Part Three - Fate Always finds its Way
Temporary CIA Command Post
Miami
Two days Later
9:26 Hours
As a spy, when running surveillance, you were trained to view your targets not as people, but as a list of details in an activity log: time they came home, time they left, number of calls they made and who they met. You had to discipline yourself not to get emotionally involved in the life of the subject you had to observe. But when your subject happened to be someone you knew, that made the already unpleasant task borderline impossible. The hardest part about doing that particular surveillance was staying objective. Work quickly became very personal when everything about the person you were watching, every look, every gesture and every word, reminded you of the past.
Strong and his team had commandeered an old warehouse located in the middle of the fifty-mile radius they had tracked down the activities of Burke and his associate to set up the temporary command post.
There were more than ten screens up and running with live feeds they had tapped into via traffic cams, offices and a satellite, all of them constantly being scanned by advanced facial recognition software to catch a glimpse of the wanted terrorist, Randall Burke.
Michael's attention, however, was perpetually caught by the four screens to the right. They were the feeds from the bugs Strong's team had planted in the homes of Sam, Jesse, Fiona and his mother.
On the screen on the top right, Sam sat by the kitchen island, his hands wrapped around the mug Elsa - the tall, dark-haired, rich woman Michael had only met once - handed to him with a kiss on his cheek.
"Jesse found a possible location for this guy, we are going to check it out later," Sam said, checking his phone.
"How are the others taking it?" Elsa leaned against the counter and asked. She looked concerned.
"As well as can be expected," Sam replied, shrugging. "Fi is keeping an eye on Maddie and Charlie, so that's something."
"You're worried."
"You know I am," Sam had a rare, grave look on his face. "I don't know what the deal with Mike is, but this man smells like trouble."
"You'll be careful, whatever you do, Sam Axe."
Sam gave her an infectious smile, which made her shake her head and chuckle in return. "Careful is my middle name–"
On the screen next to Sam's, Jesse's home feed had already switched to one from his office. Michael saw him making a quick stop at the closest desk to his office.
"Sir." The guy wearing a pair of glasses looked up from his laptop when he felt Jesse's presence.
"I'm going out for a few, call me if something urgent crops up."
"Will do, boss."
On the screen below Sam's, his mother was watching the morning news, while Charlie, his nephew, sat quietly next to her, scribbling something on a book. He wore a way too serious expression on his three-year-old face.
Michael had learned during the past two days, mostly from the conversations on the feeds, that his mother was working hard on gaining legal custody of Charlie, since the boy's mother had fallen off the wagon, succumbing to her illegal substance addiction. Both Charlie and his mother seemed happy in the black-and-white series of snapshots, and it made him feel guilty all over again to see his past darkening their lives.
Strong had ordered him to sit and watch, and learn about their progress. Michael had initially protested the blatant invasion of their privacy, and had gone nowhere with the headstrong agent. Then Michael had tried his best to make him contact the team, to make their presence known and work together with them to find and capture the man they now knew as Dexter Gamble - a man suspected of smuggling, arms dealings, assassinations and every other criminal enterprise in between. Strong had of course declined, saying that he was more than happy to shadow Sam and Jesse's investigation, waiting for their moves to draw Dexter and Burke into the open. So, Michael had to sit and watch the feeds as he had been told if he wanted to stay updated on what was happening outside of the warehouse.
Watching their lives unfold before him in the grainy feeds was a kind of torture he had never imagined putting himself through. They were all worried in their own way, about him and the appearance of this mysterious man looking for him. It was obvious to him by the way they put their own lives on hold to get to the bottom of it.
There was also an undercurrent of blame, an irritation at yet another appearance of trouble in their otherwise peaceful lives, another meandering ghost from Michael's eventful past that didn't have the decency to lay where it had been put to rest. It was subtle, but Michael saw it all the same in their expressions, and heard it in their voices, sometimes spoken and sometimes implied.
It was most obvious in the feeds from Fiona's new home, the one she shared with a man she seemed to care a lot about, which made that particular screen the most painful for him to watch.
Yet, he gritted his teeth and did exactly that, paying the wretched price for spying on the lives of his own friends and family, doing his best to learn what was going on. That was the only way he could make sure that nothing happened to them when the layers of traps laid side by side by Burke and Strong started to snap close all around them.
Fiona sat on a chair by her dining table, idly shaking one of her snowglobes. The angle of the camera, which must have been snuck inside one of the lampshades, was not good enough for him to catch the name of the city on it.
"Are you all right?" The man, Carlos Cruz, came through the door and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Fiona not only allowed it, but leaned into it.
"Yeah. Just got a lot on my mind." She said to the snow globe.
"Sam and Jesse are making progress on this guy poking around, aren't they?"
"They are going to check some leads out while I stay with Maddie," she said, closing her eyes while Carlos rested his chin on top of her head. "She has another meeting today, about Charlie's custody."
"You want me to tag alone?"
"No, it'll be fine. Besides, you have to go do your own thing–"
"Lou is a big boy, he can do a stake out by himself for a few hours."
Fiona patted him on the arm he had around her shoulders and said it was fine. Her smile was dull and the look in her eyes was distant, weary, and Michael hated it. The reason he had given it all up was so that these people, the people who meant more to him than his own life, could finally move on and live their lives without the constant danger that came attached to him.
"Wish I could help more to get rid of this guy," Carlos murmured against her hair. "I hate seeing you like this, all torn up and tired, having to deal with this Michael business even after the man is long gone. It's pissing me off."
You and me, both, Michael sighed.
"That's how it's always been, Carlos," Fiona said, and Michael couldn't detect any heat in it, just resignation.
"I'm going for a shower, you wanna join?"
Michael took the headset off, closed his eyes and turned away without waiting to find out. He needed a break.
Rooney's Auto Shop
Little Havana
Downtown Miami
12.30 Hours
They caught a break in the investigation the next day when a contact of Fiona's came through, saying Dexter might be at an auto shop. Strong had his surveillance van set up near a delivery van compound where a stationary black, tinted van seamlessly blended in with the hundreds of others like it. He even let Michael tag alone, and Michael thought that was for the sole purpose of luring Burke in just in case he was in the vicinity of his associate.
Sam, Jesse, Fiona and Carlos all showed up in her car shortly after the CIA did. Fiona made another call and seemed to get no answer. There were no signs of anyone present, and the garage door had a 'closed' sign hanging on it. They advanced slowly, cautiously, suspicious of the lack of activity.
Then, without warning, the barrel of an M16 rifle took a peek out of a broken window from the second floor of the auto shop, sending everything to hell.
His friends managed to run back and take cover behind Fi's car, which started getting perforated along with the pavement they had just been on. The man with the gun had more than enough ammunition, cover and range to pick them off one by one, if they decided to close in or draw back. There were no other places for them to retreat to and the gunman knew that. They were trapped.
"Call your damned backup team!" Michael yelled, feeling utterly helpless while the bullets rained all around his friends.
"Not now," Strong grunted, glaring at the live feed of the situation unfolding outside about a hundred yards away from them. "If I do that, Burke will know we're here and he'll go to ground."
Michael wanted to throttle the man. He took a deep breath and let it out, considering his options. Strong had three other agents inside the van, all of them armed with guns and tasers. He knew he could take them all out without seriously hurting anyone. If he acted fast enough, the confined space inside the van would even make it easier. The only downside to the plan was the four agents all knew about him. Even now, two of them were eyeing him warily, their hands inches away from their tasers. He could have pulled it off with the element of surprise, but the chances of his success went exponentially down when he was being watched by trained operatives like a caged animal.
He had to dismiss the thought. He wouldn't be any help to his friends if he were passed out from a few thousand volts shutting down his systems. So he had to give his best shot to the second option, which was using his words and logic to make the senior agent see sense.
"My friends are being gunned down from high ground and they have four handguns," Michael said, restraining his emotions enough to let his voice come out sounding calm and reasonable. "If they die, the investigation you're shadowing dies with them. Do you understand that?"
Even as he spoke, a shot took out the side mirror close to Sam's head, making it obvious that they were running out of time. Strong watched the feed, a muscle in his clenched jaw ticking as he saw exactly what Michael pointed out.
"What do you suggest?" He asked after what felt like a lifetime.
"Let me go even out the playing field.' Michael said promptly.
"Westen–"
"What am I gonna do? Run?" Michael spoke over him, without giving him a chance to protest. He had a monitor clipped around his left ankle that had enough bandwidth to alert the entire Miami PD at the touch of a button. He even had an RFID microchip implanted in his upper right arm. And those were the trackers he knew about.
"You have me tagged to hell and back. And I won't dare go near my friends with the bullseye on my back." Which was the truth. No matter how much he ached to see them and speak to them, he really couldn't. "Give me a gun and I'll circle the building from the left. See if I can draw the fire to clear their path." There was another small door on the left side of the building, closed, but out of sight of the gunman and his friends. If he could enter the building from there and distract the shooter, his friends would have the chance to get in from the front.
Strong took a moment to think about it. "Fine," he said finally and crouched down to pull a duffel from underneath one of the surveillance stations. "You don't have to get too close. This'll get the job done." He pulled out a sniper assault rifle - a custom AR-15 type with a fitted suppressor at that - as Michael watched, feeling furious all over again. The man had waited until it was almost too late.
Before Michael could grab the gun, he pinned him with a look. "Westen, stay out of sight for now. I won't have this op jeopardised, not now, not after all these years."
"Don't worry," Michael said, jumping out of the van to get moving. "I'll be a ghost."
By the time he found a perch inside an abandoned car a few yards behind Fiona's wrecked Hyundai and drew a bead on the gunman, his friends had come to an agreement. He saw by the way they moved, that Sam and Jesse were going to shoot at the man together while Fi and Carlos made a desperate run for it. He waited until Sam and Jesse popped up to shoot, and timed his shot with theirs.
With a rifle that had an accurate range of over five hundred yards. Michael didn't really need more than one precise shot to hit the gunman who wasn't even a hundred yards away from where he was. Sam looked perplexed that their ruse worked, and Michael heard him commenting that one of them must have hit the man with a lucky shot.
Fiona stopped and looked around, her gaze scanning over the perimeter as if she had somehow sensed that the shot hadn't come from Sam's handgun. Michael had to duck his head down and huddle in the backseat to avoid giving his presence away.
Things went much calmer after that. Michael returned to the van without being seen and watched as they called on Sam's buddy, Dixon, to hack the laptop they found, which led them to another house Dexter had rented.
87
West Street
Brownsville
Miami
13.45 Hours
When they realised Dexter wasn't home, they decided to set up camp and wait, and grab him the moment he showed up. Sam and Jesse found cover behind a dumpster while Carlos and Fiona split up to cover the north and south sides of the house.
Michael was once again sitting next to Strong, listening to their conference call. He was starting to hate being on the sidelines, eavesdropping on his friends.
"I'll tell you what, if that bastard knows what's good for him, he'll come back home in the next thirty minutes," Sam started to gripe after an hour spent crouching behind the trash cans.
"You're not gonna make it to happy hour, Sam, let it go," Jesse advised.
"If I don't, there's gonna be a lot more snatching and grabbing. I can tell you that much."
Carlos piped up then. "What the hell does that even mean?"
"You're gonna find out."
"It's the sitting and waiting Sam," Jesse said. "You're not used to recon anymore. It's making your old joints hurt, which in turn makes you grumpy."
Michael held back a snort. The ex-counterintelligence man was about to kick a hornet's nest.
"First of all, I'm not old and my joints are just fine," Sam promptly protested just as Michael knew he would. "Second of all, I'm not used to this shit anymore. I haven't sweated my ass off in this kind of heat since–"
"Since Mike left," Jesse said quietly."Miss him too, huh?"
"Just that if we knew what the fuck happened to him, all the better," Sam said, sounding pensive. "Is he really running black ops in some backwater hellhole pissing off all kinds of people like Dexter's been saying or rotting in some jail?"
Michael turned his head, and raised an inquiring eyebrow at the silent agent next to him.
"Your status is classified," Strong muttered without looking at him. "Your friends have been making a lot of inquiries over the past year about you. They weren't going anywhere with those."
"Is that the story Dexter's been spinning? That I'm running black ops?" He hadn't heard any of them mention that on the feeds he had been forcing himself to watch for the past three days.
"Yeah," Strong grunted. "Now, everyone is confused about exactly where you are and what you do."
Before Michael could say anything else, Sam's sigh rattled through the headphones he was wearing. "It's the uncertainty that's hard to take."
"I feel you," Jesse sighed. "We'll make sure someone tells us when we gift-wrap this bastard and hand him over."
Michael saw Jesse's point. Dexter was on the wanted lists of several national and international agencies. He would be a great bargaining chip for information, especially since the said information had such little value.
Strong, however, had other ideas. "And we're going to make sure that doesn't happen."
"Anything on your street, Carlos?" Jesse checked in again after about twenty minutes.
"Just a neighbour walking a dog, a couple of kids making out in a car." Came the reply.
"How about you, Fi?"
"I've got a bogey problem," Fi said, drawing Michael's attention instantly. "The gardener next door is about to start working in the middle of our little surprise party."
"You sure?"
"Yup. He's pulling out hedge trimmers. He's planning to stay for a while. I'll get rid of him."
"Need help?" Carlos offered.
"Nah. I got this."
"Alright."
Something wasn't right. Michael felt a tendril of dread creep down his spine after a few minutes passed in complete silence.
"It shouldn't take her this long to get rid of a gardener," Michael muttered, standing up.
"Westen, calm the hell down," Strong ordered, pointing at the chair.
"No, listen–"
"You know what? Fi should have bounced that gardener by now." Sam's worried voice came over the audio feed, confirming Michael's suspicion.
"I was thinking the same thing," Jesse added. "Fi, what's going on over there? Fi?"
There was absolute silence from her end, which sent Michael's worry up a few notches.
"Fi?"
"Fi, son of a bitch, Fi–"
That was all they needed to confirm that she was in trouble. Michael closed his eyes and listened to the heavy breathing filtering through the headphones, utterly helpless once again to do anything to help his friends. It was starting to grate on his nerves.
"Carlos, we're in trouble, let's go." Sam's urgent voice added even as the running footsteps filled the ambient noise.
Carlos' rage-filled voice cut through the feed the next moment. "He got her. The son of a bitch got her."
"Not another step, Westen."
The clear threat in the agent's voice made him stop. Michael hadn't even realised that he had opened the van door halfway to run out and join the rest of his team. When he turned around, Strong had his gun in his hand, aiming at him. "I'll shoot you in the leg if I have to. You're not going anywhere."
Michael turned around slowly. "Dexter's got Fiona–"
"I know, I heard. Sit your ass down right now." Strong barked. When Michael stubbornly stayed where he was, he sighed. "You running off to join your bandwagon now is not going to solve the problem, that'll only make it worse."
"Strong–"
"He kidnapped her because they're also sick of the waiting game," Strong said, sounding so calm and reasonable in a way that made Michael want to punch him. "This is the opportunity we've been waiting for. Let him make contact, and make the demand, which we both know is going to be you, and then we'll go get him."
Even when he hated to admit it, Michael knew Strong had a point. He knew the bastard Dexter was going to do everything in his power to find a location to his advantage to stash Fiona. And he was trained enough to make it impossible for them to find. There was nothing they could do but follow the team and wait for him to make contact.
"I won't let her get hurt, or get caught in the crossfire,' he gritted out through clenched teeth, meaning every word. "Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly," Strong said, confidently. "But, it won't come to that. We have a response team on call for this exact reason. The moment he makes the call, he's ours. I'll even let you have a little reunion once we have the asshole in the bag."
Michael closed the door and slumped on the nearest chair, hoping and praying that Dexter wouldn't hurt her until he got what he wanted. Or that Fiona wouldn't get hurt by trying to do something reckless.
15:15 Hours
The call came through to Sam's line after an hour.
"Fi, where are you?" Sam's hopeful voice filled the interior of the van as Strong put it on the speaker.
"This is not Fiona, Mr. Axe."
"You bastard. She better not be hurt."
Michael silently echoed Sam's sentiment.
"Oh don't worry. She's still breathing… for now."
"What do you want?"
"We got the location, sir," one of the agents piped up from where he was glued to the screen of the cell network, two seats away. "It's a warehouse. Twenty-two miles from here."
"Start driving." Strong snapped.
"What do you want?" Sam demanded.
"I know you can put me in touch with Michael Westen."
Michael studied the overhead map Strong pulled on his screen over his shoulder. As far as defensive positions with sightlines went, it was the perfect place to stash a hostage. Gamble had chosen the big, empty building that stood isolated in a corner, with its back to the river bank. He had an unrestricted, 360° view of everything around him. The closest building they could get to without him seeing their approach was about four hundred yards from his position.
The moment Gamble saw any kind of approach, all he had to do was pull the trigger and take his revenge before he was taken down.
"Michael Westen. That's a pretty tall order. He's not even in the country." Sam pointed out.
"Do I need to remind you I have a gun to Fiona's head?"
"Just listen to me–" Sam interjected, trying to placate the man using every trick in the Hostage Negotiator Textbook. "He can't offer you anything I can't. I mean, what do you need? Money? Transportation? New identity? Whatever you can think of. You name it, we'll figure it out."
Gamble didn't take the bait. "I've already told you what I need. Give me Westen now or this conversation is over."
Come on, Sam, play for time. Michael wordlessly urged. They were already on their way and would be there within half an hour.
"Alright. Wait, wait… Just calm down, here's what I can do–" Sam said, thinking quickly on his feet."I can get you, um, a secure line with him. On a sat phone we use for emergencies. I can bring that for you, how's that?"
"Burke must be there at the warehouse," he heard Strong mutter next to him. "Your friend is clever. I'll give him that."
"There's an old Marine warehouse at the end of Deer Run Avenue, at the river. Come alone. Unarmed. You have an hour." Gamble gave the address to where they were already heading.
"Fine, but I'm not going anywhere without proof of life."
Good man, Sam. Michael thought. He needed that just as much.
"You'll have it," Gamble said. "Oh, and by the way, Mr. Axe, just in case you were thinking about trying something, the view from here is spectacular. I can see in every direction. And If I see anything I don't like, I put a bullet in your friend's head."
Before Sam could say anything else, the call cut.
"Proof of life of Glenanne," the agent next to Strong turned a screen towards Strong and Michael. "Dexter just texted a photo."
Fiona glared at the camera with blistering hatred shining in her hazel eyes. She was gagged, had a small cut on her forehead and her hair was a mess. Other than that, she was alive and well for the moment. For the first time since she had been taken, Michael finally could breathe without fear squeezing painfully around his chest.
"See," Strong sneered. "Just like I told you. We'll get there before the party even starts."
"That's the only place I can see we can get to without being seen," Michael pointed out the building on the screen.
"We'll set up a sniper," Strong said, nodding. "Once we're there, you can walk out, and try to lure him out–"
"Sir, CP on the line for you," the first agent, the one who had traced the call earlier, signalled urgently at Strong's headset. "It's urgent."
"Strong here." He said, and Michael watched his entire demeanour change as he listened to whatever the other man on the line said.
"What? When?" Strong snapped, "Patch it to me."
The map of Gamble's warehouse changed into that of an airport, one that was about forty miles roughly north of where they were heading. Michael recognized it as one of the private airfields out of Lauderdale that mostly dealt with cargo planes.
Michael felt a chill run down his spine as a sudden feeling of unease overtook him. He didn't like the way Strong focused on a random airfield in the opposite direction when they were heading towards Fiona.
"How sure are we?" Strong grunted at the man on the line, before ordering, "Tell me everything."
For the next two minutes, he listened without interruption while Michael's suspicion and dread continued to grow.
"No. Get the team ready," Strong said, breaking into a satisfied smile that did nothing to alleviate Michael's concern. "This is perfect. The son of bitch thought this stunt was going to distract us from the real target. Good work." He cut the call and banged on the panel behind the driver's seat. "Change of plans, Grant. Get us on the highway. We are going to Lauderdale."
"What's happening, Strong?" Michael had to fight to keep his voice level and calm. "What's going on? Why are we going the opposite direction of where we need to be going?"
"Westen, we got Burke," Strong grinned, confirming Michael's worst fear. "He is in this private airfield right now. The facial recognition got an eighty-seven percent hit. CP is tracking him live."
"No!" Michael lost control of his patience and roared. "What about Fiona? That bastard wants me in exchange for her. He'll kill her. And he'll kill Sam too when he shows up without a way to contact me."
Strong took his gun out of the holster. Michael was getting sick of having the damned thing pointed at him. "Not our problem, Westen."
"At least, let me make a call, let me speak to Gamble." Michael pleaded, doing his best to think clearly despite his racing pulse.
"No." Strong said with finality. "We don't need him when we have our sight on the original target, Westen. Stand down." Then he sneered again. "We'll have you back in your cell on time for dinner."
Michael stayed where he was, acutely aware of the gun pointed at his face and the closed double door at his back. The van was travelling slightly over fifty miles per hour, and he knew they'd pick up speed the moment they cleared the afternoon traffic. If he wanted to put the rash, desperate plan that had popped up in his head without breaking his neck, he had to make his move before the van merged into the highway.
Michael put his hands down slowly and nodded, indicating that he heard and understood the agent. He planted his ass on the seat closest to the door without a complaint when Strong gestured. The agent holstered his gun and returned his attention back to his screen, his gaze firmly on the grainy images of Burke he was receiving from the command post. The van slowed as if in answer to Michael's silent urging, either due to a traffic light or a stop sign.
He made his move without wasting a second.
He uncoiled from his perch at lightning speed and threw himself at the back of the van, letting the double doors fly open outwards. The car behind them screeched to a halt and the enraged driver blared the horn. The van veered dangerously to the left, while the driver of the van tried to compensate for the sudden change. Michael took advantage of the gap between him and the vehicle behind them, and threw himself over to the rapidly passing road before the three agents at the back could snap out of their shock and haul him back inside.
Landing hurt like a bitch, just as Micahel expected. He rolled twice before he could pull himself to a slide on his left side. That move saved him from breaking any bones. But, his entire left shoulder, arm, forearm, hand and hip lost a layer of skin along with half of his jacket to the heated asphalt. On the positive side, he managed to halt his excruciating slide against the sidewalk before any of the afternoon traffic could run him over.
He didn't have time to celebrate surviving his mindless stunt, or bemoan the bloody mess that covered his entire left side, however. He got to his feet, swayed precariously to the side before righting himself. There was a sizable crowd already gathering around him, equally dumbfounded how he was alive after jumping off the back of a moving van. The said van hadn't stopped, just as he expected, continuing on while Strong glared at him through the opening before slamming the doors closed.
Michael stood still, and took a few deep breaths until he was sure he could move without falling flat on his face. Just as one of the braver souls took a step closer to ask if he was okay, he turned around and took off at a slow, unsteady jog, leaving the flabbergasted audience of his madness behind.
Find a car, find a phone, call Sam, the three things that went around in his mind, was the plan. In that order. Just three blocks more and take a right. Then he would be in the Cuban neighbourhood, which was a target-rich environment for his needs. With that in mind, he firmly pushed the fire burning his left side to a corner in his mind and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
He was on the clock, and he had an appointment to keep that he couldn't afford to miss.
