Chapter Thirty-Six

Eclipse

Uploaded on 7/7/07

Note: Next chap is out! By the way, probably because I have anthropology as a background, I am seriously interested in other peoples' cultures, countries, languages, etc. If you ever have language notes you'd like to point out (such as we incorrectly translate something, etc) please tell! We do a lot of research to try to keep things accurate for characters who come from certain backgrounds or for when we have the characters visiting certain areas, but there's only so much information that can be found online.

So. I'm also especially interested in cultural information on China, New Zealand, Indonesia, Latvia, Ireland, France, and Mexico, if you have firsthand knowledge from having visited/lived/grown up there. I'm sure I'll think of more later. Also, anyone who would be interested in babbling in general about their culture/language/anything should definitely contact us at sonnyais@gmail.com, or through any of the means on the contact page or by leaving a note at the forum topic I created for that - http://sonnyais.6.forumer.com/viewtopic.php?t=40 - OR by leaving an email address in an AFFN review but I'll warn you, I think it automatically deletes email addresses people leave in there. Thanks, everyone! You probably do not realize how interested I am in this topic. It's to a geeky degree, let me assure you.

And, as always, we love to know what you think! ^^ -Ais

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Boyd's legs cramped as he crouched in the darkness, his heart beating a little too fast though he kept his breath silent, even. The creaking of the stairs shuddered dust down onto his hair, almost getting in his eyes as he squinted and kept watch on the bit of light he could see through the cracks between the steps above him. The footsteps were heavy, ponderous; he could tell it was a man and judging by the sounds when he kicked things over, he wore steel-toed boots. He also thought he heard evidence of a shotgun; the way the gun was handled, the heaviness when it was set down, the rustling of the strap against clothing.

"No nos lástime, por favor, señor, por favor," a woman was moaning repeatedly, sounding as terrified as she was upset. Boyd knew her as María, currently crouched in the room at the top of the stairs. Even though there was a wall at Boyd's back, he could hear her clearly through the open door to her room. A child's voice drifted down as well; muffled sniffles and the occasional fearful cry.

"Cállate," a man ordered languidly and Boyd could hear a few things being shoved over. There were two of them in the room, walking around slowly and overturning anything in their way.

"No," María pleaded, tears in her voice, "No nos mate, no nos dispare, por favor, somos inocentes, por favor."

Something crashed to the ground and she cried out, though it sounded more as though she was frightened by the noise than that she was actually hurt. The man made a disgusted noise, his footsteps pausing in one area for a long moment, before he said something rapidly in Spanish that Boyd couldn't understand through the floor. The door slammed shut and Boyd could hear him as he walked to the landing above him. María made another loud, moaning wail that drifted into sobs. Boyd barely breathed as he heard two sets of footsteps descend the stairs above him, the slow creaking of the steps as the men paused just in front of his eyes on the other side of the enclosed set of stairs.

He could hear the now-familiar sound of a cigarette being pulled out of a pack then a match being struck. The two men murmured something to each other but they were cut off by the insistent beeping of what sounded like a radio. One of them made a noise of annoyance, there was the rustling of clothing as the radio was presumably pulled out, and the clicking of a button as he said louder in Spanish, "No one is here." There was white noise and then someone over the radio said something about the next house.

The man acknowledged the comment and together the two walked down the stairs again and slammed the front door of the house shut behind them. Boyd waited a good minute before he shifted and silently crawled forward, peering through the cracks as best he could. He couldn't see anyone in the vicinity and he didn't think the men had been smart enough to try to fake him out. The tension didn't quite leave his shoulders even then; he was quick as he grabbed his messenger bag and crawled toward the small hole in the wall behind him. After a few seconds of maneuvering in the dark with dust and cobwebs sticking to him, he was finally able to push aside the piles of wood and cardboard boxes. They had been hiding the rotted part of the wall that served as an entrance to the enclosed area beneath the stairs, but any decent inspection of the room still would have led straight to him if they paid attention to the fact the dust had been shifted aside. When he stood, he was in the dank basement of the house, half-rotted boxes surrounding him with nothing of importance in any of them. He moved quickly across the room, ghosting to the door where he waited to the side in the scant protection provided by the 2x4s in the door frame.

The dust clouded around him, catching on his hair and face. He was filthy; he'd been crawling through so many dusty, dirty areas that it coated him and he'd left almost all his clothing behind so he didn't have much to change into. His dark, plain clothes were made darker by days of grime and his hair was a mess. Although a few of the places he had briefly stayed had running water and he'd briefly been able to clean up, it actually worked to his advantage to look like a vagrant; if he was clean-cut he would stand out more in most of the areas that he was frequenting.

In another attempt to blend in more, he'd cut his hair shorter and dyed it dark brown. It was disconcerting to not have even a small amount of hair to hide behind, but once he stopped wearing the blue contacts, the dark, short hair and his natural brown eyes gave him a different look than anyone who knew him as Kadin Reed or even Boyd Beaulieu would know to search for. The red hair and trendy, layered haircut would have stood out far more than the plain brown ever would, especially in many of the neighborhoods he'd been hiding out. Although when he'd left the JKS Boyd had been certain he'd done his best to blend in, from what he'd been able to gather from newspaper headlines and the talk around the city, there had been a single witness to see him go and that had been enough to change everything.

From the sound of it, it seemed as though a woman who lived in one of the high-rise apartment buildings nearby had looked out the window when the explosions began. The police and authorities had questioned everyone in the building with windows facing the center and they'd come upon her. Although she'd mistakenly told them that the sole person she'd seen exiting the property had been the only person to escape safely from that section of the building, the police had jumped on the information and deemed this lone survivor as a suspect. Despite the fact that they were actually correct in that regard, it made Boyd's life much more difficult. Authorities were searching for any slender men of his height who was Caucasian, around seventeen to twenty-five, and had light-colored hair. Even though he'd dyed his hair, he'd noticed that as the search wore on, the cops were snatching any white man of his height and age off the streets. Rumors circulated that 'suspects' were being interrogated under harsh conditions and white foreigners without work or student visas were getting the brunt of the aggression as the government put on the heat for someone, anyone, to be found.

They wouldn't necessarily know who Boyd was or even care, but even though he had a passport stating that he was Kadin Reed, he'd been in Mexico under the pretense of an extended vacation so he did not have a visa. The fact that he no longer looked like the picture in his passport would most likely add to the suspicion. The last thing he needed was to be captured and detained in Mexico, probably for a ridiculous amount of time, until the Agency managed to somehow get him out of it.

In addition to that, there was always Janus. It was harder to discern their methods but he had very little doubt that they were searching for both the culprits and any attendee of the Orientation who remained unaccounted for. Although initial reports had stated that no one had survived the Northeast wing but that all the people attending the Expo were unharmed, there were in fact a handful of people who'd made it out of even the Northeast wing. The media seemed to be stating that the reason the South and other wings were relatively unharmed and no one was seriously injured was due to the excellent security the Global Expo had hired. Boyd, however, knew that it was because they had made a point of placing the bombs in areas to keep the civilians as safe as they could while still executing their mission. However, when the final results would come in and Kadin Reed would turn out to be neither on the list of the dead nor in a local hospital, the search would most likely turn on him. He doubted he was the only one that was currently MIA and although he could possibly just come up with the cover story of having escaped in fear, being in Janus' control or under their radar would be even worse than being caught by the authorities. Not to mention there was the possibility that the authorities and Janus had a connection; if that was the case, his position was more precarious than ever if the police got him.

He heard light, quick footsteps on the other side of the door and after a moment the doorknob turned. Jorge's familiar, messy head popped around the edge, quickly glancing around the room to be certain no one else was there, before he walked into the room. "Go," he ordered quietly. "They are gone."

"Thanks, Jorge," Boyd said softly, looking quickly past him to the hallway and listening intently for any sound. It wasn't that he distrusted Jorge; it was simply that he was on high alert. Jorge either did not notice or care and Boyd slipped a few bills out of his pocket, pressing them into Jorge's hand. "For María, tell her thank you. She sounded very convincing."

Jorge shrugged and said calmly, "She knows," but he pocketed the money anyway. He jerked his head impatiently. "Go. They can be back."

Even though Boyd doubted that would happen, he wasn't about to test his theory. He inclined his head and slipped past Jorge, moving quickly to the back door of the house where he paused to listen for any movement on the other side. It was as silent out there as it was in the house now that María wasn't feigning terror, but he still waited a few seconds to be certain. He opened the door just enough to quickly, intently search the surroundings, then slid into the shadows outside and headed down the alley. He only looked back once, where he saw Jorge watching him silently from the doorway with his serious dark eyes.

Boyd had to move cautiously but quickly through the streets. The city was on a lock-down. All transportation to and from Monterrey was blocked and every official entrance and exit was heavily guarded by the authorities. No one was making it in or out of the city without being seen. Although Tayla had helped Boyd immensely by telling him of the secret passages into Monterrey, that only helped keep them out of the radar of the authorities. It didn't mean the underground groups claiming the passageways as their territory would appreciate anyone else using them, especially if they didn't know who he was. The security in the city had been worse right after they'd destroyed the JKS but even now, nearing two weeks later, it would still be a challenge. Boyd was hoping that in three days time when he and Sin were scheduled to meet, the secret exit he thought they would be least likely to be hassled trying to use would be a little less guarded than it had been when he'd walked past it four days prior.

He'd been doing well to stay under the radar but there was no doubt that even for him it was difficult. If he hadn't known people like Jorge, if he hadn't learned Monterrey so well, including a number of backup safe places for each area of the city, he almost positively would have been caught. It wasn't that he was inept at hiding; it was simply that the opposition was swarming everywhere.

Within fifteen minutes of winding around to hide his tracks he made his way across alleys and streets to his next hiding place; he'd initially been going toward this safe place earlier when he'd almost stumbled upon a few Mexican authorities who were doing their rounds.

He was damn lucky that he'd happened to be near a house he knew Jorge frequented, although he still wasn't convinced María was actually related to him. He thought she was probably one of the many people scattered across Monterrey who were willing to take in strangers regardless of their reasons, as long as they didn't do anything to jeopardize her safety. He'd heard a child's voice from upstairs but hadn't seen any children in the room when he'd abruptly appeared at the house before she'd told him of the hiding place downstairs. He could only assume the younger voice he'd heard had actually been Jorge, pretending to be her child. Whatever the case was, although he was almost positive he could trust Jorge, he still knew enough not to tell him of his next whereabouts or let him see which direction his next safe house was in.

1635 Calle Largo loomed before him in the dark and Boyd glided across the yard until he made it to the back door. He crouched, hidden by the shadows as he pulled out a small flashlight and waited a few seconds to listen for any movement, searching the area. It was dark enough that no one would see him but that also meant he couldn't entirely tell if anyone was watching him. After a moment he turned back and leaned down so he could see the bottom corner of the door. The flashlight was flicked on and off within the space of a breath and he was already out of the yard and into the next alley before he heard movement in what should have been his safe house. One of the tests he'd left behind, the small line he'd left at the back door, was broken and indicated that the building was no longer abandoned; he could not trust it to be secure.

He slipped through the shadows, his heart pounding every time he heard a noise or he thought he saw movement around him. He'd made it halfway to his next destination, managing to avoid any main thoroughfares or notice, before he was almost through an alley and heard the thumping of many boots down the street ahead of him and, he couldn't be certain by the echoes, but possibly behind him too. He suddenly stopped and dove to the side of the alley, falling into an apparent drunkard sprawl at the base of some garbage bags. He was just able to hide his messenger bag beneath the garbage when he heard the police passing by. He would have preferred to run away but there wasn't enough time, so he held onto an empty glass bottle that was lying by him and let his eyes seemingly fall shut though he watched through his eyelashes and he left his mouth open as he seemed to be asleep. Conversations in Spanish echoed from the troop of what he assumed was police heading down the main street and though it was mostly too muffled for him to understand, he knew they were talking about something serious.

Flashlights were shone down the alleys and he knew they found him when the light passed over his prone body, moved up to see his skin color, and stopped. One man broke away from the others and headed down the alley, followed after a moment by a second. The first man shone his flashlight along the ground until a beam fell directly on Boyd's eyes.

"Get up," he barked in Spanish and Boyd ignored him at first. The other glanced at the first, paused, then moved forward and kicked Boyd in the side; steel-toed boots, as he'd thought, making his side twinge. He peered at them bleary-eyed and saw the shotgun aimed at him, the uniforms they wore, and knew for certain they were cops.

When he didn't move, the first officer's eyes narrowed and he nudged him with the shotgun, the barrel digging into his ribs. "Muévese," he commanded.

Boyd grimaced and made a big production out of just managing to sit up straight. "What?" he asked blearily in Spanish.

The second cop stood to the side, glancing out at the street as a few more officers strode by. Looking back at Boyd, he raised his eyebrows when he saw the empty bottle still clutched in his hand. "Just a fucking drunkard," the cop spat in Spanish, looking disappointed. "Let's go, he's not worth it."

The first cop shook his head, the shotgun still aimed steadily at Boyd as he scrutinized him. "He doesn't smell."

Making a face, the other man just shook his head and said something about the garbage, nodding toward it with a look of disgust. Boyd wished he was fluent in Spanish; he understood a lot but there were still words that were not in his vocabulary.

"Alcohol, idiot," the first cop said, and Boyd thought darkly that it was just his luck he managed to run into one of the few people who would be that dedicated to the job at that hour. "Muévese," he commanded again, and this time Boyd scraped the bottle against the ground as he grumbled about being woken up and stumbled to a stand, using the wall for support.

"I'm innocent," Boyd slurred. "Drinking. No crime."

The second cop gave him a disgusted look then turned to the first and said something rapidly that continued for some length. Boyd kept his hands in front of him, one palm spread innocently while the other was still wrapped around the bottle, and he tried to look as non-threatening as possible. All he could catch of the rambling was something about a house, people the police wanted to catch, a full jail, and hurrying.

The officer with the gun narrowed his eyes into a glare and didn't seem convinced. Boyd swayed on his feet to look the part of a drunkard though it wasn't entirely feigned; he wished they would just fucking leave him alone because he really was exhausted and he needed to get to the next house.

The muzzle of the gun slid beneath his jaw, forcing Boyd to tilt his head back. The officer nodded toward the second, who looked annoyed but turned his flashlight onto Boyd's face so they could see him better. He squinted, the light blinding him while the familiar smell of gunpowder and metal drifted around him.

"Show your identification," the first officer ordered.

Boyd blinked at him and gave him a look as if he didn't understand.

"Cédula personal," the officer barked, sounding as though he was getting angry as he asked again for identification. "Put the fucking bottle down. Where are your papers?"

Frowning in a slow, confused manner, Boyd shook his head slowly. "At home," he said finally. "My girlfriend..."

"Right, and she's probably not there if we call," the first officer said as if he'd heard it all before and didn't believe it even the first time. He kept the gun aimed at him but stepped back. He nodded toward the other cop and then at Boyd. "Search him."

"This is the fifth guy tonight we've searched," the second man said in irritation. "You really think the bomber would be drunk in an alley?"

The first man just gave him a look to which the second man sighed heavily, as if this was the last thing he wanted to do, and he flipped the flashlight off.

Boyd blinked in the sudden darkness; dark purple afterimage burned into his eyes and hovered everywhere he looked. He was roughly pushed back a step, causing him to almost fall over the garbage, and the officer yanked the bottle out of his hand, throwing it carelessly to the side. The crash of glass against the ground was loud in the night and although Boyd didn't look away from the first man, he made sure he remembered where it sounded like the bottle had landed. He could use the shards as a weapon if it came to that, but he was still hoping he could get away without a fight. If he took these officers out, he'd have the authorities looking specifically for him and that was really the last thing he needed in the few days left before he could hopefully get out of the city.

The officer made a face at the stench of garbage and the dirt and sweat that clung to Boyd before he began patting him down. Boyd rocked with the movement, bracing one hand against the wall at one point as the man, in his apparent need to get this over with as quickly as possible, pushed him around a little harder than was necessary.

"Nada," the second man said finally when he didn't find anything, stepping back with his hands up as if he didn't want to touch anything else for fear of contaminating it.

The first officer raised his eyebrows, the shotgun still trained on him. He said something Boyd couldn't entirely understand, but he was fairly certain it was something about the city being on lock-down and that it was illegal not to have identification ready for authorities.

Shaking his head as if he didn't understand, Boyd stalled. Adrenaline started to tingle through his body as he realized he was probably going to have to run for it. The officer seemed like he wasn't ready to give up on this and Boyd didn't want to risk being taken in to the department. If he couldn't get away, he wouldn't be able to meet Sin at the designated spot, and who knew what the hell would happen at that point. He didn't know if Sin would think to look for him at the jail or if he would think that Janus had caught him. Technically Sin was his best alibi for the night of the JKS bombings. Jason Alvarez actually had a work visa and he didn't fit the description of the alleged suspect, although even that was incredibly risky since it put both of them in the spotlight.

His mind worked quickly; if he dropped to the ground and swiped the man's legs from under him, even if the shotgun went off it would most likely be at an upward angle. Then he just had to steal the gun and get whichever of them was a threat first before turning to the other. Boyd shifted his weight, casually getting in a better position to move.

The first man nodded his head toward the second, who reached for his handcuffs. Boyd started to tense but before anything could happen, the officers' radios blared to life. He could hear shooting in the background and what sounded to be chaos, people yelling in fear and anger. The person on the other end was yelling for back up and Boyd could already see several officers running down the street in the direction the two officers had initially been headed. The second officer grabbed the radio instead of the handcuffs and yelled that they'd be right there. He gave the first man an impatient look. "Just fucking leave him!" he snapped before he turned and ran.

The shotgun stayed aimed at Boyd for a long moment before the first officer finally relented. He gave Boyd a warning glare then turned to follow the first as they sprinted toward the action. Boyd waited just long enough for them to move to the main street and out of his sight before he quickly snatched his bag from beneath the garbage and took off running into the shadows. It took quite a bit of maneuvering to get around the officers without being seen; most of them were intent on whatever was happening several streets away, but he didn't want to risk getting caught. He could hear the resounding echoes of gunfire, which was not exactly uncommon for the neighborhood. There were some sections of Monterrey that it was better to avoid, especially at night; shots fired didn't draw as much attention and it wasn't unheard of to see the authorities kicking down doors. On the other hand, it also provided quite a few abandoned buildings and plenty of people who would not say anything about anyone suspicious that they saw running through the streets.

It took him another twenty minutes to make it safely to the next location. He was really hoping this one wasn't compromised as well; he'd staked out so many places that he had a lot of choices, but most of the other ones in the vicinity were not as secure and he really needed to be able to rest. 895 Avenida Flore looked safe enough as he approached but he still did a circuit around the perimeter. He walked up the back set of stairs, pausing any time the steps creaked and waited long enough for it to just sound like it was the building shifting on its own. It took him a few minutes to get up to the third floor; there were several apartments but he didn't hear anyone in any of them.

When he'd found the place a few months ago it had only a few squatters living there, mostly on the first and second floor, and it didn't seem to have changed since then. He made it to the fourth apartment on the right without incident and to his relief saw that all his tests were still in tact; no one had entered the place since he'd been there last. He picked the lock open then slid inside, cautious even though he knew no one would be in there without having gone through the door. There was no fire exit and no way to access the single window from the outside short of a rope from the roof or a ladder from the ground. However, there was no reason anyone would go to that trouble for one of many rundown apartments in one of the poorest parts of the city.

The apartment was tiny and empty; the main room had a single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling that had barely worked when he'd been there before, a stove and sink to the side, and there was a small bathroom with the door wide open the way he'd left it. The only furniture was a mattress lying in the corner and a heavy table that he had moved to mostly block the front door before he'd left. It barely gave him enough space to slide into the room, but it also meant that once he shut and deadbolt locked the door behind him, it required little effort and virtually no noise to move the table flush against the door as further precaution. He didn't trust the strike plates to be screwed into the door frame in this building, which meant that if anyone did try to break the door down at least the table would further slow them and give him a chance to escape. That would ultimately mean jumping out of the window but he had a few plans as to how to do that.

At the moment, though, he didn't care; he would plan an escape when it came. What he really needed was sleep. The curtains were heavy and closed so he couldn't be seen as he wearily walked across the room and laid down on the mattress. It was lumpy and musty but after days of adrenaline highs, running around constantly being on the alert, and not being able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, it was enough to make him fall asleep within minutes.

He didn't sleep for long even if the apartment was relatively secure; he was still on high alert and even the slightest of sounds would wake him. This time he heard a rattle at the window, making his eyes jolt open and his heart thunder, his limbs tingling as his mind raced on how to get out of there, where to go next, what was happening. He rolled off the mattress and made it to the window, weary but quick, and peered around the edges of the curtain until he could verify that it had actually just been a gust of wind that shook the pane. It was lighter outside, the dawning of the eleventh day since part of JKS was blown up and three days until the meeting point that they'd planned three weeks prior to the actual mission. He sighed tiredly, rubbing his burning eyes, and returned to the mattress. He sat there a moment, his legs drawn up loosely in front of him while he rested his arms on his knees, and stared blankly into space.

He was exhausted. Scratch that - he was fucking exhausted. He hadn't slept or eaten properly for almost two weeks. It shouldn't have been so tiring but he felt like he hadn't had a chance to relax since before he'd left the studio the last time, before he'd had to check in at the hotel as Kadin Reed. After months of relatively low stress, this constant hyperawareness, the adrenaline that kicked in each time something happened, as well as the constant running and stopping was all very wearying.

And the worst part was it hadn't needed to happen this way.

Boyd's gaze slid over to his messenger bag, abandoned at the edge of the mattress where he'd blindly dropped it earlier. After a moment, he leaned forward and pulled the bag closer. Everything inside would seem fairly innocuous to a casual search but there were still some essential items he needed to protect.

He pulled out his cell phone and stared at it a moment before he sighed and flopped back on the mattress. He held the phone in front of his eyes before his gaze dropped to the wristwatch that doubled as a GPS monitor.

All the running around-- adjusting his routes when he had to avoid something, knowing which place to go next when a building was compromised-- made him wonder how Sin was doing.

The first few days, he'd been so angry for a number of reasons, and though it hadn't entirely gone away, the intensity of it had faded. Part of it was he was angry that they'd spent so many months preparing for something that hadn't been what they'd expected. Thierry had lied or the information was bad as Sin had said, and that was just... incredibly frustrating. All the shit they had gone through to do with that disc, the months of Jeffrey decrypting it, the discord between he and Sin, the rumors that had plagued him, his mother's disgust, Alexis' death, his hopelessness- it had felt like it all had a purpose, at least, as long as they were able to fulfill their mission. As long as they could take out a large part of Janus' organization.

Carhart had thought that the information could change the lives of so many, that they could cut down on the war between the Agency and Janus; that they could make a big impact. Instead, they'd bombed lower level messengers, people who wouldn't cripple any group, who if anything would just delay the inevitability of those sectors joining Janus at other times. Their orders were to assassinate the leaders and bomb the center and even if the first part of the assignment had failed, he had little doubt that they would have been expected to complete the second. He knew Sin had come to the right decision; he'd most likely have said the same thing if he'd had more opportunity to speak freely over the microphone.

And it wasn't like he had never killed anyone before.

Even so, there was some part of him that almost felt... affected. Even if he'd killed people before, he hadn't spent three days in the same hotel as them, hadn't spent several hours walking among them, listening to their stories, getting into conversations. Pat, for instance, hadn't seemed like a bad guy. But he was Boyd's enemy and he'd probably died. He didn't think it was guilt he was feeling so much as maybe regret. They were doing their job, just as the messengers were doing theirs, and frankly even a small delay in adding to Janus' power was helpful in the short run. But there was still a sense of uneasiness he felt that lingered in the background.

And then there was Jessica. Fucking Jessica, who had to always show up at the least convenient times, who kept getting in the way and being too close to Sin. If she hadn't shown up, everything would have gone much smoother. They'd already had too many problems with the mission; the fact that the targets hadn't even arrived, that no one important was there, was bad enough. But at least after they'd proceeded with the plan, Boyd and Sin could have hidden together. All of these days of little-to-no sleep wouldn't have existed; they could have taken turns on lookout if it was necessary, they could have watched each other's back.

The fact that Sin had stopped to pick Jessica up infuriated him. What the fuck had he been thinking? He hadn't even fully considered going back to help Sin, either. He was disgusted enough with his need to help the stupid woman that it just seemed ridiculous to put them both in danger for no good reason at all. Besides, there had been too many cops coming and he was already far enough away that it would have been cutting it close to try to get back in without being detected. When he had considered the situation logically, weighing the potential dangers against apparently the only bonus of saving Jessica's life, it hadn't added up.

It angered Boyd not only because it further convoluted the plan and put Sin in unnecessary danger, but also because... it was Jessica. Because she'd wanted Sin to come by her apartment later. Because she'd been wanting to fuck him from the moment she saw him and was that what they were doing right then? While Boyd was running around, filthy and exhausted, was Sin able to stay with Jessica and use her as cover? She'd certainly make a good alibi for him and no doubt she wanted to keep him around as much as possible. He could just leisurely stay there for two weeks while they fucked as much as they wanted and all the research Boyd had done on where to hide in Monterrey and all the time he took to explain it to Sin would be for nothing. Just like all the work with Thierry ended up being for basically nothing.

What the hell was Sin's problem, further complicating matters just so he could save Jessica, who was too stupid to even to know how to run to a fucking exit? She would have been fine- the cops were on the way, there were probably plenty of people running around who could rescue her. Even if they couldn't, even if she was caught in the explosion that Sin had been about to set off, he still didn't see what the hell the big deal was. Many others had died that night and he didn't see what made her so special that their escape should be endangered just so she could live.

And now that put Sin out of his reach. The idiot had to run around rescuing people who didn't need it, which meant Boyd didn't even know his status. He knew Sin would have made it out, he knew he would be fine, but it annoyed him that these loose ends were all over the place. It just made everything into one overwhelming mess and Boyd, who preferred control and clear-cut action plans, found the entire situation to be aggravating.

They'd agreed weeks ago that if they got separated, they wouldn't have any contact for two weeks in order to protect their positions and also due to the lack of resources in many of the safe houses. Boyd had very little access to outlets to recharge any batteries so he hadn't even bothered to check the GPS yet and only turned his cell phone on every once in awhile. They were probably well out of range of each other so he didn't even bother to try using the short range radio, either. Besides, if he got it to work he'd probably just hear Jessica making some disgusting moaning noise if Sin was actually staying with her and then he would just be angrier. It didn't matter, anyway. The GPS would only be necessary if somehow they had to switch the meeting point in a few days.

He sighed and flipped the cell phone open, pressing the power button and staring at it blankly as it loaded. There wasn't much reason to have it on but if for some reason Sin needed to contact him before the meeting time, he would probably call the cell. The phone vibrated in his hand to signal it was on and he flipped it closed, keeping it in his hand as he dropped his arm back onto the mattress. He stared at the ceiling, too tired to want to move but knowing he couldn't go back to sleep, and tried to decide how long he could stay at the apartment. As long as none of the squatters came to disturb him, maybe he could stay there until the meeting point. This side of Avenida Flore was a good distance from the forest but on the other hand, any of the places he had scoped out that were closer to the meeting point were more likely to be compromised.

He slid his eyes closed, considering his options. Most of the day passed slowly and by the time late afternoon rolled around he almost finished formulating a plan B. He'd nearly allowed himself to doze off, to take a brief nap just in case he had to spend yet another night running around, when he suddenly felt his hand shake.

His eyes snapped open and he brought the cell up so he could see it. It was ringing silently, the phone long ago set to vibrate, and he didn't recognize the number displayed on the screen. He stared at it in confusion; no one should know his cell number except Sin and very few people from the Agency. That definitely wasn't Sin's cell number on the screen, but then again that didn't mean Sin couldn't be calling from another phone. It would be stupid to do so; they didn't know if the Mexican authorities or Janus were tapping the lines or not but at least they knew it would be a secure connection between their cell phones.

On the other hand, Sin could have lost the cell and needed to tell him something important. If Boyd kept the call to a minimal length, even if somehow Janus got the number and was contacting him, they wouldn't be able to pinpoint his position if he hung up quickly. If it was someone from the Agency, the person would know the code they'd agreed upon before they left for Mexico. If he didn't hear the code or Sin's voice, he fully intended to get the hell out of the building and run as far and as fast as he could before they could come and capture him.

Pushing himself up and bringing his bag closer so he could grab it quickly to run if he needed to, he narrowed his eyes and flipped the phone open. He didn't say anything; just waited to see what the person on the other line would do.

There was a pause. Nothing could be heard in the background other than a faint whirring sound that was hard to distinguish. After awhile a man's voice could be heard asking, "Is Mr. Grey available?"

Boyd didn't recognize the voice but that was definitely the code. "Yes, this is Terrence speaking," he said, using the predetermined response so the other man would know it was him.

There was another pause before the man spoke again. "Is your position secure, Agent?"

"Yes," Boyd said.

"Then perhaps you can explain why Agent Vega is deceased."

The question was so unexpected that Boyd blinked, thinking he couldn't have heard that correctly. There was a pause as he ran the sentence over in his mind again, but it was still the same words and still didn't make any sense. "What...?"

"Deceased, Agent. As in dead. No longer with us. Departed from this Earth. How did he come to be that way?" The voice was calm, flat, and although it did not seem like the man was necessarily trying to be cruel it did seem like he was running low on patience.

"He's not-- What?" Boyd said again, feeling a mixture of anxiety and irritation build. He didn't know who the hell this person was but they weren't making any sense. Sin wasn't dead, he'd just seen him the other week and there was no way he didn't make it out of the building alright. Sin would probably survive the apocalypse; he couldn't imagine anything that would kill him. "I haven't-- We aren't supposed to meet for three days."

"I see." A pause. "As of November 12th at approximately 0300 the chip in Agent Vega's throat, the one which monitored his vitals, flat-lined before it stopped responding entirely," the man said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Boyd stared blankly into space at the words, thinking. That would have been three in the morning, several hours after the explosions. How could that be? If Sin had escaped, he should have been fine. Unless he was hurt in the explosion? But Sin was the one pressing the detonator; he never would have hit the button while he was still in harm's way. And he knew how to care for himself; he'd been shot before and had fixed himself up in his apartment, and that was only one of any number of similar situations that he'd lived through that Boyd probably didn't even know about. Considering the scars on his body, he'd survived so many wounds that it seemed impossible that he could ever... not. The only other thing Boyd could imagine was that someone had captured him. But the authorities would have blasted it all over the news that the terrorist was caught and he hadn't heard a single thing; he'd only heard his own description. Unless it was Janus, but how would they have caught him? Even with Jessica, Sin should have been able to escape notice. The entire situation made no sense. Not knowing what to say, he stayed silent.

The man continued in the same tone after a brief pause, "A team has been dispatched to search Agent Vega's last known position as well as to recover you, Agent. We have your coordinates and should arrive in approximately five hours. It would be in your best interest to remain where you are until that time." The connection ended abruptly.

The room seemed entirely too silent and it took Boyd several seconds to even think to drop his hand into his lap. He stared at the cell phone as if it would make any of this be more understandable. The part of him that was not struck dumb by the call absently noted that he still had a few bars left on the battery, that it should last long enough until the team arrived. The team. At least that meant he was being recovered. He had a way out of Monterrey...

Flat-lined? The words echoed in his mind, interrupting any other flow of thought; flat-lined, stopped responding, dead. He couldn't... The very concept seemed so impossible that he could not quite comprehend it. Perhaps their equipment failed; Sin could have gone somewhere that the GPS couldn't track him. He probably went... very deep underground, or... But there wasn't a place like that in Monterrey, Boyd knew that, he'd been all over... But he could have missed something.

He held the cell in front of him, his thumb resting on the numbers, and for a moment he almost called Sin's cell phone just to clear this up quickly. He could call and Sin would answer, pissed that he'd left him at JKS like that. And Boyd would say... of course he did, Sin was being stupid...

He drew in a slow breath that somehow was a little shaky and let it out, staring at his thumb. It would be so easy. Just a few numbers... But the man who called him would also have Sin's phone number. Surely they checked that first. Maybe Sin just lost the phone. He couldn't be bothered to have so much shit with him all the time, right? He may not have thought to have a bag like Boyd did. It was entirely possible it had fallen out at the convention center, maybe even when he was helping Jessica. He was probably leaning over a lot, it could have come right out of a pocket.

Or else... someone found him. Someone took his cell phone away and...

Boyd flipped his phone shut suddenly and dropped it to the mattress next to him, turning his attention to his wristwatch. He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers hovering near the button on the side to activate the GPS, to let him track the earring he'd given Sin as a precaution. But he stopped himself.

Five hours. The battery would last around twelve. If Sin was... If he was... Boyd narrowed his eyes, staring intently at his watch. If Sin was... not moving for some reason (probably because he was just holed up in a safe place, maybe he was even sleeping right then, he wished he was himself) then he would be wasting the battery. He just had to wait a few hours and then he could show the man who called him that he was being an idiot. They could go straight to Sin, find him just hanging around somewhere, and they could all go back a few days early. It was fine like this, it meant they were able to go home.

Home. As if it was a friendly place for Sin, who preferred it here. As if they wouldn't just start using him again for anything they wanted and if Sin really was hurt would they try to make him work immediately? What if... What if he'd lost a lot of blood? What if... shrapnel had hit him as he ran and because he had Jessica with him he couldn't get away?

But Sin was strong. He could bodily pick Boyd up, move him however he wanted, and Boyd probably weighed more than Jessica. Sin had carried Andrews and he out of a building filled with rebels, had killed dozens of people even with them slung over his shoulders like dead weight. He'd run into a building filled with people shooting straight at them and he'd protected Boyd, pulled him along and fucking protected him as well as himself and he'd been fine. Sin was always fucking fine. These people didn't know who the hell they were talking about, they were thinking of a different Agent Vega.

But there was no one else by that name.

If... what he said was true. If Sin really was in trouble, if he was hurt that much, if he'd... Boyd crossed his arms at his stomach and stared intently at the ground. If Sin was hurt, if he...

The last thing Boyd had told him was that he deserved it if he got caught. Because he was angry he hadn't even helped him, hadn't even listened to him. He'd been angry that the mission failed, that Jessica was there, that he may have fucked up with Thierry and he'd just... He hadn't... He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to let his thoughts go down this path, but it was difficult. He remembered being held to the ground, a gun pressed against his eye, he was about to die and then the gun, the hands holding him, they were gone. Sin's back was to him in flashes and when he woke up he was bandaged, safe.

Sin had come for him.

Sin had always saved him, helped him; at least, he did after he'd decided Boyd was worth it and he could trust him. That he was different from his other partners. That he... wouldn't hurt him. Hadn't Boyd told him that? He wouldn't hurt Sin? But what constituted 'hurting'? Couldn't lack of reaction hurt him just as much as actions?

That made him think of their conversations spread across the months, the things Sin told him that he hadn't told anyone else, the expressions he made that were so different from the unreadable, sarcastic smirks and stares from when they first met. It made him think of how unguarded he was around him; even when they were angry with each other by now Sin didn't totally close himself off. There was always some part of him that was reachable, that Boyd could touch if he just tried, if he just reached out himself. And Sin actually slept around him, by him. He remembered nights of watching him on the live feed, Sin's form pacing the apartment, restless. But in their studio he'd laid there, completely asleep and relaxed even though Boyd was right next to him. Because he trusted him.

He trusted him, and he had left him at JKS. He could have gone back to check on him. Granted, it would have been a tactical error; granted, it didn't make sense to go after that one woman when so many others had died. But that wasn't really the important part. The point was that Boyd should have helped him. Even if Sin wasn't hurt now, even if the man on the phone was wrong, even if he was perfectly fine and hiding out somewhere, it was still true that... Boyd had abandoned him.

There was a long moment of silence even in his mind; a stillness that came from the acknowledgment that he'd run when he had the chance to help someone he cared about. He'd let his anger and jealousy dictate his decision and then justified it with logic, but that didn't change the facts. After years of regretting standing there watching his best friend be murdered and doing nothing about it, was it any better to have run away like a fucking coward when someone else he cared about as strongly needed his help? If Sin... really was hurt, if he was actually... His mouth thinned. If he wasn't coming back. Then, it... Then Boyd contributed to it. By consciously choosing not to help out... Then Boyd was at least partially, if not very much, to blame.

Silence again, and this time he kept his body still as well. He drew in a breath slowly, let it out slowly, concentrated on the sound of his lungs expanding and contracting, and tried to stay logical about this. It still didn't make sense. As much as the idea... Frankly, as much as the idea terrified him, of Sin being dead, of Sin that hurt, of Sin fucking dying while Boyd was in the same city, supposed to be at his side, but had abandoned him-- He realized his fingers were digging into his palms and, after a moment, he forced his fingers to relax. Despite that, it didn't make sense that Sin could be dead. All the evidence he had of Sin's fortitude clearly showed that it took a lot to faze him, more than Boyd had ever seen or heard of. He couldn't even fathom what could have occurred to the chip to give that reading. Flat-lined. It had to be a malfunction, it had to be a lie. Anything else and he just couldn't comprehend it. Or maybe he didn't want to.

It occurred to him that the man on the phone could have been lying or an impostor but he didn't think that was the case. Very few people even within the Agency knew that particular code and not a single one would have left the Agency's complex; they would have no contact with anyone who would use the code against him, to lull him into a false sense of security. In fact, the code was even team-specific; only General Carhart and the others would know about it and even other teams would not. And the man knew Sin's last name, knew about the chip as well. Unless somehow someone else got this information and was coming to take him out, it was a legitimate call and he needed to treat it as such. He couldn't afford to move from his position; for one, he didn't think he'd be able to get to the next safe house in broad daylight without anyone stopping him. And for another, it very much seemed like it was someone from the Agency and since he was ordered to stay in one place he would get in trouble if he moved. He would stay until they came, but he would be wary just in case, and be ready to flee if he needed to.

He flopped onto his back, his hands resting on his stomach, and kept his eyes firmly closed. In the end, all he could do was wait and try to keep his thoughts professional, logical, try not to let the anxiety and fear grow, the guilt and regret. The worry. It was just a few hours. Just a little bit of time and then he could tell them they were crazy, Sin was fine, and he could tell Sin he still thought he was stupid for stopping for Jessica, that she wasn't worth the risk of his life, but that... He should not have left him like that.

Just a few hours, not much time at all.

But as the moment stretched, the seconds going agonizingly slowly, he couldn't help thinking that the man who called him was a little cruel. He should have given him less time, just a few minutes. Hours... gave him entirely too much to think about.

---

It was almost exactly five hours later that Boyd heard a knock on the door. He had already moved the table to the side in anticipation, which gave him a better view of the door. The short, staccato rapping somehow fit the personality of the man he heard on the phone. He stood up and silently approached the door, being certain to stay to the sides for further protection in case anyone shot through the door. There was a crack in the door on the side that worked more or less like an eye-hole and Boyd used that to look out into the hallway. He counted five people standing in the hall; they wore civilian clothing but each of them had at least one large duffel bag that he recognized from the Agency. He'd seen the duffel bags before being carried by field agents returning from riskier assignments and knew that they typically held equipment and riot gear.

Even so, as a precaution he stepped to the side where he wouldn't be shot through the door and enacted the Agency protocol for this type of situation. "Who are you looking for?" he called out.

"Terrence Grey," Came the short reply.

Boyd flipped on the light and unlocked the door, stepping to the side as he opened it so they could come in.

The five agents filed into the room and subsequently spread out as if they were checking it for strengths, weaknesses and overall security. No one spoke at first, no one even so much as glanced at Boyd as they continued to search the room and only when the tallest man locked the door, did anyone actually focus on him. He appeared to be in his early 30s and probably 6'2 or so, his fit, muscular build was well defined by the thin t-shirt he wore. He had dark blond hair that he wore short, military style, and blue eyes that seemed to look right through Boyd as if he was staring into his soul and not really liking what he saw.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Agent Beaulieu," The man said calmly although it seemed to be more of a formality than anything else. "I've heard much about you although I've never been able to officially make your acquaintance."

Boyd looked at the other four briefly before settling his attention on the man. He recognized his voice from the phone but that didn't tell him anything about his identity. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, but you'll have to excuse me if I'm not certain who you are."

The man nodded and let his duffel bag drop the floor at his boots. "I'm Senior Agent Kassian Trovosky and this is my team."

That surprised Boyd although it didn't make it to his expression. Kassian? He'd heard about him at such random intervals and it wasn't like he'd ever gotten a description of him but somehow he would have expected him to look different. He supposed it made sense to send the other Level 10 in for something related to Sin, but it just seemed strange; he thought Kassian was on an extended undercover mission somewhere else. And he had a team? He glanced at the others quickly, silently wondering who they were as well.

Kassian nodded towards the other people in the room although he continued to watch Boyd. "The two gentleman to your left are Rank 9 Field Agents Casey Archer and Jonathan Jones." Both men were Caucasian although Casey had light hair and was muscular while Jones was dark haired and had a leaner, more average build. Kassian gestured towards the only female in the room; a tall, athletic-looking black woman who had the striking features of a model even if her expression was anything but pleasant. "The lady is Rank 9 Field Agent Harriet Stevens and the gentleman to your right is Rank 9 Field Agent Michael Alvarado." The last man was the shortest in the room and appeared to be the youngest, he was thin and seemed to be of Hispanic origin. "We've been together for a few years now although this is our first assignment together since I've returned."

"I see," Boyd said after a moment, trying to stay polite and respectful considering this was his superior and four people who had probably been Level 9 Agents far longer than he. At the same time, it was difficult to reconcile his worry for Sin and his disbelief that Kassian's earlier declaration was correct, with the casual, albeit professional, way everyone else was acting. He felt like they should be more urgent or... something. It was also confusing because he didn't quite know how he was supposed to be interacting with Kassian, considering Boyd had a history of not necessarily giving authority the proper respect. But in this case, it wasn't just his ass that was on the line, it was Sin's. "Thank you for the introductions. I'm assuming none are needed for me."

"No, we know all about you, Agent Beaulieu," Harriet said coolly, brown eyes trained on him critically. Kassian's gaze snapped to her and his eyes narrowed slightly. She caught the stare and said nothing more, although her expression did not change.

"Before we go any further it is imperative that you give us any pertinent information to the assignment that you and Agent Vega were on. I am not here to debrief you as I do not have the specifics of the assignment, however it is imperative that we know precisely when and how you became separated before we continue." Kassian stared at him expectantly.

Boyd nodded and answered in the typical matter-of-fact manner he used when explaining missions. "Agent Vega and I were in the JKS Convention Center on November 11th on an assassination detail. I was in the Northeast wing in a convention while Agent Vega was working as security and moving around the facility. We planned to destroy the Northeast wing as well as the corridors leading to it by each detonating bombs and exiting through separate corridors. At 2136 hours I was able to escape but Agent Vega noticed an injured civilian on his way out. I instructed him to leave but he stopped to help her. At that point, I could already hear the police officers and there was too large of a crowd. I felt that if I returned my position would be compromised and, by extension, Agent Vega's. We had agreed that if we could not meet at Calle Treinta then we would meet two weeks later at a predetermined spot. I thought that the detour in the plan would slow Agent Vega too much to risk Plan A so we switched to Plan B. During that time, we were to observe radio silence except in the case of emergencies. I never heard from Agent Vega and we were not supposed to meet for another three days."

"So much for not being debriefed," Harriet murmured quietly.

Michael rolled his eyes at her. "Shut up, Harry."

"My name is Harriet," She corrected, giving him a flat look.

"Like I said. Harry." Michael grinned at her cheekily and it was obvious that they'd had this exchange more than once before.

"Enough already," Kassian snapped, looking at the both of them impatiently before his gaze slid back to Boyd.

Boyd kept his gaze trained on Kassian, not giving away anything in his expression. It was pretty obvious that Harriet didn't like him; he had no idea why she didn't but it wasn't helping matters. He was outnumbered five-to-one, they all had a history with each other, and a lot more experience. He just wanted to know what was happening, why they believed Sin was dead, to find Sin and make sure he was okay. He stayed silent, though, and ignored her comment.

After a moment, Kassian nodded shortly. "Since it appears that you have no idea as to how Agent Vega was killed or when it happened, I will tell you what we do know." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Shortly after 0200 hours, the tracker reported that Vega's vitals were quite erratic. The device does not tell more than his current heart rate but it seems as though he was experiencing some sort of trauma before he subsequently flat-lined at approximately 0309. The plan is to search his last known position for signs of Janus perpetrators in case it is one of their bases. It has been assumed that it is they who are responsible for his death, although that has obviously not been confirmed as of yet."

It was years of practice that kept Boyd's expression from not so much as twitching at the words. He spoke of it so casually, as if Sin really was dead. He considered the information for a moment before he asked, "Is it possible the equipment malfunctioned or it came back as a false flat-line?"

Kassian raised an eyebrow at Boyd and the look on his face was almost disapproving. "Unless we are all suddenly believing that coincidences are the most likely solution to any situation that is difficult to accept. I find it improbable that after nearly an hour of an increasingly unsteady heartbeat, the device just happened to flat-line because of malfunction before it was destroyed. And yes, the assumption as of now is that it was destroyed most likely in the same manner in which he was killed. A possible gunshot to that area of his neck or any other number of scenarios."

"Understood," Boyd said calmly although it certainly did not reflect what was going on in his mind or the alarmed increase of his heart rate. He kept wanting to believe that it was a lie, that Sin was alright, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The idea of someone just... shooting Sin in the neck, of hurting him enough that his heartbeat would be so erratic for a fucking hour, that he would actually, honestly flat-line... The entire conversation felt almost surreal, with Kassian speaking so frankly of Sin's death when Boyd had just seen him so recently. What the fuck happened to him? He didn't want this to be true. He wanted it to be a lie, because if Sin really was dead-- He cut the thought off before it could continue because it would make it too difficult to keep the closed-off expression and calm tone.

"We are to infiltrate the location with the utmost caution. My methods are very different from what you were used to when you were with Agent Vega and I suggest that you accept that now. I do not run into a base wildly shooting carelessly and killing as many as I can; I respect the lives of others, especially the people on my team, and I do not do anything that would endanger them." Kassian nodded at the other four people in the team and they began unzipping their bags and removing gear as he started to do the same. "It is also important for you to take into consideration that you are not officially a part of this team." He pulled a black, plated vest out of his bag and tugged it on, eyes never leaving Boyd's. "For now you are not more than our charge. Part of our mission here was to retrieve you and that is what we have done. Although you will accompany us to the base, any action that you take which goes against my command will be dealt with swiftly and you will be handled appropriately from then on."

"Which means keep your mouth shut and do what the boss says. Got it?" Michael asked with a smirk and tossed a bulletproof vest to Boyd.

Boyd automatically caught the vest and started to put it on without saying anything, feeling at once shut out and included. While he was glad that he at least had been told of this mission, he didn't want to just be tagging along. He wanted to be up at the front, able to make decisions, feel like he was doing something. If they'd just told him about this all before Kassian was called in then he could have gone to find Sin on his own. If he'd only been fucking alerted immediately that Sin's vital signs had fallen like that, then he could have done something. He could have helped him.

Casey put on his gear with expert efficiency while he watched the exits as if enemies were about to burst through and attack. "Just follow our lead and you won't get in the way," he told Boyd seriously, glancing at him only briefly before he looked away again. "Stay in the back and don't fuck it up."

Boyd looked at him steadily, not bothering to answer. It wasn't like he'd never been on a mission before. He may not be from this team and he may not have been a Rank 9 as long as they had, but they didn't have to act like he was an idiot. He felt someone watching him and he looked over at Jonathan, noticing that he was studying Boyd with a quiet intensity. He didn't seem disapproving like Harriet; he just seemed curious. Boyd met his eyes blankly for a moment before he turned his attention back to Kassian, ignoring the others.

"We have little to no information about the building he was in but we do know it's location and that it is on the edge of the industrial district, near the waterfront." Kassian finished strapping weapons and ammunition to himself and nodded approvingly when he saw that the rest of his team had also finished. No one gave Boyd a weapon or seemed intent on doing so. "It is entirely possible that we will find nothing there but a corpse and if that is the case, I want to be perfectly clear as of now that our orders are explicit in this regard and we are not to recover it."

"What?" Boyd asked before he could stop himself, looking at Kassian in surprise. They weren't even intending to bring him back, to give him a decent burial? If Sin really had died in the line of duty, he didn't even get a fucking tombstone or anything? Did they seriously intend to just leave him there to fucking rot in Monterrey, like garbage they didn't feel like hauling home? The thought angered Boyd as much as it sickened him and he knew right then that they could fucking punish him all they wanted but if he really did find just Sin's corpse-- God, he desperately hoped that wasn't the case, that despite all appearances Sin was still okay-- he wasn't about to just leave him there and walk away.

Kassian's eyes flicked away for a moment and just then it seemed that he was almost uncomfortable with what he was saying. Considering the things Sin had said about the man, about his moral code, and by Kassian's own comment about how much he valued life, it wasn't exactly a surprise that he didn't seem thrilled with this aspect of the assignment. "It isn't my choice but it is what we were ordered to do," He said quietly. "If we were to disobey orders and retrieve it, it is extremely doubtful that it would be handled any differently than the other bodies that are constantly incinerated on the compound." He looked at Boyd again, face once again neutral. "So you see, there is no point in going against the decision. It would be a fruitless effort and if we find that you become difficult or irrational if this time comes, you will be detained accordingly. Remember, our orders are also to bring you back."

Boyd stared at Kassian for a moment before he spoke, his voice decidedly neutral but just a hint cool. "Understood." It was best if he appeared as though he would comply with that command while he planned what he would do in the event that they really did find Sin's body. If Kassian and the others underestimated his abilities even a little he could hopefully get away long enough to contact Jorge to get Sin a decent burial in Mexico. Since this was half of his ancestry, it would be the best he would be able to do. But it wouldn't come to that. He didn't need to worry about funerals, they just needed to worry about hospitals. Sin would be okay. He had to be.

"Good." Kassian picked up his bag and gave the room a final once over. "Then let's move out."

They trooped down the stairs in just as efficient a manner as they'd entered the room; not moving until they were positive that every nook and cranny of the building was secure. They didn't seem concerned with the authorities or drawing notice and at first it puzzled Boyd, even more so when he began to wonder exactly how they'd entered the city in the first place with as many weapons as they had. However, he didn't have to dwell on it long; once everyone was situated in the team's van, he received an explanation without having to ask.

Kassian glanced at him in the rearview mirror as he began to drive in the direction of the industrial zone. "I suppose you are wondering how we entered the country and city when it is under such heavy lock-down," He began in an almost conversational tone. "It was fairly simple and uneventful, as we were prepared in advance and had suitable cover stories and identification to placate the border patrols. We took a plane to the Mexican border before driving to Monterrey."

"Our cover is that we're pretty much bad ass bounty hunters from the States, looking for a specific criminal in the city," Michael interjected. "Mostly American bounty hunters get in trouble for coming into Mexico with that shit but it's easy to pay off the right people and Johnson's has more than a few connections in these parts, know what I mean? Besides, they don't care so much as long as we're bringing an American criminal back to the States. They mostly get mad when bounty hunters fuck with their citizens." He raised an eyebrow at Boyd. "By the way, you're the specific criminal. That's your cover for when we leave."

"Ah," Boyd said. That made sense and explained a few things, though he wondered if they weren't giving him weapons due to that cover or if they just didn't trust him with any and didn't want him to include himself too fully in the mission. "What is my crime?"

"Grand larceny," Harriet said in a bored tone. "And tax evasion. White collar crime for a white collar boy."

"Hmm. I must be a dangerous rich boy if it took five of you professionals to take me in," Boyd said mildly, looking over at her with an unaffected expression.

She looked at him as if he was the stupidest person she'd ever seen. "I sincerely hope you are not trying to imply that you would ever pose a threat to anyone else in this vehicle."

"I certainly don't look like I could, which is why I was commenting on the fact that according to that cover, five of you would be coming down to pick up a simple white collar criminal," he replied calmly.

Harriet made a disgusted noise. "Even white collar criminals have protection and your specific profile implies that you have ties with organizations that would give you an ample amount of it." She paused and gave him a condescending look. "Despite what delusions of grandeur Mommy's help has caused you to obtain, you do not only look like you could not hurt us but you simply cannot. And if you are trying to somehow imply that the cover is in some way inadequate, you should take that up with General Stephen because he is the clever one who devised it. However, since our cover has gotten us much farther than any of your strategies have gained you, I don't think you have room to criticize anyone. All your plans have gotten you so far it seems is a terrible stench and a dead partner."

"Oh lay the fuck off already, Harry," Michael piped up suddenly, twisting in his chair to glare over at her before Boyd could reply. "We all know you're asshurt about him getting special treatment but do we really need to hear about it for the rest of this mission?"

"I concur," Kassian muttered, not taking his eyes off the road.

Harriet made a face at them but remained silent.

Boyd turned his attention out the opposite window, not bothering to look at Harriet again. At least now he knew what her problem was, and frankly there was nothing he could do about it. She wasn't the first person to dislike him due to the assumption that he got the position simply due to his mother, that he received special treatment. He couldn't entirely disagree with the sentiment; after all, the Agency would never have known he'd existed if his mother hadn't referred him and he doubted many other people had yelled at Connors and gotten away with it. At the same time, it's not like he asked for it or expected it and it was a little annoying to have people judging him for things they knew nothing about, though that again was nothing new. Peers had thought he was rich and stuck up since he was in kindergarten and it probably wasn't going to change any time soon, especially given his personality.

What annoyed him more was her insinuation that their cover was not good enough; Ryan and Carhart had worked their asses off on it and it made a hell of a lot more sense than five bounty hunters running around with a white collar larcenist. Harriet had been in the city for a few fucking hours and he'd been there for almost a year, so if she wanted to imply his cover was inferior or useless she was completely wrong. There had never been a problem with Sin's or his cover; even when everything started to go wrong in JKS, their cover was still sound. It was everything else that went to shit.

But even more than that, her comment about a dead partner really hurt. She didn't know what Sin was to him, she didn't know how much it would rip him apart if it really was true, so her condescending attitude really irritated him. And she certainly had no right to be criticizing him on it if it ended up being true; she was the one that didn't want to hear even the small amount of extra information he'd provided earlier so she didn't even know the fucking context.

Keeping his expression devoid of any emotion, he stayed silent as they drove through the streets and for a few minutes, no one said anything. He could feel a gaze burning into him though and he finally looked over to meet Jonathan's eyes. He was watching him with that same intense curiosity from before and it was starting to unnerve Boyd, like he was a bug under a microscope. He stared back at Jonathan who didn't say anything for a few drawn out moments. He was just about to look away dismissively when the man suddenly said, "Hey, you know David?"

The question caught Boyd off-guard. "What?"

"David Nakamura, he trains people," Jonathan said intently. "He was your trainer, wasn't he?"

"Yes," Boyd said blankly, staring at him. "Why?"

"He's good people, we trained together." Jonathan's gaze, if anything, only seemed to intensify. "You know how he names his moves sometimes? There's one called the helicopter?"

The man was seriously strange and just serving to unnerve Boyd further. "I don't recall that move," he said after a moment.

"Oh." Jonathan looked disappointed and he leaned back in his seat. "Well. I named it."

"Oh," Boyd said and stared at him, not really knowing what to say. Silence grew between them before he added, "Perhaps he hadn't had the chance to teach it to me yet."

"Maybe," Jonathan said, though he seemed mollified by the explanation. He suddenly gave Boyd a briefly pleased look then peered out the window. "Call me Blair, by the way. And he's Archer." He nodded toward Casey, whose raptor-like gaze was focused on the van and what he could see outside the windows as if to protect from sudden attack. "Don't call him Casey; he hates that."

"Ah." Boyd blinked at him. "Alright," he said, and looked out the window as well. In the reflection off the glass, he could see Harriet and Archer both looking incredibly unimpressed.

The scenery rolled past and in his mind Boyd found himself automatically placing them in context of the city and the secret passageways. As they passed one of the streets that ran much of the length of Monterrey, he remembered hailing a cab and sitting in the back with Sin. Sin had been looking out the window too at that point, his green eyes reflected in the glass, his expression unreadable though Boyd had known he was irritated. But they'd stopped at the forest and that had been the first time Boyd had trusted someone with his own story, his own past. He knew how difficult it was to get to that point and he really didn't know if it would ever happen again for him. Sin was some sort of strange exception for him; someone he'd found himself gravitating to even when he'd cut himself off from the rest of the world. Although his expression remained blank, his eyes darkened a little as he stared at the buildings.

The industrial section came upon them abruptly; it went from increasingly poor residential homes to large blocks of concrete and foreboding buildings rising around them. Kassian drove around the back on a service road until they reached a building that provided cover. He pulled the van up to the back, parking it next to an outcropped wall that would keep them out of view while they silently unloaded from the vehicle. It was obvious that the team had worked together before; Kassian didn't even need to give a signal before they spread out and without a sound, they approached the neighboring building. Boyd started to go with them but Archer suddenly put his hand on his chest and pushed him back a step with a sharp look. Boyd slid his gaze over to him, meeting his eyes evenly, but stayed back a few steps anyway.

Once he was around the corner, he could see the target building better. It was a squat clinic, looking long ago abandoned judging by the creaking, half-broken sign, but the doors looked curiously well taken care of. Kassian's team moved in silently and quickly, securing the perimeter before they even attempted the building itself. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest as he followed them, wanting to push them aside and just run in himself to see what was happening. But instead he stayed back and tried not to imagine Sin's corpse, images that kept flashing through his mind that grew more grotesque and vivid the closer he came to the building.

The entire area seemed completely deserted and as the team moved silently; no other sounds could be heard other than the faint drilling of a jackhammer several blocks away. The wind picked up slightly, whipping Boyd's choppy, uneven hair and he stared at the door intently, wishing they would just go in already; wishing they would stop being so fucking thorough when he sensed no one in the general area except them.

Finally Archer approached the door, .45 in his hand as he walked sideways along the wall and seemed to listen for any sounds on the inside. He glanced at Kassian, who looked at Boyd with a tense expression on his face. The look was strange and it was incredibly hard to tell what the man was thinking although at that moment he didn't seem particularly critical. Finally Kassian's eyes slid to Archer and he nodded once, shortly.

Archer abruptly spun towards the door and kicked it open, before ducking out of the way again and pinning himself against the side of the building once again. Nothing happened; no one called out in alarm and no one began firing out at them. From the angle Boyd was at, all he could see was darkness beyond the doorway and he felt his muscles tense with the desire to just run over, to see with his own eyes if any of this was true. Finally, Archer, Harriet, and Blair all moved in. Michael continued to watch the perimeter and Kassian, surprisingly, continued to watch Boyd.

"It's empty!" Harriet's voice called out eventually.

Kassian finally nodded at Boyd and strode towards the clinic himself.

The first thing Boyd noticed about the inside of the clinic was that it looked filthy; the walls were covered in a thick layer of grime and dust that didn't seem to have been disturbed in years. But as he looked closer, he realized that other things in the small lobby didn't look as dirty. Chairs weren't covered in the same layers of dust as the walls and there were obvious footprints tracking through areas of the room.

There were only three doors from the main lobby and the team checked them all one at a time. One room was completely covered in the sheen of dust and obviously hadn't been used in some time. The second appeared to be a small office. Although there were no stacks of paper sitting around, there were obvious places in the grime on the desk where objects had been sat down recently, one of which appeared to have been a large box or case. Finally the team turned to the third door and Kassian hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, eyes once again finding Boyd's in the darkness as he slowly twisted the knob. Boyd's heart sped up, breath coming a little faster as his stomach twisted with anxiety, and he slid his gaze over to the door.

Kassian pushed the door open and stared inside. Before Boyd could see anything, Michael immediately looked over Kassian's shoulder and his eyes widened slightly as he said, "Well, shit."

Hearing Michael's tone, Boyd moved so he could see in.

The room was eerily covered in blood.

But Sin wasn't there.

The air was dank, abandoned, the smell of blood thick and overwhelming. Splatters of blood could be seen on the walls, mixing with the dust and grime. Dull metal shone from what appeared to be a surgeon's table, covered in long streaks of blood that twisted and stretched in patterns that told stories on their own. Small pools of coagulated blood had gathered on either side of the table as if something had been steadily bleeding and dripping in those particular spots. But the most alarming part was the drag marks. The layer of dust on the floor was not only interrupted by footprints there; a solid chunk was entirely rubbed away as if something had been dragged from the table and towards the back door. A disturbing amount of blood stains streaked across that section of the floor and a smeared, bloody hand print was vaguely visible on one side of it.

Boyd's eyes widened and he stared in shock, gaze darting around to take in every spatter he could see. He couldn't seem to concentrate on any one area until he saw the pools. He looked back up at the surgeon's table and his imagination gave him a ghostly flash of Sin strapped down, screaming, or maybe he'd just been lying still like when he'd been drugged in the box and had been incapable of even defending himself. He almost swayed and felt sickened; his heart was resoundingly loud to him, like an echo that everyone else had to hear around him, and when he saw the drag marks he grit his teeth and slid his eyes closed to give himself a chance to gather any sense of control.

It took much of his will power not to just shove between Michael and Kassian, to run across the room and follow those drag marks; the door was shut but it didn't matter. He'd already been out back, he already knew nothing was there. But somehow... standing by that room, he felt like maybe if he just opened the door, Sin would be there. It would turn out that all the blood wasn't his, it was his attackers', and there were no bodies because he'd already disposed of them. If he just opened that door, Sin would be slouched against the wall and would look at him mildly, saying he'd been waiting for them to come pick him up already. He let his breath out in a slow, quiet release, then managed to say, only slightly shaken, "They took him. Do you know how to find him?"

No one seemed to listen to him. Harriet walked around the room as Michael and Blair opened the door and began looking around the back more thoroughly, flashlights on as they examined the ground. "It looks like they did him here," Harriet said flatly, gesturing to the surgeon table. "Dragged the body out back."

Michael reappeared in the doorway, nodding as if he were confirming the theory. "There's some blood and tire marks in the back. They probably took it elsewhere to discard."

Boyd looked immediately at Kassian, his gaze intense though there was something else that was hard to define. "Do you know how to find him?" he repeated, more firmly because they either hadn't heard him the first time or were ignoring him. "Because I do."

But Kassian didn't seem to be paying him any mind. He glanced at his watch and then surveyed the room again. He walked over to a corner of the room where what looked to be a pile of garbage was situated. Harriet took out a small digital camera and began snapping pictures of the scene. "Obviously they're not here," Kassian said. "Since we have no data on their actual base of operations, let's spread out and find any information, if there is any, before heading out." He crouched down and picked at the pile of discarded sheets and cloth before extracting what appeared to be a torn white shirt, stained with blood.

Boyd immediately recognized Sin's shirt. His eyes narrowed and although it was upsetting to see, more than anything it angered him. The people who took Sin had hurt him so much that they'd actually managed to overpower him, had, he assumed, kept him strapped to a surgeon's table and dragged him around like he was garbage. And now, the rescue team was fucking ignoring the one person who had been in that city for months, who was telling them he had a solution. The longer they waited in that room, the longer those five fucked around poking at blood pools and trying to reconstruct the scene, the less chance they had of finding Sin in time before... Before something worse happened. Even with all that blood, he refused to believe Sin was dead. Even if he had flat-lined, it was possible he'd somehow been revived. And even if that wasn't the case, he was still going to find his fucking body.

Making a soft noise of disgust, Boyd turned his back on the room and quietly strode further into the main part of the clinic. He wasn't going to be able to help Sin by staring at that scene; there was no point in focusing on the past when what was important was the future. Within a few seconds he had removed his watch and flipped it over to the GPS tracking system, waiting with his heart pounding and breath held as the screen went briefly blank. For a moment, he thought Tayla and Liani had failed him, that the GPS wasn't working after all even though he and Sin had tested them when they'd first put them on, just in case. But then green lines spread across the screen and a small dot languidly blinked up at him. He felt such a sense of relief that he slouched and slid his eyes closed, his head tilted down for a moment.

He didn't get the chance to do anything more before Kassian strode into the lobby and abruptly yanked him backwards. "I told you not to go anywhere unless I said so," He said in an irritated tone, although the unidentifiable expression remained on his face.

"You weren't listening to me," Boyd said, unable to keep the annoyance out of his tone, and held the watch up so Kassian could see. "Look, he's only fifteen minutes away if we take the right streets. There's no point in staying here anymore."

Kassian stared at him for a moment before snatching the watch away and looking down at it. Harriet and Archer had come partially into the room to observe the exchange and they stared down at the watch in confusion. "It's a GPS receiver," Kassian said out loud, although he spoke to no one in particular. He looked up at Boyd with eyes slightly narrowed. "How is it tracking him? Not through the chip."

"That chip only tracks to the Agency and wouldn't be any help in this type of situation," Boyd explained, though he was trying to keep his irritation down. He didn't want to be explaining this, he just wanted to go. "So I got us each a receiver and transmitter. And before you ask, yes, it's password protected, yes, we took the proper precautions, yes, I trust the technology, and no, it won't pinpoint him directly but it will give us a hell of a lot better idea than just wandering around looking at bloodstains and hoping the bad guys were nice enough to give us tire tracks all the way to their home base."

Kassian stared at him blankly. "Does that answer my question? No. I asked how it is tracking him. What is the device that was used. I am aware of what the chip does and I could personally care less about your feelings on the current situation. If you don't like how things are done you can be easily detained and kept out of the operation until we return to the States. I am only allowing you to be here out of the kindness of my heart." He held up the watch. "Now answer the fucking question."

"An earring," Boyd said after a moment, trying to stay calm. He pushed his short hair out of the way and pointed to an innocuous silver post in his upper ear. "Like this one."

Kassian raised an eyebrow. "While I have to admit that your method is clever, let's take the facts into consideration. It is highly doubtful that the perpetrators thought to remove his earrings because the idea of hiding a transmitter in an earring is not one that would normally spring to mind, but I want to understand your reasoning behind obviously thinking that this means Vega is still alive. It is entirely possible that we could follow this tracker and find nothing but a decayed corpse with an earring still in." He paused and looked at the GPS again.

"I don't care," Boyd said firmly. "He's my partner. I want to find him or his corpse, I need to know what happened. You need to confirm it for your mission as well, right? I'd rather we followed all the leads and just found whatever is at the end, regardless of what is there. If he's dead then I can't do anything about it, but if he's still alive then hurrying could save his life."

After a moment Kassian slipped the GPS into his pocket. "I didn't say I wasn't going to look into it. I just want you to be aware of the possible outcome." He turned away from Boyd and called out to the rest of the team. "We have a new objective. It appears that Agent Beaulieu and Vega set up a tracking system. We're to follow the signal as it very well may lead us to the rebel base." He made no mentions of saving Sin's life and it clearly was not the motivating factor in his decision.

Boyd followed behind the others as they returned to the van. Kassian drove, letting Blair navigate with the GPS while Boyd sat in the back and tried not to let his worry grow out of control. He concentrated on the parts of the mission that he could affect. From what he'd seen of where Sin's transmitter was located, he was in a particularly rundown district, one of the original neighborhoods of Monterrey that had never been restored and never been properly taken care of. He'd heard Jorge refer to it simply as 'the place of bad omens,' the sort of area of a city that Americans would darkly refer to as a graveyard. It wasn't that there were a lot of dangerous people there; it was that anyone who stayed in the neighborhood had no hope, no ambition. They were like ghosts to this life, barely touching it, barely alive. Although Boyd had been there several times to determine if there were any places he would be able to hide, he hadn't felt very comfortable. He'd only seen two people when he was there, and both of them peered out of broken windows, their faces skewed by the dirty glass and their hands leaving dusty imprints on the pane. It had been more than a little disturbing, making him feel like he was back in his house, with the half-seen and half-heard memories gliding in and out of his perception.

It wasn't until he happened to see out the window that Kassian was planning to take a right onto Calle Quinto that he realized the GPS was not giving them the fastest directions.

"Wait," Boyd said suddenly, "go straight and take a right on the next street instead." He saw Kassian's blue eyes turn to survey him through the rear view mirror but he just shook his head. "I know where we're going, and the GPS would be correct but they started construction down there last month. Even at this time we'll get stuck in traffic. If we go straight, we can surpass it and get on one of the quicker side streets."

There was a moment when he thought Kassian may ask him more or just ignore him but instead he followed his directions. Boyd relaxed against the seat and watched the windows more closely from that point to navigate them as quickly as he could to the correct area. As they were drawing closer to their destination, he thought it would be in the best interest of their mission as well as his peace of mind to explain what he knew of the area so they could more quickly locate Sin.

"The tracker is civilian grade so it won't pinpoint him specifically but it should be within a one or two block area," Boyd said, watching out the window as they rolled through the desolate streets to finally stop, hidden by a building where they could see the area ahead of them that the GPS pointed to. Several buildings crowded against each other like dirty, desolate children; most of them long ago partially collapsed. There was the stench of hopelessness and death in the air; a stray dog lay in the middle of the street, the carcass half-eaten by insects and whatever animals happened upon it. He glanced only quickly at the street to get his bearings, then leaned toward Kassian so he could point things out without being obvious.

"There are really only five buildings they'd even consider using here; the rest would collapse if anyone stepped inside or are already occupied by people who I guarantee would not give it up, even though they are not the best buildings in the area. The most likely choices would be 1635, 1639, 1739, 1741, and 1747, all depending on their intentions. 1635 has a deep basement that would be good for security but it doesn't have many exits and its backyard runs right against a building, which would make it difficult to escape. 1639 has a very good view of the street around it and the attic is well-fortified, providing multiple escape routes as well as a good vantage point. It also has a basement, not as deep or well-structured as 1635. The 1700 block has buildings that are falling apart a little more. 1741 has electricity hooked up by previous squatters who leeched it from a few blocks away, but they've since died, possibly of electrocution. Their corpses are still inside so the place smells terrible; I don't know if whoever took Sin would use that building because that could be a deterrent for others to enter or if they would avoid it because they didn't want any diseases. They could, of course, have just removed the bodies as well. 1739 has heavy-duty locks on all its doors, including one room in the far back in the downstairs that seems as though it would make a good holding cell. It has no basement. 1747 also has no basement but it has running water and one of the rooms upstairs was covered in some sort of material that seemed to me it would make it more soundproof."

Kassian absorbed the information before dispatching the agents into groups of two. Just before they split up, Blair stopped Boyd with a hand on his upper arm. He looked over at him questioningly, his mind already several steps ahead as he tried to pre-plan every move, but Blair just gave him an intense, solemn sort of look before he pressed a gun into his hands. Boyd blinked, looking down at the semi-automatic before looking back up, but Blair just said, "What if Kassian needs backup?" before he disappeared out the back door.

Boyd checked the magazine; it was full. Good. At least he would have some sense of protection now in case they were attacked. He slid out the door and followed behind Kassian as they headed toward 1639. The house was exactly as he remembered it; abandoned, forlorn, filled with dust and the haunted memories of those who had passed through before. They secured the perimeter first, entering the building in much the same way they had the clinic. Kassian went first, his gun drawn as he slipped through the house, with Boyd following behind. They checked the house then walked quietly up a set of stairs that creaked faintly despite their best efforts, and Kassian seemed displeased by even that much noise. They were slow, methodical, and it made Boyd's heart just beat faster and his worry grow; it was agonizing, going so slowly when he didn't know what would be around the corner, when he didn't know what he'd find or if they'd even find anything at all.

At the top of the stairs, Kassian kicked the door open suddenly and entered in a quick, well-practiced manner with Boyd right behind him as cover. The attic was utterly empty, unused, and Boyd felt shaky as the adrenaline continued to pump through him but he had nothing to spend it on. He wanted the wait to be over, the torture of imagining every possibility and yet not having anything to focus on in front of him. He moved to a window to peer out sidelong, trying to determine if he could see anything from that vantage point. There was nothing outside; abandoned toys from years ago, overgrown vegetation mixed with broken concrete. The place was absolutely desolate and showed no sign of recent use, didn't seem as though anyone had touched it for years. He couldn't see anyone down the street or around any of the houses; there was no sign of life. He was just walking to the next window when Kassian's radio made a slight noise. Boyd's heart leaped and his gaze snapped over immediately.

Within a breath Michael's voice suddenly came over the radio, "We found the body."

Kassian did not look away from Boyd's widened eyes as he raised the radio to his mouth. "Copy."

Continue to Ch 37 ~ Inertia