J.D. monitored each member of his team on the computer screen. The tracking devices he’d inserted in in their headsets were working perfectly.

Chris and Buck’s flashing blips were stationary, which was to be expected. Buck was several miles away in the chopper, impatiently waiting to collect each member of the team who were strategically placed within a 5 mile radius of ‘the main event’.

The main event - Chris was meeting with an American Army Intelligence agent ‘coming in out of the cold‘. Lieutenant Boston McGill had requested Larabee. Apparently he refused to come in to anyone but Larabee. The two were childhood friends and McGill, who had been working undercover in Abanstan, was ready to come home, but he was scared. He’d found out something big - big enough to rock even the Whitehouse, according to McGill - and he only trusted Chris to bring him in safely.

Hence, Em7 was behind enemy lines in Abanstan. Their plan was elaborate and well informed, thanks to detailed information McGill had sent to Travis. The team had created a ring of defense that would provide Chris with immediate warning if something was going down.

Ezra and Nathan were guarding the runway 5 miles south of the designated meeting point. J.D. was stationed 4 miles north, ready to take out the communications tower in the event they were discovered. Josiah was 4.5 miles west, watching the government troops who were searching for the country’s rebels. Vin was east of the factory, watching the road the rebels would use to reach McGill if he had been comprised -- rebels whom McGill had lived with while undercover for eight months. Initially, Vin had been told to watch the rebel camp 8 miles away, but Vin had argued he needed to be closer to provide Chris with backup should the need arise. Finally Larabee had conceded to a spot 5 miles away. However, every time J.D. had spoken to Vin he’d been moving and according to Tanner’s tracker, he was less than 4 miles from Chris and still closing.

As the very nervous McGill had requested, Larabee had gone on radio silence and had been out of contact for the past twenty minutes. In the colonel’s final communication he stated he could see the selected meeting point - an old factory - and was going to try to find a way in. From that moment, Vin was placed in charge. Vin didn’t like the plan and had said so. J.D. wasn’t sure if he agreed. Vin felt the boys had been separated for a reason, but Chris had simply commented that it was just Tanner’s suspicious nature. On this occasion, J.D. felt that Chris was right.

“All’s well, Sir. No sign anyone knows we’re here. Looks like this is going to be easier than we thought. A piece of cake.”

*********

Vin grimaced at J.D.’s comment. Every time someone said something like that, the shit hit the fan.

The sharpshooter scanned the bushland around him. All was still… so why was the hair standing up on the back of his neck?

Something about this set up felt wrong. Chris had wanted to speak to McGill personally, but it couldn’t be arranged. Why?

All communication had come through Travis… but Travis didn’t know McGill.

Vin ground his jaw. Travis’ checks verified the request was genuine. Boston McGill had incorporated a phrase so Chris could verify it was him. The team had done their own checks confirming McGill was indeed in Abanstan. All appeared legitimate… so why did it still feel wrong? And why was Vin experiencing tension in his chest?

Vin curled his bottom lip and bit down on it. Something was wrong… more than just the mission. He could feel it, but Chris was on radio silence.

With a curse, Vin rose and started jogging down the road toward the factory.

**********

Chris regained consciousness gradually. As awareness settled, he registered the pain throbbing through his chest. With great effort, the colonel opened his eyes. His vision faded in and out of focus and galloping nausea rose. Overhead he could see a gaping hole in the ceiling. The exposed iron girders gave the appearance of a maze above, but there was a gap up there. One of the girders was missing.

Chris frowned, trying to remember what had happened and where the hell he was. Where were the boys? Were they safe?

Chris drew in a deep breath and full consciousness returned accompanied by the salty taste of blood in his mouth. His breathing was restricted and so he lifted his chin to investigate, discovering both the reason for his struggle to fully inflate his lungs and the location of the missing girder. The huge 500 kilogram iron beam was lying across his chest along with other debris.

Chris attempted to flex his chest muscles but a groan of discomfort echoed out of him. Several ribs were definitely broken, but he could feel his legs which meant his spine had not suffered major damage; incredible considering the distance he had fallen. Then again, he had been taught to fall by the best. He would thank Ezra later.

The question remained, what had happened?

“Ahhh, you’re awake.”

The voice came from the pinned colonel’s right - a rasping voice from Chris’ past. Larabee twisted his head in search of the speaker.

Don Pablo’s pasty face lit with a smile of triumph, the long scar on his cheek standing out. “You played right into my hands, Larabee.”

“What makes you think that?” Chris asked without emotion. Speaking wasn’t easy and left him panting as he tried to draw enough oxygen into his constrained lungs both to keep himself conscious and speak at the same time. Now he remembered -- McGill… Abanstan... the doors and windows of the factory had been boarded up. He’d climbed to the roof to search for another entrance. There he’d found several tiles had been removed and a ladder down to the interior set up invitingly. However, the roof had given way before he’d been able to use it.

“McGill isn’t coming. Through my father’s connections I found out he was over here. Knew you’d come if McGill asked for help. Travis swallowed it hook, line and sinker. I set you up.” Pablo walked forward, his smile deepening in triumph. “Do you want to know why?”

“You were bored?” Chris spat. Don Pablo. Son of a general and grandson of one of the richest men in the United States. They’d met as raw recruits… long before Katinda, but Katinda had been where Chris had learned a great deal about this mongrel. Pablo had been there the day of the cockroach race. Chris’ anger rose. He should have listened to Vin’s instincts.

Right now, that wasn’t important. Chris pushed everything aside and meticulously began to process his present situation. The girder across his chest should have crushed him but it was resting precariously on some tiles from the collapsed section of the roof. Chris tried to move his right arm, but it was wedged under him. His left arm was handcuffed to the girder itself. Clearly, he had been unconscious for more than a few seconds for he could see his arm wasn’t the only thing attached to the beam.

Don Pablo leered down at his captive. “Bored? My honor can not wait a moment longer.”

Chris’ eyes narrowed as he assimilated the words.

Don Pablo’s deformed smile became wider. “That’s right, Larabee. I’m using you as live bait to bring Wilmington to me.”

All of this had been an elaborate plan to enact revenge on Buck? After all these years? But then, Pablo had been in a mental institution the last time Chris had checked. “Buck won’t come. He has orders to retreat,” Chris announced in a deadpan voice. “You’ve wasted your time.

Pablo laughed. “Good try, Larabee, but you don’t lie well. He’ll come.“

Chris worked hard to keep his reaction buried, but an image of Buck filled his mind. His cheek twitched with rage.

Pablo saw the response, crouched and lowered his face so that it was only inches from Chris‘. “You have a front row seat, Larabee. You are going to watch Buck die.” Pablo’s sunken eyes flashed with madness as he produced Chris‘ headset. “I’m going to call him here.”

Chris fought for control. His breathing rate increased and caused him to gasp in an effort to get the air he needed.

Pablo and the STF1 had crossed paths in Katinda. Money and connections had allowed the incompetent Donald Pablo to move through the ranks. However, he wasn’t a leader and Chris had told him so. And then Buck had stumbled upon the fact that this monster was torturing and killing innocent Katinese girls.

Pablo smiled and lifted Larabee’s confiscated headset to his lips. “Buck Wilmington, if you ever want to see Larabee again, you need to join us. Alone. Bring any of your friends and Chris dies. You‘ve got thirty minutes exactly or Larabee fries.”

Chris glared as the madman rose to his feet.

“Get ready, boys. Wilmington will be on his way. No one kills him but me... is that clear?”

*********

Vin froze, the voice in the headset one he recognized. A flood of memories were released from his past, the seizure hitting without warning. Major Pablo. The STF1 had been instrumental in collecting evidence against the twisted psychopath.

Abruptly, an image of Anita Tillu flashed in Vin‘s mind. Buck had saved her life but not before Don Pablo had tortured her to the brink of death. Don Pablo had reacted with fury and indignation when arrested. According to him, he’d bought the girl from her parents and thus he owned her to do with her as he pleased. Anita had dishonoured him by going to Buck for help and Buck had interfered in ‘Pablo‘ business. He’d sworn to kill Buck that day for ‘impeaching his honor’. The man really was crackers. He saw himself as some sort of Prince that others needed to obey.

Pablo had been arrested and tried for his attacks on eight women. What he’d done to them made Vin’s blood boil and had sent Buck’s fists flying. But Pablo had been found guilty and sentenced to spend his days in a mental hospital -- what idiot had released him?

Vin shut his eyes, trying to control the seizure. If he was to be any use to Chris and Buck, he had to stop the flood of memories and accompanying emotions. Gradually he climbed above the racing images and bubbling emotions.

Vin blinked to clear his focus and then cursed passionately. Pablo had set this up. He had the money, the intelligence and the blind obsession to do it.

McGill wasn’t coming in out of the cold. McGill’s so called ‘information’ to assist Em7 cover his retreat had succeeded in separating the team, leaving Chris vulnerable. If they’d followed the ’suggestions’ to the letter, Vin would have been stationed 8 miles away from Chris.

Chris had agreed to meet McGill alone and unarmed. But there was no McGill. This was nothing but an elaborate hoax to trap Buck… and Pablo was using Chris to do it.

Vin had thirty minutes to reach Chris. All of the others were too far away to help… except Buck.

Vin’s rage exploded. That was exactly how Pablo had planned it.

********

Don Pablo. The voice was one Buck would never forget… and the sick bastard had Chris!

“Pablo if you…”

“I’m going in,” Buck roared, snapping two switches on the console in front of him. The propeller built up speed. Rage was not something Buck felt often, but right now…

“WINGS.”

“Vin, Don Pablo…“

“I know.“

“If he wants me, he‘s got me,” Buck snarled, checking the dials above his head. He could be at the factory in minutes.

Buck snorted. “Don’t order me to stay out of this, Lieutenant. I don’t want to disobey you.”

“I’m not ordering you. I’m asking you to let me handle this. He wants you, Buck. The moment you set foot in there…”

“…he’ll kill Chris,” Buck murmured. It was just the sick sort of thing Don Pablo would do. He’d wait and kill Chris in front of Buck. Buck’s chest burned with anguish. “Vin… God knows what he’s doing to Chris. If I have to trade my life for his…”

“You're assuming Chris is alive. You can't afford to make assumptions with Don Pablo. He’s a psychopath. We both know what he’s capable of."

Buck’s chest constricted in horror. Vin and Chris… they always knew if… His voice quaked as he asked a question he‘d hoped he‘d never have to ask. "Chris is dead?"

Buck squeezed his eyes shut.

“We need an advantage going into this. He's expecting you. Me turning up may provide us with the edge we need. It‘ll throw him. He‘s mentally unstable. It may give us an opening."

Buck licked his lips. It all make perfect sense except… “You’re too far away to reach Chris in thirty minutes.“

“What about the others?“

“Too far away on foot.“

Buck nodded, but gripped the stick tighter. “Rescue aborted.” They were two of the hardest words he’d ever had to say. “I... what do you want me to do?”

“Pick the others up and drop them here as soon as you can.”

The sense of purpose released Buck from the numbness spreading through him. He couldn’t go to Chris’ aid but he could do something constructive. “You got it, Lieutenant.“

“No matter what happens... no matter what you see or hear, you are not, I repeat, not to get off that chopper. I don’t want you anywhere near Don Pablo.”

“Understood. TWO... be careful… and…Vin. Please... I…”

“I’ve got it covered, partner. TWO out.”

*********

“What is taking him so long?” Don Pablo complained, his voice echoing in the huge open space. He was pacing with pronounced long strides, his face twitching unnaturally. The thug’s he’d hired looked at each other nervously. A few had worked for Pablo before and recognised the signs. Their boss was losing it again. The half dozen who had only joined the madman in the last few hours watched him with great caution.

Chris, on the other hand, had relaxed. If Buck had been coming he’d have arrived by now. Larabee guessed Vin had had the sense to order Buck to stay away. Vin would have realized it was a trap set for Buck. Unfortunately, all but Buck were too far away to help. J.D. was closest at 4 miles, but he’d never make it in thirty minutes. So, if Buck wasn’t coming, Chris was on his own. He needed to formulate a way to escape, but he was well and truly pinned. The girder was far too heavy to shift on his own and even if Buck had arrived, moving it would not have been easy. At the moment, the only thing stopping Chris from being crushed were a few concrete tiles. If they were to shift...

“What is taking him so long?” Pablo bellowed again, demanding an answer from those around him. His eyes darted to the timer attached to the power box on the wall. He had started it after he had sent the ultimatum via Chris’ headset. “It‘s been twenty-two minutes. He’s only got eight minutes left. He‘s going to miss it.”

“He’s not coming, Pablo,” Chris growled.

“HE’LL COME!”

“He’s not coming,” Larabee repeated.

“He‘s right,” a voice called from the shadows of the roof. All heads snapped up. Chris’ heart lifted. He knew that voice as well as he knew his own.

All watched as a figure dropped from the beams above. It somersaulted without grace and landed in a crouch to the open-mouthed stares of many on the ground. Only then did the blur come into focus.

“Tanner!” Former Major Donald Pablo glared at Vin as Tanner rose to his feet. “No one invited you.”

“Oh, come on, Donny. That’s no way to greet an old friend.” Vin scanned the area carefully, his rifle aimed at Pablo. The concrete floor was covered in some sort of white foam. Flammable, Vin guessed. His rifle was useless. A single spark could ignite the building. There were men spread out around the huge open room. Rent-a-thug. Fourteen ‘gorillas’ armed with clubs and crowbars - and now Vin needed to defeat them without his rifle.

Vin’s gaze travelled to Chris. The colonel’s head bobbed once - acknowledgement that he was okay. Chris flicked his eyes to the girder, then to the thick electric cable attached to the beam and finally to a power-box mounted on the wall to Vin’s right. Tanner followed the silent cues, his attention stopping briefly on the timer attached to the box. So, that was what Pablo had meant by frying Chris. He had connected the giant beam to the electricity source of the building and set the power to be switched on in... Vin squinted... Five minutes. Thousands of volts of pure electricity would zap through Chris’ body in five minutes.