The sun is high in the sky by the time they reach the small settlement that lies at the foot of the mountain they must attempt to breach. They all know what that means; from now on, the real danger begins. Steve carefully peruses the decrepit market stalls, hands twitching in search of danger, but he can't be bothered to put on gloves for a better grip on his gun. He has a sense of urgency within him, but can't quite pinpoint why, just the feeling compelling him to move quickly. The few men seen about, heads wrapped in their traditional earth-coloured turbans, eye the party with expectable distrust that turns to surprise as Steve walks past them, but make no attempt to engage him, in order to sell their meagre wares. He keeps moving until he exits the gathering of wooden stalls, and suddenly, a small row of stone huts appears, tucked into the mountain.
Looking up, an enormously inhospitable and barren mountain range towers over them, peaks as far as the eye can see still blanketed in feet of whiter-than-white, cold snow that stubbornly refuses to melt, now disguised by ominous clouds that taint the sky a dark grey. Expectantly, the temperature is also dropping accordingly. Flickering lights glow from inside the huts, as desultory as the now partially covered stalls from the makeshift market, day traders packing up their wares and makeshift tents and visitors making their hasty way home after the arrival of the Americans.
The Navy SEALS walk past him, aware of the dangerous nature of his contemplative state and he breaks out of his reverie, looking back for his team. A slight pang of guilt assaults him at the thought of having brought Danny on this mission; in fact, of having brought all of them, but they wouldn't have had it any other way and he's too tired to argue. He just wants this nightmare to be over and finally find out if Catherine is here.
Following the Elder's instructions, they manage to find the entrance to Infidel's Pass tucked away behind the only imposing stone building around and get back on their military vehicle to drive through it. Half an hour of driving later, and suitably impressed by the resourcefulness of the Taliban in having managed to carve out a passage through the hard rock, they reach the other side.
The landscape is sparse, reminding him of the Hindu Kush and the field extends as far as the eye can see, peppered with tall, willowy grass flowing in the wind, bending to its frivolous will. Steve's taken slightly aback, disheartened by how insurmountable it feels, not because of its length, but of its purpose. They have no idea where to go, having only been given the broadest of directions by the Elder in the village. He fidgets, annoyed, aware of the critical importance of this mission and turns to the SEAL team to strategise a course of action, before they return to the vehicle. Steve sits next to Danny, in the back and they both look nervously at each other. Steve's the one to break the silence.
"You know, my father once told me something that was so right… I knew it, of course, but I never thought that I would remember his words in this situation."
"What?" Danny asks, genuinely curious.
"That we both had a bad habit of picking women who really didn't need protecting. And now, ironically, I'm stuck with both of them."
"Well, at least one has surfaced, so you only need to worry about the other, right?"
"Yeah, some small consolation, Danny…"
"I know, but hey," he says, turning the corners of his mouth upwards. "We WILL find her. You know that, right?"
"Danny, I…" and he looks so defeated, so tired, so broken… Danny's heart breaks for him. At this point, he refuses to give in to despair.
"No, Steve, NO. We will find Catherine; we'll bring her back. Even if the stubborn woman still decides to go back to working for the CIA after this."
"You really hate that she did it, don't you?"
"Yes, and I won't make any apologies for it. She broke your heart without so much as an explanation. It was cruel."
"I'm a big boy, Danny."
"And yet… I was the one left to pick up the pieces. Funny that, huh?"
Steve looks to the floor, properly chastised. "Sorry."
"What are you apologizing for? She was the one who left, not you!"
"Danny…" Steve says, turning a glare on him. "You know very well that it wasn't all her fault. I was never there, always running after the next crisis. She was right to go."
"Since when?"
"Since I realised that I dedicate myself to everything in my life with 110% effort and Cath… well, I took her for granted. I thought she'd always be there. I was complacent."
"It's not like she didn't want adventure or whatever she gets out of the CIA in her life, too!"
"Yeah, Danno… but how much of that need for adventure was a mere compensation for not being able to truly, fully have what she really wanted?"
"What, you?"
"A life with the man she loved, Danny. Something so simple… and yet, so complex. So unattainable for complicated, complex people like us. Who don't know when to stop. How to stop. Listen. And smell the roses. Consider that we are not an island, we are not alone, we do want that other person by our side. We want to just… relax and enjoy each other's company. Make plans. For the future. Together, and stick to them. Simple. But powerful."
Danny's lost for words; if Steve's level of introspection about his life and failings has reached this level… wow. He never thought he'd hear such considerations, such mea culpas!
Before he can formulate a reply, though, they're alerted to a smallish construction in the distance. From the outside, it looks odd - not a building made of bricks and mortar, rather a haphazardly put together baked mud and stone single-story dwelling, very well disguised in the rugged landscape. They approach with care, expecting lookouts and defensive attacks, but the building appears to be unmanned. No guards, no Taliban, not a living soul, the place feels deserted. Steve's uneasiness grows but something compels him to keep moving, as though he must enter its secret underbelly and extract all its secrets.
The teams exit the vehicle and assume defensive and breaching positions. Adrenaline pumping in his veins, Steve crouches, trying to not be seen - courtesy of his training, ingrained in him like a second skin, when he hears a familiar voice warring with his very loud, all-over-the-place thoughts.
"We're dead men walking if we stay put, Steve. We need to keep moving and get to shelter, fast."
Thinking ironically that any "shelter" they may find may turn out to be nothing of the kind, here, he mutters back a 'rushing is why the fly came out without bones' at Danny, as they slowly follow the SEAL team inside.
The building is far larger that it seemed to be, at first, and deceptively unguarded. It takes them about half an hour of heavy fighting to kill and subdue the sizeable numbers of insurgents guarding the compound. Steve and Danny follow the SEAL team further inside, through a long corridor, peppered with rooms, right and left, some with their doors open, others now closed. Despite the heat, condensation beads on the walls and drips ever downward with a steady plink, making puddles on the floor. Halfway through to a large, heavy door at the end, the SEALS have two men - who appear to be peasants, rather than hardened, fanatical Taliban - in handcuffs and kneeling on an old, dirty mattress that litters the floor.
After being interrogated by a very short-tempered Steve, with the help of a SEAL who happens to speak the local dialect, the men admit to working in the compound's kitchens and profess to not knowing anything about the daily operations the Taliban carried there. Steve hardens his stance, hoping to scare them into coughing up all they know, but they cower in fear and clam up.
The large wooden door leads them to another open courtyard, ('what a surprise!', Steve thinks), chickens flying about, clucking in panic, kids bleating and running wild, lambs all flocking together looking for comfort in numbers. There are ammunitions crates everywhere and some disturbingly larger ones, no surprise as their fire power was unexpected.
Opposite the first wooden door lies another, seemingly unbreachable, and it takes them another half an hour of heavy fighting to kill the 13 Taliban guarding it. Across the very long corridor is another open door, swinging in its hinges, obviously just abandoned – apparently just used by the remaining Taliban, who cowardly decided to flee, rather than face them. Steve yells at the SEAL team to go after anyone who may still be within reach, suspecting they just fled, and the team can finally face what's ahead.
This corridor is long, dirty and submerged in shade, especially jarring towards the end, where it loses its darkness, since the door remains open to the outside meadow. Every few feet, mathematically, a door bars them from the contents of the rooms beyond, and it's not long before the remaining SEALs and the team discover that some cells are completely empty, other are littered with the bodies of Afghan men who, by their age and clothes, were nothing more than locals. Whether their help was willingly or unwillingly given… they'll never know. What is clear is that, accosted by the Americans, the Taliban had deemed it more dangerous to leave them behind, alive, than to carry them with them, wherever they ran off to. After all, they know this mountain like the palm of their hands. Steve shivers and silently prays that Catherine is not there.
Shaking that thought from his mind, Steve slowly resumes his walk forwards, a tingling sensation enveloping him, and Danny moves past him towards the door leading outside, wanting to assess if the SEALs are on their way back and if they were able to catch any Taliban. Steve's attention, however, is diverted to the left, where the long corridor suddenly veers to, showcasing another double set of cell doors, equally closed. The blunt end of the passageway feels final, as though beyond that point, they're exhausting their search.
His footsteps have now fallen silent and Danny peers to his left, wondering why, frustrated. Steve's standing deathly still, in the middle of the corridor, eyes trained on the cell door directly in front of him, deep breaths puffing out of his chest, almost hyperventilating. Understanding the impossible situation his brother is going through, and thinking he just needs a minute – and a word of support - Danny starts to speak, but Steve's not listening to him.
"Steve?" he asks, tentatively, weary of his friend's quietness. When he doesn't get a reaction, Danny approaches his friend and places a hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of the spell he seems to be under. "Steve?"
"She's here, Danny."
"What? Are you mad? What are you talking about?" he's lost it, for sure, that must be it. This whole situation is driving him insane.
Voice level, but very serious, never looking away, Steve whispers. "Danny."
At his warning tone, Danny looks at Steve, and realises he's in a trance of some kind, adamant about breaking into this specific cell first. Pondering his options, quickly, he decides to let the others know about their pit stop, urging them to continue onto the next courtyard where insurgents may still be hiding. While that's going on, Steve walks slowly towards the door, the palpable grit of his nerves warring with the eerie quiet of their surroundings, and peeks inside, through the small vision panel dotted with bars. All he can see is a filthy floor, no window to the outside and a bundle of dirty fabric against the far corner of the cell, plunged in shade. Instead of being a deterrent, the locked door only serves to egg him on further, impatience marring his features. He grabs his gun and points it at the door, immediately getting an angry cry from Danny, who panics at his apparently rash and impetuous action.
"Hey, hey, HEY, Terminator! Are you nuts? Why must you always go Gung-ho SEAL on me, huh? If you shoot that lock, you will alert anyone hanging around outside to shots fired! Our stealth advantage will be over! And for what? We are NOT interested in Afghan prisoners. We're here for Catherine – no one else."
"Danny", Steve says, looking his best friend in the eye, dead serious, the tightening in his gut signifying that his body's patience is at an end. "I can't explain this, but I need to get into this cell. It's got a gravitational pull or something, more than any other, I need to get into this one. Please," he says, lowering his gun and waiting for Danny to understand how serious he is about this.
Danny is stunned by Steve's determination and realises that trying to stop him is useless. He knows Catherine and Steve have always had a deep connection and despite being sure that they won't find her here, he decides to indulge Steve, as he's getting scared of his desperation and hopelessness.
"Fine", he says, raising his hands in defeat, "go ahead, break it open, let's just get it done and get the hell out of here. Please."
Needing no further encouragement, Steve raises his gun once again and directs it at the bolt, blowing it to smithereens. Total silence. Not a single cry or shout from within. He opens the door slowly, hinges creaking from the effort of probably being opened so little (what does that mean for whomever is inside?) and aims his gun at whatever may be coming from the inside, straight at them, eyes narrowed in concentration.
But still, there is nothing. No movement, no life. Eyes frantically roaming the room in despair, dread making its way down his spine and settling in his gut, an adrenaline discharge punishes him at the bitter disappointment of finding only old rags bunched against the floor and far wall. Something, however, settles within him; a calm peace, a set course, the absolute certainty that this is where he was born to be. He does a double take and walks further into the cell, discerning something underneath all the dirty fabric. Something large, something… his heart starts beating in his chest, wildly, as he crouches down to peer at the tangle of tissue folded onto itself.
There's a body under him, and for a millisecond, he fears it may be a Taliban, waiting for him to let his guard down so he can attack and kill them. But the twitch of his armed hand and the touch of the gun barrel only serve to displace the fabric further and disclose a small, emaciated body, clearly a woman, limp and unresponsive.
He probes further and desperately, voice faltering, begs Danny for some light to illuminate the floor, making out a pile of ashes long dead next to the woman's clothes. He rolls them against his thumb, grey particles fading to motes of light and closes his eyes, fighting the urge to vomit that's rapidly rising in his gut towards his mouth.
He finishes removing the woman's coverings quickly, efficiently, without any compunction about possibly seeing her naked or injured; he needs to know, NOW. Danny fidgets, standing, but keeps quiet.
The moment the last layer of fabric is removed, Steve's shocked intake of air is probably something Danny will never forget, along with his own, at what they're now contemplating. A lithe form, with clearly dehydrated, ashen and sickly skin, starkly white, almost as though devoid of blood – not Afghan, for sure. The light casts shadows over the bare ridges of protruding ribs and where the sunken hollow of a hungry belly should be… an anomaly. A bump. Small and barely there, but not in keeping with every other plane of – obviously – the woman's body, everything else about her so achingly familiar.
Steve looks further up, and Catherine's raven hair comes into view, obscuring her neck; he quickly slides it out of the way, to look for her star tattoo, the top peeking out from under her complicated wrappings, reminding him of that morning in Afghanistan, in the cafeteria. His fear now takes on a monster-like dimension and he carefully turns her around, to search her face and feel her pulse point.
Anger churns in his stomach at whomever left her for dead and clearly neglected to feed or take care of the prisoner, eyes glinting, almost predatory. Danny is suddenly sure that if anyone crosses their path, they'll be met by an immediate bullet, no questions asked, no qualms about life or death, or the merits of letting someone live. Deep inside, Steve vows to murder anyone he can find responsible for this, while reaching for her neck with his second and third fingers.
She has a pulse, she's technically alive, but it's thready and even her breathing is shallow and trying to give up. She mumbles some delirious half words, tries to open her eyes but gives up almost immediately, letting her head fall back down onto his cradling hands. He has never seen her look so fragile, like she'll shatter beneath his fingertips if he touches her. Even after she'd been shot, she'd never looked this broken, this helpless. She'd defied him all the way and gotten him to agree to taking her with him for his investigation into Billy's death – always defiant, brave, ready for a fight, not wanting to listen to anything he said that did not involve her going with him. Not like this, this shell of a person… pale. Quiet. Unresponsive. Almost… eerily absent. And that picture does not marry with her, with his Catherine, so full of life, and laughter and warmth.
While his thoughts jumble in his head, he can hear Danny shouting out for help and others coming into the cell. Suddenly, his most recurrent nightmare comes to his mind and he pulls away the rest of her dirty wrappings, frantically looking for the blood stain he now feels was premonitory of this moment. In the end, since he's not responding to Danny's calls, it's his friend who crouches down next to him and quietly calms his trembling hands, prying her body away from his arms. Desperate, Steve holds on to her, never wanting to let go and it takes the voices and gentle coaxing of all the 5-0 team, with great patience, to make him snap out of his nightmarish hypnosis, Danny desperately assuring him that she's alive, but that they must leave immediately and take her to a medical facility.
Taliban insurgents forgotten, the SEAL team sets explosive charges to the entire compound as they hurriedly retreat to their vehicle. The high-pitched whirring of a jet engine brings a sigh of relief to everyone's lips, signifying quicker safety, but also a lifeline for Catherine, or at least, a chance at it. It would take them far too long to reach camp and, in her condition, she's sure to die, and soon.