Hello again and happy Saturday! In this chapter we're going to locate and confront our last living Scylla cardholder- Lisa Tabak! Dun dun dunnnn! ... That was supposed to be the dramatic piano chords, but it doesn't really translate well through typing lol. Okay, so thank you for your responses! I'm still flattered and surprised each time someone new finds this story, because who knows how many people even check this tag? So thank you so incredibly much and please enjoy chapter six!

Six

"Lisa Tabak," Michael announces as Kellerman directs their vehicle back to their hotel. "She's the only Scylla cardholder, besides Edison, who's still breathing."

"How in the hell do you know that?" Sucre asks. "You keeping tabs on her, or something?"

"No," Michael negates. "I just did my research."

"See, Paul, Michael did his homework," Alex sneers. "Maybe it's something we should've considered."

"Really not wise to mouth off to the person behind the wheel," Kellerman replies. "And the only person in this car with a gun."

"So now what?" Sucre asks. "What does this mean?"

"We find her," Michael states simply and then asks, "How soon can we get to L.A.?"

It takes Lincoln less than a second to snatch the PDA from the dashboard and bring up flight times. "There's an open flight at 8:30 tomorrow morning."

"Nothing sooner?"

"There's one at 6:45 tonight, but it's booked," He frowns. "Let's just hope they're not the ones who booked it. They better not get to her first."

"Considering she's the only other one who has ties to the old Company, I'm guessing she's a huge target right now," Michael notes. "Especially since she isn't taking part in this generous rebuilding."

"How do you know that?" Sucre wonders and Michael explains further.

"After we'd obtained Scylla and The Company started to fall apart, Lisa turned in her card and resigned," He says. "She wanted nothing to do with her father's little experiment. Something tells me she wouldn't be very pleased to know it's being instigated all over again."

"I see this scenario playing out in two ways," Alex offers. "Either we get there and she has all the information we need, which helps us finally bring down The Company. Or, she doesn't have a list of names and Gretchen's just led us off a cliff because she wants to see if we'll survive."

"You forgot the third option," Lincoln comments. "She's dead before we get there because the agents reached her first."

"And then all of this would have been for nothing," Sucre adds. "Then we're back to square one again."

"Well you guys are a bunch of downers," Kellerman announces, pulling into the hotel and parking the vehicle. "What happened to taking a leap of faith?"

"Anything could happen," Michael says truthfully. "But come what may, we are going to find that list of names if it kills us."

Kellerman smirks. "Yeah, that's the spirit!"

They retreat to their hotel suite to plan their next day's activities; Michael takes a detour to call Sara and is slightly unsettled when the voicemail picks up instead of her. He can't take too much time to worry about this, though; an entire room full of people is awaiting his useful planning, his artfully skilled expertise. He returns to the common room, where Kellerman is running Lisa Tabak's name through his complex database system, Lincoln is on the phone with the airline, and Sucre and Alex are recalling from memory everything they had once known about Lisa Tabak. Lincoln glances up as his brother reenters and moves the phone away from his ear a bit in order to speak.

"These guys are trying to charge me extra because the flight's in less than twenty-four hours," He grumbles. "Not going to fly; I'm on hold waiting for their supervisor."

"Way to stick to your guns, Linc."

"How is everyone?" He then asks in concern. "Sofia? Sara? The kids?"

"Don't know," Michael sighs. "There was no answer when I called."

"What does that mean? You think they're okay?"

"I'm sure they probably just got busy with something," Michael says and Lincoln nods warily.

"Yeah. Yeah, they're probably fine."

"Right," Michael states uneasily and then turns to the group. "Alex, could you walk us through what we know so far?"

"Lisa Tabak is the wife of the Turkish consulate Erol Tabak," Alex recites from the notepad. "They've been married eleven, almost twelve years, have no children and have resided in Los Angeles for ten plus years. She resigned from The Company in 2005, just before we successfully obtained Scylla and turned in the rest of the Company operatives. How she escaped custody is unknown, much like her current whereabouts."

"We checked every record in the book, bro," Sucre adds, pointing to the numerous phonebooks and online records. "She ain't in any of them."

"No, she wouldn't be, would she?" Kellerman asks a moment later. "Not if she doesn't want to be found."

He turns the screen of his database system to face the others; an eight-by-ten of Lisa and a full three paragraphs of data are detailed right in front of them. "This our girl?"

"That's her," Michael affirms. "Does that thing have an address?"

"Please," Kellerman smirks. "She lives at 53451 Toll Gate Road in a place called Idyllwild-Pine Cove, California."

They stare at him in shock and he chuckles, "You can't hide from the government, gentlemen."

"Okay, we have an address," Michael says. "How far is that from L.A.?"

"Two hours, fourteen minutes, according to MapQuest," Sucre answers a moment later. "And how long's the flight from here to L.A.?"

"About six hours, give or take," Alex answers. "A bit of a waste of time, but it beats driving."

"So we'll get there about eleven-thirty," Lincoln figures. "That puts us at Lisa's at around two, at the latest."

"And what are we gonna do when we get there?" Sucre asks. "Something tells me she ain't exactly gonna be excited to see us."

"We ask nicely," Alex replies. "And if she still doesn't want to release the names, then we make her."

"You guys aren't exactly great at making friends, are you?" Kellerman asks sarcastically. "Look, this doesn't have to get messy. I can still threaten her with imprisonment for being a part of this disaster in the first place. And if that won't make her want to give up the names, then what will?"

"That's the best idea you've had all day, Paul," Lincoln compliments and the latter holds a hand over his heart in mock offense.

"I resent that statement."

The rest of the evening passes in a bit of an activity-filled blur, with Kellerman booking and confirming appointments, Alex cleaning and reloading the guns and ammunition, and the others finishing off the last-minute details of their plan. One thing remains the same, however; Michael and Lincoln still can't seem to get ahold of Sara, Sofia and the children. They think at first that maybe they've dialed the wrong number, but following a quick check with Kellerman, they learn that's not the case. But they decide not to panic, for now. They leave a message imploring for their family members to return the phone call and call it a day.

They're up with the sunrise the next morning, throwing last minute items into their bags and checking out of the hotel without a second glance. The flight to Los Angeles, this time, is commercial and ordinary, very much unlike their past voyage, in which they'd found themselves flying in that military jet. Even still, they can't help but feel a bit of déjà vu; Alex tries very hard not to think of Cameron's broken, mangled body, which is all he'd been thinking of, last time. Lincoln and Sucre share a glance, no doubt thinking of their past flight, in which they'd shared anxious and apprehensive conversation, already distrusting Donald Self and doubting the entire operation. And Michael can think only of Sara- more often than not, his thoughts always return to her; how she'd sat beside him in that rumbling giant jet plane, perfectly calm and expertly composed, despite all the horrors she'd endured in Panama. She'd begged him the next day to start over and he'd agreed; to this day, he's still not sure what happened to her down there. He's pieced together a few minor details from offhanded comments she's made, but he's not sure he'll ever know the whole story. He's not sure he wants to.

When they land at LAX, he still can't get ahold of her and even though it's seriously starting to worry him, he can't dwell on it too long. They're piling, soon, into a black range rover and punching Lisa's address into the accompanying GPS, ignoring how every single action reminds them of the last time. They, of course, remember the warehouse and docks; they drive past a shipping yard and stare a little too long a place that resembled their old home, if you could call it that. They remember tricking the housekeeper and stalling the horse race and flirting with danger in Vegas. They remember the fallen; Roland, who nobody had liked or respected, but who had garnered so much information and Brad, who had turned out to be such a useful member of the team and who had sacrificed himself for the good of the group. They try not to, but they're flooded with images, instances and memories, the bad outweighing the good by a mile, and hope, desperately, that this time, things will be different.

Idyllwild-Pine Cove, California is the exact place someone would go if they were looking to escape the rush and crowds of Los Angeles. Tucked away in the San Jacinto Mountains, the place is a haven for rock climbing enthusiasts, nature lovers and people seeking the simplicity of a small town atmosphere. As Kellerman ascends the mountain, following the GPS guidelines strictly, the surroundings turn more and more rural- endlessly tall pine trees, sweet-smelling cedars and some of the largest rocks they've ever seen. It's a gorgeous place to retire to and it all makes sense why Lisa would escape to here, of all places. She's close enough to L.A. that she can always go back, if she likes. But she's far enough away that no one will ever find her.

Unless, of course, they know where to look.

They turn onto Toll Gate Road a moment later. Kellerman states, "53451 should be on the left. Keep your eyes peeled."

"That's it, up ahead," Lincoln points out, gesticulating towards a large brown home at the end of the road.

"Wait, stop the car," Alex suddenly calls out. Kellerman glances up, alarmed, and Alex again insists, "Stop the car now."

He does as he's asked, but reacts, "What the hell is your problem, Alex?"

"That," Alex says, motioning towards a black sedan on the corner of the street. "Is our problem."

"You think it's a Company car?" Sucre wonders and Alex doesn't hesitate to agree.

"That car screams Company," Alex replies. "They got here first."

Just as Lincoln is about to respond, most likely with a message of self-righteousness, the entire car falls silent as they watch two men exit the vehicle. It's almost entirely too convenient, but once they notice the men extract two pistols from the trunk of the car and a couple clipboards to act under the guise of run-of-the-mill solicitors, they know exactly who they're dealing with. Soundlessly, the five men park and exit their own vehicle. Kellerman hands each of them a weapon and it's over in a matter of seconds. While Michael and Lincoln hold the two at reflexive gunpoint, asking who they are and what they know about The Company's rebuilding, Kellerman decides enough is enough and easily puts both of the men down.

Michael and Lincoln stand there in suspended shock. Alex shakes his head and Sucre starts rambling in angry Spanish. Kellerman shrugs, "The prisons are overcrowded enough as it is. And they weren't talking, anyway."

"You didn't give them much of a chance!" Lincoln shouts. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"If we're going to go through with this deal, we need to do so discreetly," Michael adds. "That does not involve leaving a trail of bodies in our wake, Paul."

"You need to worry more about getting information from this Scylla woman and less about what I'm doing, okay?" Kellerman justifies. "I did what I had to do."

He begins to clean up after himself and Sucre states, "I don't think you should come in with us."

"Oh that's just great," Kellerman sarcastically quips. "I do everything for you guys and suddenly I'm left out of the fun interrogation?"

"You're not coming," Michael finalizes and he, Lincoln and Sucre start towards Lisa's front door.

"I'll stay behind, too," Alex offers. "I'll make sure we don't run into any trouble."

"Okay," Michael nods. "Keep an eye on him, too."

"Will do."

"I don't need to be babysat, Scofield," Kellerman calls after his retreating form. "I don't know what your problem is! I just saved you all again!"

Ignoring his calling remarks, the three men climb the steps towards Lisa's home and push the glowing orange doorbell, awaiting a response. There's no answer after a few moments, so they push it again and follow this with a few heavy knocks on the giant oak door. The property is neatly kept and beautifully landscaped, but there aren't any cars in the driveway or any other signifier to suggest that anyone lives here. Sucre peers through the closest window and reports there aren't any lights on in the home, but there is a pair of black sandals resting by the door. They're just about to knock again when they hear a voice from coming from within the house.

"Please, I don't want any solicitors."

"We aren't soliciting," Michael responds impatiently. "And judging by the nine millimeters on those guys staked out in front of your home, neither were they."

There's a small silence broken only by the sound of locks twisting out of place. A moment later, the door opens slowly and cautiously and the men come face to face with Lisa Tabak. Her pale blue eyes meet theirs and she's speechless for a moment before gaining the confidence to say, definitively, "Michael Scofield."

"Hello Lisa," He nods in greeting. "You remember my brother, Lincoln Burrows and my colleague, Fernando Sucre."

"Of course." Her lips purse in recognition.

"We need a moment of your time," Michael says. "And after everything you've done, you owe us that."

"Look, I don't want any part of this." Lisa states adamantly and Lincoln chuckles.

"See, that's the funny thing about this whole situation," He smirks. "Neither do we. But sometimes you have to do things you don't want to. This, Lisa, is one of those times."

She frowns and exhales heavily before stepping out of the way and welcoming them into her home. "The sitting room, all the way at the end of the hallway."

They follow her directions into the room she's designated as she guides the way beside them. It's a sunroom with wide-open views of the breathtaking mountains and endless valleys that surround her property. She offers them tea and coffee and lemonade, all of which they turn down in an effort to get to the point. Lisa poises herself in an armchair in the center of the room, avoiding all of their questioning and judgmental gazes by fixing her eyes on her fidgeting hands. Michael and Lincoln glance from each other to Sucre, who's seated at the opposite side of the room. None of them wants to be the first to ask a favor of an old Company operative.

Thankfully, she breaks the silence. "You said there were men outside my house."

"Two of them," Michael confirms. "They were armed and we had no choice but to take them out."

"I knew it would happen, sooner or later," Lisa sighs. "I can't hide away here forever."

"You knew Edison would find you?" Lincoln asks and Lisa smirks.

"I knew he'd try to recruit me," She replies. "When he started this whole thing, he put out a request for my presence to rebuild The Company. I never returned his messages. I'm surprised he hasn't killed me sooner."

"You're telling me you knew about all this?" Sucre asks incredulously. "You knew and you did nothing?"

"What did you want me to do?" She counteracts just as disbelieving. "Singlehandedly taken down The Company? Please. I wouldn't have lasted a day. My father made sure of that."

"You could've called in for help," Lincoln suggests. "You could've done something."

"I was afraid I'd be incarcerated," Lisa shrugs. "Look, I'm not proud of it. But I did what I had to do to survive. It's a concept I'm sure you're all familiar with."

"No, you look," Lincoln growls. "This isn't about what you think will or won't get you into prison."

"We have a government agent with us, you know," Sucre adds. "We'll be more than happy to send you to jail, if you don't help us."

"This is about doing what's right," Lincoln finishes. "And what's right is destroying The Company before it can become what it once was."

"And you're here because you think I can help," Lisa deadpans.

"We're here because we know you can help," Michael says. "We need a list of names and Gretchen told us that only cardholders have one. You're the only one left, Lisa."

"A list of names? Of all the operatives? Every last one?" She questions and all three men nod. "It's useless; most of the operatives are either dead or incarcerated now."

"Yes, most of them are," Michael sighs. "But not all of them."

"We are looking at one, aren't we?" Lincoln smiles wryly. "Now how about you hand us the list and we'll be on our merry way."

"You don't understand," Lisa shakes her head. "I can't give you that list. You have no idea what they'll do to me."

"We have a pretty good idea, actually," Michael disagrees. "You fail to remember we know how far The Company will go to protect something."

"Well then you know that I'm obligated to refuse to help you," Lisa states. "I don't want to get involved in either side. I've refused to help Edison rebuild and I'm going to refuse to help you destroy. I'm not getting involved in all of this again. It's why I resigned in the first place."

"You resigned because you knew what your father was doing was wrong," Lincoln points out. "So why wouldn't you help us to stop it from happening a second time?"

"Because I ran away from all of this for a reason!" She shouts. "You think I wanted to uproot my husband and leave the home we'd lived in for more than ten years? You think I wanted to turn my back on my father, despite what he'd done? You think I wanted this life?! I wanted no part in this and I still don't so you all need to get out of my house!"

"You're not thinking clearly," Sucre tells her. "If you give us the list, everything goes back to the way it was. You won't even be involved!"

"Giving you the list makes me involved," Lisa says bitterly. "You'll never take Edison down, anyway, list or not."

"That remains to be seen," Lincoln grumbles in frustration. "But we'll never know if you won't give us the damn thing."

"I honestly want no part in this," Lisa refuses again. "My life has been normal!"

At this, Michael glances up. "Normal? Your life's been normal?! You have no idea what we've been through because of you people and you're complaining that your life won't be normal anymore?"

Lisa's silent; she's clearly hit a nerve. Michael takes this opportunity to say, "You want to know what you've put us through? How about we start with Sucre? A life on the run kept him away from his pregnant girlfriend for the entire duration of her pregnancy. Then, when he finally thought he could go back to them, it turned out to be false, because we made him help us against you instead. Sucre, how long did you get to hold your daughter, again?"

"Ten seconds," Sucre frowns. "Maybe fifteen."

"Or maybe Lincoln," Michael continues. "Who threw away his entire life just so I could have a better one, because our parents sold their souls to you people. He was falsely accused of murdering someone, someone who wasn't even dead, and served time on death row in a maximum security prison for nothing. When some of your people shot and killed his old girlfriend, he was on the phone with her and heard the whole thing. He risked his life and almost lost it innumerous times, all because he was determined to take you people down."

Lincoln glances away from the scene at the mention of Veronica. This doesn't deter Michael from resuming. "And let's not forget about Sara, who made a hard decision and was crucified for it more times than I can count. It was your man who tied her up and left her to drown in New Mexico. It was your man who left her at the mercy of T-Bag, a known rapist and murderer. It was your man who ordered her to be held captive and tortured like a slave in Panama, something she still has nightmares about to this day."

Lisa looks down, once again, at her fidgeting hands. "I didn't know any of that. I'm so sorry that happened to you guys."

"It's in the past, now," Michael says. "We've endured it and we've grown stronger. But you can make sure that it doesn't happen again. You can end this."

"Michael, I can't," Her stare is still stony and cold. "I can't help you. I can't."

"Fine," He sighs in frustration and Lincoln and Sucre's eyes snap to his figure in disbelief. "Fine. If you don't want to help me or Sucre or Lincoln or Sara, that's just fine."

He reaches into his pocket and produces his wallet, sliding his fingers into the plastic compartment to grasp the wallet-sized photo of his family. In one fluid motion, he places it directly in Lisa's grasp and watches as her long, bony fingers curl around the edges. It's a great photo of the family, taken at the New York State Fair the year prior. Just as he'd once promised Sara, they had finally gotten their opportunity for a cheesy family photo. A gigantic Ferris wheel is their backdrop and it contrasts greatly with the checkered picnic blanket they're resting upon. Noah's perched in his mother's lap, holding a slice of watermelon and grinning with both front teeth missing. Zoe, her face painted elaborately, is giggling, her flyaway hair tied back into pigtails. Michael, with Zoe in his lap and his free arm around Sara, isn't even looking at the camera; his eyes are on his wife, who's laughing at something he'd said a moment prior, eyes closed in blissful satisfaction.

"If you don't want to help us, that's fine," Michael repeats. "But please, help them."

Lisa stares hard at the photo, taking in Michael and Sara's harmonious smiles, Noah's precious disposition, Zoe's childlike innocence. Without taking her eyes off the photo, she says, "I didn't know you had children."

Michael nods. "Our lives were normal, too."

Lisa stares at the photo a moment longer before handing it back to Michael and clearing her throat, saying, "I'll be right back."

Without another word, she disappears out of the room. Michael tucks the photo back into his wallet as Lincoln says, "That was some speech."

"You think it worked?" Sucre wonders.

Michael shrugs. "If it didn't, I'm out of ideas."

Lisa returns, then, with a Halliburton case and a key ring and hands both of these things to Michael. "This contains everything you'll need to know. It's everything my father gave the cardholders and all the information you'll need on who's who in The Company."

"Thank you, Lisa," Michael says, shooting her a smile. "We'll use it wisely."

"It didn't come from me," She says, still just as cold as before, turning away from them. "You can see yourselves out."

"Works for me," Lincoln replies, heading towards the hallway with Sucre on his trail.

As Michael heads for the doorway, Lisa calls out to him once more, "Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Your children are beautiful," Lisa comments, a hint of a smile on her face. "I really hope this works."

He grins. "Thank you. So do I."

This, of course, reminds him that he hasn't spoken to his wife and children in a few days. He follows the same corridor out of the house that Lincoln and Sucre had just walked through, but before he joins them in the range rover, he pauses to make that fateful phone call once more. It rings once and all he can think of is Noah's contagious laughter, his many strange quirks and his stunning hazel-green eyes scanning every situation for danger as if he'd been born with inherent paranoia. It rings twice and all he can think of is Zoe's amazing sense of humor, her extremely outgoing nature and her constant desire to cuddle and snuggle with her parents in endless hours of love. It rings a third time and all he can think of his Sara's wit and intellect, her never-ending patience and kindness and her unwavering love, even when he didn't deserve it.

But then the voicemail picks up and all he can think of is the potential danger they're in. He thinks of bondage and guns and water torture. He thinks of drowning and burning and bleeding out. He thinks of death and despair; he thinks of grief and pain. He thinks of losing Sara, of being widowed much before his time. He thinks of losing Noah and Zoe and of how there is no word in the English language for when a parent loses a child. He thinks of Sara having to watch her children die and it twists the knife in his heart; he thinks of Noah and Zoe watching their mother die and the knife twists even further as he realizes both situations are equally awful. He thinks that maybe they would have been safer here, with him. He thinks maybe he shouldn't have had them leave, after all.

He thinks maybe Sara had been right.

"Michael," Lincoln calls from the front seat of the rover. "You coming?"

"Yeah," Michael calls back, hastening his steps and trying not to think so much. "Yeah, I'm coming."