Part Ten - When It all comes to an End
Michael's Temporary Lodgings
Little Gables
Miami
Just as her message had said, Sonya was right on time when she knocked on his door.
"Hey!" Michael said, opening the door to let her in. "How are you?"
"Great, and you?"
"Still alive," Michael replied, smiling.
"I can see that." Michael saw her curious gaze taking in the minimalistic nature of his temporary abode before she settled on a chair by his dining table.
"Want a coffee?" Michael asked, leaning against the kitchen counter to finish the yoghurt he had been eating, and added, "Or one of these?"
"No thanks," Sonya declined. "I've gotta head back soon."
"I wanted to thank you for what you did the other day," he said, scooping out the last bit of his yoghurt, "The call came just in time to stop a bullet to my head."
Her eyes narrowed at his admission, "You went in personally?" She demanded, "Can this man whose ass you saved be trusted to keep the fact that you're alive to himself?"
"I believe so," Michael said, knowing that she did have a valid reason to be instantly suspicious. They did go to extreme lengths to hide him from the rest of the world after all. "Not like he could go to any authorities without implicating himself anyway," he shrugged, "Besides, I'd have done it anyway, Sonya, because I didn't do it for him, I did it for Fiona."
He knew that admitting as much was a risk, both to his place with the network, which was still fragile and under heavy scrutiny, and whatever Sonya regarded him as personally. But, he had a feeling both James and Sonya already knew exactly what kind of a person he was, the values he placed on the lives of everyone he cared about, and the lengths he would go for them. That knowledge made him feel safe in letting her know why exactly he had done what he did, and if it would serve to add some space between him and Sonya, all the more better.
She studied him with a pensive sort of gaze. "Sometimes the weight of a shared history can drag you down, can't it?" She asked softly, her earlier irritation faded into something bordering on wistful.
"Yes," Michael said, equally softly, "But most of the time, it could pull you out of the deep end too."
She didn't say anything to that, and continued to watch him silently, lost in thoughts Michael couldn't quite read on her expression.
"Anyway, whatever you guys did worked," he said after a while, drawing her attention back to him. "We got out, and Hialeah is down one drug dealer–"
"Not just Hialeah, but Venezuela too," Sonya corrected, her smile sharp, "His boss is no longer around."
"Really?"
"Let's just say, they've outlived their usefulness, shall we?" she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, "We don't deal with monsters, Michael, remember? We take them down. The world is a better and safer place for it. Besides, after what you did for us, it was the least we could do."
"I understood why the job had to be done." Michael murmured, averting his gaze.
"I know and you never complained," she said, the look in her eyes softening, "But I saw how much it affected you, Michael, the pain you tried to hide… I know it wasn't the easiest mission for you."
Michael nodded wordlessly, secretly relieved that she had drawn all the conclusions he had meant for her to draw after the operation.
"So what brings you here?" he asked, not bothering to hide his attempt at deflection, making it clear that he wasn't really in the mood to dive back into the memories of the mission. "You weren't really forthcoming in your message."
"These," she said, and pulled out another passport from her backpack along with what looked like a personal file.
"Nice," he said, walking over to the dining table to look at the documents she spread on it, "More passports and visas, and cover stories–"
"Better get to memorising," she said with a crooked smile, "We're leaving tomorrow. You and I are travelling abroad as a couple– Elliot and Tricia Bronson. We have been married for a while, so there is a lot for you to learn in a few hours."
Michael took the passport first, and saw that Elliot Bronson was a well-travelled businessman in import and export trade according to his bio page. There were several fake visas stamped on the rest of the pages. The air ticket that was inside told him that they would be flying to Mexico the next afternoon.
"That's a lot of trouble for a single trip," he commented idly, turning his attention to the file that contained Elliot Bronson's back story, "So, what happens in Veracruz?"
"It's not just a trip, Michael. We're joining James for a very important meeting."
"And that meeting is?"
She flashed him an exasperated smile, "That's for James to tell you."
"Still don't trust me enough?" Michael raised an eyebrow at her.
"I know you might feel like it, but you have to understand that it's a process," she said after a moment, relenting, "After this, your integration will be complete, and you'll finally be able to start your life, the life you're meant to be living."
"What does that mean?" Michael frowned.
"It means, you can move out of this limbo you're stuck in right now, Michael," she said, glancing around pointedly, "You're going to get assigned to your own area of operations, your own base and operational budgets. That means, you'll be running missions instead of proving yourself."
Michael let a slow, triumphant smile stretch on his lips, expertly masking the way his blood ran cold at the news. A new area of operations could be anywhere in the world, and that would mean going deeper into the cover with even less support. As things stood, he still had the home turf advantage, and the backup of his friends. A relocation would mean total isolation without any guarantees that he got more direct access to James.
"About time," he said, letting his voice go lighter, "Can't wait!"
"Yes," Sonya said, matching his smile with a bright one of her own, "Do your homework and be ready tomorrow on time. I'll see you then."
CIA Field Office
The FAA Centre
Miami-Dade County
Michael walked into the CIA field office two hours after his meeting with Sonya, the feelings of quiet agitation her remarks had brought up still unsettled in the pit of his stomach. The place was in controlled chaos, as it always was, and the muted sounds of chatter, ringing phones and beeps and whirs of workstations greeted him like an old friend when he walked through the pit. A quick scan found Pearce leaning against the counter next to a coffee machine, hands on her hips. She was glaring at the thing as if she could make it pour out her caffeine fix faster by her will alone.
"Oh, oh," she said when she saw him making his way towards her, "I don't like that look on your face. What did she say?"
"Another job," Michael sighed wearily, "The last one I get to do while I'm still here–"
Taking Pearce's raised brow as permission to elaborate, he told her what Sonya had said about his upcoming promotion within the ranks of James' organisation.
"Okay, that's bad," Pearce grunted, agreeing with his own assessment. "We need to wrap this up before that happens. Who knows where they'd bury you next!"
"Yeah," Michael said, and accepted the mug she gave him with a nod of thanks. "That's why I asked you to bring Steele in. He's got his fingers on more than a few pulses in the region–"
He couldn't quite conceal the grin that crept up to his lips when the mention of the freelance spy instantly darkened Pearce's expression to a grimace. Roger Steele was a bit of an acquired taste, and had that effect on many agents when they came into contact with him for the first time.
"Michael!"
The man's jovial voice greeted Michael as if the act of speaking his name had summoned him. He looked over his shoulder to see Steele sauntering towards him with a smile on his face and a disposable Dixie cup in his hand.
"Tell you the truth, I'm not liking this life as a dead guy much, old boy." Steele sidled up next to Michael with an arm casually thrown over his shoulder, and started complaining. The drink in his cup sloshed around ominously as he gestured at Pearce with it. The strong smell wafting from it told Michael that the coffee in it was drowning in bourbon. "I miss my life, you know–"
"Yeah, Roger," Michael said, puffing out an irritated breath, "Join the fucking club."
Steele swayed closer in his attempt to squint at the side of Michael's head, using his hold on him to keep himself more or less steady, "I forgot for a bit there that you're in the same boat as me," he hiccupped, and chugged more of his drink, "Anyway, Dani says you could use my help. Well… here I am! Ask me anything. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Anything to expedite my exit out of here."
Pearce jerked her head to the side, wordlessly signalling them to follow her to the command centre. Steele slinked along, letting Michael carry most of his weight like it was payment for all the trouble he had caused him. Or maybe it could have been that it wasn't his first drink since his arrival at the field office, although Michael had no idea how he got Pearce to turn a blind eye to him bringing along his alcohol cabinet.
Might get along with Sam like a house on fire, Michael thought idly as Pearce led them to where her army of analysts determinedly searched for anything and everything regarding James and his network.
"Veracruz, Mexico," Michael said, addressing Steele, but pitching his voice in a way so that everyone seated at the workstations could hear him, "What comes to mind in the line of cartels, street gangs, mafias, smugglers…. you know– any enterprises in that variety. Any budding organisation that would benefit from, say, making a deal with a very hush-hush global terrorist network?"
As he spoke, one of the techs pulled up a detailed map of southern Mexico on the main display screen on the impressive wall of monitors they had before them, highlighting the Veracruz region.
"Why the gangs?" Pearce inquired, frowning, "Why not a legitimate business?"
"Call it a hunch," Michael shrugged, and put the coffee mug down to let his gaze run over the points of interest that popped up in the area. It took him a moment to realise both Pearce and Steele were aiming twin glares at his skull from either side.
"Remember the favour they did for me when I called regarding Nando?" At Pearce's impatient nod, he elaborated. "They went straight to the guy at the top, Ricardo Lopez, and according to Sonya, he didn't survive long after the encounter. I'm pretty sure they took over his operations in Bogata–"
The way Steele's squint turned into grimace told him that he knew who Michael was talking about.
"I see where you're going," Pearce muttered, narrowing her gaze at the map.
The tech manipulated the display to highlight most of Venezuela in a different colour with the known distribution/supply routes and warehouses marked with pins, adding the information they had on that particular drug dealer and his operations to the map.
"When you add what they now control in the DR into the mix…"
Heeding Michael's words, the tech did the same to the Dominican Republic, letting all the information they had about Marco Cabral's intelligence network display as well.
"Wait!" Steele made a scandalised noise, staring up at the sinewy lines representing Cabral's network that went up on the screen with wide eyes, "I know who runs the cartel in the DR. That's Marco Cabral–" He cut himself off then and turned to Michael abruptly, blinking dazedly, "Cabral – I heard the sorry sod shied out of the deal he made with the MI6 recently–"
Michael spared him an unimpressed glance, wondering if maybe he wasn't as drunk as he seemed, to be able to put it together that quickly.
"Sweet bleeding Jesus!" Steele laughed, thumping Michael on the back a few times hard enough to hurt, and stumbled over to sit on the edge of the nearest table, "That was you, wasn't it?"
"Told you Sonya works for some dangerous people, Steele," Michael reminded him, his voice low, "And for the time being, so do I."
"Los Bandoleros and Los Cazadores," Steele blurted out at the end of another loud hiccup, "They're both fighting over the port. If I had to put my money on one of them, I'd say Cazadores. The old man, Don Suarez, died a few months back and his two sons took over running things. Neither of them are anything like their old man–"
"Why?"
Instead of answering, Steele glared balefully at his empty cup for a long moment before noticing the mug Michael had placed on the same table, his coffee untouched. Steele grabbed it with a delighted grin and proceeded to spike it generously with the flask he pulled out of his jacket's inner pocket.
"Steele–" Michael snapped.
The man hummed around a mouthful of coffee flavoured bourbon.
"The new leaders of the Hunters, what makes you so sure they're the ones making a deal with someone like James?"
"Well, they don't want to get stuck in Mexico for one thing," Steele shrugged, swaying side to side on his perch, "And they've been asking around. I think they both want to get rid of the family business and get the hell out."
"What about the Bandits?" Pearce asked.
"Family business down four generations," Steele said, "Too proud, too hard-headed and too fucking patriotic to even think about selling out. They'd rather shoot you in the head if you went around asking."
"That's thin." She said, sharing a frustrated glance with Michael.
Steele saw her doubtful expression and clicked his fingers, grinning brightly, "The bald bloke– what's his name? Pendleton? He runs ops on your southern border. Contact him. He'll tell you more."
One of Pearce's analysts started dialling a phone without waiting to be asked while another one occupied herself with searching the CIA servers for what they had on the two cartels. Within a few minutes, the accompanying screens to the left of the main screen had everything they had on them, confirming what Steele had enthusiastically shared.
"I can see why they're excited about this one," Pearce remarked several minutes later, breaking the silence, "If this deal works out tomorrow, whatever it is, James will basically have full control of the Caribbean sea–"
"That's an entire region coming under one organisation's control," Michael agreed, his mind running in a hundred directions trying to figure out a way to corner the elusive leader when he made it to Mexico the next day, "That's just way too much unchecked power…"
"Let's get to work then, shall we?" Pearce said, grabbing a seat to settle by the nearest workstation.
Michael followed suit, and took the chair one of the techs wordlessly offered. For the next few hours, it was all about probing contacts, checking out locations and layouts, tracing back the money and paper trails they already had against the ones Steele had shared during his debrief. Even a few operatives joined via conference calls as the time passed, sharing what intel they had about the two cartels, confirming Steele's assumption about where James might be making his move.
At the end of the long, exhausting day, they had a vague, almost skeletal frame of a plan. They had the make and models of the convoy that would be transporting James and his team on the ground, the possible location where the meeting might take place, a distraction in the shape of the arrival of the rival gang and an extraction plan.
"We're going to have to track you live for this one, Michael," Pearce declared wearily, rubbing a hand roughly across her face. By then, they had gone through every detail of the plan and contingencies not once, but twice.
"The flight lands at 12:40," Michael said, recalling the information on the travel documents he had received, "Twenty minutes to clear the immigration, and around about two to three hours on the road when you make allowance for evasive manoeuvres. They usually run their checks just before James comes in. You'll have to remotely activate it when you see the convoy move."
It was a risk, one that could earn him a swift execution if he was discovered, both Michael and Pearce knew that. Yet, the plan required his location at all times, both due to the moving parts they had to adjust on the fly and his safety.
"Once we confirm you're with them and on the move, we'll move as planned," Pearce said, nodding, "Try and keep your head down once the shooting starts. We won't be the only ones with the guns."
There were a lot of elements they weren't going to control, such as the two organisations that were planning to make a deal and the one they were planning on introducing into the mix. They needed the presence of the rival gang in order to create a chaotic distraction, and throw the suspicion off of Michael when things inevitably went to hell.
"Yeah," Michael said around a badly muffled yawn, "There'll be a lot of angry gangsters in the streets. It's going to be a bloodbath."
"That's why we're going to move in and out quickly, before it turns into a shootout," Pearce said confidently, "The Mexican government wants both the cartels out of the picture. As long as we get this done without any civilian casualties, they're going to look the other way."
Michael accepted that with a nod, and stretched, wincing at the pops and cracks that erupted along his spine at the move. Even though there were no windows to offer the view of the night time traffic, he knew it was late. Most of the workstations had different faces than the ones he had seen when he had arrived, due to the shift changes. Steele was soundly asleep draped over a sofa by the kitchen, having passed out in the middle of the planning session hours before.
"Alright then," he said, and stood up. "I better get going."
Pearce followed him out to the elevator wordlessly, and only stopped him when he was about to press the button to call one up.
"Michael–" she said, her voice quiet.
"What's up?" Michael frowned, his guard going up instantly at her uncharacteristic hesitance.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before looking up at him. "It's about Jason Bly," she murmured, "He didn't make it."
Michael closed his eyes, stunned by the wave of grief that hit him at the news. CSS agent Jason Bly wasn't a friend per se, but he could almost hear the man's quiet words to Sam, when they had met. It was an unexpected realisation that there was some truth to them from his end too.
"He died in the operating theatre when they took him in for his second surgery," Pearce continued in the same quiet voice when he stayed silent, "You were already out of the country when I got the call. Didn't exactly have a good time to tell you afterwards. I'm sorry, Michael."
"Shit."
"This isn't the best time for a news like this, it never is," Pearce sighed, "But, on the practical side, we can't forget that fact that we have another unknown sniper in the wind – a sniper who may or may not have seen you."
"And we have no idea who they are working for."
Pearce didn't have to spell out the implications, since Michael knew them all too well. That was yet another unpredictable element they may or may not encounter during the already complicated take down they had planned.
"So don't let your guard down, tomorrow," she insisted, "Not even for a second."
"I'll keep it in mind."
Mobile Command Post
Boca Del Rio
Veracruz,
Mexico
The Next Day
13.14 Hours
The two jeeps and the armoured transport continued on Highway 150 at a leisurely speed in a south-southwest direction, finally confirming the speculation of the previous evening, along with the attack plan that was in place. The tracker on Michael was a blinking dot on the monitor, serenely moving along with the convoy.
"Alpha Team, standby," Dani called over the net, signalling the team to move to their positions and be ready for the extraction.
A chorus of affirmatives flowed over the comms, filling the interior of the surveillance van that was parked half a mile up from the location of the planned ambush, behind an alleyway out of sight.
"Approaching intersection five," the tech monitoring the live feed muttered, tensing.
Come on, Dani urged silently, her gaze boring into the satellite imagery of the convoy. It was the moment of truth. The entire extraction plan depended on them taking the first left at the intersection, and turning onto the avenue that would lead them to the edge of the small city of Boca Del Rio, towards the port of Veracruz. Los Cazadores owned most of the establishments in the industrial area of the southwest corner of the town, including the massive warehouse complex near the port that served as their headquarters - the location where they had assumed the deal would go down.
"They're turning." The tech announced a few seconds later, relief palpable in his voice.
"Alpha Team," Dani said, grinning wolfishly, "We're a go. I say again, we're a go."
Kendrick's Convoy
Michael was inside the armoured car with Sonya and James, silently observing the change of scenery through the tinted windows as it passed by rapidly. The traffic had dwindled to almost nothing as they took the left exit off of the intersection that led them further into the municipality of Boca del Rio. There were some shops, small groceries, auto shops and even a few restaurants and cafes here and there, most of them closed or with very few people milling about. Even most of the street vendor stands and carts seemed abandoned, despite it being the middle of the day.
"So, what is in here other than fresh seafood?" Michael asked softly, his gaze fixed on the abundance of colourful graffiti that seemingly hadn't spared a single flat vertical surface on either side of the road. "Or is that classified?"
"What's happening today has been years in the making." James said in a low voice, his pride at the fact evident in the small smile he shared with Sonya, "Let's just say our little organisation is about to make a giant leap forward."
"Is it about expansion?" Michael asked, feigning innocence.
James pinned him with a narrow-eyed, speculative look before shaking his head, chuckling, "Let's just say it's about completing the final piece of the puzzle," he said cryptically, "Once the deal today goes through, we're going to be the untouchable power in this entire region, Michael."
The Ambush Site
They were set up about eight hundred yards from the Los Cazadores' headquarters, around a narrow corridor that extended for about another three hundred yards. According to intel, the complex extended throughout the span of half an acre with a few warehouses, admin buildings, a private hanger and an open yard that served as an outside training facility for the cartel. The entire facility was covered by a seven feet wall with four well-fortified guard towers, surveillance cameras at every corner and electric fences. The file they had on the cartel also went on to say that they had about one hundred trained mercenaries ready to roll out, armed to the teeth, at a short notice.
Sam wasn't that worried about the homegrown army that might descend upon them in defence of James and his men. They were a team of seventeen, including himself, Fiona and Jesse, all strategically positioned around the ambush site. They already had their own armoured getaway cars parked on the opposite side of the narrow line of abandoned buildings and warehouses that made up the narrow entryway to the cartel HQ.
Besides, a quick look at the time told him that the first part of the plan should already be in motion. A few scattered teams of Special Forces soldiers were conducting coordinated attacks on several known factories, businesses and storage facilities throughout the rest of the city, in the guise of the rival cartel. It should be more than enough to keep the Suarez brothers confused and enraged, and to keep them from barging out to save their new friends.
"Primary target approaching," a terse voice whispered through the comms network, dragging Sam out of his musings to the present, "ETA five minutes."
That was the Special Forces operator stationed at a rooftop at the far end of the narrow alley, the one who had the first view of James' convoy. It was just turning in.
Sam was perched on top of a building to the left alongside Jesse, out of immediate view of the convoy, since they were there as operational back up for the extraction team. Fiona was holed up inside the abandoned shop where the first spotter was stationed. She had the detonator for the explosive traps that were designed to isolate James' armoured truck from his escorts.
"Glenanne, that's your cue," said the leader of the extraction team, "Get ready."
"To blow things up," her voice was a low, excited purr that made Sam exchange an exasperated glance with Jesse, "I was born ready, boys."
"This is an extraction op. Shoot to disable unless you're shooting in self defence. I'd rather have a low body count if we can," Pearce ordered, "Michael's to be treated as an enemy combatant until he is in our custody and on his way back to the states. Do you copy?"
A chorus of affirmatives confirmed that the instructions were received and understood.
"It's go time, people."
Sam relaxed his crouched stance as much as he could and adjusted his sniper rifle, "Time to end this."
"Amen to that, brother." Jesse said, taking the safety off of his rifle as well.
Over the comms, their spotter started a countdown to spring the trap and set off the ambush. "Target in sight. Contact in ten, nine, eight, seven…"
Kendrick's Convoy
No matter how much you'd trained, no matter how much you'd planned, there was always anxiety in the moments before you surprised a target with an ambush. If you were with the said target, most things would simply be out of your control. Your operations team might be monitoring the situation, but they would usually be too far away to do much but watch. Your extraction team was there to do one job, and one job only: acquire the targets. That effectively left you alone to fend for yourself when the shooting started. At the end of the day, all you could do was smile, play along, and try not to get killed in the chaos.
Michael kept his expression pleasantly blank while he mentally prepared for the extraction. He knew the two old cars parked on either side of the street only a couple hundred yards away would explode the moment the lead vehicle and their own made it through, cutting off the support vehicle that was trailing them.
In the corner of his eye, he saw James stiffen as they made the turn, looking distinctly ill at ease.
"What is it?" He asked, hoping the man hadn't caught a glimpse of the team somehow.
"It's just a feeling," James muttered, peering over the window on his side, "Tight space. Nobody on the street–"
"You sure?" Michael frowned, shrugging, "It felt like a ghost town since we turned off the highway to me."
"Can't put my finger on it," James said, unconvinced, and he tapped on the glass partition that separated them from the front of the vehicle. "Owen, radio the others. Tell 'em to keep their eyes peeled."
"Yes, sir."
The Ambush Site
"... six, five, four, three, two, one…go, go, go!"
The explosion was spectacular, as was expected. The cars went airborne the moment the thundering boom split the air around them with a blazing fire. When they landed, they created a flaming obstacle between the last jeep and the armoured car that had James, Sonya and Michael.
The driver in the lead vehicle panicked. The jeep veered dangerously over to the sidewalk on the right before he wrenched back control and screeched to a stop in the middle of the street. The second explosion erupted in front of the jeep, another old truck that Fiona had rigged with explosives, successfully trapping the two vehicles between two improvised roadblocks.
"Alpha, Bravo move in,"
Sam watched as the ground team made their approach through the side alleyways between buildings, their guns at the ready.
"Alpha, Charlie, cover us."
The strategically placed snipers on the rooftops started shooting at the vehicles and the ground near where James' men had piled out of their vehicles, keeping them pinned and surrounded.
Michael, who had jumped out of the left side, was outside the armoured transport on the opposite side of Sonya and James. Sam could clearly read his stance through the scope: he was about to make a run towards the lead vehicle that had caught fire to its engine block due to a flaming piece of debris that had landed on it.
"Stay down brother, come on–" Jesse murmured, having seen the same thing Sam had, urging Michael to stay put where he was.
The driver of the jeep hauled himself out, firing blindly as he landed on the rough asphalt. The passenger seemed to be taking his time getting out, either stuck or injured. But he was also firing a Mac-10 through the busted window, and even managed to clip one of the Bravos on the shoulder, taking him down.
"Shit!" Sam cursed and released a volley of covering fire over the jeep to let one of the ground team members pull his injured teammate to safety.
-0-
Michael stayed low on the ground and took a quick look. The support vehicle was trapped behind a wall of fire, and the four men inside were already out, shooting all around them. The overwatch of the extraction team was doing a good job while the ground team moved in to surround them.
There was nothing they could do for each other, since they were separated by a veritable wall of flames.
"Michael–"
James called out when he saw him crouching by the front fender, his gaze fixed on the lead vehicle and its two occupants. The driver was on the ground, his shots going wild, but the man still inside the jeep was a problem.
"They are shooting around us," Michael shouted back, ready to make the run, "They want to take us in, not dead."
"In that case, here," James said, and slid his Glock over to Michael. "Help Gerard while I give them something to worry about."
Michael didn't know what James meant by his ominous remark, and he didn't have the time to wonder. He sprinted from his cover behind the SUV towards the jeep, and bodily hauled the man out of the passenger seat, cleverly blocking his line of sight for shooting under the guise of dragging him out to safety.
It all went according to plan. Almost.
They had James, Sonya and his four men all taking cover against the reinforced body of the SUV on the one side, and all the extraction team had to do was surround them from the two sides and take them down.
But that was before James half slithered inside to grope under the back seat before emerging outside with a terrible surprise of his own.
-0-
"Damn," Sam reared back in surprise."Is that a–"
"Shit," Jesse cursed, and tapped the comms, "Alpha team, be advised. The target has a grenade launcher. I say again, the fucker just pulled out a grenade launcher. Find cover."
-0-
James' driver sprayed a volley of bullets at a soldier who had the misfortune to take a peek from behind a wall, and Michael heard a muted thud as he went down. Another soldier from up above shot him before he could spray a follow up volley, and Owens went down with a hole in his gut.
James let out an enraged scream as he aimed the grenade launcher at the rooftop before firing. The ball of fire blazed a trail of smoke as it soared towards its target. Michael had a moment to pray that the team had enough time to scramble to safety before the roof exploded.
"We've got to get the hell out before they back us up against a wall." The driver of the jeep, whose name Michael didn't know, yelled.
"He's dead." It was Sonya. She was kneeling by Owens' body, looking oddly detached.
Michael aimed his gun and shot the asphalt near the feet of another soldier that tried to close in on them on their right, simultaneously halting his progress and getting in the way of James' shooter, who was aiming at his head.
"Everyone get in," James shouted, popping up from behind cover to aim his launcher over the hood of the SUV at the building on the opposite side. The shot was enough to reduce half the top floor of it to a smoking crate. "I'll make a hole for us to get through."
He turned the launcher around before the rubble had stopped raining all over the alleyway, and took aim at the single truck that barred their way from the front. One grenade at the rear bumper of the burning truck caused it to slide sideways with a deafening screech, clearing out a space big enough for them to slide through.
By then, everyone inside the support vehicle was out of the street, hauled away out of sight to be detained by the extraction team. Michael had a sinking feeling James and, by extension he, were going to get away in the chaos.
"Move, move!" Someone was shouting, "Everyone in."
Having come to the same conclusion Michael had, the Alpha Team made one last effort to hinder their escape. The other driver caught a ricochet in his thigh and went down as he made a move to get inside the passenger seat.
"Michael–"
"Got him," Michael yelled, backing up a step to haul the man to his feet and shove him inside while Sonya and Gerard kept shooting at the team.
Then they were all in, with Sonya piling up behind James with Michael to climb in after her. He took a quick look behind him, and saw a slow nod from the black masked figure, whom he had clocked as the leader of the Alpha Team. It was an acknowledgement that they were slipping out of the net, and Michael hoped Pearce and her support team would keep up the chase at a distance, with the tracker he still had on him.
Focused as he was on the extraction team and getting inside of the SUV before it careened out of the trap, Michael never saw the high calibre shot that came from nowhere to impact him in the back.
-0-
"What the fuck?"
Shocked as he was, it took Sam a moment to hear the growl that erupted over the comms.
"Who the fuck was that?"
"That wasn't any of us," Somebody called out in a panicked voice. "The trajectory was way off–"
"Alpha Team," Pearce's sharp bark cut off the chatter, "Sit rep."
"We detained four, one KIA," the team leader's terse voice came through the net, "James and five others escaped in their transport. Two casualties. One of them caught a round in the leg and Westen caught one in the back. Looked like it went through his vest. It wasn't us."
"Fuck." Next to him, a pale-faced Jesse, who had witnessed the same gruelling sight, cursed.
"Pearce," That was Fiona. She sounded furious. "What the hell's going on?"
"We have another shooter in the mix, people," Pearce sounded rather subdued when she spoke up again, "Keep your heads down. We have an unknown sniper in the wind."
Inside the Armoured SUV
Michael had no idea what was happening. He was sitting inside the SUV. It felt like it was flying off the ground. The sounds around him were garbled for some reason he couldn't quite understand and someone's grip on his right shoulder was the only thing that kept him from falling the rest of the way to the floor.
Michael tried to pull away from that painful grip, and felt a bolt of fear strike through him when he realised he was too weak to do it. The slight jostle also made something ignite on his back, somewhere on his left shoulder blade, near the spine, making him cry out.
"Don't move." Sonya snapped next to his right ear, making him realise it was her hand that was wrapped around his uninjured shoulder, holding him upright.
"Can't much," he slurred, and made the mistake of trying to turn his head to the left, which made the fire in his back infinitely worse.
"The round went through the vest," that was James.
The adrenaline was dispersing quickly from his system, leaving Michael shaky and lightheaded. It took him longer than it should have to realise that he had been shot. The coherent thoughts dissolved in a haze of the sparkling white static of agony when something pushed against the wound, hard.
"Sorry, Michael," he heard Sonya's voice intermittently through the buzzing in his ear, her grip on him tightening. That was when he realised he was trying to get away from James' prodding, which wasn't helping. "We gotta keep pressure on it. Stop moving."
"Hey, hey," it was James again, tapping him on the cheek. Michael opened his eyes, blinking wearily, wondering when he had closed them. "Look at me. You're not gonna die, not today. Stay awake."
There was something in the look in the man's eyes, a mix of glinting fury and determination, that made Michael instinctively trust what he was saying, and nod at him dazedly. That was the last thing he saw when he lost the battle with himself, and slumped against James, unconscious.
Inside the CIA Getaway Vehicle
"Got them on the feed," Sam heard Pearce as he got in the car with Jesse and two other Alpha Team members. "They're heading west."
"How'd they get out?" Jesse inquired, frowning, "I thought this road ended at the Hunter's HQ."
"It does," Pearce said, "They squeezed through an alleyway and drove out on a one way on the wrong side. Blew up the road behind them to block anyone from chasing after them."
"Where are they going?"
"Not to a hospital," Pearce replied, sounding speculative, "Not unless they want the entire Mexican police swarming in on them– "
"Are we in pursuit?" the soldier in the passenger seat broke in.
"Negative. Rendezvous at the command centre. Westen's tracker is still good. We'll know where they are going, and plan on an attack depending on where they end up."
"What the hell happened back there, Pearce?" Sam demanded, "Who shot Mike?"
"Don't know," Pearce said, sounding just as frustrated as he felt, "But if I had to take a guess, I'd say it was the same guy that shot and killed your friend, Agent Jason Bly."