie was ready to leave for the day. She couldn't do anything unless cybernetics suddenly made a great leap, and sitting here wasn't helping catch Samuels. The hacker sighed and stood up, closing her book with a snap. Wodehouse would wait for tomorrow. Jamie bent down and kissed her father on the forehead, blinking back tears when he didn't even twitch.

Just as she was leaving, the hacker turned back. She hadn't imagined it this time. She had definitely heard something. Jamie turned back to look at her father, jaw dropping in shock as she saw her father blinking. Jamie closed her jaw with a click, and wondered just when her father's eyes had gotten so blue.

"Daddy…?"

- o – o -

Sawyer sat on the hood of his patrol car, waiting for the Cape to get his costumed ass to the staging area. He was pretty sure the vigilante couldn't teleport, or he'd have left the man a map with directions stapled to it and left. This was their one chance to get Philips back, and Sawyer wasn't going to give up an extra set of eyes…no matter how much he personally hated the Cape.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Sawyer jumped, biting off a yelp before he could voice it. He turned around to glower at the vigilante standing behind him. The security officer's mood only got worse when he saw that the bastard was smirking. "Are you River Tam, or something?" Sawyer growled, sliding off the hood. He grabbed his helmet off the roof of the car and pulled it on, not bothering to wait for the vigilante's reply.

"Who?"

"Never mind," Sawyer grumbled as he got into the car. "Get in or find some way to follow us quickly," he added to the vigilante. "We're rolling out."

"I've got a motorcycle," the vigilante replied.

"Of course he does," Sawyer muttered as he turned the Humvee on. The convoy made a strange sight as it rolled down the interstate, Sawyer was sure. At least half a dozen news vans were following after them, which was drawing even more attention. Thanks to some ARK technology the R&D boys (and girls) had cooked up the night before, no one was going to be broadcasting this until after the operation. Freedom of the press was all well and good, but not when someone's life was at stake. Sawyer could just imagine the howls of outrage that were popping up in the news vans as they realized they couldn't send out any information. The area affected was only a few miles… Why were they complaining?

An hour later, the main strike force had arrived at Samuels' cabin, which had been discovered earlier that day by the search teams. It was a modest affair, only one story tall. The cabin looked more like a hunting lodge, but appearances could be deceiving. The search team with the ground-penetrating radar had reported that there was a massive basement underneath the lodge. It was probably where Philips was being held, if he was still alive. If everything worked out like it was supposed to, then ARK would get Samuels and recover their missing man.

They had too much at stake to lose now.

The first team went in the back, tossing tear gas canisters into the back rooms. The second team destroyed the front door as they went in, spreading out to check every room in the house. The gas masks helped in that regard, as did the infrared goggles they were wearing. Every eventuality had been planned for, as best as it could be. If Samuels was in the house, the second team was going to get him. If he wasn't, well… That was what the third team was for.

In all honesty, Sawyer was kind of hoping that Samuels wasn't in the house. He was on the third team, and his team got to use the heavy weaponry. Alright, they were supposed to give fair warning to Samuels before opening fire, but that was why they'd turned their helmet cams off. And if Samuels was dead, well. No one could say they'd shot before announcing their intent, could they?

Sawyer was perched on top of the Humvee, peering down the scope. He was a qualified sniper, even after thirty years and two surgeries to correct his vision. His spotter was in the hospital in a coma, though, which meant that he had to rely on his scope instead of accurate information. Hopefully there wouldn't be too much of a delay…

-The house is clear, sir. Doesn't look like anyone's been here in the past hour .-

Sawyer muttered a few choice swearwords under his breath. "Check it again!" he barked. There were a few seconds of quiet, before…

-Sir, there is no one here. We even checked the basement, knocked down a few walls… By the way, could someone send a few crime scene teams over here? We've got a few…situations.-

"Situation? Why does that not fill me with confidence?"

-Long story or short story, sir?- was the reply. Sawyer made a mental note to hurt the kid, Goren or Graeme or something, later. A lot.

"Just explain it," he growled over the mike, peering down his scope again. The night vision helped, although the shade of green it turned everything was making him a little nauseous.

-The old, scary bastard has a torture cellar, sir. Looks like he was keeping people down here while he cut them apart. Oh, and his upstairs drawing room has jars with a nice collection of eyes. Wow, that's disgusting…-

Sawyer felt that puking wouldn't be out of place at that point. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, wondering if his headache would clear up. If another man's life wasn't at stake, Sawyer would have indulged in a moment of self-pity and complained that he was getting too old for things like this. But Philips, if he was still alive and fighting, was counting on them. No self-pity until he visited a shrink. Not a company shrink, though; they tended to get pissy when he and Sexton threw things at them. Although private shrinks might get pissier, come to think of it… Crud.

-Second team, reporting in. We've got movement.-

Sawyer sat bolt upright at that, swinging his rifle mount around so that it rested between his legs. It wasn't a delicate position, and would have been better suited to a machine gun or a rocket launcher, but it would serve his purpose well enough. The security officer listened to the radio chatter with growing trepidation, including the warning shots that everyone on the channel could hear. Sawyer half-wondered if they'd shot Samuels, which would be a pity—mostly because he wanted to do it himself.

-It's Samuels, Boss,- Gram—no, Graeme! That was his name—Graeme said over the com. –Philips is nowhere in sight, and this bastard isn't… Holy shit!-

The security officer bit his lip to keep from chuckling as he looked through his scope towards Team Two. The Cape had appeared out of nowhere, and seemed to be questioning Samuels. Well, questioning was the polite way to put it in a report. Sawyer wondered how they were going to explain the bruises and froze as the vigilante locked his hands around the psychiatrist's throat and slammed the older man against the wall.

Sawyer took off running, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and trying not to start cursing out loud. "Cape!" he roared, slamming into the vigilante, just as Samuels began choking. "Stand down, soldier! Killing him isn't going to save Philips, damn it!"

Okay, so the vigilante didn't actually care for Philips. That didn't exactly concern Sawyer at the moment, because he'd expected the vigilante to maintain some awareness of the situation at hand. Hell, he could beat Samuels up all he wanted…as long as he waited until after Philips was safe and sound.

"That bastard…tortured…" Sawyer stared at the Cape, who's voice was breaking. He didn't want to admit it, but the badass vigilante who scared the crap out of everyone…was crying. "Samuels treated my son!"

Sawyer was instantly glad that the vigilante was speaking too quietly for anyone else to hear. He was also very glad that he didn't have his helmet cam on or recording. Somehow, knowing that Vince Faraday was alive and well—and running around in stupid tights—just seemed… Well, it'd get him killed.

"Pull yourself together, soldier," Sawyer hissed, shaking the vigilante a little. "We still have a mission to complete!"

The vigilante nodded and shot a look of pure malice at Samuels, who was rubbing his throat. Sawyer released the Cape from the deathgrip he had on the mantle, although he kept one hand on the younger man's shoulder, just in case he tried to do something stupid. Like killing Samuels.

"How delightful to see you here, Officer Sawyer," Samuels rasped as he stood up. He smiled. "I'm afraid you won't find what you're looking for. It's a bit late for that."

Sawyer's blood froze in his veins as the smile on Samuels' face registered in his brain.

"You! Son! Of! A! Bitch!" Sawyer roared, leaping at the psychiatrist and hitting every bit of the man he could reach. In a not-so-stunning turn of events, it was the Cape who had to pull the irate security officer away from the perp, to prevent any lasting damage. At least one of the members of the second team was taking pictures on their cell phone, mostly for blackmail later. Mostly.

"Now who's out of control?" the Cape said, a light smile on his face. He smiled widely at the rude gesture Sawyer gave him, before turning to face the psychiatrist. The vigilante stood still for several minutes, just studying the man. He swore and took off in the direction Samuels had come from. Naturally, the people not keeping Samuels confined took off after him. Sawyer shot one last hateful look at the psychiatrist before he took off in hot pursuit of the Cape.

Five minutes later, he found out why the Cape had taken off so quickly. There was a shovel leaning against one of the pine trees, showing signs of recent use. The sudden frenetic energy that gripped the ARK troops could have powered Palm City for at least a decade. The men tore off in all directions, looking for any sign of recently-disturbed earth or even any sign that Samuels had come this way.

"I found something!"

Everyone gravitated towards the trooper who'd yelled. The man was standing at the edge of what looked like a fresh grave—or six—with an expression of fear on his face. If Samuels had dug this, and only just returned… How long did they have to dig this up, and still search for Philips?

As it turned out, twenty-nine men could dig pretty fast.

It took fifteen minutes, but they eventually came to the bottom of the pit. There was a plastic garbage bag—one about large enough to hold a full-grown man if they were bent in half. It took six men to lift it out. Sawyer cut the bag open, and almost broke down sobbing in relief.

Philips was curled into a fetal position, wrists and ankles taped. His lips and eyelids were blue from lack of oxygen, but he was still alive. The wheezing was enough to let them know that.

Completely abandoning all decorum, Sawyer pulled the younger man into a hug, sobbing in relief. His mantra of "thank god" was quietly repeated by everyone there.

Philips was still alive.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Happy that Fleming and Philips are both (subjectively) okay? Drop a line and let me know!