Chapter 14:

*"I'm assuming you all have permits for those bulges in your jackets?" – Don Eppes

Season 2, Episode 4: Calculated Risk*

*The Next Morning*

"They told me you were up. I think you broke Carlos's nose."

"Well Carlos wouldn't let me leave," Marcus frowned up at Gilbert from the small cot that had served as his bed the night before, an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Sorry about that, I told them to make sure you didn't wander," Gilbert replied apologetically as he pulled the lighter from the pocket of his beige cargo pants. "They must have taken my orders to mean not to let you out of the room."

"Maybe because you had them posted at my door all night," Marc grouched back as Gilbert knelt in front of Marcus and lit the end of the cigarette for him.

"Merely a safety precaution," Gilbert waved Marcus's concerns away as he dropped the lighter back in his pocket and stood up.

"Whose safety? Mine or yours?" Marc asked resentfully as he took a long drag of the cigarette before breathing out a smoky sigh of relief. He'd been craving a fag for hours. "How is your side this morning?" He added sarcastically, the cigarette doing little to improve his mood, but did settle the cravings.

"Luckily the knife didn't cut deep enough to do real damage. It stings a bit and hurts to sit…or laugh…or breathe but I'm tough. I've had worse. As for the men posted at your door, they were for everyone's safety. I would hate for you to get hurt unnecessarily," Gilbert smiled at Marc before moving over to a tall but skinny locker in the corner of the room. "Here, put this on," Gilbert added as he pulled a shirt from the locker and handed it over to Marc to put on.

"No thanks," Marc replied difficultly, knowing that he was probably being rude and blowing the investigation but being incapable of stopping the refusal from leaving his thin lips anyway. The guys listening in to the wire in his watch were probably slapping their foreheads at Marcus's pig headedness, but they hadn't had the morning he'd had.

Confused and afraid, Marcus had awoken in a cold sweat. Unable to breathe, Marcus had panicked which had only made it harder for his lungs to pull oxygen in, causing them to seize up. He had tried to get out of the small room, which was no larger than a broom cupboard, only to find the way barred. That was when Carlo suffered the unfortunate broken nose and when Marcus had suffered his own blow to the head from the other guard, the only good part being that it brought him out of his panic attack and back to the present. It irked Marc to admit that he might still be having nightmares, especially a year later, but it seemed that whilst his body had healed, his brain didn't seem to have gotten the memo.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist," Gilbert smiled again, this time there was a glint of steel behind the older man's expression making Marc think twice about refusing again. He was still reeling from his body's rude awakening. It had been a couple months since he'd dreamt he was back there, crushed and helpless and unable to breathe. He'd thought he was getting better; that he was back in control but control was just an illusion. Just as having a choice was and illusion. Marc could see that Gilbert wouldn't be refused twice, so why was he so tempted to do so anyway? Maybe it was because Gilbert didn't appear to be going anywhere anytime soon and seemed quite content to stay and watch Marc change.

"Fine," Marc relented grudgingly as he pulled himself into an awkward standing position before grabbing the bottom of his black long sleeved T-shirt and pulling it over his head dumped it on the small cot behind him.

"That's some scar," Gilbert observed with awe in his voice as Marcus stood uncomfortably under Gilbert's scrutinizing gaze. "How did you get it?"

"I think you know," Marc replied quietly as he pulled the shirt on quickly, covering up the scar as he made light work of the buttons. "You must have done your homework by now. You could have just asked if you were that interested in seeing it, I would have shown you."

"You're smart," Gilbert grinned as he watched Marc drop the cigarette on the floor and grind it against the worn and faded rug with the toe of his marine issue work boot. "Your file said you had an above average IQ amongst many other interesting qualities."

"Well they tend to exaggerate in personnel files," Marcus frowned, uncomfortable with the way Gilbert was regarding him.

"They weren't exaggerating when they said you had burns on fifty percent of your body," Gilbert stated interestedly as Marc tucked the ends of the shirt into the waist band of his worn Levi's.

"No."

"Were they exaggerating when they wrote that you were the leading weapons and explosions expert?"

"Were? Still am," Marc growled bitterly as Gilbert just smiled. "What?"

"I think you're going to fit in here nicely," Gilbert grinned as he motioned for Marc to follow him.

"And where exactly is here?"

"Just a small compound outside of LA for likeminded individuals like us," Gilbert brushed the question away as they left the small room behind them and headed across the compound to a large barn looking structure.

"What do you do here?"

"Do? We live."

"You actually live here?"

"Yes. You don't see it yet Marcus but you're free now. Free from the lies that are shoved down our throats by the government. Free from the injustices put upon you by your own agency. Here we are not blind. Here we are not ignorant. Our eyes are wide open and we see nothing but truth."

"Whoa," Marc stopped abruptly, not believing what he was hearing. He knew that Gilbert was batshit crazy but that monologue was just too much! "I don't know what new age hippy shit you're into but it's really not my thing."

"No, because you're still weak, still blinded by society and the rules they put upon us. Decisions made on this land here are mine. The men you see around you are mine and they follow my orders. Join us and I will show you how we do not kneel to government."

"Join you? I don't even know who you are!"

"I am your friend Marcus and I am freeing you from the slavery of that world." Gilbert held his arms out dramatically and Marcus didn't know whether to laugh or ask if Gilbert was serious.

"Why me? You don't even know me," Marcus replied bewildered, unsure how he had even managed to gain the trust of the wackadoodle opposite him. He'd been a little drunk the night before and just about remembered setting fire to a car…?

"But I do know you Marcus. You were born here in LA but when your father left, your mother moved you closer to her family in Huston Texas. You joined the Marines when you were seventeen and the ATF when you were twenty five, where you graduated top of your class. You then spent the next five years building your career and, as professed earlier, are now the leading weapons and explosions expert in the ATF. They finally gave you your own team and a case worthy of your talents. But by the time the bomb was found there wasn't enough time on the clock to disarm it. Bomb Squad was ten minutes out and you had no choice but to evacuate the building. Except you stayed and you sat with the bomb till it went off, localizing it to the basement and controlling the blast to only take out the basement and the room above. You were buried alive for two days and were burnt on fifty percent of your body. They handed your team off to someone else and had you ride a desk for the last year. You're tired of their shit and you're tired of being seen as a cripple. I know you Marcus."

"Wow," Marc replied stunned, "You really did do your homework."

"Yes. Which is how I also know that you recently quit the ATF when they palmed you off to Quantico to train some undisciplined FBI cadets."

"Look I know what you think you read in my file but I'm not that man. Not anymore."

"Exactly! You're not the man in the file anymore, because that man was blind and ignorant. You aren't like that man or other men who are searching for something logical like money. You can't be bought, bullied or reasoned with. You're like me, like my men." Gilbert grinned, a little zealotry for Marcus's liking.

"How's that?"

"Because you're content to watch the world burn. That's the truth Marcus. That is freedom, and together we can free the blind, a baptism by fire. There is a little project that I have that could use a man of your talents...but only if you are truly ready to free yourself of the man in that folder."

"I'm ready," Marcus nodded, pretending to follow the flow of conversation. He was about seventy percent sure that Gilbert was talking about the bomb and that was his only objective right now.

"Good, follow me," Gilbert grinned manically as he grabbed hold of the arm not holding the cane and steered Marcus up to the building that had looked like a barn from afar but Marc could now see was an abandoned church. "There is someone I'd like you to meet."

*Break*

"They just moved Marcus to the church on the north side of the complex," Ian informed Colby, Logan, Nick and Tim King quietly as together they poured over a detailed sketch Ian had created of the compound, its perimeters and buildings with an added tracing paper layer over the top with guard patrols and posts. "I think that's where the signal jammer is located…and the bomb."

"How come?" Nick looked up from the map at Ian who was dressed in full camouflage with painted black, brown and green smudges on his face.

"Because it's the most heavily guarded," Don replied dryly from his seat in the corner of the stuffy van, his suit crumpled and his hair disheveled.

"Yes, and because that's where Gilbert just took Marcus. If I had a world renowned bomb expert, I know I'd want him working on it," Ian replied grimly as he scratched at his stubbled jaw distractedly. His skin was pale making the red scar down the side of his face wink painfully at Don, who was sure that Ian had gotten about the same amount of sleep as he had the night before, which would be none.

"You really think that Gilbert was that taken in by Marcus's performance with the car last night?" Logan asked Ian resentfully, apparently a few hours sleep in the back of the FBI surveillance van hadn't done anything to improve the assistant SAIC's mood from the night before when he and Ian had gotten into a massive fight over breaches of ethics, security and general safety. Don didn't think he had seen either of them so angry or Nick so frustrated.

"I just watched Gilbert give Marcus some grand animated speech before taking him inside the church, so yes I think he was very taken with Marcus's cavalier attitude to setting things alight. Don't believe me look at the photos," Ian replied quietly, his teeth gritted and tone deadly as he passed over the camera he had been carrying in a small case strapped across his strong chest.

"Not that it matters," Don told Logan bitterly as he flicked the camera on and began to scroll between the surveillance pictures Ian had gathered over the past twenty four hours to the recent ones of Marc and Gilbert outside the old church. "The signal on his watch is being jammed," Don added as Ian, Colby, Tim and Nick regarded him grimly from across the table. "Even if Marc disables the bomb, we can't hear the command for Tim's men to storm the compound and Marc probably isn't even aware that we can't hear him," Don drilled his point home.

"Tim, are you sure there is no way of sneaking into the compound to get Marcus a message about the watch? Or to disable the jammer?" Colby asked gruffly as he crossed his arms and regarded the tracing paper of guard routes intently.

"They built the compound well, it's on a slight incline and the tree line is fifty yards back from the fence. You could try at night, but during the day its suicide. Besides even at nighttime the guards patrol the fence with sniffer dogs, they would detect any break-ins and raise the alarm putting Marcus's life in jeopardy." Tim replied bleakly as he crossed his arms and considered the map again just in case. "The only way is breaching from several angles at once and taking the guards out on all sides. But while the bomb might be active and these nut job's unpredictable enough to probably use it to avoid capture…I don't advise it without first disabling the bomb."

"I need some air," Don told no one in particular as he got up and legs creaking, moved to the rear of the van.

"You go where I go remember," Nick warned Don as he made to open the back of the van and hop out. "Sit down."

"I need to call Robin, I'd prefer to do it with some privacy," Don replied scathingly, already fed up of being Nick's shadow.

"You've got five minutes and then I want you back where I can see you," Nick relented when Ian placed a strong hand on Nick's shoulder and gave him a little nod.

"Of course," Don lied as he jumped out of the back of the van and pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Robin's phone. "Hey," He greeted warmly when Robin eventually picked up.

"Hey," She whispered back, her voice low and husky. "I missed you last night," She told him quietly but firmly.

"I missed you too," He whispered back and could practically hear her smile over the line. "How is staying at Elliott's going?"

"Great, not a reporter in sight plus both he and Karen have been very welcoming," Robin assured him gently, "And Lucas is adorable." He could hear her voice break on Lucas's name and Don's heart along with it. "How is the operation going?"

"We've got a problem, the signal from the wire in Marc's watch is being jammed…has been since he entered the compound. We can't hear anything," Don informed her gravely, his uncertainty for the situation practically palpable over the line.

"Don."

"Yes."

"Do what needs to be done."

"Rob?"

"Your gut is telling you something's wrong. Listen to it. Trust it. Do whatever needs to be done."

"But I don't know what to do," Don admitted frustrated.

"You once told me you'd be whatever I need you to be. But I don't need you right now. Marc does. So be whoever Marc needs you to be. Trust your gut and finish this once and for all." Robin instructed Don firmly, her voice like granite.

"Ok."

"And Don?"

"Yes?"

"You better come home to me."

"Always," Hanging up, Don pocketed the phone and climbed back into the FBI surveillance van. "Hey, just need to go for a leak," Don informed the other agent's casually as he swiped Ian's keys from the desk without the others seeing. "Be right back." He added as he rushed from the van before Nick could stop him.

Ian's dad's jeep was just a short walk from where the FBI van was parked, and the walk felt good to Don's legs that had been dying of cramp inside the small and stuffy van.

"I hate to imagine what you could need from there," Ian told Don sharply as he made Don jump with fright, he hadn't heard Ian follow him, mind you it wouldn't have been Ian if Don had heard someone following, Ian was like a ninja that way.

"You know what I'm after," Don stated coldly as he unlocked the boot and pulled up the lining to reveal the Remington, model 700 PSS-a and M40A5 beneath.

"You're not seriously planning on breaching the compound are you?" Ian asked worriedly as Don picked up the M40A5 sniper rifle and loaded the magazine. "You heard what Tim said. It'd be suicide"

"Of course I'm not," Don shook his head scathingly. "But Marc's in there alone and unaware of it. I intend to be back up if and when Marc requires it."

"Then I'm coming with you," Ian informed Don darkly as he picked up the Remington and spare rounds before snapping the boot shut again and took the keys back off of Don. "And here, take this," Ian added as he handed over a walkie talkie for Don to use. "You take up position on the north side and I'll take up position in the south. You see anything you radio me first."

"Ok."

"Oh, and Don."

"Yes."

"If Nick asks, I didn't let you take one of my rifles; you're merely helping me with surveillance ok?"

"Ok."

"Make sure you avoid Tim's men too."

"Of course."

"Ok Good. Let's go make sure this doesn't go tits up."

*Break*

"This isn't some religious project is it?" Marc asked curiously as Gilbert ordered for the guards to pull back the thick metal bolt and open up the heavy wooden doors so that they could step inside, "Because God gave up on me years ago."

"Interesting that you say that God has given up on you but not that you have given up on him," Gilbert regarded Marc with interest before taking hold of Marc's elbow once more, steering him down what had once been the central isle. "Don't worry, God doesn't factor into my plans. It is true that this was once a church but now it is just a building, a factory for my designs."

"Design's you intend for me to build?" Marcus enquired matter of fact, determined not to appear too keen. Gilbert had to be taking him to the bomb!

"Very astute of you, but no. I already have my architect. I just want you to help him finish it," Gilbert explained as they approached a large work station where the alter should have been. The table top was littered with components and tools and in the center of all the chaos sat the bomb.

"May I?" Marc asked a little breathlessly as Gilbert let go of his arm and watched gleefully from the sidelines as Marc approach the bench. "Wow," Marc whispered appreciatively. The bomb was exquisite; it was almost a shame he would have to sabotage it and worryingly he was a little saddened by the prospect. Gilbert had spared no expense. All the components were state of the art and the skill in which the bomb had been assembled was a masterpiece in itself. He could only imagine the explosion it would produce if he failed. Making it all the more imperative that he didn't fail!

"What do you think?" Gilbert asked keenly as he stepped up beside Marc and gave the bomb a little stroke.

"It's beautiful," Marc answered truthfully. "Where do you intend to use it?"

"I have a target in mind. That is all you need to know for now."

"The power of this thing could take out a whole block," Marc whispered impressed. "The grade and quality of the materials…is military. How did you get your hands on it?"

"Don't touch that," A voice warned sharply from behind, stopping Marc's hand inches from the bomb.

"Ah John," Gilbert grinned at Marc who flinched from the wattage of his smile. "This is former ATF agent and ex-marine Marcus Denam. Marcus, this is Lieutenant Colonel John Atwater."

"Ah, I was sorry to hear about the accident," John remarked sadly as he moved around the table where a soldering iron was resting precariously close to the edge.

"You heard about that? I'm sorry have we met before?" Marc asked confused as he took in the drawn and pale complexion of the man opposite him. He looked like he might have been handsome once, the boy next door and all-star high school quarterback but the man Marc saw now was a shadow of what he had been in his personnel file, proving Marc's previous statement to never trust what's in those files.

"No but your reputation precedes you," John explained sluggishly, his speech a little slow to come. "In the marines and in the ATF. You could say you are a legend in some circles." John added as he scratched distractedly at the side of his head. It took Marc a moment to realize that LTC Atwater was missing an ear, he probably couldn't hear out of the ear which was why he always looked at Mark side on like a bird. The missing ear definitely hadn't been in the file, making Marc wonder if the Lieutenant Colonel might have had his own stint in the CIA. A section that Marc knew was definitely missing from his own file…did Atwater know though? Was that what he had meant by certain circles?

"As does yours," Marc tilted his head a fraction with respect, a manner that Atwater copied. "This bomb is exquisite."

"Yes…" John agreed slowly, his eyes flicking hesitantly to Gilbert who was regarding the pair with quiet interest. "…It is."

"How long until it is finished?" Gilbert asked a little impatiently. Marc got the impression it wasn't the first time he'd asked. Was Atwater stalling?

"You can't rush perfection," John whispered quietly. His voice shaky, but his hands steady as he picked up the hot soldering iron and sat down.

"I'm not asking for perfection, just big. You have till tonight to finish it."

"Impossible!" John shouted outraged. Like any artist, Marc could see that John was determined not to be rushed.

"Marcus will help you," Gilbert pointed at Mark, his anger at being shouted at by John dancing dangerously in his eyes. "So no more excuses. Just get it done." And with that last warning, Gilbert turned around and stalked out, leaving Marc and Atwater alone together.

"If you're going to help, you had better pull up a chair," John gestured to the stool Marc hadn't noticed earlier, he had been too distracted by the bomb.

"Oh I'm not here to help with the bomb," Marc told John carefully, making sure to keep his voice low incase Gilbert was to suddenly come back.

"What do you mean?" Atwater looked up sharply, regarding Marc with his curious bird like glare.

"I'm still with the ATF and I'm here to help get you out!"

"You mean your undercover?" John replied carefully, his own beady eyes searching the darkness at the front of the church for signs of Gilbert or the guards.

"Exactly. There is an FBI Surveillance and SWAT team outside the compound waiting on my signal to storm the place, all we need to do is disable the bomb and then we'll get you back to your family," Marc explained reassuringly as he reached to pick up a pair of wire cutters and was surprised by the sound of a gun cocking.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," John replied sadly as he held the gun level with Marc's chest. "I had a feeling you couldn't be trusted. I have heard of you. There are stories and legends of your skill, your bravery your unwavering loyalty to the agency. Stories that could fill whole tomes. My gut told me that someone like you couldn't be turned even after being burnt to a cinder and then stuck on a desk for a year. I only questioned it because I couldn't believe that the agency would be so stupid as to let a cripple go into the field. But as you say you are working with the FBI, so…now I understand. GUARDS!"

"You're not a hostage are you?" Marc replied matter of fact, though it came out like a question.

"Unlike my predecessor? No. I stole the explosives and came all on my own."

"Do you plan to blow yourself up all on your own as well?"

"Now that you're here? I think other arrangements can be made," John smiled, but it came across as more of a grimace. "I do feel for you agent Denam, I really do." John added quietly as the two guards that had been on the door came rushing down the center isle and grabbed an arm each, making Marc drop his cane. "As I said, I really did admire you."

"And I you," Marc shrugged, trying not to look too perturbed, the FBI were listening in after all. Sure he hadn't disabled the bomb but there would be an extraction team any second…any second now…

"They aren't coming," Atwater smiled a watery smile, reading Marc's mind. "We have a signal jammer. The FBI can hear and have heard nothing since you arrived. They might be out there. But they aren't coming for you. Take him back to his room and sit on the door. Ethan will want to speak with him," John continued, the last being an order for the guards, who carried out their task with surprising roughness.

*Break*

Keeping his eye pressed firmly against the scope of the rifle, Don watched heart in mouth as the guards he'd seen rush inside only moments before reappeared dragging Marcus along behind them. Don couldn't hear what they were saying due to the signal jammer but he could tell from the look on the guards faces that it wasn't anything good.

"Ian, you seeing this?" Don whispered quietly into the walkie-talkie that he had clipped to his shirt collar before getting into prone position on a small slope north of the compound.

"They're just coming into view now," Ian reported back as Marcus and the guards slipped around the corner of a large building block and from Don's view. "They're taking him back to the room they kept him in last night. Whatever it is, the guards don't look happy," Ian remarked in a cold and detached manner that Don had come to recognize as Ian's way of covering for the fact that deep down he was shitting bricks and that filled Don's heart with more dread than if Ian had just said that the news wasn't good. If the news hadn't been good then Ian would have had a plan…but Ian wasn't offering one and Don could feel Ian's uncertainty as coldly as the rifle pressing hard against his numb cheek.

"His cover is blown isn't it," Don whispered fiercely, harsher than he'd intended, before letting out a loud grown and a string of curses.

"We don't know that," Ian cut across Don but neither one really believed that the scenario was any different.

"He didn't have his cane," Don replied firmly, dismissing Ian and dashing any lingering hope. "It was our code before he went in. If he was in trouble he would drop the cane."

"How do you know if he dropped it or not. We can't know for sure certain that is what he's trying to tell us."

"I'm telling you Ian, Marcus is in trouble and we need to warn the others. If his cover is blown then we're most likely blown too. Tim needs to pull his men back immediately."

"Gilbert's coming," Ian whispered suddenly, silencing Don as a note of panic finally entered Ian's voice. "He's armed."

"Do you have a shot?"

"No. He's gone inside."

"Quick, back to the van. We need to tell the others. Marc needs extracting and he needs extracting now."

"See you back there," Ian agreed as Don quickly got up and ran back into the bushes to the FBI van, hoping they weren't already too late.

*Break*

"It would appear that rumors of your quitting are greatly exaggerated," Gilbert stated quietly with an anger Marc was familiar seeing whenever he looked in a mirror; a pinch of frustration, a table spoon of resentment and a dose of righteous indignation. Marc knew the recipe well, it was a crutch he had used often and since the explosion it was all he'd had left, so it was quite easy for him to recognize it in Gilbert now, who seemed to be breathing fire the anger was burning him so hotly. "My men were uncomfortable with having you here," Gilbert continued from where he was sat opposite Marc, who sat stripped and duck taped to a wooden chair. "When they saw you were ATF they told me you were a spy, a demon, a snake in the grass! I admit I had my doubts but as I was being STICHED UP I reminded them and myself that you saved my life. Your colleague's handy work I presume?"

Smiling, Marc rolled his head forwards and spat blood at Gilbert who was standing now and jumped back a little in surprise before rushing forwards and slamming Marcus in the chest with the palm of his hand. Satisfied, Gilbert smirked down at Marcus as the chair buckled under the force of Gilbert's punch and toppled backwards. "I was offering you redemption! I was offering you forgiveness for your blind and unfaithful ways!" Gilbert shouted in Marc's face as he knelt down and pulling Marc up by the throat twisted the chair so that Marcus's head lay cradled between Gilbert's bent knee and chest as he stroked tenderly at Marcus's head.

"Together we were going to save them all! I was giving you that!" Gilbert ranted, pulling the chair with him as he stood; righting Marcus once more but Marc was finding it harder to follow the conversation after the blow to his head as it had snapped back against the ground. It had merely been a love tap compared to some of the blows his head had suffered over the years and yet it had apparently been hard enough to scramble his senses. Shaking his head Marcus did his best to look up and focus on the mad man in front of him.

"What? You quote some line from batman and I was seriously supposed to fall at your feet in worship?" Marcus rasped, it was the first thing he'd said since his cover had been blown and whilst he'd told himself to say silent he couldn't help but let out this one mocking jibe.

"You aren't afraid are you?" Gilbert smiled at Marcus with a mixture of fondness and hate. "Your cover is blown, your friend's covers are blown and yet you're calm…" Gilbert rambled, more to himself than to Marc who wasn't really listening as he was busy being distracted by a flash of silver that passed between the broken nosed Carlos and Gilbert. "You know I heard once that it's impossible to scare a person who thinks that he will profit from dying and who would have a better death wish than the great Marcus Denam?"

Pressing the cold steel against the soft patch of flesh just below Marc's right ear, Gilbert applied pressure to the blade till the smallest trickle of blood bubbled up from under Marcus's skin and ran down the strong, hard contours of Marc's bare shoulder and chest. Whilst the cut stung, Marc held back the moan of pain, depriving Gilbert the satisfaction of his scream. This wasn't his first time being tortured and Gilbert's armature dramatics certainly weren't enough to scare him. Even if, as Gilbert said, he didn't have a death wish.

"As much as I would love to slit your throat right now, I won't," Gilbert whispered against Marcus's ear as he pulled Marc's head back by his short cropped hair and moved behind him sliding the blade through a thin layer of skin so that it rested squarely against the soft exposed skin of Marc's throat. "John gave me a better idea. Just tell me first…the car blowing up…the knife cut…that was you and your friend right? The plan was to stop him with the knife…and I was supposed to be grateful. You weren't supposed to blow up the car or stick me with a knife right?"

"Maybe we just like watching the world burn," Marc grunted pissed as he tried to breath slowly enough that the rise and fall didn't press his throat tighter against the razor sharp edge of the blade.

"Or maybe it's because I made it personal?" Gilbert guessed as he removed the knife from Marc's throat and came back round to look Marc in the eye. "That Lawyer, the one that survived?" Gilbert guessed and laughed as he must have read some form of admission on Marc's tired and beaten up face. He had a split lip and puffy black eye that hurt like a bitch, Carlos's retribution for Marc breaking his nose that morning. "Yes the lawyer. She means something to you."

"Haven't you already done enough to her?" Marc hissed, unable to keep the note of fear from his voice.

"I've only just begun!" Gilbert snapped angrily. "I had no beef with her, in war there are always casualties. I admired her strength to survive. She was baptized in the explosion. The fire marked her as it marked you and God found her worthy to live." Gilbert posed quietly, a note of admiration in his tone till he turned his hateful eyes to Marc once more. "But now that I know she means something to you," He whispered, his face inches from Marc's distorted one, "I'm going to make her a casualty of our own personal war. This blade. It's your friends from the other night. I'm going to use it to slit her throat, but not until I'm sure I've taken everything I can from her. I would have loved for you to be there…alas you'll be carrying a bomb into the FBI for me. Not my original target. But once I have destroyed you and your friends there will plenty of time to baptize the rest."

"You'll never find her, they have her in a safe house," Marc forced his tired face to smile victoriously, but it was short lived as Gilbert gave a victorious smile of his own.

"I've already found her," Gilbert smirked as he wiped the blade on Marc's chest smearing the blood across Marc's skin. "I've been watching her since she left the hospital…you know, keeping my options open if I did decide to kill her after all. My man saw her sneak out of there with that detective and now, I might kill that sweet little family as well because as I've said, in war there are always casualties. I'll let her watch me slit the child's throat first and the cop will definitely have to die, that's a given…I'll make her watch it all and when she asks me why? I'll give her your love because you do love her don't you Marc. She's married to your friend but that doesn't stop you getting hard when you see her. Yes…yes I'm going to regret not having you there to watch."

"Don't."

"What?"

"I'll carry the bomb into the FBI; just promise me you won't touch her!"

"Oh you'll be carrying that bomb!"

"Please. It'll be easier for you if I don't resist right? Spare her and I won't resist."

"Ok. But I'll be waiting outside. Double cross me and they're all DEAD! I won't spare any of them and I'll make sure she knows what real pain is. I'll make it hurt so bad she'll be begging for me to end it all for her."

"I won't double cross you."

"Funny…how scared you are right now. That's the thing about men who think they'll profit from dying. There's normally someone they love that they will gladly blow themselves up for! Carlos and John will get you ready. I have a cute little bungalow in the suburbs to visit. Oh and I'll be taking the watch. Don't want you warning your friends as soon as you are far enough away from the signal jammer. Goodbye Marc. I'll regret not being there to see you be baptized." And before Marc could say anymore, Gilbert was gone.

*Break*

"And I am telling you that his cover is blown!" Don shouted frustrated as Ian sat silently to one side, observing them all.

"And I'm telling you there is no way to know for sure," Nick moaned, he was fed up but mostly worried and Don going on wasn't helping the growing pounding at the base of his skull. "Who gave you a rifle?"

"It's true," Tim reported to Nick as he wrenched back the van door, interrupting them before Don could reply and slid inside. Pointing down at the map on the table he added, "They're holding him here and as far as we can tell, he's still inside. No shots have been reported but…the walls look pretty thick, paranoid man like Gilbert could have had them soundproofed. For now, we're assuming he's still alive. Unfortunately we aren't close enough to try checking for heat signals, besides the constant coming and going…it'd be impossible to guess which would be his or how many there were to begin with."

"So what you are saying is that we have no eyes or ears on the bomb, or our agent…hmm if only someone had tried to tell us what a dumbassed plan this was…oh yeah I did tell you," Logan stated snidely as the others frowned unhappily at the situation before them.

"Actually I believe you called the plan to get him undercover dumbassed, not the plan to put him undercover and for the record the plan to get him undercover worked so how about you shut up unless you actually have a valid comment to make," Ian growled annoyed. "Now…there is no question that Marc's cover is blown. The armed escort, the rough handling and the lack of cane says as much. As for alive, I recon they'd want to question him first and that will be like getting blood from a stone. Guys like Marc are trained to withstand torture. Our best bet is waiting for dark and then taking the compound by force. I believe it is unlikely Gilbert would blow himself up as he's too much of an egotistical prick. Besides, at this point we really don't have much to lose. At least out here if the bomb goes off it's in a deserted location, there are no civilians around for miles. Marc or no Marc…we can't let that bomb leave the compound. He would want it that way."

"Really? He'd want us to leave him there? Who knows what they're doing to him. We need to go in now!" Don shouted angrily again, not believing what he was hearing, or seeing. How could Ian be so calm…how could he really be suggesting that they leave Marc in there when he was most likely being tortured!

"We'll breach at sundown," Nick commanded solemnly, over riding Don's protest with a firm no.

"This is bullshit!" Don fumed as he jumped to his feet and stormed out of the van, his breathing uneven and his hands shaking as he stalked off in the direction of the compound.

"I hate to imagine what manner of stupid plans are going through your head right now but you can't do it ok…you can't," Ian shouted after Don, making him stop and turn quickly around, spinning so fast he almost lost his balance.

"What I plan on doing is my job," Don hissed back furiously.

"Your job," Ian laughed as he stalked over to Don so that there were only a couple of inches separating them. "Is to protect the people of LA against another attack. Not going halfcocked into a fucking death trap!" Ian scolded angrily, his face going red with fury.

"I won't leave him in there to die. They'll kill him Ian! The second we breach tonight, they'll kill him!"

"And I won't let you go in there to die!" Ian shouted back furiously as he seized both of Don's shoulders and gave him a little shake. It was one of the few times Don had seen Ian lose control.

"I won't die," Don smiled assuredly as he shook off Ian's hold on his shoulders. "Because I'll have the number two shot in America covering my ass!"

"It's suicide."

"It's my decision. I'm going in."

"For fucks sake Don! See reason!"

"IAN!" Tim shouted worriedly as he stormed over like someone had lit a fire under him. "Two SUV's just pulled out of the compound…" He puffed as he fought to regain his breath from the run and tell the news at the same time. "One of my boys just radioed it in."

"Do we have plate numbers?" Don asked quickly as he turned from Ian to face Tim. "Are we tracking them?"

"We weren't ready…Don…Ian…they're tightening security at the compound…I think the bomb was in one of the SUV's…"

"They're only five minutes ahead…we'll take my jeep and try to catch up with them. Tim go back to the van and call Matt Li. I want him searching traffic cams for those SUV's now!"

"Ok," Tim nodded to Ian before making an about turn and running back to the van, cell phone in hand.

"Ian…I…"

"Come on, there's not time. We'll kiss and make up later," Ian stopped Don, all business as he turned around and made off through the thick foliage to his father's jeep, his rifle tapping gently at his back as he moved quickly but quietly.

"Do you think Marc's dead?" Don asked softly as they climbed inside the jeep and Ian made a quick three point turn to face the way back towards the main road.

"I don't know," Ian whispered sadly. "That's for Nick and Tim to find out. We just need to stop that bomb."

"His chances aren't high though are they?"

"The bomb is on the road…it's mobile and it's headed for its target…that's all I can focus on right now." Ian replied quietly as both he and Don lapsed into an awkward tense silence that deafened the jeep's small cabin as they chased, some would say fruitlessly, after the bomb.