Part 51

Maria shook her head when she realized that she had been scanning through the news channels in hopes of seeing something, anything that would give her some small piece of information about Michael and Stone. She knew from his previous missions that there would be no news coverage for the types of missions they dealt with but she couldn't help it.

The feeling that something was wrong had started the night before and at first she had blamed it on her worrying more than usual in response to his cagey behavior before leaving. She hadn't been able to sleep or focus on anything on television so she had started cleaning like crazy. Now the house was spotless, the laundry was all finished, and she still couldn't shake that feeling.

She needed to do something to keep her mind occupied, she thought, glancing at the clock. She wasn't scheduled to work that night but maybe Gabriel could use an extra pair of hands. She turned the television off and hurried into the kitchen to grab the keys to the truck, her cell phone, and her bag before pulling the door closed behind her as she stepped down into the garage.

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Gabriel was surprised to see Maria when she stepped into the bar; she wasn't on the schedule for that night and she never came in without Guerin when she wasn't on the clock.

"What can I get for you, Maria?"

"Need any help tonight?"

He shook his head at her hopeful tone and grabbed a bottle of the beer she and Guerin both favored as he stepped out from behind the bar and led her to a secluded table. He sat down with her, watching her as she picked at the label; dark circles under her eyes, the nervous, edgy movements of her hands… she hadn't been sleeping and he knew why.

"I haven't heard anything, Maria."

"Would you tell me if you had?" she asked sharply.

This was the problem with getting involved with a civilian, he thought and sighed. "You've been with Guerin long enough to know how it works."

"The way it works sucks." She took a drink from the bottle in her hand as she looked at him.

He didn't bother arguing with her because he knew it was an argument he wouldn't win. As a civilian it would suck; not knowing where your loved one was, what they were doing, if they were safe, or if they were even alive. As an agent you just accepted those things because it could very well mean the difference between life and death. It wasn't a career that saw very many successful relationships and he would never be able to explain it in a way that she could understand it.

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Michael paused for a brief rest as the sun climbed higher in the sky and the oppressive jungle heat became more intolerable. He hadn't been able to use the path they had carved out the day before because rebels had been crawling all over the place before the sun had made it over the horizon. He was following the river, knowing that it would eventually lead him back to the general vicinity of the pick up point but he was running short on time.

It had taken hours before he had been able to begin the trek that would take him out of the jungle and even then it had been a painstakingly slow process because of the sheer number of rebels he had been working to evade. Getting captured wasn't an option and unfortunately he was conscious of every second ticking by and eating away at what little time remained before he missed his chance to get out of the hell-hole he was stuck in.

If he missed the rendezvous at the pick up point he would have no choice but to make his way to the small farm hidden back in the jungle that Stone had told him about during their flight. It belonged to her most trusted informant in the region and he knew the man had radio equipment that would be able to connect him to Xavier or Marcos. He wouldn't risk making contact with the man temporarily covering Xavier's post because he didn't trust him.

He took a couple sips of water from his canteen before returning it to the clip on his belt. He was crouched down under thick cover as he scanned the area and tried to determine his next course of action. He was almost positive that the rebels were no longer tracking the correct trail; he had been careful to lay down a false trail in several different places, hoping it would buy him the time he needed to get away.

He had his suspicions that the mission had been nothing more than a setup to take Stone out. The bridge had been destroyed by explosives and it had put them on the wrong side of the clock, landmines had been placed at the only vantage point on the ridge, the sniper had hit the binoculars and missed him, and Stone had been hit with a shot that could've only come from a sniper's rifle. It was a revenge shot; a wound inflicted with the intention of making the target suffer as they died a slow, painful death. If it had just been about taking them out a bullet through the head or the heart would've been the quickest, most efficient kill. This was personal. Whoever had ordered the hit had a personal stake in her death.

Michael turned his head to glance down at the body bag he had placed Stone in the night before and he squeezed his eyes shut at the memory. He would keep his promise to her; she would be buried next to Azrael and he would make sure her death was avenged. He sighed as he lifted the bag up and hefted it over his left shoulder, forcing down the nausea when he felt the slick slide of exposed intestines shifting inside the bag.

He had three hours before he would miss his ride home but he was fighting exhaustion, the humid heat of the jungle, and both the physical and emotional weight of carrying his friend's lifeless body as he cut a new path through the dense blanket of greenery that surrounded him. He wanted to go home, he realized. Home to the woman who fussed over him, who worried about him when he was away on missions, and who tried to put on a brave face despite that fear.

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Maria worked the next night, but being surrounded by so many people who were in the same business as Michael didn't help. She was unusually quiet as she saw to her customers' needs, filled orders, and listened hard for any tiny bit of information that any of them might have about the mission Michael was on.

It was after three in the morning when she left with the rest of the waitresses, but as they all made their way to their cars she walked away from the parking lot and down the street towards St. Vincent's Cathedral. She pushed the heavy wooden door open and entered the peaceful sanctuary, seeking some small measure of the comfort offered within.

She sat in one of the wooden pews, hands on the high back of the one in front of her as she leaned forward to rest her forehead on her hands. She hadn't been able to sleep since Michael had left; any sleep she did get was sporadic and riddled with nightmares where she relived her Michael's death and saw the Michael of this universe die in a multitude of horrific ways.

The first day she hadn't been able to stop thinking about the fact that he and Stone were together on this mission, but before long she had realized that as concerned as he had been about the limited time they had been given she had no reason to be worried about them having sex. There were more important things to worry about, like why she couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

She never noticed Raphael as he silently slipped into the back of the cathedral and moved along the back wall to take a seat in the darkest corner. The lethal ex-agent settled in to watch over his charge, his behavior mimicking that of the guardian archangel he was named for. It wasn't the first time he had followed her when she had gone to the old church and he doubted it would be the last, but no one would ever know about it.

Well, almost no one, he thought, looking up when Father Augustine entered from a side room, quietly closing a door behind himself. His sleep had most likely been disturbed by the sound of Maria coming through the creaky doors; his white hair stuck up in little tufts and his face was creased where it had been pressed into a pillow. The kind blue eyes lifted for just a moment to pinpoint Raphael's position, but he did nothing to give away the man's presence as he moved to join Maria.

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Michael wiped the side of his wrist across his forehead to remove the sweat that had collected there. He wasn't exactly in a position to avoid the incessant swarm of mosquitoes that were everywhere and he just hoped that between the inoculations he'd been given for every known jungle illness and his alien immune system that he wouldn't contract malaria or something worse.

Damn bloodthirsty insects could smell the blood and there was no way for him to get rid of the heavy scent of death. He forced himself to keep moving, to keep putting one foot in front of the other and to keep his mind focused on his mission; he had missed the rendezvous with the chopper so he had changed course to make it to the farm where Stone's contact would be waiting.

Dusk was falling as he stepped into the clearing that surrounded the little ramshackle farmhouse and he had taken less than half a dozen steps when he heard the unmistakable sound of a hammer being pulled back on a gun.

"Hey, the sign says no trespassing, Gringo."

Michael carefully sheathed the machete, keeping his movements slow as he held his right arm up and turned around. Stone hadn't told him what to expect if he ever met Pablo Perez and he frowned as he looked at the man watching him. The accent was right, but he just didn't fit the scene.

"You got a problem, Gringo?"

Stone had always had a twisted sense of humor, he thought as his gaze moved over the man. He obviously wasn't a native of the country; the man was an American, black, and he couldn't have been more than four and a half feet tall. He was slim and wore camouflage fatigue pants, a tie-dye tee shirt, and a boonie… he looked like a lunatic.

"You Perez?"

The small man grinned, showing off several gold-capped front teeth and he lowered the gun a fraction of an inch.

"You must be one of Stone's mates," he said, switching accents again. His expression sobered as his gaze slid over the body bag the stranger carried so carefully and he shook his head in denial.

"Stone said you had radio equipment; I need to contact my people."

"Motherfucker!" Perez exploded as he hurried around to unzip the bag to verify with his own eyes what he already knew from the taller man's eyes. He pulled a small crucifix out of his shirt and lifted it to his lips, kissing it before crossing himself and closing the bag up once more. "C'mon, I've got cold storage below the house; you can leave her there while you contact your people. It'll take Xavier a few hours to get a new pick up scheduled, so you can clean up and then tell me what happened."

Michael paused. "You know Xavier?"

"I was a mercenary for a few years, arms dealer for another few, and now I deal primarily in information." He led the way inside and showed the agent where to leave the body. "You wonderin' why I live here?" he asked when he saw the man looking over the cache of weapons stored in every possible inch of space.

"Merc to gunrunner to informant?" He shook his head as his gaze raked over the man. "Most of the locals probably think you're loco the way you switch accents and dress like a cross between a hippie and a soldier. You live here because no one wants to fuck with a lunatic who lives in the jungle and stockpiles weapons."

"You must be Guerin." He held his hand out and the taller man shook it. "You're one of the few people she ever spoke highly of." He nodded to a tiny room to the left of the cellar door. "Radio's in there, bathroom's next room down if you wanna clean up." He took a step back and left the man to take care of his business.

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Maria's gaze strayed to the clock again despite her best intentions; the 48-hour deadline that Michael had been so concerned about had come and gone hours ago and she still hadn't heard anything. She didn't really expect to hear anything, but she had hoped he would have the decency to call when his plane landed. It was easier to think that he was just being thoughtless instead of thinking that he was lying dead somewhere but her mind always came back to that possibility.

What if his plane had landed without him? What if he was trapped…? She didn't even know where he had been sent. All she knew was that wherever he had gone there were rebels who would be more than happy to get their hands on a couple of American agents. He had been vocal about his dislike of the time constraint that he and Stone were going to be working under and she had no idea what would happen if they missed their pick up. Would the Company really leave them down there to die? Would they deny knowledge of their own agents being in another country? Surely they would mount a rescue if their own agents didn't make it back!

She sighed and stared at the clock. No, she knew there would be no rescue attempt and the agents knew that… they understood and accepted it. She still couldn't wrap her mind around that mentality no matter how hard she tried to. A buzzing sound infiltrated her thoughts and she looked around trying to locate the source, realizing after several moments that it was her phone. She ran across the room and snatched it up, flipping it open and lifting it up to her ear.

"Michael?" Static crackled from the other end of the connection and her heart started to pound. "Michael, is that you?" she cried into the mouthpiece.

"…reception fuckin' sucks," he growled.

Most of his greeting was lost in the static and about the only thing she understood was the profane ending; it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard. "Oh, my God, you're coming home!"

30,000 feet above the ground Michael rested his forehead on the closed door to the lavatory as her relieved voice washed over him. "I'm comin' home," he agreed and for the first time in his life those words actually held meaning.

"When will you be here? Are you okay? Are you hungry?" She was relieved, scared, nervous, and so thankful to hear his voice that she couldn't stop the questions from pouring out of her mouth. "I'm sorry, I know you don't want me to - "

"Maria?"

She froze when his quiet voice cut through her ramblings. "Yes, Michael?"

"Can you come pick me up? My flight'll land in about an hour at a private airstrip…"

She swallowed hard when she heard the fatigue in his voice, but it was the underlying hint of something else that set off warning bells in her head. "Just tell me where to go."

Michael gave her the directions and then told her he had to go because the reception was only getting worse. He sighed as he disconnected the call, not even certain how many hours or days he had been away from home now. As soon as he had made contact with Xavier's office he had been patched through to the old man and quickly given him a brief report.

The old man hadn't wasted any time in getting another chopper lined up and he had been waiting on the private jet that had picked Michael up for the flight home. Xavier had debriefed him personally and they had spent hours upon hours going over every second of the mission until Michael had felt like screaming. It was all part of the post-mission protocol, but for the first time he had been in a position where he wished he could forget everything that had happened.

He unlocked the door and stepped out of the lavatory, walking the short distance to the cabin where the plush leather seats were waiting. The old man had pulled out all the stops for this trip, Michael thought as he sank into one of the chairs. Usually they caught a ride on a military transport; they rarely had the opportunity to travel in such luxury. He looked up when he heard the nearly silent footsteps belonging to the man that controlled the entire Company.

Xavier Coulson's age was unknown though most who knew him speculated that he had to be in his early to mid 50's. He was of average height with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, his face rarely expressed emotion and his eyes were filled with intelligence. He had no tolerance for mistakes in the field because mistakes meant more paperwork, risk to his agents and feathers for him to smooth over and if there was one thing Xavier hated it was the political bullshit that went along with his position.

He moved with purpose as his short legs carried him down the aisle and he sat down in the seat across from Michael. His assessing gaze slid over one of his top field operatives and he knew the man was going to need time off. It wasn't just a mission that had gone south; it was a mission that should never have been undertaken by his people and it was a mistake that would not be repeated. The man who had been covering for him while he was in Washington briefing the President had been dealt with. His mistake had cost the Company an operative who had always been dedicated, loyal, and carried out her missions without question. Xavier was a man who believed that justice should be swift, and in this case the sword of justice had not only been swift, but lethal as well.

"Do I need to make arrangements to get you home once the plane lands?"

"It's covered," Michael answered shortly.

He nodded. Guerin was a man of few words and Xavier could appreciate that quality in his operatives. "We will find out who sanctioned the hit on Stone and the appropriate action will be taken," he assured the younger man.

"And the asshole who sent us into this bullshit mess?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Xavier's cold eyes met Michael's angry gaze. "Will never fuck up the intelligence for another mission; his actions were rash and ill-thought out, but it's a mistake he will never make again."

Michael nodded. "Stone's last request was to be buried next to Azrael."

Azrael. Xavier shook his head. The name brought back memories, some good and some bad. It was only fair that Stone be buried next to him. They had been quite unique in this secret world they lived in. A couple of operatives who had managed to make it work. Sadness threatened to overtake him and Xavier took a sip from the glass of whiskey he had taken before sitting down to talk to Michael. "Stone was a faithful operative and her request will be honored." He glanced at the man sitting across from him as he stood to go back to the cockpit to talk with the pilot. "Get some rest, Guerin; I rarely say it, but you deserve it."

Michael didn't even acknowledge the old man, simply turned his head to look out at the blue sky visible through the window. He felt like he had been dragged all over the world in the past few days and had been fighting like hell to keep himself under control. He wanted it all to be over; the mission, Stone's death, her funeral, that nagging pain in his chest that had started the minute she had stopped breathing, and the feeling that he had let her down. He wanted it to all go away, to stop spinning in a kaleidoscope of shades of gray, and most of all he wanted to stop seeing her death every time he closed his eyes.