The Conference Room - Main Building
US Diplomatic Mission
Calzada
Havana
Cuba
A few hours later.
In the world of intelligence, taking down an entire covert network was the ultimate challenge, the holy grail every operative worth their salt aspired to achieve. It wasn't something a lone spy could do, no matter how good one was.
A task that monumental generally required the resources of an entire intelligence agency, along with solid intelligence that pointed you in the right direction - something that provided you with a starting point by handing you a few significant threads to pull until the web they wove fell apart.
When your target was an entire network, you weren't after an individual person, you were after dozens of people. Chances were, either they would all be very motivated to stay hidden, and almost all of them would have the resources and skills to do exactly that. Or they would be out in the open, fighting you all the way by any means necessary.
Either way, it was a gigantic jigsaw puzzle of information that required months of research and analysis where one target led to the next.
For example, you would be after a seemingly random courier picking up and dropping stuff off on a suburban street, who could actually lead you to a spy hiding out as a diplomat in a foreign embassy. That spy would be your next clue that would then lead you to a hardened group of armed assassins in another place entirely. Sometimes, you would arrange a surgical operation to be conducted by a discreet black-ops team to take down one target. Other times, you would find yourself on the front lines, fighting an all-out war.
There were no certainties in the hunt, and you had to be prepared to face them all to see the job to its conclusion. Because, with each piece of the puzzle, you came closer to understanding your enemy more clearly. With each target taken down, you penetrated the layers of secrecy that shielded the people behind the scenes, the people pulling the strings at the top of the network hierarchy. You kept fighting, trying to put that last piece of the puzzle in place, trying to find that last person who had the answers you were looking for, and you kept the pressure going without letting up until you reached that point.
Until there was nothing left and the network was burnt to the ground.
Michael knew all about that. He had already dismantled one illegal, quasi-governmental agency that had black operatives embedded everywhere in law enforcement, all military branches and intelligence agencies. It had taken four years of hard work, a team that had his back at every turn, a determination bordering on obsession and finally the grudging involvement of the CIA to pull that off.
Then there was the attempt to revive the said dissolved organisation because the zealots were everywhere and they just didn't know when to accept defeat and give up. It had been Michael's own inability to let go of the completed mission that had led to Agent Max Newman's unfortunate death. That was the beginning of a chain of events that had led them to one of the creators of the rogue network, Anson Fullerton. He had almost succeeded in fulfilling his goal of seeing his network rise from the ashes before Michael and his team had put a stop to that, too.
Then, like a hydra sprouting a new head to replace the one that had been cut off, Senior Agent Tom Card, Michael's mentor, had risen up to replace Fullerton. It had been only at the very end that Michael had realised his former handler possessed the same damned goals, only with different damned methods to achieve those.
Michael had seen to his end too, although it hadn't done anything to dull the pain, grief and guilt of losing his own damned brother for the damnable cause that didn't seem to have an end. Nor had it done anything to lessen his mother's hatred towards him.
And now, there he was, caught in the web of yet another terrorist network by the most coincidental twist of fate.
His current situation placed him balancing on the fine edge of a precipice. He had two choices: On the one hand, he was in possession of information his old agency desperately needed from him. He had the choice to walk away after letting them have it. On the other hand, the experience he survived left him with a perfect opening to worm his way inside the said network, and try his hand at unravelling it from within like a virus.
There was a time he would have jumped at the chance, and pressured the CIA into giving him back all the things he had been fighting for years in return. He could have easily made a deal to clear his name and earn his freedom.
What stopped him was the price he wasn't willing to pay this time around.
Burke knew everything that was important enough to know about him, and that meant that the entire terrorist network the man used to be a part of knew everything about Michael. If he willingly walked into that organisation, that ultimately meant he would be playing Russian Roulette with not only his own life, but the lives of his friends and family.
And that wasn't something Michael ever wanted to do again.
That was why he wanted Dani Pearce for his debrief. He knew she was an exceptional investigator. His intel would point her in the right direction, and she could take all the time in the world to bring down Burke's organisation. Michael had complete faith that she could do it without his further involvement.
"Hey!"
Michael snapped out of his self-reflection and resumed eating his yoghurt when Pearce finally entered the conference room. He was seated at a dark, wooden table that was large enough to easily accommodate ten people. The chair was quite comfy for a change, and didn't have built-in restraints, or was bolted to the ground. The room was air-conditioned and pleasantly bright with natural light streaming through the surrounding windows that offered stunning views of the Havana coastline. All in all, the venue Pearce had chosen for his debrief was a massive improvement from his previous hot, humid and dimly lit holding cell and the interview room.
She took the seat directly in front of him across the table and studied him with a critical gaze. "How are we feeling?"
"Almost as good as new," Michael replied truthfully. "They even gave me dessert."
The long hot shower had been wonderful, and he had finally gotten rid of all the layers of sweat, blood and grime he had on his skin from all over Cuba after all those days. He was also free of the irritating beard that had made his face itch something fierce, which was another immense relief. He had a fresh bandage over the bullet wound on his thigh and two stitches on the cut near his eye. The medic had even supplied antiseptic ointment and more bandages for his wrists, for the scrapes and abrasions he had gotten from the handcuffs. He also had an ice pack for the bruising around his neck, which he had abandoned on the table in favour of finishing the lunch they brought for him along with the yoghurt.
"You sure we can do this with…that?" Pearce made a face and pointed in the direction of his neck."You still sound a little raspy."
"I know," Michael shrugged, eating some more of his yoghurt. The cool sensation of the smooth dairy product sliding down his throat actually helped with the dull ache. "But it's fine. It's better we do this now before I lose my voice altogether. The medic said it's a possibility if the swelling doesn't go down."
"We don't have to do this now, Michael," Pearce said, pinning him with an earnest expression. "I only came in because you insisted. This can wait till tomorrow."
Michael finished his dessert, moved the empty container aside and picked up the ice pack to hold against his neck. "The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can go back to my good old cell," he said lightly, "I kinda miss it."
Pearce's face twisted into a pained expression. "Micheal–"
"It's not up for discussion, Pearce," Michael said, cutting her off. He understood her reservations and concerns. But he really didn't want to deal with his old agency for a moment longer than necessary, even though it was a friend who was there before him. "Shall we begin?"
Pearce let out a sigh and nodded. Michael watched her as she set up the recorder and a notepad for herself. She also had a laptop with her through which she could access the agency's server if and when she needed to pull files and records pertaining to the case Michael was about to hand over to her.
After vocalising the preliminaries such as the date, time, location and her own credentials, she turned to him.
"State your name for the record."
"Micheal Allen Westen."
"We'll start with the incident that happened on September 10th," she said, pulling an investigation file from inside the briefcase she had brought along with her. Michael recognized the thick folder. It was the same one Winters had shoved in his face earlier. "At approximately 1730 hrs, the transport you were in, along with agents Strong, Walker, Sullivan, Air Force major Brown and staff Sergeant McCarthy, was attacked by an unknown group on the runway of Dela Garcia airfield. What can you tell me about it?"
"We landed on schedule," Michael said, thinking back to the last conversation he'd had with Agent Strong. "I was seated in the cargo bay, along with Agents Strong, Walker and Sullivan. The pilot and his second-in-command were in the cockpit. While cruising on the runway, the plane had to suddenly veer off course due to an obstacle in its path. We couldn't see what was going on from where we were, but according to Major Brown, the section we were heading to was closed for maintenance and the tower never told him about it."
Pearce flipped through the file and found the transcript of the conversation between the pilot and the flight controller, and nodded for him to continue.
"That was when we were ambushed," Michael said. "There were three Humvees and sixteen mercenaries in total. They matched speed and flanked us on the runway. Then they tore the cargo bay door off the back with mag hooks while the plane was still moving. When it came to a stop, six stayed in the vehicles while ten of them boarded. Major Brown and Staff Sergeant McCarthy were the first to die–"
"Is there anything you can tell me about the attacking force?"
"They were professionals, a private hit squad of ex-Special Forces," Michael said, recalling the co-ordinated, disciplined unit cohesion they had displayed during the assault. "My guess would be a mix of Americans, Brits and probably a few French. Never saw any of their faces, so don't expect me to pick them out of a lineup. They had a mix of weapons, AK 47s, Uzis, Glocks, Berettas and a few ka-bars–"
"How did you guess the nationalities, then?" Pearce interrupted, frowning.
"The way they moved reminded me of a joint training exercise I took part in back in the day," Michael shrugged. "And the way they spoke among themselves. They stuck to Spanish. I heard three of them speak, and all three had different accents."
That earned him another sceptical look from Pearce. She knew Spanish wasn't one of the languages in his arsenal.
"I had enough of everyone making fun of me," Michael grinned. "So I put my time in Gitmo to good use and learned it."
"Go on, then."
"They ordered us all on the ground," Michael said, picking up from where he left off. "One of them, I'm pretty sure he was an American, checked me against a reference photo he had on his phone to confirm I was their target. Agent Walker tried to reach for his gun at that point, and was shot in the head by another attacker."
Michael saw her making a few notes next to gent John Walker's bio before asking him to continue.
"Then what happened?
"Both Agent Strong and I tried to intervene," Michael said. "He got hit in the back of the head with a rifle butt. I got injected with a sedative. I don't know what happened to Agent Sullivan. I blacked out."
He had only learned that they had blown up the plane much later after his extraction when Burke had made a passing comment.
He opened one of the water bottles they had brought along with the lunch and took a few sips before continuing. "When I woke up, it was the next afternoon. I'd been out for about eighteen hours by then. Randall Burke was there. He told me that he had removed all the trackers I had on me–"
"Where did he take you?" Pearce asked, looking a little uncomfortable. Michael wondered how much she knew about Strong's black operation.
"Somewhere within a three-mile radius of a very isolated industrial area near Baracoa Beach," Michael replied. "I only found out later when we showed up for the exchange. If you can find me a map, I'll mark it for you."
Pearce opened her briefcase and pulled out a well-detailed regional map of Cuba. Michael wasn't the least surprised that she had come prepared.
"Here," she said, unfolding the map over the entire table surface.
Michael took the marker she offered and circled the area where he suspected Randall Burke held him. He wasn't sure how much Pearce would be able to uncover if she managed to pinpoint the exact location since Burke was dead and his hired hit squad betrayed him.
"Did he tell you why he kidnapped you?" She asked once he was done.
"Yeah," said Michael. "He wanted to use me as a bargaining chip for a prisoner exchange."
Pearce wasn't expecting that, Michael could tell from the way her eyes widened in alarm. "A prisoner exchange?"
"For an associate of his who was a captive of a certain GRU operative," Michael murmured. "Colonel Oksana Zhirkova."
Pearce motioned him to stop and started to type rapidly on her laptop, searching for the files they had on Oksana Zhirkova. Michael knew exactly what was in those files and what wasn't. He had been the one to supply all that information to the CIA, after all.
"She was a Major when I stumbled into her operations," Michael went on while Pearce skimmed the bio she pulled up. "Dagestan, 1997 and then Kiev in 1998–"
"Michael," she said, looking up with a frown. "You weren't in Eastern Europe in the late 90s."
Michael flashed her a resigned smile. "That's because you're looking at my doctored file," he said quietly. "The one you're looking at right now actually belongs to another black operative, Simon Escher. My real record, the one that disappeared before my burn notice went up, I'm telling you that's far more interesting than that psychotic butcher's file."
Pearce stared at her screen for a long moment before turning her gaze to Michael. She looked confused and conflicted. A lot had happened with the Organisation and their operatives before she had come into the picture, and Michael knew she was going to have her hands full taking a deep dive into all of it before she even started her current mission. It was just how she preferred to run her investigations.
"Tell me about Zhirkova, then," she said, making more rapid notes on her notepad, presumably about looking into Simon and Michael's claims. "And what you did to get on her radar."
"I dismantled her operation in Kiev," Michael said simply. "She was tasked with stealing a warhead. I sabotaged the deal, neutralised her Spetsnaz teams, uprooted her logistics and supply chain for operations, stole the warhead myself and sent it to one of our own bases back in Belarus for safekeeping."
"Huh," Pearce let out an involuntary chuckle. "That would put you on her most wanted list."
"Yeah," said Michael, flashing back to those rather eventful days when the entire Russian Intelligence branch had let loose its bloodhounds to hunt for him all over Eastern Europe. "She placed me on the kill-on-sight list of all agencies in the entire region when she realised it was me. Those were rather interesting times…"
"Then what happened?" Pearce asked faintly, barely lifting her head from her rapid note-taking.
"As you can probably imagine, my history with her was more than enough for the GRU to open up a line of communication with Burke, which they did within three hours after Burke made the offer–"
"How did he do that?"
"He used a middleman, Raphael Serrano. I don't know who that is or his connection to Burke. I never saw him."
"Tell me about how the deal went down."
"The exchange was set to go down the next morning. We showed up right about here–" Michael said, marking up the place on the map where he had been taken. "Zhirkova showed up with her prisoner on time, as agreed."
"This prisoner – did you find out anything about him?"
"Well, her name's Sonya Lebedenko," said Michael. "Blond hair, blue eyes, five eleven, about hundred and thirty pounds, Spetsnaz-trained, ex-GRU, speaks flawless English with a bit of a southern accent…"
Michael had to smile at the way Pearce stared at him in disbelief. "We shared a very unpleasant week as Zhirkova's prisoners, Pearce," he said quietly, "You could say we kind of had a connection…"
"We have next to nothing on this woman in our database," Parce announced frustratedly after staring at her laptop screen for several minutes. "Just some speculation about a deep cover Russian mole with the first name 'Sonya' working around Arlington, NSA. She's the star suspect for a long list of crimes – espionage, sabotage, assassinations…nothing solid or proven."
"Sounds like her," Michael admitted.
Pearce muttered a few inaudible curses before raising an eyebrow at him. "I'm going to go out on a limb and say the exchange didn't go as Burke planned, then?"
"Nope," said Michael, and proceeded to describe how Zhirkova had gotten the GRU to make contact with the private hit squad's parent company.
"She mentioned three names, Travis, Howard and Ackerman," Michael recalled. "That, along with the rest of the information I gave you, should narrow your search down for that private security company to manageable levels. You might even find a money trail leading back to Burke and his resources."
"No kidding," Pearce said, taking down more notes. Then she looked up and pinned him with an incredulous look. "Jesus, Michael! You didn't have to wait until Winters tried to kill you to give up these names!"
"I couldn't trust him."
Pearce averted her gaze and rubbed her forehead tiredly. "What happened to Burke?"
"He died. One of his own snipers shot him in between his eyes. Zhirkova took both me and Sonya back to her base of operations. It was a warehouse somewhere here," Michael circled another area of the map, "It was about thirty miles due east from the meeting point. We arrived there around three in the afternoon."
Michael finished the rest of the water and adjusted the ice pack around his neck. His entire neck was beginning to hurt in earnest.
"Do you need a break?" Pearce asked, clearly having seen the grimace Micheal thought he'd managed to hide.
"Nah, I'm good," he said with a grin he knew fooled no one and continued to talk. "There were fourteen special forces soldiers under her command, including her second in command, Vladimir Duboff."
"Fucking hell, Michael," Pearce cursed again, going a little pale at what she could see in the files they had on Duboff on the CIA server. "What the hell did you walk into?"
"Duboff has a fun file too, doesn't he?" Michael asked lightly.
"Almost as bad as Zhirkova's." Pearce shook her head before jotting down some more notes. When she looked up again, she had an uneasy expression darkening her face. "So, for the next seven days, you were held captive…"
"Yeah." He said, running a hand through his hair. He didn't want to talk about the torture he had endured just as much as Pearce didn't seem to want to ask. But it was part of the debrief and they had to get through it.
"Michael–"
"You want an itemised list of everything they did, don't you?" He sighed, burying his head in his hands. "Fine. Duboff was really into brass knuckles, knives, and fists. He was dedicatedly training the kids he had under his command on how to beat up a man without outright killing or permanently damaging him. Oh, he also had a great fondness for cattle prods. Zhirkova… Well, she was partial to waterboarding. Crude, messy and not even remotely fun for the guy being continuously drowned–"
"What were they after?" Pearce asked after a few long seconds when it was obvious that he wasn't going to elaborate any more than that. "Was it just a revenge thing or were they after something specific?"
Michael hesitated. He needed a moment to think about whether he wanted to share what he had on Zhirkova just yet.
"Nothing specific, no," he said, after deciding that he didn't. "They were just really enjoying the fact that they finally had the 'Boogeyman' under their mercy."
If Pearce had noticed his hesitation, she didn't show it. "Do you know why Lebedenko was there?" She asked instead.
"Yeah," Michael replied. "She turned traitor and betrayed her own people. Her exact words were, 'I found a better purpose, a meaningful way of life, a true vision to follow and dedicate my life to.' I think she was a double agent in their own ranks until she got outed."
"Jesus!" Pearce threw her pen away and cursed. "You know what this means, right?"
"Yeah," Michael nodded. "Randall Burke was a hell of a lot more than a rogue turned terrorist. He was a part of a network, I'd say an extremist group of very scary people who could completely indoctrinate well-trained, very-intelligent operatives into very dangerous, brainwashed extremists, and zealots–"
"And Burke and Lebedenko are just a couple of tips of a very nasty iceberg," Pearce finished off his thought.
"Pretty much."
"How did you escape?"
"Sonya and I made a deal to work together the moment an opportunity presented itself," Michael revealed. "Which happened on the eighth day. Both Zhirkova and Duboff had to leave the base, probably to welcome the reinforcements. Sonya created a distraction and managed to get one of the soldiers to let me out of my cell. We worked together to neutralise the thirteen soldiers and get out of there."
"Is that when you got shot in the leg?"
"Caught a ricochet just as we ducked out of the main entrance," Michael said. "Zhirkova had the local police and military under her command within the first two hours of our breakout and started hunting for us in earnest. Roadblocks and patrols started popping out everywhere. Sonya and I had to separate when we were cornered by a couple of police patrol cars–"
"Michael–"
"We didn't kill any Cuban officers," Michael assured her quickly. "At least, not when we were still together. I don't know what Sonya did after we went our separate ways…"
Pearce didn't let his hesitation pass without a comment this time. "Did you cross paths with her again?" She asked softly.
"I – yeah," Michael admitted, trying not to dwell too much on that memory, "It kinda caught me by surprise too. She found me passed out in an abandoned shop, and patched me up…saved my life."
He could see a thousand questions warring with each other on Pearce's expression.
"Why?" She blurted and then winced. "I'm sorry–"
"I don't know," Michael shook his head, cutting off her apology for being callous. "She never really told me. She vanished for good the next day. I got on the road soon after that and spent the next forty-eight hours dodging the police and Russian commandos to get to the embassy."
"Russian commandos?" Pearce frowned. "Zhirkova got another team into the country that fast?"
"The reinforcements Zhirkova and Duboff went to welcome was a Project 641," Michael replied.
Then it was his turn to wince when Pearce visibly blanched. "Are you telling me that there's a Russian nuclear submarine docked in a port of Cuba?" Michael could see she was struggling to avoid yelling.
"Somewhere in the eastern coastline near Baracoa, yeah," he added, "Sonya overheard some of their conversation when they were talking about it. Apparently, Zhirkova wanted to take the two of us back to Russia. It was confirmed when I saw the Special Forces soldiers start showing up at the roadblocks."
Pearce took a deep breath and let it out slowly before aiming a narrow-eyed glare at him. "Are there any more bombs you have left to drop on my head, Westen?" She asked with false calm.
Michael smiled. He had to admire her restraint. He had been sitting on vital intelligence for days after all. He could understand her frustration and dread, since she was the one who now sat with an entirely new mission with previously unknown dimensions. He had a feeling his entire debrief and the information it contained would have the same effect back at Langley, as if someone had dropped a hornet's nest in their midst.
Andrew Strong had spent eight years chasing Randall Burke, thinking he was one lone terrorist. The CIA deemed that no cost was too high to bring him down due to all the havoc he wrecked around the world. The knowledge that he was just a part of an entire hidden network with so many more terrorists just like him would definitely set more than a few heads on metaphorical fire.
Michael didn't know how long it would take Pearce to hunt them down, whether it would be eight months or eight more years. It didn't really matter. If the CIA did the smart thing and kept her as the mission lead, he knew she wouldn't give up until she got to the bitter end of it. He had shared almost everything he had learned, and now it was up to her.
He had a hell of a lot more faith in Dani Pearce than he ever had in Andrew Strong.
"Nope, that's it," Michael said cheerfully. "Then I showed up here three days ago and handed myself in. I wanted to talk to Strong first. When they told me he didn't make it, I thought of you…"
Recidencia Santa Villanueva
Holiday Resort
Havana
Cuba
Dani pulled in at the entrance of Residencia Santa Villanueva, a resort located only three blocks away from the embassy, and got out when a smartly dressed valet came scurrying over to greet her. She climbed out with her briefcase and let the valet park the SUV at the back.
Jesse's text had arrived only a couple of hours after she had wrapped up Michael's debrief. It said that the whole team was there in room 302 and that she should head over if she wanted to hear what they had learned.
She wanted to find out what they knew. More than that, she needed their help to convince Michael to step into the arena one more time and do what he always did best. She now understood exactly what Jesse had warned her about before she left Miami to fly to Cuba, and she hoped he would keep his word.
After finishing the mind-blowing debrief, she had contacted Langley with the update. What had started as a quick call to AD Meyers had turned into a four-hour video conference call with three directors and representatives from NSA and Homeland Security. Michael's new-found intel had the explosive impact she expected and left everyone reeling.
At the end of the virtual meeting, there was one thing all her superiors agreed on: Westen could have a slice of the moon if he wanted, just as long as he accepted the new assignment to infiltrate the terrorist organisation and take it down.
Michael Westen, however, didn't have the slightest interest in owning real estate on the moon. Even more alarmingly, the man had no interest in his freedom and the clean slate he was offered in return. She had filled Michael in on the outcome of her virtual meeting as soon as it ended, thinking it was great news. Instead of the positive reaction she had expected, all he had done was smile and shake his head in firm refusal, shocking Dani to the core.
She had absolutely no desire to go down the same path agent Andrew Strong had taken, which would only serve to break the trust Michael had in her. She desperately needed his help and the only other way to get it was through three of the most important people in his life: his friends.
Fiona Glenanne opened the door when she knocked, and subjected her to an unimpressed glare from head to toe before stepping aside to let Dani enter the two bed-roomed suite they had booked for themselves.
Sam Axe stood by the massive dining table they had dragged into the middle of the lounge, drinking a beer. Jesse sat on the armrest of a couch that was otherwise covered with open files. There was a half-assembled SVD Dragunov sniper rifle on the other sofa, which Dani assumed belonged to Glenanne.
They weren't even trying to hide the fact that they were actually planning an armed assault on their own goddamned embassy. Dani didn't know whether to laugh out loud or burst into tears.
"Where's Michael?" Fiona's sharp tone broke her out of a momentary stupor.
"Alive, well and still at the embassy," Dani said, walking over to the dining table. Sam had the blueprints of the entire embassy ground complex spread over the table surface. "He's in one of the guest suites in the visitor's wing. In this one." Dani plucked the marker out of his hand and marked the spot with an 'x' herself.
"Huh," Sam said, leaning over the blueprint with half a smile. "That would actually make the breach a lot easier."
"I'm not even going to ask how you got your hands on that," Dani said, dropping heavily on the nearest chair. She had long ago learned to turn a blind eye on certain things when it came to how Michael's team operated. "While I admire your loyalty to your friend, I'm here to tell you that you don't need that," she opened up her briefcase and took out three folders which she placed on top of the blueprint. "Sign these and I'll take you to him. Through the main gate even. Not the roof."
"What's this?" Fiona took the top file and sat on the edge of the table.
"Your contracts as CIA assets for the duration of my newest operation," Dani replied before turning her attention to Jesse. He abandoned the file he was reading to take the file Sam gave him from the pile. "You were right, Porter. Michael doesn't want anything to do with the hornets' nest he has once again stirred up."
"What do you mean?"
"Michael came back with intel we didn't have the slightest clue we needed," she said. "We need his help. He's not budging."
"And you're surprised?" Fiona asked in a scathing tone, "Why would he risk his life again for the same agency that turned its back on him at every turn?"
Dani understood her anger on behalf of the man she cared very much about. It wasn't even all about the mission at that point. While the CIA had labelled the mission to take down Burke's network a top priority, Dani couldn't help but view it as the best opportunity to get Michael out of Guantanamo Bay for good and restore his original record.
"Langley is more than willing to wipe his slate clean, let him out of detention and give him back his freedom," Dani said, watching their reactions, "Security clearances, the whole nine yards–"
The three of them shared a knowing glance, and an entire conversation happened in total silence.
"Did you tell him that?" Sam asked on behalf of everyone. "Were there any conditions attached to that very generous offer? You know, the devil in the small print?"
"There were no hidden traps, Sam," Dani sighed. "He's off the books. It's not like there are legalities attached to his detention. Letting him out of the camp is the easiest thing the agency can do if he wants. They're willing to offer much more than that and all Michael has to do is accept the assignment."
"And yet, he said no?"
"Yeah."
"Alright then," Sam said after another round of silent glances, raised eyebrows and shrugs, "Let's hear it. What exactly did Michael find out for the CIA to bend over backwards for him like that?"
"Sign those," Dani countered with a smile, nodding at the files in their hands. "And I'll fill you in on everything."
The trio took their time reading through the confidentiality agreement, showing Dani yet again how much things had changed during the period of time she hadn't been around. When they did finally put down their signatures, Dani felt like they were only doing it because they still had some faith left in her when it came to helping Michael, not because they gave a damn about the CIA or some obscure terrorist organisation.
She kept her word and told them everything she had learned from Michael, about Burke's death, the GRU's involvement and Burke's associate, Sonya Lebedenko.
None of them spoke for a long time after Dani was done.
"Damn," Jesse was the first to break the heavy silence with a curse. "Only Michael Westen–"
"Boy, I'm glad he's still alive," Sam said, slumping heavily on a chair. "Zhirkova is terrible news. That woman really wanted to see Mike dead."
"How do you know about her?" Dani asked curiously.
"My team was operating in the same theatre at the time," Sam shrugged, sipping his beer. "Besides, who do you think took that warhead to Belarus?"
Dani shook her head, smiling. "You knew Michael back then?"
"Even before that," Sam replied. "We go back a long way."
"You know, I've only ever heard rumours about this Sonya character," Jesse said, glancing at them all. "They said she ran circles around NSA for a good long while before they caught onto the fact that they had a mole. She's got a reputation in our intelligence circles."
"We have nothing in our database about her," Dani added. "And now we learn that she's betrayed her own country to work for a group of extremists we never even knew existed."
"What exactly do you want Michael to do here?" Fiona got straight to the only point that actually mattered to the three of them, "Are you planning on sending him undercover to this network?"
"Taking this network down is a top priority mission," Dani said. "Langley wants it done one way or another as soon as possible. As things stand, Michael has the best way in. He already has the perfect cover. He was rotting in a hellhole for over a year when the company betrayed him again by trying to throw him out in the open as bait. Although he wouldn't have any love left for Burke over the fact, he would hate the CIA more for it. And then there's the fact that he has a connection to one of their active operatives…"
"Did you ask him why he wouldn't do it?"
"He wasn't very forthcoming about it," Dani said, looking at Fiona, "But I have an idea why."
"It's very easy," said Sam. "Burke, and therefore the network he works for, knows all about us, our lives, where we live… everything. Michael knows that if he walks in, we will become the insurance that he stayed in line."
"The CIA and I could take the responsibility for your safety," Dani said, feeling the same desperation she had felt while talking to Michael creeping back in. "You already signed up as assets, so you're covered. I could have teams watching over Michael's mom and nephew round the clock–"
"The trust he had in his old company is all but gone after everything that's happened, Agent Pearce, you understand?" Sam interjected.
"I do. I may not know the whole story, but I've seen enough to understand why he and all of you would feel that way," Dani said sincerely. "Anyway, now you all know where we stand. I was hoping we could figure out a way to move forward, despite your valid disdain towards the Company. I'm not your enemy on this one, or Michael's… I haven't changed." She ended her pitch with the simplest truth.
"Glad to hear that," Jesse said, exchanging another glance with Sam and Fiona, "We'd like Michael out in the open too, not rotting in your black site."
"You know, none of this would have been necessary if he hadn't gone and surrendered to the embassy," Fiona turned on her perch so she was directly facing Sam. "We were already in Baracoa beach when he made his escape. We could have probably picked him right off the street if you hadn't been scouring bars–"
"Hey, excuse me!" Sam glared back at her, defending himself instantly, "I was intelligence gathering."
"In daiquiris and half-naked women–" Fiona threw her arms up in the air and rolled her eyes.
"I'll have you know daiquiris and half-naked women have the best information at the best of times–"
"Guys, guys," Jesse cut in loudly before the argument between Sam and Fiona got more heated, "Hello…focus."
"Anyway, what I'm saying is, we can still do this," Fiona said, stabbing a finger at the blueprint. Dani could have been just another chair for all the attention she paid to her. "I say we break in, break him out and knock this 'surrendering' nonsense right out his thick skull–"
"I don't know, Fi," Jesse intervened with a calm, reasonable tone, "Becoming fugitives would be bad enough, but to do that with a network of extremists that might just be interested in Michael? On top of his old pals in the CIA hunting us at every turn? Don't you think that'd be a bit too much?"
Fiona's huff conveyed that she didn't really care, and all she wanted was to grab their man and disappear.
"This network is bad news," Dani interjected before they could resume planning the prison break, "I have a group of analysts running through the leads and names, and they're already coming up with hundreds of bombings, massacres, and all out wars these people may have had a hand in. Until now, they've been operating in the shadows under all our noses. We need his help and yours on this…Please."
Fiona made a face, but Dani saw her jerk her head at Sam who exchanged a relieved sort of glance with Jesse. Then he walked over to the mini bar and pulled out four beers, which he then proceeded to pass around before taking his seat again.
"When you put it like that," he said, opening up his fresh drink, "Guess you might be happy to learn we have some information about this Raphael Serrano. That's the lead we've been tracking on our end."
"I know that he's an arms dealer, human trafficker and a broker," Dani said, recalling what she had read earlier, "According to our intel, he was last sighted in Syria, two months ago."
"Oh, no, he was here alright," Sam said, "We heard some chatter about a broker and a deal gone wrong here in Cuba. We figured it was worth checking out, since it's Mike we're talking about. We managed to track down Serrano's transport guy, and found out he flew the man here from Ecuador almost a month back."
"Do you know where he is now?" Dani wanted to know.
"In the morgue," Fiona said with an unconcerned shrug and started sipping her beer.
"We saw his body, it wasn't pretty," Sam elaborated when Fiona didn't. "He went through some bad times before whoever tortured him put him out of his misery."
"Randall Burke?"
"Or his men, not sure," said Sam, "Anyhow, Serrano managed to send an SOS before his capture, a hard drive, to one of his associates. He was probably counting on his pal to use it as insurance to make a deal to free him. Unfortunately, it didn't work."
Dani took the hard drive he offered, wondering if she even wanted to find out how it came into their possession.
"Now, I'm thinking Burke may have had him tortured because he learned that it was Serrano who sicced the Russians on this Sonya woman," Sam said to Jesse.
"How'd you figure that?" Dani asked, glancing between them.
"The drive had a lot of encrypted information," Jesse said, picking up a file from the pile on the couch and handing it over to Dani. "That's everything on the drive. There's some chatter between Serrano and a Colombian cartel about delivering a package to Russia–"
"Burke used Serrano to arrange the second deal because he already had an in with the GRU," Dani said, flipping through the file. "But I'm guessing he never received the information about how Serrano learned about Sonya in the first place."
"Not unless he talked," Sam said. "That part we don't know. What we do know is that Serrano bought the information on Sonya off an online auction handled by a hacker group called the 'Collective." Now, I'm thinking, if this hacker group managed to unearth files of an ex-GRU operative, what else might they have?"
Dani looked up, unable to hold back a smile as she caught on to exactly what Sam was saying. Any information they could get on Sonya Lebedenko and her fellow operatives would get them another step closer to the hidden network and its activities. And, if the 'Collective' had anything to offer in that regard, infiltrating their group would be their next best move.
"Oh, and the best part," Jesse said, flashing her a sideways grin as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, "They are based in Miami."
"So if we can worm our way in and go digging around their servers," Sam added, "We could probably find a lead or two about this fancy network."
"That sounds like a plan," Dani said excitedly. It was the best piece of news she'd heard after Michael's rather alarming refusal to get involved. "Chances are the network is already probably looking for these guys, and they are definitely pissed. If we can get to these hackers before the network can–"
"We'll have some leverage over them when they come knocking." Sam finished her thought and tipped his bottle up to finish his beer.