The swinging weight of the punching bag slammed into a fist and was punched back into the air. A deep breath flowed into the boxer's mouth, slowly letting all the air come to his lungs as he prepared for the next plan of attack. Seeing the target swinging back at him he stepped sideways and lashed out with a roundhouse kick. Sweat ran into his neck, staining his olive green training shirt all the way to his lower back, making the material cling to his skin. A backhand punch sent the bag swinging and he smiled. His arms and shoulders were already feeling stiff from the hard exercise routine but he was having too much fun to stop now.

The gym was empty, and that was a rarity. In the background the music was playing and pacing his feet to the beat of the high tempo song, he timed the swing of the punching bag. A jab followed by a roundhouse and watching the bag swing away he changed his stance. The ring of the mobile from under his towel caught his attention and he wished that it was not who he thought it was; was sent sprawling to the ground as the heavy bag connected with his back. Sam pushed himself to his feet and looked at the swinging bag. If he believed in bad omens this would be a bad one

"Curtis." His eyes gave a dull sparkle as he listened to the voice on the other end. “I'm on my way." Sweaty hands snapped the mobile shut and grabbed his towel from the bench: he walked over to the locker room.

*-*-*-*

The doors swung open and the sweet smell of summer rain brushed past his nose.

He spotted a well known black Nissan Coupe in the parking lot and grinned as he walked over to it. As he came closer he could hear that the aircon was on and the unmistakable spiky hair of his partner came into view. With his head resting against the cold window, he dozed softly, the radio playing loudly as usual.

Sam rested his hand against the door for a second and then banged his fist on the roof of the car. The occupant scrambled in his seat, his foot bumping against the volume button and sending it to it ear splitting volume. Shocked and angry blue eyes flashed up and as he opened his mouth he looked into the green-grey eyes of the Englishman. “Damn it, Sam." He mumbled as he rolled open the window.

"Sleeping on the job again, yeah?"

"Let's just say the late night movie was late night."

"Right. What are you doing here?"

"I drove past here on the way and saw your car, and thought I'd wait for you." He grinned sheepishly.

The Englishman gave his partner his old crooked smile. "Good excuse for getting a few minutes more sleep. I'll follow you."

He pushed away from the car and walked over to where his silver Lotus stood parked.

Wheels squealed and the black Nissan and silver Lotus slid into the main road heading for CI5 HQ.

*-*-*-*

Brake lights flashed off in the dark of the car park at the HQ building as the two cars came to a simultaneous halt.

"So who phoned ya?" Chris slammed his door shut and briskly pushed the central locking remote.

Sam pulled on his jacket and followed him. "Backup, you?"

"Spencer."

"That was nice of him."

Chris smiled and opened the door. "Yeah, wasn't it."

*-*-*-*

The doors of the Ops room swung open and the Brit and Yank soon followed in its wake, their voices already clearly audible from the stairs.

"Good morning, Backup."

The Canadian looked up and smiled, a bandage over her knee showing under her pants. She had vowed that she would never go skating with them after she had accidentally crashed into the wall at the skating rink. "Hey, guys. Welcome back."

Making his dimples work, the American leaned on her desk and smiled. "Did you miss us?"

She grinned sarcastically. "No."

"Mr. Curtis, Mr Keel!"

A look of sardonic pleasure gleamed in her brown eyes. "But he did."

"Miss Backus!"

Her face fell.

The partners grinned at each other and turned their grin at her. "Guess we're not the only ones."

Malone watched as the three operatives walked in and kept his face straight as Backus limped in. "You should stop picking on walls, Miss Backus."

She sensed all the men's eyes on her and pulled her leg straight. "Yes, Sir."

Malone's whole face changed in a blink of an eye and he turned his attention to the partners. "Gentlemen, we have been asked to help MI5 with a case. This is Gerhard Svoboda, an arms dealer in Czechoslovakia." He handed them a picture and sank back into his chair. "He is responsible for the death of Mikros Kolikrov, Prime Minister of Ukraine in 1989."

Curtis nodded. "When they wanted to arrest him he said that he might have been responsible for the giving the man the gun, but it is not his business as to what the gun was used for."

"Yes. After that he had still kept busy with selling arms to terrorist groups and Third World dictatorships. He has now made his presence known in the UK and MI5 have asked us to help bring him in, seeing that they can't arrest him themselves."

A delighted grin spread over the American's face. "Perks of the job," he said softly.

Malone looked at the grinning operatives and turned back to his desk. "Thanks to Miss Backus' quick work we have compiled a persona for both of you."

Backus stepped forward with the two files she had brought with her, handing them to Curtis and Keel as she talked.

"Mr. Carlton and Mr. Adams, pioneers in the fight to the rights of the People. You are currently busy with a peace operation in Bulgaria."

"Nice."

"You'll be staying in Opava."

Keel couldn't keep his face straight as he looked at her. "Family of Oprah?"

She gazed at them and, hearing a grunt from Malone, went on.

"His place is about an hour more there."

Malone got up and handed an envelope to Curtis with their plane tickets and visa papers in it. "You will make contact with Mr. Svoboda and sign a weapons deal."

"Then we round them up?"

The question from the anxious American had Malone break a grin. "Yes, you do."

*-*-*-*

The next day they were standing outside the Czechoslovakian Airport. Customs only took a few minutes, the identifications of Sam Carlton and Chris Adams simply accepted.

The Englishman stood up from the bench outside the AVIS Car Hire office as his partner came out through the doors, smiling from ear to ear. "What did you get this time Chris, a Golf?"

Chris lifted his hand and pushed the remote in his hand. The sound of central locking had them looking to the left and they saw the lights of a red BMW Z3 flash. He winked and slung his rucksack over his shoulder.

"Did Malone budget for this thing?" Sam ran his fingers over the hood of the sports car and looked at his partner.

Chris closed the boot and jingled the keys in his hand. "No."

Sam smiled and slid into the passenger seat. "Good. Now I can start planning what to say at your funeral."

*-*-*-*

The small hotel rose up into the sky, balconies perching from every second window. Malone has never been generous when it came to spending money on mission so they didn't expect much. The rooms were small but just the right size for one person: small bathroom, walk in closet and a kitchen. What was a surprise was that they got adjoining rooms, a sliding door near the window leading outside.

Their rooms like precisely the same; only after Chris rummaged through his could a difference be seen. Finding the hotel was a bit of a problem so by the time they reached it the sun was setting over Opava. After a quick drink and a chat with the locals for directions they headed back to their rooms. Curtis, being as efficient as he was, laid the whole plan out to the finest to what to ask for and how.

Chris got up from the chair and walked over to the adjacent door leading to his room. "I'm going to go crash."

Sam raised his eyebrow in surprise. "Now?"

"Yep, domestic flights always make me sleepy."

"Chris you slept through the whole flight."

"I tried to sleep, but you wouldn't shut up."

"I was just going through the Czech language."

"I don't care what you call those words that came out of your mouth. I know you weren't speaking to me or yourself." He smiled. "I saw you and that stewardess."

"She was helping me with the finer pronunciation of few of the words."

"Yeah I bet." The American disappeared through the doorway. A minute later his head popped around the corner. "One last thing; don't keep me up all night with your preparations for tomorrow." Fighting against a yawn he waved and closed the door behind him.

The Englishman sat down on the bed and opened the file of Gerhard Svoboda in front of him. Chris had a point; he did stay up late when it came to these things. Then again, not even a hurricane could wake Chris so he's got nothing to worry about.

*-*-*-*

Green-grey eyes slowly opened and looked up at the ceiling above him, blinking till it didn't look too bleary from the sleep in his eyes.

He swung his legs off the bed and took a deep breath. His alarm still had about a half an hour before it had to go off and yet he was awake. The persona he'll have to put on when they go meet Svoboda was already nibbling at the edge of his mind.

This man is a trained gun dealer and was been doing this for years. He'll know a rip off when he sees one. It all came down to how good they could lie. It wasn't a very encouraging thought, but it was part of their job. Curtis had done it for years at MI6 and as scary as it was to think about it, he was good at it.

Sam Carlton is a freedom fighter who doesn't get his hands dirty in the fight itself. Gun brokers are that way. They deal out the "candy" and people use it to whatever means they want. There is no place for concern for the lives of potential victims in this game. Neither is there place for backing away or out of a deal. Playing hard to get might be the oldest trick in the book, but it still works. On the other hand if you play too hard to get they will think that is exactly what you are - hard up. Businessmen do not have time to play around with amateurs who think they know what they are doing. Professionals think things through and play according to the hand they have been dealt. Amateurs play before they get anything and the world was filled with them, dangerous idiots with money who have no idea how to use it.

Curtis pulled his tie straight in the mirror, the face of Sam Carlton slowly becoming a reality. The British authority he used on people who bugged him was coming forward. Professional eyes reflected in the mirror, cold yet merciful. His research of Svoboda last night helped him see the kind of men the Czech did business with. Svoboda was about to meet his dream buyer.

A cry from next door had him rushing over and opening the door to Chris' room in two strides. He looked into his partner sitting straight up in his bed. "What's got you spooked?"

Chris ran his hand over his warm face and took a deep breath. "Has it ever happened to you that you dream something in the finest detail and when you wake up you can't remember a damn thing?"

Sam laughed. "Yeah, so what woman ran screaming out of your dream this time?"

"I don't know."

"Well you better get dressed; we can't have you looking like that when we go meet Svoboda."

"When do we have to be there?"

"10:15."

Chris lifted his arm and looked at his watch. "Curtis!" He snapped and flopped back onto the bed. "It's 06:00!"

"Hmm." Sam grinned broadly. The blanket was pulled right to the head of the bed and Sam heard an angry mumble as Chris dozed back to sleep. "I guess breakfast won't work for you then?"

"I'll stop by a drive-thru." Chris replied muffled words.

"Sure." Sam closed the door behind him and searched for his shoes.

*-*-*-*

4 hours later, after 3 cups of coffee, they were pulling into the driveway of the gun dealer, Gerhard Svoboda. Letting Sam do all the talking with the guards they were let in and carefully drove into the place allocated for them. The white house looked like it was carefully looked after. A small flower garden lined the path to the front door, while a big grass yard surrounded them.

"At least the guy has taste," Chris said as he brought the flashy little BMW to a halt.

Sam peered around and seeing one of the guard look at him he unclipped his seatbelt. "Crime pays my friend. Crime pays."

"We should remember to put that in the report. Maybe Malone will catch on."

The guards looked suspiciously at the two laughing men that extracted themselves from the car. It was their job to scan people coming into the boss's place of living, the shapes of handguns pushing against their shirts.

"Looks friendly," Chris observed and bit back as curse as he was shoved back against the car.

Sam quickly stepped in front of the guard, putting a calming hand on his partner's shoulder. "We are here to meet Mr. Svoboda on business, we mean no harm."

The guard looked into the calm green eyes and blinked away, the influence he sensed was too great to look at.

After a few words Sam pulled his hand away from Chris and looked at him. "They just want to do a search."

"Do you have your gun?" The American asked, his keen eyes counting the hidden weapons surrounding them.

"In the car, yours?"

"Car."

"Okay. Just stay calm." The Englishman nodded and lifted his arms.

The guard worked swiftly but thoroughly and at one stage Chris nearly lashed his leg out at the man, if not out of annoyance then pure reflex.

The man looked up, nodded to his fellow guards and looked at Sam and Chris. "Pjod."

Chris saw a reassuring nod from his partner and followed the man, feeling every eye on him.

They were led into what looked like a living room finely furnished with wood and metal. Light streamed in through big windows and reflected a light blue colour off the painted walls. On the other side a fire crackled in the fireplace, sparkling in a brandy glass in a man's hand. It was unmistakeably Svoboda and when they reached him he gently rose to his feet, his broad shoulders pulling at his shirt. He waited till they stood in front on them, taking in the business clothes and shoes. First impressions were a big card in this game. The first thing that he could see between the two was who the main guy was. Smartly dressed in a charcoal grey suit and tie the man with the wavy brown hair looked like he'd done this before. The other, casually dressed in a semi-smart outfit, told him that he was a tag along.

Pushing his impressions back he put out a hand. "Devolte mi abych se predstavil. Jemenuji se Gerhard Svoboda."

The Englishman returend the greeting. "Já jsem Sam Carlton, toto je Chris Adams. " He nodded to his partner and Svoboda pointed to the sofa.

First impressions played an important part for Chris as well and he didn't like the man. Something about him had the American wish he had his gun with him, instead of leaving it in the car.

Svoboda lifted his brandy glass and looked at the two men. "Hope they weren't too forceful with you? Not all can be taught the elegance of receiving people."

Sam Carlton made a gentle smile. "Security is a necessary thing these days." He saw Chris shift in his seat and threw a warning glance at him.

The American knew that look to well and smiled at the Czech. "No harm done."

Svoboda looked at the guard and nodded him away. "Forgive them. Where did you meet?"

"What do you mean?"

"A Brit and a Yank working together? That is not always the norm. You do work for yourselves don't you?"

"We met at College, studying marketing."

The Czech raised an eyebrow. "And you choose this profession?"

The American nodded. "Let say that this has more... potential."

Sam leaned forward on the sofa. "Mr. Svoboda, I'm sure you're time is as precious as ours so let's cut to the point. We are supporting a new peacekeeping operation in Bulgaria. For that operation to work we need to arm the people. Through our contacts we have heard that you are the best person for that job." His cool green eyes settled on the man.

Svoboda folded his hand and rested his fingers against his lips. "Why?"

"We believe that everyone has the right to freedom. Unfortunately, not everybody sees it that way and sometimes force has to be used to fight for the rights of the people."

"May I ask Mr. Carlton, what you had in mind in terms of arms?"

Sam nodded to his partner and the American pulled a paper from his jacket pocket. "Surface-to-air missiles, anti-tank weapons, rifles, grenades and machine guns."

"That is a big list."

"If you are not able to deliver then we will go--"

"I did not say that I couldn't." He peered at the set faces of the two men. "I tell you what. Right now I can give you 200 rifles at £173 each, the grenade-launchers go for about £450. We also have a General Electric mini-gun from £20, 000."

"What about the rest?"

"Give me a few days and I'll see what I can get."

"We can't wait that long Mr. Svoboda."

"48 hours."

"Sounds better. Have you thought of how to cover this transaction if the government should interfere?"

Svoboda laughed. "We have all the required licenses in connection with arms dealing including an open international import license. It is a totally legitimate transaction. And that is the only kind of business I'm involved in."

"That is good to know." They pushed themselves to their feet and looked the dealer in the eyes. "Then we shall see you in 2 days," Chris Adams concluded, his eyes briefly catching those of his partner.

"Done." Putting his hand out the Czech firmly shook each of their hands. "Rád jsem vás poznal. Sejdeme se v sobotu v pet hodin."

Sam Carlton smiled professionaly and spoke in English for the sake of Chris. "Good, Saturday at 5."

Svoboda watched as they were led away by one of his men and silently turned back and looked at the fire in the fireplace.

*-*-*-*

"Somebody once asked could I spare some change for gas

I need to get myself away from this place.

I said "yep" what a concept

I could use a little fuel myself

And we could all use a little change.

Well, the years start coming and they don't stop coming

Fed to the rules and hit the ground running

Didn't make sense not to live for fun

Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb

So much to do, so much to see

So what wrong with taking the backstreets

You'll never know if you don't go

You'll never shine if you don't glow"

An amused American's voice ecstatically echoed every word from the song playing over the radio, the BMW purring under his control. After 15 minutes on the road back to the hotel he had to find something to keep himself amused. The scenery along the road wasn't something to write home about but it was nice to look at. Mostly bush and a few houses scattered around, still it was different than looking at the concrete jungle back in London.

Sam sighed and looked at his partner. "Don't you ever get tired of doing that?"

"No."

"Oh."

Chris grinned and changed lanes. "Come on Curtis, live a little."

"I don't know how to break it to you mate, but you're not Pop Idol material."

"Like you are."

The Englishman lifted an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"What about that time we were in Prague, during our Christmas weekend off-time, and you let rip with a very bad rendition of ‘I'm Outta Love' in the bar?"

Sam sank back into his seat. "I was drunk," he mumbled, half-disgusted as the memory flashed past.

Chris grinned. "So was I, but did I complain? *No*."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Chris glanced at him, seeing the twitches of a threatening laugh pulling at the Englishman's mouth. "So, wanna do it again this year?"

The laugh finally broke through and Curtis looked up at the ceiling so that he couldn't see the look on Keel's face and laugh louder. "If they'll let us back in," he managed.

Sam realized that he could only hear his own laughter in the car. He looked at his partner. "Chris, what is..." he left his word hanging as he saw the look in his partner's eyes. Blue eyes were locked on something in the driver's mirror.

Chris sped the car up a little keeping one eye on the road and the other in the driver's mirror. The red Alfa Romeo sped up and then slowed down. Letting one eye spy around he saw that they were the only two cars on the road. "We have a tail."

"You sure?"

"Don't doubt me, Curtis," Chris snapped changing the gears and slamming his foot down on the accelerator.

Sam had one hand on the dashboard and the other securely wrapped around the seatbelt across his chest. "Chris, where are you going?"

"This road is a detour, a shortcut to the main road."

"How do you know?"

"I checked out the map last night."

Bullets ripped into the back of the BMW shattering the back window. Chris floored the accelerator and the little car shot forward with a buck. The only chance they had was to outrun them or just put a big enough gap between them. As he looked back in the mirror he saw that the Alfa had stopped, but another second later the bullet of a rifle tore into the back tyre and they felt the car fishtail. "Hold on!" he shouted as he tried to maintain control of the steering wheel, his knuckles milky white with his grip. The BMW skidded on the dirt road and careened into a ditch.

Sam slowly lifted his head, praying silent thanks that he was wearing his seatbelt.

"We have to move!" He heard Chris shout and saw his partner desperately scramble with his seatbelt clip.

Pushing the doors open, the two operatives scrambled out of the car and, glancing over their shoulders at the oncoming Alfa, took off for the woods.

"Let's see how good they can drive in trees!" Chris shouted and willed his legs to go faster.

Small explosions banged next to them as the bullets hit the ground, the one a clear sound of a handgun, the other that of a rifle.

"These people don't play around, do they?!"

"I guess not."

Three more gunshots went off and Sam felt a hand push him forward. "Go!"

The men had picked the right spot to push the partners off the road. There was nothing for miles around except for trees and bushes. Where better to take someone out where there is no one to give a record of it? Twigs broke under their feet as they ran, ears picking up the gun shots and voices shouting at the back.

They ducked behind a fallen tree. They glanced at each other, pulled their guns out and fired back, Chris biting his lip in old fashion as he concentrated. The other men ducked behind whatever covering they could find. They might not be able to shoot straight but they could make themselves disappear.

"I think it's time we called for some backup!" Chris shouted and sank down.

Sam leaned sideways and shot in the direction of Svoboda's men. "Think you're right." He fumbled out his phone and pushed the pre-programmed button and pressed it against his ear. "Great!"

Chris looked at his partner. "What?"

Curtis snapped his phone closed and glared at him. "Battery just went dead."

"Use mine." The American reached for his, patted against his jacket and swore. When he opened his eyes, he looked into the anxious eyes of his partner. "I left mine in the car."

"Malone is going to let us have it for this."

They ducked as a few bullets bit into the tree.

Chris kicked the ground. "What now?"

Green-grey eyes peered around the tree, hearing magazines being clicked in and out of guns. "I was thinking of getting out of here."

"Right," the American nodded and lifted his gun. "Run!" Pushing the Englishman forward Chris twisted and shot bullets for cover. Vague silhouettes could be seen ducking and diving to the ground, words and phrases shouting into the air. In the clearing stood the Alfa Romeo, its metallic body gleaming in the sun. If he could hit the tank and make it explode it might create a big enough distraction for them to get some distance. But he was already out of range and would only waste a bullet he would need.

Anxious feet pounded on the hard ground as they ran, feeling their bodies instinctively cringe as bullets flew past them and made small explosion in the ground. Using the dense bush as cover, they made their way away from them.

Sam spotted something that looked like a ditch and turned towards it, inadvertently stepping in front of his partner. He heard a harsh gasp and forgave Chris without thinking twice. "This way!"

The two partners jumped and slid down the bank. If luck was on their side they might miss them, if not Sam wondered how many bullets he had left. Pushing themselves against the bank they listened for any sound. Usually silence would make you feel safe, but the enemy could use that and come sneaking up on you from behind.

"Anything?" Sam mouthed a question and sighed when he saw his partner nod. Chris pointed his head to the right and brought his gun to up his chest in anticipation.

Voices, angry voices came into range, shouting nasty remarks and questions drifted through the leaves.

They looked at each other, a silent "See you in Hell" passing in their eyes.

By that time the men where almost right above them. They looked up and saw how a weed was crushed to death by a foot of one of the men.

Sam listened to their conversation and grabbed Chris by the arm as he saw the American move.

The two operatives pushed themselves against the ground when the movement came closer towards them. If the men found them they could be staring six guns in the face and Chris was wondering how many he could take out before they took him out. But the footsteps turned to the west and scurried off loudly, these men obviously didn't know much about keeping a low profile in the heat of the moment.

Sam let out a soft sighed of relief and pulled his hand over his eyes, the adrenaline was pounding in his temples and he could feel a headache on its way. "If we see them again..."

"It will be too soon," the American finished. His heart raced in his throat and small beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. "I wonder what ticked them off." Taking a step forward his body convulsed forward sending him crashing to his knees, an agonised cry escaping from his lips.

"Chris!" Sam instinctively reached out as Chris's body jerked. "Easy, Chris, easy."

The American pushed his hand against his back and felt something wet sticking to his fingers. Now that the adrenaline was calming down the pain from a wound he didn't know he had made its presence felt in full force. Strong but gentle hands carefully pushed his hand away and lifted his jacket.

"Why didn't you say something?" The Englishman asked, alarmed at seeing the dark stain on his friend's clothing.

"I didn't feel anything." The American's voice already sounded soft.

Blood pulsed from a hole a hand's width from Chris' spine, his lower back already masked in dark red.

"You'd swear you've never seen blood before," he heard his partner utter through his teeth. Humour, Sam thought. Humour is good.

Chris' shaking arms went limp and gave way under the sudden weight on his torso. A soft groan escaped from his lips as Sam grabbed him by the shoulders before he hit the ground.

"Chris, you have to stay with me." The voice pleaded but it seemed to come from far away. His clouded mind felt too tired to worry about finding out where it came from and he sank deeper in to the warm embrace of the darkness.

Sam's heart began racing, but not from something good. It felt like it was cutting off his air supply and he struggled for his breath. The man in his arms was unresponsive to his words and began convulsing, only a slight whimper of a gasping breath drifting past his ears.

"No, Chris snap out of it!" He shouted and shook the man by the arms. Nothing changed and panic was beginning to creep into his heart. "Chris, STOP it!"

Blue eyes suddenly opened and looked up at him. "Sam?" His voice sounded remarkably strong and his eyes jerked around wildly for a second.

Sam cupped his hand over the moving chin and turned the head towards him, focusing Chris' eyes on him. "Don't do that again!" The fear that shimmered in his eyes betrayed the angry tone in his voice. "Okay?"

The American softly shook his head and breathed in, his face pulling from the flash of pain in his back that it brought.

"Easy now." Sam could see the effect of shock glazing over his partner's eyes. "Stay with me."

"I'll try."

"You better."

By now the ground and dirt was sticking to the wet patches of Chris's clothing and the Englishman knew he had to keep the wound clean. He shrugged off his jacket and as he was busy unbuttoning his shirt he felt a tap on his arm and looked down at his partner.

"No need to tear yours, mine is already gone to hell," the American said through clenched teeth, a bit of his old self blazing in his eyes.

Sam smiled. "I guess the lecture on Hugo Boss clothing being more user-friendly is waiting when we get out of this, hey?"

He saw a ghost of a smile and grinned in some relief. He gently helped his partner into a sitting position and Chris pulled himself out of his jacket. His partner's determination was stained by the strain on his face. "You okay?"

The American's face screwed up as a searing pain shot through his abdomen and he gagged on his breath. His shivering body flinched when warm fingers touch his cold skin and he wrapped his arms around his waist. A stream of curses that would be suited for the situation swarmed through his head but he couldn't bring himself to open his mouth.

Putting all his strength into his arms Sam ripped the shirt to pieces, his eyes drifting to his partner. How bad the wound was he couldn't tell, but from the effects he knew it was serious. "Hold on now." He tied some of the strips into a long band and pressed the other bundled clothing onto the wound, taking in the sharp gasp from the American.

"We're almost done," the Englishman soothed, leaned forward, tied the strips over the bundle. He could see in the corner of his eye how Chris was blinking away the pain-driven tears, his teeth biting into his lower lip as not to scream. The last tie in the non-slip knot and he reached to steady Chris as he sagged back. "Let's just get this jacket back on."

With quick movements they had the jacket on. He let Chris zip it up himself. The American looked exhausted by the time he was finished his breathing rapid and painful.

"Chris?" Sam watched, distressed, as the blue eyes opened and looked at him. He could see fear written all over them, but the thing that most haunted him as the pain he could see. He put his hand on his partner's shoulder and made small circular movements, hoping it might help a little with the shivering. "You stay with me."

Watery eyes focused on him. "I'm not leaving you behind," Chris mumbled.

Sam had to smile at that. "Don't forget that."

"Rád pjod z tady!"

The Englishman's face went white. He didn't doubt that the men had heard the screams from his partner. He wildly looked around, his eyes searching for the closet thing to use as cover. "We have to move. Chris, you have to work with me here. I need you with me." He slipped his arm under Chris's shoulder and pulled the limp man to his feet. "Come on, you can do it."

Chris wasn't given any time to object and struggled to his feet, a strangled groan making its way out of his mouth.

Sam held him by his arm, his eyes mixed with concern and praise for his partner's strong will. "Okay, you work with me and we'll get there before you know it."

"I'm not planning to wait for the welcoming party." The American hissed and forced his foot forward gasping as pain shot through his entire body, threatening to buckle both his shaky legs under him.

Sam swung his partner's arm over his shoulder and careful put his arm around his waist. "Easy now. Lean on me, mate."

"Why do we always get into these sit... tuations?"

"I don't know."

"You usually have an answer for everything."

"Not right now, sorry. Stay with me."

"Curtis, if you keep on saying that, I'm gonna feel obliged to hit ya."

"You can always try."

Chris tried to smile but never got that far. He could feel the energy slipping out from his fingers and it was becoming harder to focus. The world was spinning when they moved, every step harder than the previous one. He couldn't tell if it was getting darker or if he was losing it. "How long do we still have the sun?"

Sam glanced up and squinted in the bright light. "About three more hours."

This was not good. Chris shook his head in an effort to get some light through to his eyes. "That's good." He hoped his voice sounded positive, though he could feel the negativity creeping into his bones.

The voices were coming closer and at the rate they were going, they would be found in no time. The Englishman pushed his partner further, whispering soft words of encouragement. At the present situation that was all he could do.

*-*-*-*

Burning lungs screamed to stop. The darkness laughed behind him and he cringed as it stabbed him in the back. "You won't make it!" it shouted. "You're losing too much blood. You're going to get your partner killed!" The shouting in his head didn't go away. Chris could feel a grip around his waist pushing him forward, and even as much as he wanted to get out of that pain inducing grip he understood that was the only thing keeping him going. He knew it was Sam. The voice outside was soft and gentle compared to the one screaming at him in his head. Africa jumped into his memory. Sam didn't leave him then even when he had had to carry him on his back, he did it. The American knew for a fact that his partner isn't going to leave him behind here either. If Sam stayed with him they might make it out of here alive, but if Sam stayed with him they also stood a chance of getting killed. He'd then be responsible for his friend's death. That was one fear that both of them shared: Having the death of someone they cared for on their hands. The darkness appeared in front of him. "You're not going to make it!"

Knees buckled and Sam felt himself being pulled down by his partner's stumbling body. "Come on, Chris. Stay with me." He pulled the body up and pushed forward. Sam knew that Chris couldn't go on for much longer like this. If the men didn't kill them, he could very well be responsible for killing his partner. The idea had been troubling him for some time now and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. There was no time for this now.

He pulled the man into something that looked like an overgrowth. From the way the bushes were scrambling together it might just be enough to hide them both. The sun was already beginning to set and he scowled at himself; obviously, he still can't read the weather. With his luck it would probably start snowing. He sighed; he must be losing it if he thinks of snow in the summer time.

Chris let out something of a gasped moan as he was lowered to the ground and he rolled onto his side. Not that it helped with the pain at all. The world around him wouldn't stop spinning and he closed his eyes in an effort to come to grips with the pain. A hand rested on his shoulder. "Sam?"

Sam leaned closer. "I'm right here." He looked at his partner and reached out to steady him as he rolled onto his back, a painful movement nonetheless. With his own heart still racing, he felt some pride in his partner's efforts.

The American looked at him. "I'm sorry." He closed his eyes when another tremor shook him by his spine.

"For what? Getting shot?"

"Always getting into trouble."

The Englishman patted him on his arm. "That's just you being you. At least you didn't get into trouble back at the guy's house."

Chris tried to laugh but it made him gasp. Getting his breathing into something that seemed normal, he looked at his partner's dirty face. "Malone would have had something to say about that."

The image flashed in his mind and he could almost see the look on their controller's face when he heard what had happened. "Yes, he would. He'd probably say that we are poor businessmen and need to work on our communication skills."

"They didn't have that on the in-flight movie."

Sam looked over his shoulder. "You can put that in the report."

"You'll let me?"

"Of course. I'll just delete it before I give it to him."

"You're a real friend, Sam."

"What are friends for?"

"Thanks."

Sam put a supportive hand on his partner's shoulder and carefully zipped open the jacket. The back of the jacket as stained with fresh blood and the bandage could hardly been seen anymore, everything was just bloody red. The Englishman could feel his face pull in disgust at the sight, his supportive pat turning into a squeeze. "You're going to be fine."

"Curtis."

The soft voice made him turn on his foot and lean over to Chris' head. "Yes?"

"Do you want to die?"

The words made no sense at that time and it chilled him to the bone. Please don't let his partner think of dying. "No, why?"

A ghost smile spread over Keel's mouth. "Then we won't."

That's Keel, sees the positive in a situation. What will he do without him? He nodded. "No, we won't. Just think happy thoughts, and the chocolates Backup will be bringing you in the hospital." He tried his best to sound positive, his mind working through a list of the things Chris liked. Right now he would say anything that would make Chris want to stay.

"Do you think she'll bring them herself?"

"You never know. She can be surprising when she wants to be." Curtis' eyes spotted something that looks like a wall. He moved onto his knees and lifted his body keeping his hand on Chris' shoulder. There was definitely a wall and it was connected something that looked like a house. If there was a chance, even the slightest chance that there might be someone to help he had to go check it out. His ears spied for any sound of movement. No use running into the men if they were around. He couldn't hear anything.

The Englishman leaned over to Chris and shook him softly till his eyes opened and looked at him. "Chris, I see something not far from here. I'm going to check it out, it might be something helpful." In reply he got a nod and smiled. "I'll be right back."

Chris watched as the shape of his partner moved with catlike agility through the bush and disappeared in the dark and rolled onto his side. He'll be right back. Chris comforted himself as he let his head rest on the cold ground, wrapping his arms tighter around his waist. Sam is a man of his word, he'll be right back. It was so cold. He couldn't stop shivering, every tremor sending more pain through him.

The darkness was calling. "Come on, Chris, give it up. You'll be safe here." It beckoned with a soft voice. "Everybody is here; why let them wait longer? Come on, Chris."

The American pulled his knees up his chest and took a deep breath. "Sam will be right back."

Using the bush as cover Curtis moved towards the building. If someone was there maybe they could help with Chris. He stopped in his tracks. Then again, what if they were with Svoboda? Not likely, Svoboda didn't think of them getting this far away from his men. Sam pushed further, swatting small branches away from his face. "Hold on, Chris," he whispered softly. Now that he was standing next to the building he could see that it was a house at one point; the part that was still standing made it look like a shed from afar. There was still some roof and as he peered through the window he could see that most the area looked protected from the cold. The way the house was left it still looked liveable in a way. If he could get Chris to here there was a chance that he could at least get him a little warmer and get a look at the bandage before they moved on.

Leaving no trace of him behind he rushed back to where he had left his partner, behind the bush. The man on the ground looked deadly pale in the faded light, his body trembling from shock and cold.

The Englishman sank down to his haunches and shook Chris by the shoulder. "Hey come on, Chris." He watched till the two eyes slowly opened and smiled softly. "Listen I found a little place not far from here. It's a little house. We can get your warm there, okay. It's a little abandoned and hidden so--"

Chris grabbed Sam by the arm and shook his head with clenched teeth.

"Chris what is it?"

"No." There might be a voice screaming in his head, but there was something else coming, he could feel it in his already smarting gut.

Sam watched his partner in growing concern and surprise. "It's just a little way then we will--"

Pain filled blue eyes snapped open and looked at him. "No!"

Sam wanted to object when he heard voices. Men were coming towards them from the side of the house. How stupid could he have been? If they were coming from that side they might have spotted him. The grip on his arm was turning painful. He looked down at his partner. Chris was keeping him there; even if he probably didn't know where he was right now the American knew something was going on. He had forgotten about Chris' intuition. The one thing that he knew he could always rely on and now he goes and forgets it. With no other choice but to wait Sam moved over to his partner.

Chris felt a supportive arm slip around him, gently pulling him closer. The cold of the ground was replaced by something warm and moving, it had to be Sam's chest. To Chris that supportive arm was the life line he had to hold onto. The waves of nausea that hit him every few seconds made his whole face contort and left him gasping. He knew Sam would be back. Sam needs him now, he has to protect Sam.

A few minutes later the shadowy figures appeared and prowled around the little abandoned house. Curtis strained his ears to hear what the men were saying. His Czech might be good but listening from a distance was not the easiest thing to do. Words could easily sound the same and then you were lost. Mostly they were talking about Svoboda, who made it clear that they had to get rid of the two men without being seen, to prohibit someone calling the police on them.

Why? It was what Curtis was trying to hear. Why did they come after them? Did Svoboda see right through them? The man who was nearest to him gave the answer. They think that they are from the NSA. Someone had told them that the NSA had a tap on them and were coming. The Englishman felt some relief at the fact that they didn't say anything about CI5 and at least he could still lie good. What chilled him was the fact that Svoboda was waiting them, thinking that they are NSA. They had been waiting for them to take them out. What if they had shot them at the house? That would have been a done deal and they would have been dead thanks to a snitch from a totally different agency.

Another thing troubled Curtis as well. Except for having trigger-happy killers a few feet away from them he could feel warm blood soaking through his clothing from Chris' back. It looked like his shirt wouldn't get away this time.

A harsh word followed by a gun shot made the Englishman's head shot up. He watched as the men emptied their clips into the small shed, their guns shooting in a rhythm of their very own. As the last bullet hit the wooden door frame Sam snapped into a revelation. If he had dragged Chris in there they both be would dead. Even in Chris' incapable state he still had enough sense to save both their lives. He made a mental note to thank his partner when they get out of this.

The one that looked like the leader scowled a few words of how stupid his guys were to lose two men and pointed to the direction they had come from. Svoboda would want them back by now. He pointed to two other men and said that if Svoboda asked whose fault it is that he was going to blame them. "Ja du domu!" He growled and pushing his gun into his belt walked off. The group stared silently at each other for a few seconds and followed, keeping their distance from their fuming leader.

Letting out a soft sigh, Sam lifted his head and stared at the shot-up shed. A shudder wracked through his shoulders before he turned his attention to his partner. Slowly pulling himself out from behind Chris, he propped him up against a tree and lifted his chin as his friend's head dropped forward. "How do you feel?"

Two cloudy eyes blinked. "Like I swallowed dish washing liquid."

"I always warned you about reading labels."

"You're not funny..." Chris slurred. The darkness was calling and, as much as he wanted to stay with Sam, he didn't have the strength to deny that the darkness was beginning to win.

"Chris?" A hand shook him by his shoulder and he forced his eyes open. Concerned green eyes peered at him and he began to laugh, if you could call it a laugh.

"What is so funny?"

"You."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind." His eyes drooped and he felt his head push against the restraint of the hand holding it up.

"Chris, stay with me."

Chris suddenly found himself standing on shaky legs and he swore softly as he felt waves of nausea pushing up from his stomach. His body was going into shock and he could do nothing to stop it. He looked into his partner's eyes and blinked. "I'll call a cab."

The Englishman didn't find any of this funny and he tightened his grip he had on his partner. "There will be a lot of time to do that, but I don't think we're going to find one here very soon."

"You never know."

"Chris you're not making sense."

The American breathed a laugh. "Oh good, I thought I was the only one who couldn't understand myself."

"You're starting to scare me."

The good humour that Chris had tried to make use of a second ago disappeared and he forcefully shoved Sam's hands away. "Leave me--" Legs buckled making him crash to his knees and cry out in torture when pain shot through his body. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and took a deep breath. The taste of bile engulfed his mouth and he forced himself to swallow it down.

Through all of this Sam was on his knees next to his partner, his insides being torn apart in seeing his friend in so much pain. Shock was one thing to deal with, but internal bleeding was another thing on its own. That would explain the sudden irritability. "Damn it, Chris." He sighed and put a reassuring hand on the shaking man's shoulder. If he didn't get his partner to a hospital soon he was going to lose him. He tried to argue with himself, delude himself into thinking that it was just a scratch and that Chris was going to be fine. Unfortunately logic had the better hand in the game and he had to fight back the flowing emotions and concentrate on helping Chris. It wouldn't help one bit if Sam lost his head now.

*-*-*-*

The time seemed to pass in slowed seconds, ticking away into oblivion. It had been dark for some time so Sam couldn't even look on his watch to see what time it was. He just sat and listened to his partner's ragged and shallow breathing. If he tried to move Chris, the American would give an agonized moan and push him away. It had been a struggle to change the bandage on his back. Out of old habit Sam Curtis wore a slight vest under his shirt and that helped a little in the night air. He had wrapped his jacket around him as tightly as possible and crossed his arms over his chest.

Chris mumbled something and he moved closer to hear what he was saying. His voice sounded distressingly soft and far off. Even by putting his ear right next to his partner's mouth Sam still couldn't tell what he was saying.

The Englishman forced himself to look away. The pain and suffering his partner's was in was too much to bear. Worst of all was that he could nothing about it. Pushing all precaution into the back of his mind he decided that there was nothing else to do than move and hope that they found someone friendly along the way. Sam threw a look over his shoulder to see if he could see anything that looked like unfriendly movement. "All looks clear." He looked back and saw Chris's head limply rolled to the side. "Hey," he reached out and shook the man by his shoulders. "Come on, Chris!"

In the midst of the darkness a shape appeared, a bright light from the back shaping the silhouette of someone. Chris looked at it and took a step towards it, his eyes peering intently to find a face to match the shape.

"Teresa..."

Sam looked down at his partner in horror. This was not something that he had bargained on. Choking, gasping for air, screaming in pain yes, but not calling for his dead wife. Chris' hand reached out to something, his soft voice calling out.

The Englishman slipped his hand under Chris' neck and turned his head towards him. "Chris, she's not real. You hear me? I need you to stay here with me." He could see his words had no effect. "What about Backup, hey? What will she say if you leave?" Sam put his hand on Chris shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. "Don't you want to be there the day Malone puts his foot in his mouth with one of his decisions?"

"I' co...ing ba...."

Sam closed his eyes and bit his lip in desperate frustration. "Chris, listen to me. I know you miss Teresa, but she's not real." He grabbed the reaching hand and gripped it hard. "I won't let you go." The Englishman didn't have the time for keeping his safety walls concrete around him. How could he live with himself if he didn't try to keep his partner alive? "I won't let you go."

The light began fade; the silhouette slowly disappeared back into the darkness to be replaced by a voice. The voice was coming from all around him. It sounded deafening and it made his ears ring. It's Sam. Sam was calling him.

A hand slapped the American through the face and two bleary blue eyes opened. "Attaboy," drifted past his brain and blinking a few times he could see something that resembled the Englishman's face. Panic enveloped him as the face suddenly disappeared from his view. Sam! He screamed. The word sounded horribly loud in his mind but nothing came out of his mouth. The pain in his back and stomach was nothing compared to the feeling of abandonment he felt now. Sam wouldn't leave him, he said so. He never did before and he wouldn't now, that was not the Englishman's style. The darkness he had sensed earlier began pulling him and he screamed again, this time managing a soft moan. A grip around his arm lifted him into a sitting position and Sam's face swam into view.

Sam looked at the Czech operative who had prowled up from the left and nodded as they lifted his comatose partner to his feet. "Are the men still around?"

"We didn't see anyone;" the Czech answered and slipped Chris's arm over his shoulder. "They might be coming back with reinforcements."

Pulling his partner closer, to help him move, Curtis glanced at the Czech, taking in the worried expression in his eyes. "Hold on, Chris." he whispered and winced as Chris's head dropped forward onto his chest. "Only a few steps, okay, then we can get you to the hospital and get you better. You stay with me."

A soft groan drifted past him and, feeling a bit relieved that Chris was still with them in a way, he realised that his hand was pressing a little to close to the wound in his friend's back. "Almost there."

Pulling the dead weight between them the two operatives hurried to where another was waiting for them. In the darkness camouflaged by the fact that it was painted black stood the parked Jeep. A figure could be seen moving around and Sam looked over at the Czech.

"Don't worry," the man gasped. "That's Shrüder; he's one of us."

As they two men appeared, Shrüder flung open the backseat door and nodded to them to come closer, his Lugar carefully held in his hand.

The three men hauled the inert man into the back and Sam scrambled in after him. Using his knee to keep him steady against the movement of the vehicle, he leaned over his partner, who had a flimsy hold on consciousness at best.

Sam held his partner's head in his hands as they spend along the road, lights of passing cars flickering in his pale eyes. He could see Chris slipping away. Feeling the shallow humid air brush against his face as Chris struggled to breathe tore at his insides. He wanted to scream, slam his fist through something solid, do anything to get rid of the anger and frustration that was boiling inside of him.

Chris's eyelids drooped and Sam felt his heart lock in his throat. "Hey!" He cried a little louder than what he had thought and sensed the two operatives in front of the car look at him. They knew what was going on, but couldn't do anything to help.

Sam watched in failing hope at his partner's translucent face and forced himself to breathe out. "Come on, Chris."

Cloudy blue eyes looked up at him, the look of shock and terror slowly being replaced by peace and safety. Dread creped into Sam bones as he watched the glaze changed and he could feel himself beginning to panic. "Stay with me, Chris. Come on. We'll get through this." He shifted his weight on his knee and lifted his hand to get rid of the stiffness in his fingers. How long he had been holding Chris like this he had no clue. He felt eyes on him and looked straight into the American's eyes. "I won't leave you," he said soothingly.

A faint smile twitched at Chris' lips and looking at the bleary face above closed his eyes.

"No, no, no." Sam gave his still partner a shake. "Chris?" He voice caught in his throat as he stared down at the form.

The American's head lolled to one side, coming to rest against the backseat.

Bloodshot green-grey eyes stared down in terror. "Chris?" He reached a shaky hand out and pressed it under the man's jaw. Nothing.

Survival mode kicked in and Sam pushed his hands down on Chris's chest. "Come on, Chris."

The two men in front of the car turned their attention to the backseat and the Czech leaned back towards Sam, watching his every desperate compression.

Sam forced his partner's mouth open and blew three deep breaths down his airway, in the corner of his eye seeing the American's chest rise and slowly fall back down. "Come on, Chris, breathe." He ordered and went on with the compressions seeing the Czech reach a hand out to feel for a pulse.

Two sorrowful almond eyes looked up at him and he shook his head. "No pulse."

The words vibrated into Sam's ears and he couldn't peel his eyes away from his friend, his hand pushing down on his chest.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder. "It's over, I'm sorry."

Shaking hands stopped and Sam glanced at the operative. What do you mean it's over?! He yelled silently. Chris can't be dead, that's not how this is supposed to end. He stared at the dead closed eyes of the form under him.

"NO!" He ripped free from the Czech's grip and pushed his hands back on Chris's chest. "He's not dead! Come on, Chris!" Giving three hard blows into his partner's open mouth Sam went on with the heart compressions. Chris won't give up and neither would he.

"Start breathing, Chris, come on! Damn it, breathe!" His compressions were getting harder, every muscle in his back pulling tight. "You bastard, fight it!" His shaky hand slapped the American through the face. "BREATHE!" Sam screamed from his stomach his vision a watery blur, his hands gripping Chris's shirt.

An eyelid moved and the Englishman moved forward. "Chris?"

The eyes of the German jumped from the road to the driver's mirror, the Czech shifted around.

Sam rested his hands around Chris's head. "That's it, Chris. That's it, you can do it. Come back, Chris. Come on."

Again nothing and Sam felt his mouth go dry. "Come on, you Son of a Bitch! Don't do this to me." He slammed his fist down on his partner's chest. "Chris!"

There was a second of agonizing silence followed by an abusive cough that made the American's body jolt on the seat, lungs gasping for air.

"Oh, thank God." Sam gasped. He glanced at the Czech with wet eyes and began laughing; why he had no idea, but he couldn't think of anything else to do. He leaned over to Chris' head and pushed his hand in the shivering neck. The weak throb was all the reassurance he needed. He knew Chris wouldn't just give up. "That's it," he sighed and looked at the closed eyes. "Hold on."

*-*-*-*

Worried feet paced the floor of the waiting room, up and down. Sam folded his arms across his chest and rubbed his hands over them. He kept telling himself that if he kept on moving the cold would go away. His clothes were stained red from his partner's blood; his hands looked like he had his fingers in warm raspberry jelly.

Almond eyes looked at him with concern as he walked past him again. "My name is Igor Jodlova," The Czech said suddenly and watched with some relief as the Englishman stopped and turned to him.

"Sam Curtis." The sliver-green eyes looked back, a glare wanting to come out. Sam wanted to tell the man to go, to leave him alone. He didn't need someone to sit with him. Turning on his heel he went back to his pacing.

Jodlova sighed and pushed his legs straight. "So your partner's name is Chris."

"Yes."

"Chris what?"

"Keel." With the frustration reaching his face Sam looked at the Czech and with his glacial glare. "How did you know where to find us?"

"We saw the skid marks of the BMW and followed your tracks." He pushed himself up straight and turned his eyes away from the Englishman. The effect of the intense stare was too much for him. "We received a call from HQ that they thought something might have happened to you when you didn't call in and asked if we would go look for you."

Sam felt his arms sag and his glare turned into a gaze. "Backup," he said softly.

"She sounded worried."

His knees suddenly felt wobbly and Sam sat down on the seat across the Czech. "She usually is. Can I borrow your phone, please?"

"Ano."

Sam took the phone from Jodlova and nodded silent thanks.

Backup was a good name to hear after the hellish night and the fatigue of the nightmare was beginning to take effect.

The Czech launched himself to his feet and walked to the door. "How about some coffee?"

Another silent nod and he disappeared behind the door.

Sam Curtis ran his hand through his tangled hair and sighed when the switch desk operator answered.

"3-7, get me Malone."

*-*-*-*

Malone held the receiver to his ear. "Mr. Curtis, is everything alright?"

"Bad news, Sir," the tired voice replied over the line. "The deal went wrong. Svoboda was waiting for us. He thought we were from the NSA. From what I could hear, someone gave him a tip-off that the NSA is onto him."

"Are you alright?"

"No."

The reaction in that one word sent a chill down the controller's spine.

Outside, Backus watched intently the chief's form through the door. "Something is wrong," she said alarmed and stood up.

Spencer came to stand next to her and followed her gaze. "You sure?"

Backus bit her lip. "He has that look on his face."

"Keel got shot in the back."

Malone sat down and stared at the wall. "Is there any news of his condition?"

"No, he's still in the operating room."

"Keep me posted."

"Yes, Sir."

Malone silently put the phone down and took a deep breath. That was the news he always wished not to hear. Many of the operatives who worked under him were skilled veterans in their profession, but still they felt like his kids. He was responsible for them in a way. The misery only lasted what seemed like a second before the mask of his old self spread over his face.

"Miss Backus!"

The Canadian sped to her chief's office and poked her head into the open door. "Yes, sir?" Her face fell as she heard about Curtis and Keel, her hand gripping around the doorframe to keep her legs from buckling. "Is he going to make it?"

"It's too soon to tell."

"Poor Sam."

He could see the pain in her eyes and he felt the same way she did. Even though the First Rule was there for a purpose it still hurt when operatives were injured. "They have been trained and they know what their job entails."

"Yes, sir."

"Get me Corrigan and Mills."

*-*-*-*

A soft hand shook Sam out of his doze on the hard couch in the waiting room. Tired eyes looked up into friendly almond ones. Sam sat up with a shot, his feet landing with a smack on the floor.

Igor pointed to the door and he saw the doctor waiting patiently. Taking a deep breath the Englishman followed the Czech and shook hands with the doctor.

Igor saw the tired confusion in Sam's eyes as the doctor started speaking and translated as fast as the other man could speak, keeping in mind that Curtis probably knew what he was saying anyway.

"He says that your friend is in a critical condition and there is a chance that he might not make it. The stress, by shock, that was put on the heart and lungs during the night may be what gives in. The bullet missed the vital organs, but hit a kidney and the spleen. That caused some internal bleeding. They have him stable at the time."

Sam ran his hand over his face and looked at the doctor. "Kdy mohu ja opet Chris?"

"Not right now, but you can see him when they move him into a recovery ward."

The doctor gave Sam a soft encouraging pat on the arm and left.

*-*-*-*

Malone felt his toes sweat while listening to the ring over the phone line as he was switched through to the Director of the NSA.

Peter Tukker swiftly picked up, his voice a curt change from the switch operator. "Who is it?"

Grim set eyes stared at the desk, a deep breath helped Harry Malone mask the anger in his voice. "Harry Malone, CI5."

"Harry Malone?" Tukker gasped, the tone in his voice clearly stating that he had heard that name before. "How can I--"

Even though he was trained and many years have taught Malone how to talk, his anger was not held back. "What the hell is your problem?!" His brusque Irish voice yelled over the phone.

"Excuse me?"

"What is your connection with the gun dealer, Gerhard Svoboda?" A moment of silence over the phone had Malone shifting in his seat.

"None of your damn business!"

Malone pressed his hand down on the desk. "When my two of my best agents nearly get killed because of a misidentification with yours, it becomes my business."

"What do you mean?"

"Svoboda is a case of MI5. We were asked to bring him in, but when my boys got there Svoboda thought they were yours. One of them is in a critical condition in hospital. Would you please explain to me how that happened?"

"Oh sh..."

"I'm waiting," Malone said in his old cold way.

"We had received information that Svoboda was up to his old tricks and up for a new arms deal in Bulgaria."

"Still playing with your golf balls." The Controller stated more than asked.

When the other man stayed quiet Malone knew that he was right. "How did Svoboda find out about you?"

"We were planning on intercepting them after the deal had taken place and before the gun runners could get hold of the shipment. We had no idea it was you guys who were setting it up."

"It seems to me, Mr. Tukker, that you have another problem. You have a mole in your organization. I advise you to go find that leak and leave Svoboda to us. Good day." He put the phone down before the man could answer.

*-*-*-*

The buildings outside the hospital looked dull, with a colourful antique shop hidden between some of them. Resting his hip against the wall, Sam peered out the window, wearing clean clothes thanks to the German operative. It seemed as if all the hospitals made the same coffee, the kind that tasted like bilge water, or maybe it was just that he couldn't get the sight of blood out of his mind. Even though he had washed his hands about three times the blood still clung under his fingernails.

Only one of the beds in the room had an occupant whose chest fell with a shudder after rising. Sam had watched the red line of the heart monitor, and later started counting the beeps, alarmed to see how slow it was compared with his own. Chris was still deadly pale and he looked older as he laid there, his eyes closed and lips parted by the ventilator tube to help him breathe for the time being.

Sam lifted the cup to his lips to take a sip of the coffee and grimaced at the taste. It was either too strong or too weak, or too bitter or too sweet, he couldn't tell. It must be his eighth cup by now. No matter how bad it tasted, he couldn't say no when it was offered.

When they let him see Chris he was so anxious he held his breath, the last memory of his partner too fresh to just forget. Jodlova was with him most of the time, though he had kept his distance in the beginning, quietly standing near the door and watching in sympathy as the Englishman stared at his partner in the bed.

To Sam, Chris looked the same as he had looked in the car. His face pale and cold and even though his chest slowly rose, Sam had to force himself not to feel for his pulse. He so much wanted Chris to open his eyes and talk to him. Tell him himself that he was going to be okay. "Chris, open your eyes, mate. Come on." His voice had whispered, his hand gently yet firmly holding his partner's limp one. The guilt was clawing at him and he forced himself to speak to Jodlova only to keep the emotional monster deep in him subdued.

The Englishman flinched when his mobile went off and he flicked it open. "Curtis."

It was Harry Malone himself on the phone. Sam Curtis swore inwardly as he had hoped it would have been Backus. He put the cup down on the windowsill as he listen to what his controller had to say, his eyes turning to his still partner. "You want us to go get him, Sir? Now?"

"Yes, now, Mr. Curtis."

"Don't you think that they will be too high strung and ready for something to happen after what they did to Chr... us."

"And perhaps they think you are dead and they wouldn't expect you when you show up. Mr. Jodlova will join you and Corrigan and Mills should reach you in two hours." Malone stayed quiet, his ears registering the inaudible change in Sam's breathing. "How is Mr. Keel?"

"Not out of the woods yet."

"He'll pull through."

"Yes, Sir."

The line went dead and the Englishman was left listening to beep. "Of all the worst..." He cut short his own sentence and clamped his hand over the phone. Did that man have no mercy?!

A few minutes later the door opened and almond eyes glanced at him. Jodlova sat down on the extra chair. "I understand how it feels."

"How what feels?"

"Watching your partner die."

The words ran through Sam's head like ice water down your back on a hot day. The stare in Jodlova's face was dreadful as he watched the American. "I lost my partner six months ago in a shoot out with the Russia mafia."

"I'm sorry."

"He was shot in the chest, three times. They said he might pull through and it looked like he was, but..." He took a deep breath and swallowed. Sam understood why he was telling him. It was not really to make Sam feel better, but just talking about it might make him cope with the loss. And, in a way, prepare Sam for what might happen. He always asked Chris to open up when something was bothering him and through the years he also found that telling Chris about things helped him cope. Now it was as if he was seeing himself in Jodlova.

The Czech looked at him, but past him and out the window. "The last day he opened his eyes and whispered: Ty si muj kamarad."

Sam sighed. "You are my friend."

Jodlova sniffed and pulled his hand over his eyes. "Yes, well. I hear we are going to go pay Mr. Svoboda a visit."

"Yeah, we just have to wait for Corrigan and Mills."

"I can't say that I've met them."

"You'll like them. Corrigan can make a person laugh if he isn't in a foul mood." Thinking of what he had said he realized that Corrigan was rarely in the mood for a joke, except when he was drunk at a poker game on a Friday afternoon.

"Good to hear."

*-*-*-*

Backup shook her head in surprise as she came out of Malone's office.

Spencer looked up from his console. "What is it?"

"They used Echelon."

Ears pricked and Richards' head appeared from behind his CPU. "Spy Station F83?"

"Yes."

Confused eyes peered up at the two operatives and Spencer shook his head. "You lost me."

The hacker jumped up and walked to him. "Those huge golf ball-looking things built at Menwith Hill."

"Menwith Hill... in North Yorkshire?"

"One and the same; Spy Station F83. Those 'randomes' can intercept satellite info and listen to the traffic of millions of telephone conversations, faxes and e-mails from across Europe."

Backup folded her arms across her chest and leaned against his desk. "Echelon is a network of listening stations around the world. So doing, connected with F83. They operate scores of systems for collecting data, including the main spy satellite system for monitoring Europe and Asia, codenamed Vortex."

The hacker grinned. "They say recently larger satellites codenamed Magnum and Orion are also being run from Menwith and her sister station F91 in Bad Aibling, Germany."

"How do you know this?" Spencer asked surprised. When he saw a mischievous smile appear on the hacker's face, he lifted his hands. "Never mind."

The petite Canadian pointed to Malone's office. "Menwith Hill is run by the United States National Security Agency."

"NSA."

"Yep, using computerised recognition programmes, the listening stations attempt to pick out words from phone, fax and e-mails. When target words are identified, the communication is recorded for further analysis. They picked up our meeting contact with Svoboda and thought they had hit gold in the getting the death dealer themselves. Unfortunately they have a mole, which went and told Svoboda that the NSA is coming and he thought Curtis and Keel were them."

"Damn it."

Richards grinned humourlessly. "Wonder what 'dad' had to say to that man?"

"Whatever he said it has the NSA off our backs, but what I could hear was words like 'Hell' and 'My business'."

"Done in Malone's nicest way possible, I guess."

"Of course. Corrigan and Mills should be there by now."

Richards let out a low whistle and they looked at the closed door of the Controller's office.

*-*-*-*

The road softly and quietly ran away under the wheels of the Land Rover. Corrigan and Mills scarcely had time to get coffee, which they were grateful for, before they had left to go get Svoboda. With a change into suitable clothes, and a quick run over of the plan, the four operatives left the hospital. Hardly a word had been spoken afterwards, and only when Jodlova had promised Curtis that Shrüder was staying to watch over Keel did the Englishman leave.

Sam now watched the road in silent torment. He had put on his cold poker face, that he had from many years on the job; even his eyes showed no emotions, just a blank professional stare. His mind was on the job at hand, complete the mission they had come for in the first place, but his thoughts kept drifting back to his partner. That lost feeling he felt in the car on the way to the hospital still had its claws around his heart. That a man who saved his life should die over a misidentification. Not just a man, his partner, his friend.

He tried not to think about it. While he sat had and listened to his partner dying, as Jodlova had rightfully said, he had thought of his career. He never thought it would end like this. He had decided that if Chris died he would give in his resignation that same day. The idea of what he would do after that remained a mystery, but he would get out of law and anti-terrorism for good. He would not be able to live with himself if he had stayed, not be able to work with another partner. At some point he cursed himself for letting the American break down his walls of security. The honesty and loyalty that he had seen in Keel's eyes made in him trust him, trust him with his life. He could never do that again. When Keel died on the way to the hospital the world went numb around him. He couldn't believe that what had just happened actually happened. His back muscles still hurt from the compressions and he wouldn't be surprised if there where bruises on Chris's chest.

A light from a passing car shown in his eyes and he blinked. Sam wished that he had taken the bullet in stead of Chris. Not that it would make the situation any better. He knew Chris would be feeling the same way he was right now, and knowing his partner as he did he knew Chris would do something stupid and get himself killed. Still, it was not nice knowing that the bullet was intended to hit you but it didn't.

The Land Rover rolled to a stop in the darkness. In the distance they could see the house, the big windows of the living room reflecting the grey moon.

Mills glanced at his partner and looked at the two operatives in the back, his eyes falling on Jodlova. "I never asked you your call name."

"1-5." Even now the Czech's voice sounded soft and gentle.

"Okay, I'm 8-2, this is 9-6," he pointed to Corrigan, "and you know 3-7." He looked at the Englishman. "It's simple, no red tape. We go in and get the man." His eyes turned to Curtis. "They want him alive to stand trial at The Hague." He glanced at his partner and back at them. "No heroics. They are armed and dangerous. Jodlova, you will go with Curtis and take left side, we'll go right. We have comlinks so use them when you see something. We can't afford any mistakes this time." He saw Curtis's eyes narrow and he sighed inwardly at his words. "Not by us. By the way, Malone has taken care of the NSA. The old bastard still gets his kicks out of scaring the other agencies." He sighed. "Be careful, he wants us all back in one piece."

Dark silhouettes moved soundlessly through the garden to the house, not a foot misplaced. Everything was dark, the house a lonely forgotten figure. The Englishman crouched down next to a pillar, the other figure crawling up next to him. "See you in..." He stopped short as he looked into almond eyes.

The Czech smiled. "See you in there too."

Sam felt an encouraging pat on the shoulder and watched almost in shock as the man moved past him. He missed Chris. Did he have to fight this fight alone to survive? Would this have been different if the American had been here? Would he have felt the same way he did now, hungry for justice? Or was it retribution? His self assessment was cut short by the curt Dublin accent of Corrigan whispering over the transceiver clipped on his ear.

"They are at the back. Move with precaution."

Behind the house a small bright light was shining, lighting up the shed and throwing shadows of the moving men on the ground.

Thanks to a quick translation by Jodlova they were able to understand what the men were saying. While packing heavy crates into the back of a small truck they mumbled that they have to leave tonight before the NSA show up with guns blazing. A snide remark about the two men they had chased into the bush made Sam's free hand ball into a fist, his teeth bit back silent a curse.

Walking around the truck the CI5's agent flanked the men, fingers resting on the triggers of their weapons.

"CI5. Freeze!"

The men looked around bewildered at the four operatives. Realization kicked in and they reaches for the weapons on them and on the truck. Their voices echoing the sounds of the guns shots.

Curtis and Jodlova dived for cover behind a small wall, Mills' shouting that they were okay over the transceiver. The Englishman waited for any sound of reclipping and then, leaning forward, Curtis gracefully pulled the trigger of his Beretta, aiming at shadowy figures in the dark. A soft gasp had him twist around. The Czech had his arm slung over his chest his other hand lifted in the air, covered in blood.

"Are you okay?"

Jodlova pulled his hand over his trouser leg and reached for his gun. "It's just a scratch."

"Are you sure?"

"Ano."

"I know you're a man of your word."

"Mám se dobøe."

A movement beside the house caught their attention and Curtis glanced at Jodlova.

"Go!"

He pushed a full clip into his gun and with a nod to his substitute partner stretched his legs and side crawled to where the movement was seen.

The darkness gave Sam the advantage he needed to move. Shouting voices over the transceiver and gun shots in the air accompanied him as he went on into the house, left as if they would be coming back. Not four long though. Resting his back against the wall Curtis quickly poked his head around the corner only to find the place empty. His footsteps were hardly hard enough to be heard on the tile floor that he walked on. His fingers gripped around the trigger of the Beretta.

Down the long hall leading from the living room he could hear the soft shuffle of moving feet. Throwing a look over his shoulder he walked down the corridor, keeping his back to the wall. The faint light become brighter and a shadow could then been seen moving around with haste.

Sam's face was cold as he moved over his silent feet and brought his gun up to chest level and taking a deep breath leaned into the doorway.

In the middle of the room stashing papers and CD's into a suite case stood the lonely figure, his back turned to the door. Curtis felt some pride in the fact that he still hadn't lost his ability to sneak up on people.

"CI5, freeze!"

Svoboda spun around, his eyes gaping at the familiar face pointing a gun at him. "Mr. Carlton!"

Curtis's face was void of any expressions, any glimmer of recognition. "Put you're hands in the air."

"I thought you were NSA."

"Surprise."

"Damn it!"

Svoboda made a dash for the side glass door with Curtis on his heels. Glass shattered in the night sky as the two bodies crashed through the door. Small pieces of broken glass stabbed and cut Curtis's skin, his body quickly rolling to his feet and landing a stunning punch on Svoboda's jaw.

The gun dealer stumbled to his knees and pushed his hand against his swelling jaw. "I will have you..."

Another fist caught the Czech squarely on the bridge of his nose and he crashed to his back, screaming words of pain and disgust.

Curtis flexed his fingers and balled his hands into fists; this guy was not going to get off that quickly. His icy green eyes glared at the form floundering on the ground and he kicked the man in the gut.

As he watched the squirming man he remembered that they wanted this death dealer alive. His chest was burning from his gasping breath and he forced himself to think straight. Now was when the first rule had to come into play before he killed this son of a bitch with his bare hands.

Svoboda was bodily pulled into a sitting position and he stared in silver eyes in the moonlight. There was nothing, not even a sparkling glaze in the eyes that could tell him anything, just an empty stare. "This is for Chris," were the last words he heard in Czech before darkness closed around him and he collapsed unconscious on the patio.

The Englishman pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his bruised and swelling knuckles. He did what he could do, but it had little effect on the guilt inside of him.

Only then he realised that the shooting and shouting had stopped and pressed the transceiver closer to his ear. "You guys still with me?"

"All 3 of us," Corrigan said a little shaky. "Where are you? Are you alright?"

Curtis looked down at the still form on the ground. "Yes. Svoboda's alive and secured."

"Good job, 3-7. Let's get out here; we have to get 1-5 checked out at the hospital."

*-*-*-*

Tired hazy eyes stared unfocused at the cup on the table next to the bed. Chris's mouth felt like sandpaper after the ventilator was taken out and he had been trying for the past few minutes to get his hand on that cup, but it just seemed to be out of his immediate reach. Not that he could reach very far, seeing that the stitches in his back pulled every time he moved and it provoked his muscles into a small spasm.

His mind felt like candy floss and the face that he saw when he woke up made him think he died and went straight to hell. If it wasn't for the ventilator tube that was down his throat the whole hospital would have heard him scream blue murder.

Everything seemed a blur, his memory, the people's words around him, and the fact that he knew someone was missing, but couldn't remember who. He didn't even know why he was there until an awkward movement's pain made him snap into some realisation into the past few hours, also that his partner was not in his usual position or even in the room. Through the time that he was out, he could remember something being there, something warm and a soothing voice.

Now there was nothing but the damn cup! Taking a deep breath he shifted and slowly reached his shaking hand out, feeling the persistent pain in his lower back.

"Uh huh."

Chris's hand flopped down on his bed and he shut his eyes in frustration and sorrow. If the nurses went checking to see if he was still breathing, they would annoy him with questions he didn't understand or even want to. The anger sent a small spark down his spine and he had to focus on his breathing to cope with it. He sensed something next to his bed and forced his eyes open.

Bleary yet soft green eyes peered at him from a slight dirty face, in his hand the white plastic cup. "...am?" Chris asked with a muted voice.

The bleary face split in two as it smiled. "Damn straight, mate." The soothing voice that he had heard before said. Sam leaned forward and helped his partner drink. When Chris nodded he had had enough he pulled back and watched as his friend lay back down against the hard puffy pillow. "How do you feel?"

Taking a deep breath, Chris concentrated on getting his voice to work. "Crap."

"You look better." Sam said as he saw that some colour had come back into Chris face, but not enough to take away the deadly look.

Chris snorted. "You don't."

The Englishman looked at himself and saw the dirt clinging to his black outfit. "Whoever said that justice would be clean?" He grinned at his flat joke and looked back at him. "When did they take the ventilator out?'

Watery blue eyes looked at him and blinked. "After. I woke up." Then the glance turned into a stare and he watched his partner stiffened a little.

"We went to get Svoboda."

"... who?"

Sam pointed to the window and as Chris slowly turned his head on the pillow he saw Corrigan and Mills waving at him. In the back he saw another man with his arm in a sling. The soft eyes filled with relief and happiness, with a glaze of pain from the bullet that had pinched his shoulder muscle. For some reason he looked familiar; he'd have to ask Sam later. Movement from next to him had him turn his head back to his partner.

Sam lifted the bag that the two other operatives had brought with, and slowly pulled out a flower in a pot made out of material. "It's from Backup-them." He tilted it up and flipped a little switch at the bottom of the pot.

The little purple and yellow flower began rocking from side to side singing: "Sunshine, you are my sunshine. You make me happy when the skies are grey."

Chris grinned as much as his body would allow him, feeling the soft material rub against his fingers.

The Englishman switched it off and put it on the table next to Chris's bed.

"Richards."

He looked back at his partner. "Hey?"

Chris pulled his tongue over his lips and nodded his head to the flower. "Looks like Richards."

Sam smiled softly. "I'll remember to tell him that." A movement from outside caught his attention and he saw Mills wave goodbye, his eyes also seeing those of the Czech. The man that was partly responsible for Chris still being alive. Their eyes met for a second, a silent thanks passing between them. Sam nodded to the others and looked back to find the American's blue eyes looking at him.

"Where... they going?" He asked in an exhausted voice, forcing his eyes to stay open and focused on his partner's face.

"Get some breakfast. Some klobasa and ovocni knedliky." Sam said deliberately and smiled broadly at his friend blank face.

Chris exhaled loudly through his nose, which he normally did if he was annoyed, and shifted his head on his cushion. "Dám si jedno. Pivo prozim."

The Englishman had to stop his mouth from falling open. "You!" He gasped in surprise.

The American thought of key words to use. "Nurses. Talk. Loud." Watery blue eyes protested against him forcing them open and his eyelids closed, a small tear running down the corner of his eye. He wanted to stay awake and talk to Sam. He was sorry that he nearly gave up in the end. It was never what he wanted to do, honestly, and if it hadn't been for Sam's determination to keep him there the darkness would have won the fight and would have pulled him away. Teresa will wait for him; she'll understand how he feels about the partner. That he can't leave him, not yet.

Sam felt his soul relax as he watched his partner and leaned closer. "I'll be right here when you wake up. Then I can see about getting you that beer." Before Chris had closed his eyes Sam had seen the glimmer of his old partner in those electric eyes. He knew then for himself that everything was going to be okay.