Temporary Command Centre
Navarro-Vazquez Airfield
Veracruz
Mexico
15.23 Hours
The command centre was a temporarily converted maintenance hangar at the Navarro-Vazquez private Airfield, which was located only twenty miles away from where they had set up the ambush in Boca del Rio. Everyone returned to base within half an hour of Pearce's call, and they all had to wait around patiently until her mission control team took over tracking their target along the traffic-heavy highways of southern Mexico.
Finally, closer to an hour later, Pearce had enough information to conduct their post mission briefing and plan their next set of moves.
Sam made a quick stop by the fridge on his way to the briefing, and was elated to find out the agent hadn't thrown away the case of beer he had snuck in there earlier. Grabbing a cold one to keep him company, he joined the loose half circle everyone made by standing around Pearce and her team in front of the veritable wall of active monitors.
"After James and his people slipped past our net, they continued further down south, and arrived at this destination forty minutes later–"
Pearce had a laser pointer highlighting a location somewhere in the city of Alvarado. One of her techs zoomed in on the image until they were all staring at a vast, strategically isolated mansion that was surrounded by an enormous estate spanning about five acres.
Even from the details they could see on the flat, two-dimensional image, it was glaringly obvious that the place was extremely well fortified. There was a seven-foot wall spread all around the perimeter with electrified fencing and surveillance cameras. Most of the estate was backed up against a lagoon, where they had the uninterrupted view of all the sea-going traffic in the lagoon and the small canal that led to the Mexican gulf. The single entry point from the land was guarded by a massive wrought iron gate and two looming towers on either side of it, manned by heavily armed soldiers.
"This is where they are," she continued, "Michael's GPS locator hasn't moved for twenty minutes or so. I believe it's fair to assume that this is James Kendrick's base here in Mexico."
"The place is registered to a shell company operating out of Aruba - a company we have already confirmed is a front for one of Ricardo Lopez's export businesses–" another one of her techs, Sam thought her name was Price, spoke up at Pearce's nod, "So this estate definitely belongs to Kendrick's organisation."
"It's only seventy kilometres from here," the Alpha Team leader, Lt. Carter - a towering man close to seven feet in height with a face full of fuzzy, red beard – noted in his gruff voice, "It would only take us about an hour to get there by land. Do we have a way to get around in water?"
For the next twenty minutes, they busied themselves with game planning possible infiltrations via land and water, weighing the pros and cons of each entry against the plausible methods of breach and timing. The lively discussion was suddenly interrupted by a call that came via a landline – a call that managed to turn the tech who answered it an alarming shade of pale as he answered it. It was a call from Langley, her boss demanding Pearce to take it in her office through her private line.
"Wonder what that's about?" Jesse murmured, staring at the closed door to the small storage area that served as Pearce's office.
"Probably the bosses at home are freaking out that James got away." Sam guessed, and grimaced when he realised his beer was gone.
"Who gives a shit?" Next to him, Fiona seethed. "They got Michael! We need to get in there and finish this damn thing now before the bastard gets himself killed for real."
Sam sighed. He had to agree that she had a point. Since the start of the goddamned mission, they had witnessed Michael dodging too many close calls. It made Sam wonder guiltily if they'd made a mistake in talking him into the mess in the first place.
Indefinite incarceration against a chance at freedom…
At the time, it had felt like it was a no-brainer. Now, he wasn't so sure.
"Uh oh…That's not a good look."
Jesse's exclamation snapped him out of his spiralling thoughts. Pearce stormed out of the storage room with a look of pure rage reddening her face.
"What's wrong?"
"That was AD Meyers," she muttered, running a hand through her hair in frustration, "He was unhappy with the latest update, to put it mildly."
"What's he saying?"
She let her gaze sweep over the three of them without answering Jesse straight away. Sam felt an uneasy feeling curl unpleasantly in his gut at the way her anger visibly drained into something apologetic.
"We're on stand down. We're not authorised to conduct further ground operations until further notice." She said with a wince.
At first, Sam thought he'd heard that wrong. Jesse and Fiona went still in his periphery, as if they also couldn't believe what they had just been told.
"What! Why?" Jesse was the first to snap out of the shock and yell, "Have they gone insane?"
"Jesse–"
"What if he gets away?" Sam demanded before she could say anything further, feeling his own anger rising to the surface, "Don't the assholes back at Langley realise this is the best chance we've got to take down the slippery bastard? He's going to move soon and we're never going to get another chance like this!"
"Preaching to the choir here," Pearce sighed, making no effort to contradict them or defend her superior's decision, "I already pointed all of this out. But those are the orders I've got–"
"This is bullshit, Pearce," Fiona growled, her eyes blazing with the familiar glint that usually made an appearance when she was on the verge of doing something glaringly reckless.
"I know, and I agree," Pearce said, her own frustration evident in her sharp tone, "For now, all we can do is monitor and keep planning."
"That's not enough, Pearce!" Sam said through clenched teeth, struggling not to yell at her.
Pearce sighed and rubbed a hand roughly across her face. "I'll make the call if Michael starts moving again."
Alvarado Estate
Mexico
18:31 Hours
Consciousness was a wispy thing in Michael's periphery, trying to tease him out of the pleasantly dark void he was in with abstract fragments of the world around him.
The first thing he felt was relief at the fact that he was no longer stuck inside a speeding SUV, something that had been quite painful for some reason. The soft, still surface he was lying on was a massive improvement.
"...Good work. Take him to the basement," Someone's stern voice floated towards him from somewhere to his left, "I'll be down in a few…"
The voice was familiar, even though Michael couldn't quite place their name just yet. Apart from those quietly muttered words, the place he was in seemed to be mostly quiet.
He drifted for a while again, too tired to stay aware of his surroundings, and was wrenched back to the surface when the same voice returned a lot closer than earlier.
"How is he?"
"Should be coming out of it in a few minutes," another slightly accented voice replied, one that was decidedly unfamiliar, "Lucky he had a vest on. This could have done a lot of internal damage if it wasn't slowed down by the Kevlar–"
Michael heard a clinking sound, like something small and metal bumping against glass, and wondered how or where he had heard that particular sound before.
"Thanks, Doc."
A briefcase closed shut with a click somewhere at the foot of the bed, followed by soft retreating footsteps on a carpeted floor. Sounds of a door closing quietly came soon after, telling Michael that the doctor had exited the room.
It was only then it occurred to him to wonder why there was a doctor in the same room in the first place, and whether his state of unconsciousness had anything to do with it. At the mere thought of it, a twinge bloomed at his back, just below the left shoulder blade, and started to gradually worsen with each breath.
"Michael–"
That was Sonya. The pain was rapidly clearing the fog clouding his mind. She was close enough to have heard the weak groan that came out of him.
"Hey," her hand was on his shoulder again, shaking him rather gently, "Wake up."
The knowledge that he was still with Sonya, and therefore James, was more than enough to deliver a shot of adrenaline to his system, instantly snapping him fully out of his fugue-like state. He opened his eyes to a dimly lit room, and blinked wearily. James was standing at the foot of his bed, arms folded against his chest, his head tilted to the side as he regarded him silently. Michael was pretty sure the dark, visible stains on James' white shirt were not his own blood, but Michael's.
"What happened?" He croaked, and winced at the dryness of his throat. Sonya, who was sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, handed him a glass of water with a straw, which he drained slowly after a grateful nod.
"You got shot," James said, "And we have the man who did it. He has a rather interesting story… to say the least–"
Michael kept his expression blank as he slurped his water, and managed not to choke on it in shock. His mind, however, was reeling at the news, several worrying questions popping up at the same time:
How long had he been out?
Who was it?
Did the sniper know?
Did James know?
"So," he asked softly after gulping down as much water as he could without feeling nauseous, "Who is it?"
When the answer came, he couldn't contain his shock, and he almost dropped the glass before Sonya caught it as it slipped out of his numb grip.
"He says his name's Simon," James said, his narrow-eyed gaze never leaving Michael, "And that you know him very well."
"That's impossible!" Michael blurted, shaking himself out of his stunned silence.
"I don't think so," James said, taking his phone out. "Here, take a look."
Sonya helped Michael sit up straight with a pillow at his back. The move jostled his freshly patched up bullet wound, and he had to grit his teeth against crying out at the agony that flared. On the phone, there was a live surveillance feed of a dark room with windowless walls. At the centre of it, there was a lone chair bolted to the floor. The single source of light in the room was a small light bulb that hung from the ceiling to hover a few feet above the chair, illuminating the occupant secured to its built-in restraints.
Michael felt what little blood he had drain from his face when he saw the man smiling placidly at the camera on the wall in front of him.
"That is him, isn't it?" James said, studying Michael as he stared at the feed, "The look on your face says it all."
"He's an insane psychopath," Michael said, his words catching in his gasping breaths, "He used to work for a cabal that operated right underneath the CIA – mostly made of burned spies…"
"Ah, the black organisation that burned you in the hopes of forcing you to work for them," James stepped around to settle on the edge of the bed on his left. "So this is the infamous Simon Escher. The 'Management's Pet' was how you phrased it, if I recall correctly."
Michael nodded, returning the phone back to him. There was no point in trying to deny it since James Kendrick had full and complete knowledge of his entire career, every operation he had ever conducted before and after his burn notice.
"That's him. They used the records of his black ops to alter mine. It was the NOC list he made that led to the downfall of the Organisation. Then we went after Anson Fullerton, the man who was behind it all. Tom Card was the one last loose end…"
"What happened to Simon?" Sonya prodded when he trailed off, his mind getting lost in between the memories that led to his incarceration, and the very real threat of Simon, who could bring his entire operation crashing around him with just a few convincing words.
"He was caught," he replied, deciding to stick to as much of the truth as possible, "And by all rights, he should be rotting in some hellhole. Not running around killing on contracts."
"Maybe his luck changed," James said, gazing at him with an indecipherable look that set all Michael's senses on edge, "Just like yours did."
"I don't know, James," Michael grunted, letting his genuine disbelief, anger and confusion bleed through to his tone. "I have no idea."
"I believe you, Michael," he said, folding his arms across his chest again, "But now we have a problem. It's clear that Simon was working independently from the assailants that ambushed us. That means someone wants to catch me and my people alive, while someone else wants you dead. Any idea why? Or who's behind it all?"
"I don't know who was behind the ambush. I still don't know where we were going, or what your plans were," Michael lied with a pained grimace, "As for Simon, there's only one possibility and that would be the CIA. Although, I can't believe they'd stoop so low to let that monster out in public again–" He ended with a frown, adding a layer of truth to his false admission.
"Have to agree with you there," James sighed, and the look in his eyes softened, "I received an update from my men back in Miami while you were still out. Your mother was taken into custody a few hours ago, along with your nephew, Charlie," he said, apologetically.
Michael didn't know whether to feel relieved or horrified.
On the one hand, he was expecting it, since it was a precaution Pearce had put in place during the mission planning as a contingency in case things went wrong. The chances were, his mother and Charlie were hidden in a CIA safehouse out of Miami, and therefore out of James' reach.
But the fact that someone in the same organisation wanted him dead counteracted that relief with cold dread. He had no idea why they wanted him dead now, when their timing couldn't be any worse, unless it had something to do with Bly and his digging. It was also entirely possible that Michael's cover was already blown, which meant a certain death for him anyway. Then there was the possibility that the unknown party knew about the CIA operation, and wanted James and his network as a consolation prize as well.
In his mind, that was the worst possibility, because that meant it wasn't just him, but everyone involved in the op, his friends and even Pearce, was compromised by someone higher up in the chain of command.
"I think it's safe to assume the CIA is back to hunting you," James continued, unaware of Michael's frantic thoughts, "Any idea how you may have popped up in their radar again, Michael? The reason we went to extreme lengths to fake your death was to avoid this exact situation."
Michael could tell that he wasn't happy with the situation. Sonya twitched next to him, staring down at him with an angry frown.
"Could it have been the man you volunteered to rescue recently?"
Michael knew she was referring to the debacle that involved Carlos Cruze and the drug dealer, Nando. "No, I don't think so," Michael murmured, shaking his head, "All he knew was that I wasn't dead. He had no idea how or why. While he hates my guts because of what happened to Fiona, he despises the CIA even more. It wasn't him."
He decided not to offer the other explanation that involved their suspicions about Jason Bly's death. He had no idea what Simon had been saying and needed to know more about it before figuring out a way to spin the narrative to keep his cover intact.
"Then how did they find out, Michael?"
Michael closed his eyes and let out a long, shaky exhale, "I don't know."
Temporary Command Centre
Navarro-Vazquez Airfield
Veracruz
Mexico
Meanwhile…
"This is bullshit," Fiona spat, making no move to grab the bottle of beer Sam placed in front of her. They were seated around a small table in the designated break room, away from the techs glued to their screens. Pearce was restlessly pacing around the workstations while the fourteen soldiers occupied themselves with cleaning out their gear on the other side of the hangar.
"We don't even know if Michael's alive or not," she went on, glaring daggers at the command centre in general, "We already know everything we need to know about James' mansion. Instead of going there and taking them down, we're just sitting here wasting our time–"
"I don't like the timing of this order," Jesse added, sipping his own beer thoughtfully, "It doesn't make sense. They were falling over their own feet trying to rush us all here on a mission that was basically planned on guesses and prayers. Now, when we have more solid info, it's suddenly 'stand down' time."
"You got a point there, brother." Sam said, nodding.
"Forget orders and forget the assholes in the CIA," Fiona snapped, finally turning to pin the two of them with a narrow-eyed look, "We've done a lot worse with a lot less. I say we get out of here and deal with this on our own. I have a contact here who can supply us with some heavy artillery within a couple of hours–"
Sam couldn't deny her suggestion had appeal. He gulped down some of his drink before raising an eyebrow at her. "How heavy are we talking?"
The smile that spread on her face at his question was positively feral, "Remember Dublin, 2002?"
Sam remembered the details of that debacle quite well. It was only months before Michael had been forced out of Ireland due to his cover being almost blown, and Sam's own involvement had been completely off the books. His eyes widened when he realised she was talking about an arms supply on a scale that involved Bazookas and M2 Brownings. If things went wrong, that would be reason enough to incite a war between the two countries.
"Hey, hey…You two – snap out of it," Jesse waved a hand in front of Sam, breaking him out of his stunned silence. "I'm all for storming the castle. But we're not exactly free to operate here on our own, are we? Remember that little file we put our signature down on the last page?"
"What's the worst that's gonna happen, Jesse?" Fiona's blistering glare found a target on Jesse.
"Well, glad you asked," Jesse sniped back, falling into his favourite defensive mode: sarcasm. "Let me spell it out. Either we'll get Michael out and become his new neighbours at Gitmo, or we all die. Besides this is Mexico, not Miami. We don't even have the home turf advantage–"
"Oh, like we need that." She scoffed.
Jesse glanced at Sam in exasperation, "Back me up here, will you?"
Sam took his time finishing his beer, knowing he wasn't going to make either of them happy with what he was about to say. A part of him idly wondered how Michael always seemed to wrangle their vastly different personalities and preferred ways of action so damned easily all the time.
He turned to Fiona first with the most reasonable expression he could muster, "Fi, we know where Mike is, and as far as we can tell, he's alive. So let's wait for now." Then he turned to Jesse. "And if Pearce doesn't come through when something does change, we'll go looking for her arms dealer friend–"
"Or we won't have to," Fiona muttered, "Because by then, it'll be too late!"
The Basement
Alvarado Estate
Mexico
19.30 Hours
"Simon Escher–" James said evenly as he entered the interrogation room.
The familiar, slightly unhinged grin spread on Simon's face in greeting, and fell away promptly when his gaze found Michael following James in.
"Oh, come on!" He complained loudly, his features twisting in pure disgust, "Just how hard is it for you to stay dead, damn it? Worse than a fucking cockroach."
James continued to the centre of the room and came to a stop in front of Simon. Michael chose to lean against the wall to Simon's right, making it clear that James was in charge. It also helped him keep himself upright without falling flat on the ground. The fresh wound on his back did not appreciate him being vertical already, and made its displeasure known in a form of agony that flared every time he breathed. At least, the black, borrowed shirt he was wearing hid the bandages and possible stains, making him appear in much better condition than he actually was.
Michael casually hooked his right thumb in a belt loop and flashed Simon a grin. "Maybe you're just a terrible hitman."
"If I were you, I'd be more concerned about my own mortality right now, Simon." James said softly, drawing Simon's attention back to him. Despite the low tone, there was an easily decipherable warning underpinning his words. Judging by the way Simon subtly straightened in his chair, Michael was certain he had detected the threat as well.
"You tried to kill one of my valued employees," James continued, "So naturally, I'm furious and maybe a little curious."
"I can imagine," Simon let his maniacal grin widen in his face, "You did pull a spectacular stunt to fake his death after all. Imagine my surprise when he drove right into my crosshairs back in Miami! The fucker almost fouled that contract too…"
James turned his head, silently questioning Michael with a pointedly raised eyebrow.
"Sam was meeting a CSS agent, Jason Bly," Michael said, knowing that was all he had to say to convince James that he had a good reason to show his face in public as he had done, "Jesse and I were keeping watch out of sight. But when Bly went down with a gunshot wound, we intervened."
"What happened to the agent?"
"He died at the hospital."
"So that was how you found out about Michael, when you were carrying out a different hit," James turned his attention back to Simon, "Then you decided to report the news to your employer–"
"Sure did."
"Who is it?"
Simon stayed silent, studying James with his head cocked to the side with a calculating look. Neither he nor Michael were quite expecting the lightning fast punch that landed squarely on Simon's jaw, snapping his head to the side viciously.
James' voice was perfectly calm when he repeated himself, as if hadn't just almost broken Simon's face, "Who wants Michael Westen dead?"
"His old agency," Simon gritted out with a wince, flexing his lower jaw a few times. "That's who."
"Why?" Michael asked, frowning.
"Because you're a loose end," said Simon, baring his bloodied teeth, "And the boss wants it wrapped up without the shit blowing back to him."
Michael wanted to know who that was, but James had other priorities. "How did you find out his location?"
"You see, my boss, he's a man with connections," Simon started talking, "He knew about your little excursion already. The amigos you were coming to see today sold you out a long time ago. They caved in like a house of cards when the big bad CIA went knocking. When I reported Westen's not-so-dead status, the boss man got to work fast. I don't know how he found out that Michael's working for you, but when he did, I guess you could say, he saw an opportunity to bag two cats with one shot."
Michael stood where he was, grateful for the wall keeping him upright, his mind reeling at what Simon was spewing. Whoever it was, the man definitely did work fast - that much was obvious. Because Michael knew for a fact that the CIA had no idea about the deal James was about to make with the cartel until the day before.
It also confirmed that whoever it was, they were aware of the undercover operation. They had decided to leave Simon in the dark by feeding an entirely different spin on the story to him, possibly to keep Michael's cover intact in case Simon landed in the exact same situation he was currently in.
It was as if witnessing his worst nightmare unveiling itself before his eyes. Someone way higher up in the command chain, either CSS, NSA or CIA – since it was entirely possible that they lied to Simon about their credentials – was pulling strings in some twisted game designed to cover their tracks, and earn a commendation by taking down James' organisation.
Michael felt utterly hopeless, standing there in the dark room with two enemies on two completely different fronts, unable to reach out to his team, his friends, to tell them what was happening or call for support… to do anything.
All he could do was prepare himself to navigate the scenario Simon was weaving for them.
"You're being awfully cooperative, Simon," he remarked softly after a while, when James continued to stay silent with a speculative expression on his face. He hoped the minute tremors he could feel wracking his entire body would be taken to mean weakness due to his injury, not his agitation at what was being revealed by the madman in their midst.
"Michael, my good pal, glad you didn't die," Simon sneered, and grimaced when his jaw protested the movement, "It was just a job. You know how it is. Besides, the man who wants you dead is a right piece of work anyway. He sold me out too–"
"Oh, yeah?"
"Look man," Simon turned his head, addressing James instead of Michael, "Your people are good, but not that good. Why do you think I practically handed myself to you? My job was simple. Use the ambush the Bandoleros sprung on you to take Westen out–"
Ambush by the Bandoleros? Michael frowned. The story Simon's puppet master had fed him was getting more and more convoluted by the minute.
"So it was the Bandits that ambushed us?" Michael interjected, wanting to clarify, "Not the CIA?"
"Jesus, Michael!" Simon scoffed, shaking his head in irritation at the interruption, "Is it the blood loss? Keep up, buddy. You know how they don't like getting their pretty little hands dirty–" he then turned back to James, rearranging his contemptuous expression to something a little bit more earnest, "The CIA played the two cartels against each other. The Bandits attacked a few establishments belonging to the Hunters all around the city a few hours ago as a distraction so they could take you out in the commotion. They're not happy with some gringo taking over their port. While they're at war with the Hunters, they're still homegrown hombres…"
James turned around and nodded once at the camera mounted above the closed door, silently ordering Sonya, who was monitoring the interrogation in the adjacent room, to verify what Simon had just revealed.
"Anyway, I took the shot and hauled ass," Simon continued, "Imagine my disappointment when I saw half the federal police waiting for me when I made it to my exfil point. That's when I figured my best bet was with you."
"That's one clusterfuck if I ever heard one," Michael muttered with feeling, wincing at the headache that was forming at the bridge of his nose, adding to his existing misery.
"It gets even better," Simon chuckled, looking for all the world like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Your pals think you sabotaged the deal on purpose," he said to James, grinning, "They're planning to come after you after they've dealt with the Bandits–"
"That's okay. That saves me the trouble of hunting them down myself. I'm sure we'll be able to clear up the misunderstanding with minimal bloodshed." James murmured with a faint smile.
Even though his expression didn't have the slightest hint of the madness Simon's grin contained, there was a certain gleam in it that made him look far more dangerous than the actual psychopath restrained to the chair. It was one of those rare moments when the trained killer within James Kendrick surfaced.
"What I now want from you is the name of the man who's behind all of it," he continued, his voice sharpening with the demand, "Who's your employer, Simon?"
"I'll give it to you for something small in return," Simon replied, jerking his head in Michael's direction. "I want a deal, like the one he got."
"You want to work for me?" James asked, staring at Simon with a faint look of disbelief, "After admitting to trying to kill one of my men?"
"Yeah, why not?" Simon shrugged, unconcerned and confident, "I'm off the books. They'd rather kill me or throw me back in the hole. I'd like some freedom too, and if you've seen my dossier, you'd know I'm a great addition. Much better than Westen, at any rate."
"I have seen enough," James said softly, regarding Simon with a look bordering on pity, "You've been working for the wrong people with the worst ideals for far too long, Simon Escher. I'm afraid that has done you some irreparable damage – created a mindless, remorseless husk of a man who relishes meaningless death and destruction…"
Michael felt a chill run down his spine at James' tone. He had heard it only once - a mere moment before James killed one of his own men for breaking a promise.
Simon, however, didn't know James the way Michael did. He stared at James with a wide eyed look before breaking into laughter.
"Wow!" he gasped in between chuckles, "He sounds just like you, Michael."
James calmly drew the gun he had at his back just as Michael expected and aimed it squarely at Simon's forehead.
"I have a counter offer for you," he said, his expression pleasantly blank as he thumbed the safety off, "You give me the name, and I don't end you where you sit."
"James–" Michael tried to push off from the support of the wall, and found out that he couldn't quite stand on his feet without swaying dangerously.
"This is what you need to understand about me, Simon," James continued as if Michael wasn't even in the room, protesting weakly…again, "While Michael does have a lot in common with me, I don't share his aversion to killing when killing is sorely needed. I won't even for a second entertain the idea of risking the lives of my people by trusting someone like you in our midst. Not even for the name of a corrupt CIA agent."
Simon froze, his gaze locked on James and the rock-steady barrel of the gun only a few inches from his face. Michael saw the exact moment when the realisation dawned that he was going to die unless he gave James what he demanded.
"Okay, okay, wait!" Simon yelled when he instinctively understood that he had arrived at the end of the grace period he was given, "Meyers– His name's Meyers. He's not just an agent. He's an assistant director of the CIA…"
Temporary Command Centre
Navarro-Vazquez Airfield
Veracruz
Mexico
Meanwhile…
Dani Pearce could feel three furious glares burning a hole on the back of her skull as she paced in front of the display screens, restless and utterly frustrated. She could understand their anger at being held back when they all knew where their friend was and that he was in dire need of help. She agreed with them completely. As Sam pointed out, the orders she received were confusing, contradicting and more than a little worrying.
There were no guarantees on how long James Kendrick would stay in his estate, and what he would do next. They already had all the intel they were ever going to get, and one of the best ground teams to conduct the breach. By all accounts, they should have been greenlit right away to make a move before Kendrick disappeared off the grid once again.
Meyers had mentioned vaguely about protests from the Mexican government on an attack in a civilian area as the reason for his stand down order, which had sounded thin and rather unbelievable to her. The estate Kendrick was holed up in was even more isolated than the industrial area in Boca del Rio, where they had planned the initial ambush.
She knew something wasn't right, but couldn't quite decipher what or where the issue was. Unfortunately, she was in the field, not back in Langley where she could have stood face to face with the unreasonable man to find out exactly what kind of a game he was playing.
She also hadn't lied to Sam, and was fully prepared to make a different call herself the moment things started changing.
"Route change…transitioning to highway 180…"
Price's quiet update brought Dani back from her thoughts to the present. "Are they going where we think they are going?"
"Seems so, Ma'am."
Dani focused on the convoy made of four SUVs and a troop transport. They had seen the Hunters HQ turn into a hive of activity at the same time the trap for James had been sprung. The complex had received a lot of incoming traffic via the secondary entrance they had on the opposite side from where James and his people had been travelling. It had looked like a lot of their members had been recalled to base.
Now, on the real time satellite feed they had on their monitors, the reason for the massive gathering was beginning to take shape. The Hunters were on their way to Alvarado, where James was either waiting for them, or had no idea that they were coming.
"What's going on?"
Dani turned around to see Jesse squinting at the feed. Sam and Fiona stayed where they were in the break area, staring at each other pensively.
"Los Cazadores are heading towards the estate with an impressive force." She said, nodding at the convoy that was carrying a veritable army, "Whether they're on their way to renegotiate the deal or confront James, we don't know yet."
"Think James' set up can handle them?" Jesse asked worriedly.
Dani stared at the feed they had on the estate. There was no sign of the frantic activity they had witnessed back at the Hunters HQ. The minimal movements of his troops seemed well practised, unhurried and on schedule. Either they were very sure of themselves, or had no idea what was coming their way.
"I sure hope so."
Alvarado Estate
Mexico
20:10 Hours
Michael grabbed a bottle of cold water from the fridge in the kitchen and washed three painkillers down with half of it, willing for them to kick in soon. All he wanted to do was get back in the bed and fall asleep, and possibly wake up a few days later when the Gordian knot they were all tangled in was miraculously solved.
Unfortunately, that was not an option. So he had to grit his teeth against the pain and do his best to stay awake, alert and ready to decide which way to move at a moment's notice.
"Hey!"
Michael looked up from where he was perched on the marble kitchen counter to find Sonya leaning against the door frame with her arms folded against her chest, studying him,
"How're you feeling?"
Michael flashed her a tired grin, and finished the rest of his water before answering, "Like this would have been much easier if I didn't have a hole in my back."
"Understandable." She said, and made a beeline to the steaming pot that still had some coffee left.
"So, what's the latest?"
"That man is right," she said, her face twisting in a way that suggested even the memory of Simon was disgusting to her. Michael sympathised with the sentiment. After pouring herself a mug, she settled on a chair by the small dining table with a long sigh, "Los Cazadores are on the move. They are heading here. The Suarez brothers are bringing about fifty well-armed soldiers with them."
"That doesn't sound like they have very peaceful intentions, does it?" Michael grunted, his thoughts swirling about their own fortifications, weapons supply and number of available men for an adequate defence, "Can we handle that?"
"It doesn't matter what their intentions are, Michael," Sonya murmured, smiling, her eyes closed contentedly to let the steam of the coffee wash over her face, "What happens once they get here, is what James will want to happen. and of course, we're well equipped to handle what's on the way. We don't go anywhere unprepared, Michael, you should know this by now–"
"Blame the blood loss," he said, shrugging with his right shoulder. He admired the casual confidence she exuded, and was relieved to hear it confirmed that some Mexican mafia wouldn't end up finishing what Simon had started.
"Ah, good, you're both here," James announced from the doorway before wandering in. "I wanted to talk to you."
"I've already briefed the team leaders," Sonya said, reverting back to English as he took the seat next to her, "They know what to do, James."
"Of course, thank you dear," He replied with another smile, "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. You've done your part here. Now, it's time for you to head back."
The way Sonya's head snapped back in disbelief told Michael that it wasn't something she'd been expecting, and that she didn't like the suggestion in the slightest. It made him straighten from his own slouch, and pay attention.
"What!?"
"My dear," James said calmly, "You know that's always been the next part of our plan. We need the hub moved as soon as possible, especially with the threat of the CIA being aware of our operations."
"But James," Sonya protested stubbornly, "We have an army incoming. I need to be here. This is my place–"
James flashed a fatherly smile at her. "The day I can't take down a cartel run by two idiots is the day I should retire," he chuckled, "I'll have the control of the port before the day's over. You need to go and take care of the moving of our communications servers."
"Fine," Sonya relented after a long moment of silence, clearly unhappy with the decision. "But I'm going by myself. You need all hands on deck here."
James considered it for a few seconds before glancing at Michael. "How about taking Michael with you? He can call his friends if you need extra help, just in case. Things have been going off the rails for us recently, so better take extra precautions." then he addressed Michael, "That is if only if you're up for it."
"I'm alright, James," Michael said, making his decision quickly. "I'll go."
Pearce and the support team already knew where James was, and Michael knew they could make their move to take him down any time. The actual, traceable evidence on the network and all its operatives would be an immensely important piece of intel when James inevitably proved to be a hard customer to break under interrogation.
-0-
After a quick, simple dinner, Michael followed Sonya out the back of the mansion to a wide spread, well-kept courtyard that spanned for about two hundred yards. The seven foot tall wall had a small gate which opened to a wooden pier that extended for about ten metres into the lagoon. There was also a stone jetty erected around the structure to protect the small, well-lit harbour that was formed against the boundary of the property.
At the edge of the pier, swaying gently above the inky black waters, was a beautiful, and more importantly, a very powerful, superyacht.
"Well, hello, gorgeous," Michael whistled softly, taking a moment to appreciate the modern engineering beauty named Constance, while Sonya stepped inside with her two duffels.
A 130-foot, twin engine boat with three gas turbines propelling three powerful waterjets, the superyacht had the ability to reach almost seventy knots at top speed. The sleek, all-aluminium hull was coated with a grey-blue colour scheme, making the yacht seamlessly blend in with its element, making it perfect for a covert ride.
Sonya extended a hand for his carry on and slid it under the nearest seat while Michael untangled the rope tying it to the pier.
"Isn't she a work of art?" She said as they both fell into an easy rhythm getting the boat ready to sail. She let him do most of the work on the piloting system at the cockpit while she did the physical work, in deference to his impaired status. "If nothing else, Cabral's got a fine taste when it comes to his transports."
"This belongs to him?"
Sonya smiled, "Not anymore."
"So, where are we going again?" Michael asked, nodding at the screen that waited patiently for him to feed it a plotted course.
"Port of Miami, Key Biscayne," she replied. "We have a transmission hub there for our operatives in the Caribbean. We recruited one of the best satellite tech guys in the world a while back, and he's got us tapped into a civilian station. It's been serving as our main relay for closer to a year now."
"Sounds like a perfect way to hide it right under everyone's noses," Michael said, wondering where they could have hid their relay station, "Why move it?"
"Because it's always been a temporary solution," Sonya shrugged, "James contracted Lyster, that's his name by the way, to build a permanent station in the DR. It's more isolated and we can access it frequently without drawing undue attention when our operations expand. We can't do that back in Miami without getting noticed, and like James said, it's too risky now that the CIA is onto us–"
"Fair enough," Michael said, turning the key to start up the boat. The engines hummed to life with a low, satisfying growl, and a spray of white foam formed at their wake when the waterjets went to work, "What do we have to do when we get there?"
"We collect all the data drives," Sonya said, as she stepped onto the bridge to stand next to him, "All communications get backed up into hard drives on a monthly schedule. We have to go there to take them out manually, and then move them to the new location at a later date."
"Where do we go after we get the drives?" Michael wanted to know, "Will we come back here or…?"
"No, we'll go to the DR," she said, "James will contact us there."
"Alright then, shall we?" Michael asked, his hand wrapped around the throttle lever.
"Have at it."
Michael pushed the throttle to the maximum with a grin, momentarily forgetting all his aches and pains in the heady thrill of that much horsepower under his command. The highly responsive superyacht sped forward, gathering speed at an impressive rate, piercing the waves and parting the seas to take them to their destination.
Temporary Command Centre
Navarro-Vazquez Airfield
Veracruz
Mexico
"Westen's on the move." Matthews, the tech responsible for monitoring Michael's tracker, snapped suddenly.
"Where?" Pearce demanded. "On the screen, Matthews."
The tech tapped a few hasty commands to his keyboard and the main display split into two. On the right, they had the live feed of the convoy on its way to Alvarado estate, and on the left, the blinking dot representing Michael bobbed and wobbled.
"Can we get a closer look than that?"
"The feed is coming up now."
A few seconds passed as the real-time image took its time to shed the pixilation and settle into a clearer version. Despite the time of the day, the night-vision capabilities of the lacrosse spy satellite and the illumination around the estate were more than enough for them to see what was happening.
"There."
"Why is he on the water?" Sam frowned.
"What's going on?" Fiona peered at the screens over his shoulder as Jesse came to a stop on his other side.
"Mike's moving," Sam said, "Looks like they're getting into a boat."
"Keep an eye on it, Matthews, and see if we can get its course."
The tech went to work at Pearce's command. It didn't take long for him to find the make, model and specifications of the yacht, Constance, which conveniently allowed him to hack into its GPS and navigation system.
"That yacht is registered to a company called Peña Associates," Price announced from the next station. While Matthews had been busy with the yacht's destination, she had run a trace on its license and registration. "Peña is a branch of its parent company, Diego Herrera & Co, located in the DR."
"Wow!" Sam whistled, "This James guy is a piece of work, isn't he?" He was unwittingly impressed at James' harsh business ethics. It was no wonder that he was such a successful terrorist.
"He just sucks them dry and spits them out." Fiona muttered.
"The guy's your regular Robin Hood," Jesse added, "Except he funds his own little terrorist network with what he takes over–"
"The Suarez brothers and their convoy just arrived at the estate–" another tech who had taken over monitoring the movement of the cartel announced, drawing their attention back to James' mansion.
There was a tense silence in the command centre while all of them waited with bated breath to see if a war would break out then and there.
"Whoa!" Jesse was the first to break the stunned silence, relieved and more than a little confused at what they had all just witnessed, "Did they just let them in?"
The massive gate slid slowly back to seal the entrance once the entire convoy passed through into the driveway unhindered. All four SUVs and the transport continued to trundle towards the very entrance of the mansion itself.
"So far so good," Pearce muttered, her gaze fixed intently on the overhead view of the estate, "No one's whipped out their rifles to start shooting."
"Small mercies." Sam said, and blinked when something caused the view to disappear for a second.
"What the hell?" Jesse cursed, squinting at the monitor, "Did something just whizz by or was that a glitch?"
"That was a fighter jet," Lt. Carter said grimly. Sam hadn't even realised the leader of the Special Forces team was also a few steps behind them, quietly watching the rapidly unravelling disaster. "Most probably an F-18–"
"There!" The tech cried out just as a fighter jet made another tight turn, and Sam didn't need a soldier to tell him that it was making the final approach of a bombing run.
Everything that happened in the next few seconds was way too fast for any of them to see in real time. All they could see were the telltale trails of smoke the missiles left behind as they flew towards their target, followed by a bellowing inferno when they reached it.
For a terrifying moment, Sam thought the jet would turn around to drop another of its missiles on the yacht Michael was in. Fiona's tight grip on his elbow told him that she was helplessly bracing herself against the same outcome.
He only released the breath he was holding when the F-18 stayed gone for more than a full minute.
"Jesus!" Sam moaned, rubbing his chest as his heart raced. "I don't think my blood pressure can take any more of this crap!"
The image before them took several seconds to clear out as the satellite recalibrated to the changes of the lighting. A surreal sight of complete and utter destruction bloomed before them in the aftermath of the wholly unexpected airstrike. There was nothing but huge plumes of smoke and intermittent flashes of flames on the right monitor.
On the left screen, the tracer on Michael continued to skirt along the Alvarado lagoon towards the gulf of Mexico. Sam blinked a few times, desperately needing to make sure that it hadn't disappeared along with James' mansion.
"Mike just missed that rain of death by seconds!" Jesse's exclamation came out in a hoarse whisper.
"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" Fiona sneered, her voice thin and shaky as her shock rapidly turned into pure, unbridled rage. "Remember Panama, anyone?"
"Pearce, that was the fucker back at Langley, wasn't it?" Sam whirled around to bark at the frozen agent. "Guess we should be grateful he waited until Mike was out, huh?"
"Fucking hell, Pearce," Jesse added his own curse, "that was too damned close–"
"It doesn't make sense," the pale-faced agent whispered, her gaze rapidly bouncing between the two screens.
"What doesn't?"
"Langley doesn't have mission specifics," she said, finally wrenching her gaze from the monitor to focus on Sam, "They don't have Michael's tracker information because I haven't released any of that yet. I've only been sending verbal mission updates for the last twenty four hours–"
"So, either whoever authorised that air strike didn't know he left–" Jesse completed her sentence before she could.
"Or you have a mole." Fiona swept everyone with a murderous glare.
"Not possible," Pearce shook her head, "This is a sealed building, no cell signals in or out, and the only outgoing line is in that office. I'm the only one with access to that. No one here had that information until Michael landed in Veracruz a few hours back. No one here sent it to Langley, you can trust me on that."
"So you're telling me someone deliberately tried to kill him along with James and the cartel brothers?" Sam blurted in disbelief. "Again?"
"Yeah, Sam, that's what I'm saying."
"Why?"
"I don't know!" she threw up her hands in frustration.
"We know where that boat's heading," Matthews' words cut through the mounting tension, drawing their attention back to the screen on the left. While they were focused on the smoke cloud obscuring the burning estate, Matthews had managed to update his side of the map with all the sea-going traffic and their projected paths. In the tangled mess of curves and lines littering the entire Mexican Gulf, a white dotted line extending from Michael's tracker stood apart from the rest.
"They're going back home." Jesse murmured, staring at the other end of the line that ended at Key Biscayne.
"Alright, people, listen up," Pearce commanded, clapping her hands, her voice steady and just loud enough to capture everyone's attention, "We know where our next destination is and that's where we're going. This ends today one way another. We're wheels up in thirty. Get moving."
Alvarado Lagoon
"Sonya…no–" Michael grunted, his arms wrapped around a hysterical Sonya as she lunged once again toward the control panel of the yacht, mindlessly trying to grab the throttle to pull back, "Stop!"
"Get off me, damn it," she bit back with a growl, and thrashed against his restraining hold. Her frantic shock was pumping enough adrenaline into her system to make her far stronger than her lean, 120-pound form usually was, "We have to go back. Let go of me!"
"And do what?" Michael snapped back, desperately willing her to calm down. His own strength was rapidly fading against her vigorous struggles, and the wound on his back was screaming in agony as he strained to keep her from breaking out of his embrace, "You saw what hit them, Sonya. It's over. They're gone–"
"No!" The denial that wrenched out of her was more of a wail, and all the fight left her as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving her heaving body slumped against his chest. "But James – he was in there…"
"I'm so sorry, Sonya," Michael murmured, his cheek pressed against her head as her entire body continued to shake in distress, "But it's all gone. James is gone."
"No." She snapped, but didn't move from where she was leaning against him. Her reddened gaze stayed fixed on the grey cloud of smoke on the land that was slowly gaining distance by the minute as the boat kept sailing.
"I'm so sorry," he kept repeating softly, his lips brushing against her hair as she broke down in his arms, her breathing uneven, yet her crying silent. "It's too late. There's nothing we can do for them now, Sonya."
Michael didn't quite know how long it took for her shaking to subdue, or for the white hot agony in his back to fade into something tolerable. The sounds of the boat's engines and the crashing waves were unnaturally loud in his ears in the oppressive silence that fell between them. Sonya was unnaturally still as she kept staring into the distance, long after the city of Alvarado and the smoking inferno of James' estate were reduced to a faint smudge against the night sky in their view.
"That was a precision hit." She murmured hoarsely, finally breaking out of her stupor.
"It was," Michael agreed, his mind spinning fast to come up with a plausible explanation, "Was Simon checked for trackers? You know what they did to me when they used me as a bait to catch Burke–"
She grew quiet again without answering, making him wonder if James' men had made the fatal error of missing an implant. It also led to the inevitable shred of relief that they hadn't thought to scan him while he had been unconscious.
"Hey, listen to me," he said quietly after a while, when she showed no signs of snapping out of the trance-like state she had slipped into in his arms. "I know it's hard. But now is not the time to fall apart. We have a job to do."
He knew his words got through to her when she let out a long, weary exhale before slowly straightening. When she turned around to face him, her face was entirely blank except for the infinite anguish darkening her eyes.
"Salvaging the network just became more important than ever," Michael continued, his own determined gaze locked with hers, "We have to get our data before it falls into enemy hands, yeah? That's the best way we can fight back. By continuing what James would have wanted us to do."
She stared at him without even blinking for long enough he started to wonder if the destruction they had witnessed had caused a mental breakdown in her. Just as he was about to speak again, he saw her lips slowly stretch into a tired sort of smile that slowly managed to light something in her almost lifeless eyes.
"You're right, Michael," she said, her voice steady and composed for the first time since the airstrike, "That's exactly what we'll do."