Sands Through The Hourglass
Once Upon A Time In Mexico Fan Fiction
By Scarlett Burns
Rated: M (16+)
(for adult language, violence and disturbing situations)

Summary: Post-movie. Sands finds himself back in CIA hands, and his future is uncertain. A setup within the CIA puts Sands to the test, and he's forced to lay it all out on the line to gain proof about the conspiracy against him.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
~*~
Spook Speak | Translation Guide

Part 2

Sands was sitting upright in his hospital bed, listening to the buzz of all the typical hospital sounds that surrounded him.

Hurried footsteps, grieving relatives, no-nonsense doctors, beeps, whirs and rolling stretchers.

Goddamn, he was bored as hell.

Just sitting around doing nothing had never been Sands' style, and being forced to do so now irritated him no end. He despised it. The lack of activity left his mind free to do too much thinking. He'd think about the past, the present, and most frightening of all, the future.

On the outside he showed the world his normal demeanor. Officer Sands, always cool as a cucumber and able to handle any shapes thrown his way, even in the direst of situations.

Inside however, he was threatening to crumble. Actually, he always had been, but now more than ever.

The darkness, his fears, his mental instability, all rising up and attempting to eat him alive.

It didn't help that he was now blind.

It didn't help that the door to his mind had always been slightly unhinged.

And it really didn't help that the last time he'd paid OMS a little 'visit' was when he'd had his mental breakdown after…

Sands sighed and stretched his sore legs. As part of his therapy OMS had assigned him a psychotherapist at the beginning of the week. Sands didn't know exactly how long he'd been at OMS, but imagined it was nearing a month, and as far as he was concerned this new 'therapist' of his was a first class moron. Every day he'd sit there for two hours and listen, while the therapist asked him in a hundred and fifty different ways 'how he felt'.

He'd been transferred out of intensive care about two weeks ago. The bullets removed and all injuries sanitized, stitched and wrapped tight. He'd been told when he was finally aware again, and not too drugged up on meds by his assigned spook in white, that nothing could be done for his eyes. He recalled sitting silently for a moment after being given the news, before biting back a bitter reply.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

The simple fact was that Sands had already known that. He'd have been an idiot not to know it.

Sands knew from the moment that the no doubt self-proclaimed Doctor Guevara revealed his instrument of torture and moved toward Sands with that insane gleam in his eye, that there would be no going back from what happened there in that dank, dark room with only his enemies as witnesses.

No three strikes and you're out.

No second chance, no do-over, no re-take.

No encores for this Broadway performance. The curtain was down and the seats were empty. Critics proclaim, this show is not groovy, happenin' or hip and should be avoided at all costs.

He would have to agree with that last statement.

Still, even though Sands knew what had happened, he couldn't bring himself to accept it, not yet, not ever.

'No. Don't think about it.'

He supposed that's what the nosy, pipsqueak therapist was trying to do, get him to accept, but Officer Sands wouldn't bite. Besides, it was fun to string the man along, to bait him, and he got a perverse pleasure out of playing with his therapist's mind. Sands was not ignorant when it came to psychology, especially mind games and psychological warfare. After all, Sands had a Masters in the subject and he put his well-honed skills to use every day.

Sands knew the man must dread his sessions with Officer Sands.

Which meant that Sands loved every minute of it, and fucking with the man's mind was, at the very least, a break from the boring humdrum OMS life.

Of course, mind games had always been one of his specialties, a specialty he once proudly admitted to Cam that he frequently used and abused.

Sands heaved another sigh as the hospital racket continued. He didn't think it was normal for him to hear it so well. His hearing had to have been heightened since… that day.

Sands fingers began to tap against his thigh with impatience. He recalled one of the nurses telling him earlier that a TV was in the room if he wanted to use it, and he decided that now would be the perfect time. His hand groped around on the nightstand beside him until his fingers brushed the remote control for the TV. It then took two more minutes to figure out which way it needed to point and another minute for him to push every top and bottom button until he heard the TV click on.

At the sound Sands threw the remote back onto the nightstand with a grunt of frustration, then turned his head towards the source.

After listening intently to the TV for a few minutes, as he tried to stop his mind from racing, he came to the upsetting conclusion that it was on SoapNet.

It was at that moment that Sands realized he was truly in hell. His head fell back in a gesture of defeat, until it hit the wall and pain shot through his skull.

Sands heard the door to his room open, accompanied by the sound of light footsteps walking towards him and he quickly lifted his head back up straight.

No sense in looking even more pathetic than he already did.

Judging by the sound of the footsteps he could tell they belonged to a female. It was a nurse. Sands turned his bandaged face towards the sound. He could hear a slight clattering as she walked in and surmised she was probably bringing him some food.

"Ah, Officer Sands. I see you've discovered the TV. Your lunch is on the table here," she paused and patted the table to make sure he knew where it was, then continued "And I've been told to inform you that you'll be having a visitor today, in about an hour."

This must have been the first time she'd cared for him because he didn't recognize her voice from before. It was soft, feminine, almost musical.

For the millionth time he damned the darkness. He wished he could see her. Still, it didn't stop his mind's eye from picturing what she might look like, and he was pleased with the results that his imagination came up with.

"Visitor?" Sands repeated questioningly. He wasn't surprised; he was actually more shocked that he hadn't had one yet. He could think of several officers from the Company who were probably dying to talk to him, and the only explanation for such a long reprieve must have been OMS forbidding visitors. Sands hadn't minded. The delay gave him plenty of time to concoct a believable story to tell. Hell, he'd thought up several believable stories.

He also had a debrief to go through, that much he was certain of, and whatever else happened would decidedly rest on just how much the Company knew.

However Sands did wonder just who, out of the many people who no doubt wanted or needed to see him, would be the first to take a crack at it.

"Director Douglas," she answered, before leaving him to his meal, and his thoughts.

Douglas was the Director of Security. For him to come in person, he must really have been concerned by what went down, wrong and side-ways with Sands' operation. It was that, or Sands was going to be prosecuted. He sincerely hoped it was the former; it would make his already difficult life much easier.

Sands straightened up a little bit in determination.

He wasn't worried. Why should he be?

After all, there was a skill he prided himself on, and that was his ability to bullshit his way out of just about anything.

Sands had decided that the best thing to do was tell the Company as much of the truth as he thought safe. The more lies one told, the easier one got caught. The more truth he told, the harder it would be for someone else to prove that he was lying about said activity.

It was all so simple that Sands couldn't help but smile to himself.

When Director Douglas entered Sands' room a little while later, he was ready for him. Sands' mind was geared up for several scenarios, with explanations and half-truths to go with all of them. The nurse with the musical voice announced the Director's arrival, then Douglas walked over and sat by his bed as the nurse closed the door behind her.

"Hello, Officer Sands," Director Douglas started, somewhat awkwardly. Although Sands had obviously heard of the man, they'd never met before, and evidently the sight of himself with bandages all over his face, legs and arm, was a little startling. Although Sands' damned the circumstances, he liked the fact that the man was thrown off balance.

"Tell me…" Sands started, dispensing with a formal greeting, or a greeting of any sort for that matter. "That nurse that showed you in just now. What does she look like?" The other man started to open his mouth to say something, feeling uncomfortable, but Sands didn't wait for an answer before he continued. "Because, you see, her voice led me to conclude that she was hotter than two half-fucked squirrels in a forest fire, and the thought of a nurse with qualities such as that tending to my needs… " Sands paused for a moment and his voice dropped suggestively lower as he leaned conspiratorially toward the other man, "Well, let's just say I can whip up a couple more needs she could fulfill for me."

Sands smiled inwardly but kept his face serious on the outside. Although he couldn't see Douglas' face, he knew the man was completely taken aback and clearly at a loss for words. "I was just wondering. Oh wait, if she's not then I don't want to know. Truly, I'd rather keep my fantasy."

'Keep him off balance enough so he's open to your ideas and doesn't catch your mistakes.' Sands remembered that pearl of wisdom from… oh, hell… some professor he had had back at the Farm.

There was a long silence before the Director started again, and this pleased Sands very much. The man was not a master at interrogation; if he were, Sands little opener wouldn't have had any effect on him. But then, Douglas was Head of Security, not an interrogation officer.

Douglas cleared his throat, "Uh, Officer Sands, I'm Officer Douglas, Director of Security."

"Oh yes, I know who you are. A VIP in my very own room!" Sands put his good arm onto his chest. "Golly, what did I do to deserve the honor of your visit?"

"I think you're aware that things did not go as planned during your operation in Culiacan, Mexico…"

"Gee, and I thought getting my eyes pulled out and coming home with several new pieces of lead embedded in my body was all part of the master plan," Sands cut in acidly; he really didn't mean to - he was trying to keep his sarcasm to a minimum - but the stupidity of the statement warranted the remark.

"I'm sorry, that was stupid of me," Douglas replied apologetically, the meaning of the statement hitting him after Sands' reply.

Sands had to bite down on his lower lip to keep himself in control and not shoot off his mouth, or the guy's head. The man was lucky Sands didn't have a gun.

From Douglas' point of view, it must have looked more like a pathetic reaction rather than a means of controlling an infamous temper, because Douglas set a hand on Sands' shoulder and said, "I'm sorry about all this."

'Save your ass now, kill him later.'

Sands kept quiet, and waited for him to continue.

Douglas cleared his throat and then proceeded. "You'll be debriefed in a week, so I'm not going to press you for all of the hard facts at this moment, but you must understand that the roll-up of your operation is most upsetting to the Company. I need you to tell me who's responsible for your injuries and what went wrong, so that OOS can begin to assess the situation."

"The Barillo Cartel is responsible. As for what happened, a fucking bogus bona fide is what happened." Sands' speaking halted briefly, and leaned forward, towards the man's voice. "What I want to know is who the fuck was responsible for AFN Agent Ajedrez's bona fides? Whoever sent me that bona fide made one huge goddamn mistake."

"I'll check into that immediately," Douglas said seriously, and Sands heard the sound of pen or pencil on paper. "Double Agent?"

"You could say that. Ajedrez was Barillo's daughter."

Douglas raised his eyebrows as his eyes left his pen and paper. He looked back at the injured officer before him and mumbled an agitated "Damn it."

"False intelligence and a bad bona fide is responsible for the roll-up. I'd sent an eyes only bona fide request to my superior, Officer Martin, to pass it to an OOS…"

"Officer Martin was acting as Bridge Officer?" Douglas interrupted, a little surprise lacing his voice. It was not standard routine for a Head of Headquarters to act as a low asset Bridge Officer to his Head Controller.

"That was my reaction as well." Sands said as he registered the surprise in the other officer's voice.

"Didn't you inquire as to why he was off standard procedure?"

Sands' eyebrows raised. "What? Me? Officer Jeffery Sands question authority…" he paused for a moment and forced himself to adopt a serious expression as he continued mockingly, "… never."

At the other officer's silence, Sands went on. "In my request it clearly stated that I needed an extra tight security check on Ajedrez; if she passed through OOS she'd be a working agent for the Company under my handling and privy to material classified up to Flash. Double background and credential checks should have been run. Unfortunately, she was passed through the OOS clean and ended up spilling the beans, so to speak, on the entire operation to non other than Barillo himself."

"I'm going to be frank with you Officer Sands. I've glanced over your 201 File, and I'm fully aware of your record with the Company. You've been an enormous asset, gathering invaluable information for us for some ten years. I figured there must have been some sort of double agent or mole, that the error wasn't entirely yours."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. My fatal error was trusting one of your fucking officers to report a trustworthy bona fide." Sands snapped back. He was angry… no, angry couldn't even begin to describe how he felt. He was furious. He got that way whenever he thought about what led to the chain of events that caused the collapse of his operation.

Because Sands had known he'd been set up and hung out to dry. He had known right after talking to Martin that day at the Flying Cow, right before Ajedrez had caught up to him. He'd known because he was alone, and because no one had come to back him up.

No one had come to pull him out.

No one had come to act as his partner.

No one had come when he'd reported being shadowed.

No one had come, period.

Sands shook his head slightly, trying to clear away the bombardment of unwanted thoughts.

He heard Douglas say something, but wasn't really paying attention and didn't care to hear any of his meaningless apologies. "Just answer me one thing Director. Was I burned? Because really, I didn't see it coming."

"Not that I'm aware, Officer Sands. You're one of our most successful officers, so I find it highly unlikely. Besides, I thought you said a bad bona fide caused-"

"A bad bona fide caused the roll-up, but that's not what I'm talking about." Sands turned his head away from Douglas and faced straight ahead before continuing. "I had called my superior… twice… before I was captured. Both times I told him my position was compromised. Both times I told him I needed back up ASAP, and both times I told him I was sure the cartel was shadowing me. I got absolutely zero support from my superior, or any fellow officers or agents on the assignment. If that doesn't make it appear that I was burned and left to hang out to dry… well then golly-gee, I don't know what would."

"Alright. You'll need to be debriefed as soon as you're healthy enough. Next Monday if you think you're up to it?"

"Fuck that! I'm up to it now." Sands was sick of waiting, of sitting here and doing nothing. He wanted to find out who was really responsible for doing this to him. Oh yes, Barillo and his cartel may have done it physically, but Sands just knew that someone else was involved as well and he had a pretty good idea of who it was. It all pointed in one direction, and Sands was sure it was no coincidence.

But perhaps it wasn't just one man.

"I'll set up your debrief for Monday then. Before I go, do you know what became of the double agent, Ajedrez?" Douglas asked, and Sands paused for a couple of beats before answering.

"Terminated," Sands finally deadpanned, his face showing nothing.

"Thank you, Officer, for your time."

Douglas didn't ask how it happened or who had done it, but Sands knew the time for answers would soon come, during his debrief. Getting all those answers was not Director Douglas' job.

Sands heard the man get up and walk towards the door.

"Oh, and Director?" Sands called to him, and he heard the footsteps pause.

"You find my cell phone and the copies of my conversations with Officer Martin, and I'll give you proof." Sands let a small smile play upon his lips; it was not a pleasant one. "Although worthy of mention, it goes without saying…"

"What?" the director finally asked.

"I want to know who's responsible for this." Sands replied, one finger lightly tapping the bandages on the right side of his head to accentuate his point. "And I want that person's head on a platter. Can you dig it?"

Sands could see.

He sat at the back of the room, feet up on the empty chair beside him. He was dressed in what could pass as normal clothing today, no cowboy garb or cheesy T-shirt. It was a rare thing. Today he observed his teacher standing at the head of the class, waving his hands in exaggerated gestures as he talked. His name was Professor Jonathan Saunders, and of all Sands’ teachers, he was the best. He was an older man, with shortly cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a deep voice. He was quite a bit taller than Sands’, with a thicker build, and adopted a confident stance at the head of the class.

In his day, he was probably quite an officer. It was the way the teacher spoke, the way he looked directly into your eyes when he taught, that had drawn Sands to this conclusion. That, and the fact that said professor was always full of little tidbits of handy tradecraft. This was the one of the few classes where Sands actually took notes.

Today Professor Saunders was talking about how to quickly disable an enemy in a conflict.

Good stuff.

"… and that’s that. You’ve got him, end of story." He wrapped up, concluding the second technique taught for the day. "The next technique I’d like to talk about is one of the most important, so please get out your notebooks if you haven’t already."

Professor Saunders went over to his desk, trading his blue dry marker for a red one. Walking over to the whiteboard he began writing on it while speaking. "If you knock out an opponent’s sight quickly, they are vulnerable and the rest is easy. Go for the eyes with mace, pepper spray, your fingers, a knife; hell, even stuff you might be drinking could work. Anything you can think of that’s in immediate reach could be used. Remember; don’t ever waste time. If your life is threatened in the field there is only one rule, and that is to survive."

The professor stepped away from the board. Although his explanation had been a paragraph, what he wrote on the board was short, simple and to the point.

The words on the stark whiteboard burned into Sands’ eyes and etched their way into a corner of his brain. The words written in red marker on the whiteboard suddenly looked like they were dripping. It was as if they were written in blood.

As he listened wide-eyed as the professor continued his lecture, the room suddenly began to spin. His surroundings seemed to grow darker, and he felt as if he was going to pass out.

The classroom around him was changing. Suddenly Sands wasn’t sitting any more; he was lying on his back, feet and hands tied. The professor’s face morphed and twisted, and suddenly it wasn’t Jonathan Saunders anymore. No, now he was looking at Ajedrez’s face in uncomfortably close proximity. He wanted to scream, to thrash angrily at his bonds, but he found it within him to stay calm. No, he wouldn’t give them all the pleasure of seeing his discomfort.

Did he just say that out loud?

The sound of a drill, becoming louder as it came closer. Evil deep within those eyes moving towards him, evil that liked to torture, evil that corrupted a soul far more than even he could imagine.

A flicker of silver as it caught the light.

Pain.

The room disappeared.

Sands screamed in pain, the sound so harsh that it was as silent as death. It held an agony so intense that if sound had actually passed Sands’ lips it would have been inhuman, but the scream echoed in his mind so loudly that it didn’t need to emerge from his mouth, which simply opened in a silent scream.

"Officer, officer? It’s all right. It’s just a dream." A musical, feminine voice entered Sands’ thoughts and he realized then that he was moaning out loud. He stopped and took a shaky breath.

"Are you OK? That must have been some nightmare you were having," the nurse said sympathetically.

"No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It was a memory."

She was silent for a moment as he slowed his breathing. "I’m sorry."

Sands wanted to be upset by the sympathy, and was preparing to snap back with some angry retort or other, but he stopped himself before the thought made it to his lips.

Sands shoulders slumped in defeat. He was tired, angry, frustrated and, as his dream had so humbly reminded him, feeling extremely vulnerable.

"I originally came in here to tell you that you have a visitor Officer Sands." She continued, sensing how he was feeling. "Would you like me to send him in now?"

‘Do I have a choice?’ Sands thought, but he only asked curiously "Who is it?"

"An Officer Eric Cameron."

"Uh sure, it’s fine with me."

A couple of minutes later he heard the door open and Cam’s familiar voice echoed around the room, "Howdy. Thought I’d just drop by and see how you were doing."

Sands moved his head towards the voice and asked, "And why would you want to do that?"

"Hell if I know."

"I suppose I owe you my undying gratitude for coming to my rescue, but I’m not going to give it. Why don’t you fuck off? Then we’d both be much happier." He was being an asshole, and he knew it. Still, he knew of no other way to deal with Cam.

However, Cameron wasn’t going to bite. He had known Sands long enough to expect such a reaction. Cameron went on as if Sands hadn’t said anything at all. "I brought you something."

Sands’ eyebrows shot up. "Hmm, knowing the way we used to get on at the Farm I guess I better ask if it’s pointy, sharp or filled with bullets."

Cam chuckled and set a medium-sized cardboard box on top of Sands’ lap. "None of the above. Call it a get-well gift of sorts. It’s not wrapped or anything, hope you don’t mind."

Sands’ mouth hung open slightly for a moment at a loss for words, before he shut it firmly and shook his head slightly as he found his voice again.

"Well I don’t know if I can accept it now. Unwrapping it is all of the fun."

Sands reached down and poked the box hesitantly, like someone would poke a wounded or dead animal with a stick.

He moved over the box with his hands before he grabbed hold of it, moving it right up against his ear.

"Well, I don’t hear any ticking…" He shook it, but only heard a dull thud as the object shifted from side to side in the box before he continued sarcastically. "Oh gee, I hope it’s not fragile."

Cam smiled at Sands’ little show. He could see that Sands was unsure, suspicious and very wary… it was all written on his brow as he tried to cover it up by shaking the box around and acting like a kid with his first Christmas present. "It’s not fragile, no."

Sands plopped the box back on his lap, then absentmindedly fingered one of the top flaps, considering his plan of action. This had been most unexpected.

Making his decision, Sands opened one flap and then the other, his hands tentatively reaching down into the box and feeling inside for a moment, before resurfacing with an unidentified object from the simple brown box.

Cameron smiled, and took the box back out of Sands’ way. He’d had the idea about a week ago and since then had tried to work up the courage to give it to him. He stood by silently, watching Sands’ confused face as he tried to figure out just what he was holding.

Sands’ brow furrowed in confusion. He still wasn’t used to not being able to see, and it took some concentration to figure out what he was holding. It was oblong in shape, with a deep hole on one side and a…

Somewhat unwillingly, a sly smile crept across Sands’ lips. He turned the object over in his hands slowly, feeling out all its edges, and then set it on his head. He was feeling better already.

It was a cowboy hat.

He didn’t know exactly what it looked like, but it didn’t matter. The shape was unmistakable.

He was still Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands of the Central Intelligence Agency. He was still the CIA Cowboy and he was still alive.

He’d be damned if he let anyone take that away from him now. It was all he had left.

Sands figured that he must have been quite a sight. He was sitting in a hospital bed, with bandages tightly wrapped around his eyes, legs and one arm. He imagined himself wearing the typical white hospital nightshirt, topping off the whole look with a big ass cowboy hat sitting on top of his head. It almost made him laugh… almost.

"So, does this mean you’ve forgiven me for that little trick I played on you Senior year at Camp Swampy?"

Cameron arched an eyebrow at the mention. "Not a chance."

---

Sands sat in his hospital bed, mentally preparing himself for what he knew would be a very challenging day.

Debrief day had finally arrived and he was to be escorted to OOS headquarters later in the morning. Sands was keyed up, and ready to go. He’d be released from OMS in another week, which was something he was extremely happy about. Yet at the same time, deep inside, fear tugged at him and refused to let go. He hated the feeling of fear; it was a feeling that he wasn’t used to.

Then again, there were a lot of things of late that he wasn’t used to, but that he had to live with anyway.

His eyebrows came together with worry. There were so many things that could go wrong with his plan.

Sands felt like yelling, screaming at the top of his lungs for his brain to stop thinking about his future. Sands couldn’t plan ahead for this. He couldn’t set things up this time. No, this time he’d have to be ready to think on his feet. He had to pull himself together because he sure as hell wasn’t going to watch himself fall.

He could only plan so much, until the unknown got in the way, and for days he had been doing nothing but coming up with plan after plan, and backup after backup.

Now it was time for him to be the Cowboy again, be the Officer he’d always been.

But the feeling wasn’t coming to him as easily as it always had before.

His left hand reached over, his fingertips lightly brushing the cowboy hat given to him by Cam. The gift had taken him completely by surprise; no one had ever liked him enough to give him any sort of gift before, at least, not for a very long time.

He quickly put his hand back in his lap. Why did everything seem so different? So foreign? Why did it seem as if he was living in another world now, with no way back to the life he once knew?

Because that’s what it was to him really. A Show. He was on Broadway, and everybody that he manipulated or used were his co-stars, the world his audience and he the star.

"Minutus cantorum, minutus balorum,"Sands mumbled out loud to himself.

At least that’s the way it was before the Day of the Dead, and today would be the first time he had ventured out of OMS since the infamous day.

Deep down in the depths of his soul, he was truly unnerved by the idea. Yet this place, OMS, was driving him mad. He needed to leave. He needed to find balance in his life again.

Sands was, thankfully, snapped out of his reverie by the sound of the nurse entering the room. Since she’d first come in to care for him, he’d come to know her as Crystal.

Last Friday he’d started insisting on having an all black ensemble to wear to debrief, one much like the outfit he’d been wearing when he first arrived at OMS.

He remembered the sound of the nurse’s voice when he first suggested it and chuckled at the memory.

Everyone at OMS had scoffed at the whole idea of course; that was to be expected. But he was Sands, and after much persuasion he finally got his way and a much needed ego boost. He’d happily given Crystal his sizes and the names of some of his favorite - and oh-so-tasteful - shops in the vicinity, that sold what he’d asked for.

Crystal dumped the pile of attire on the bed next to Sands, then set a pair of black cowboy boots down on the floor.

"You told me you knew of some tasteful shops to go to," she said in playful annoyance.

Sands smiled cheerfully. "It left a bad taste in your mouth, didn’t it sugar-butt?"

"Yeah, you can say that again."

"It left a bad taste in your mouth, didn’t it sugar-butt?"

Even though Crystal was fully aware that Sands couldn’t see it, she rolled her eyes. "Sands…"

"Well, if it left a taste in your mouth, even a bad one, then it’s still tasteful, right?"

Crystal smirked. As much as Sands irritated her, his annoying behavior was a sure sign that he was feeling better. "A mere technicality. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, Officer."

"But you got what I asked for," Sands stated. It wasn’t a question.

"Of course."

Sands smiled, satisfied that he’d managed to get what he wanted despite everything ranged against him.

"Will you be needing help?"

Sands’ smile disappeared immediately, and turned into a frown. Crystal didn’t have to be a genius to know it was time to leave. She’d bruised his ego and that was not a good thing.

"Well, buzz when you’re ready," she said before beating a hasty retreat.

Sands sat on the bed for a moment, stone still, darkness surrounding him… something that would surround him for the rest of his life. He’d heard Crystal leave. Obviously she had taken the hint that he wasn’t too keen on the dressing idea. Still, he briefly wondered if he really could manage by himself, before quickly stomping out that idiotic thought. But a voice entered his mind, one that shook him whenever it decided to haunt the depths of his brain.

‘Oh Shit. Mother’s voice.’ It sent a chill up his spine every time he heard it, and for the last ten years or so he’d only heard it in his mind.

He was alone now and in the dark, and he’d have to get used to it.

Sands’ hands went to his pounding head in frustration as he willed the voice to stop taunting him, and his body shook slightly as a low, strangled noise escaped his lips.

After a few deep breaths Sands managed to gain control of himself once again. He reached over until his hands hit the pile of clothing, and proceeded to get ready for his debrief.

Today was an important day for Officer Sands, for it would decide his future.

Sands had just finished up changing for debrief when he heard the door open and close quickly.

"Sands!" Crystal reprimanded, as she caught sight of his face after entering his room.

Sands had removed all the bandages from his face and they were strewn on his bed in a haphazard manner.

Crystal knew she should be strict and demand that the bandages go back on at once, but she felt a twinge of sympathy for the officer before her, and decided to let it go as she saw the look of warning on Sands’ face. She knew she’d have a hell of a time trying to get the damn things back on now anyway, and they weren’t really even necessary anymore. The bleeding had stopped a couple weeks ago.

"You shouldn’t have removed your bandages Sands," Crystal said, without much conviction in her voice.

"I’ll be damned if I’m going to my debrief looking like King Tut… although, the King part does have a nice ring to it." Sands’ tone indicated the decision was over and done with and he wasn’t going to budge.

She sighed in resignation; Sands was the type of man that needed to feel that he had control, even now. Or perhaps especially now. Crystal couldn’t help but notice as she looked at him, without the bandages bound around his face, how darkly attractive he was. With the dark sunglasses in place, one would never know the damage that lay beneath them. Of course she hadn’t actually seen it herself, but one of the nurses that saw his wounds when he’d first come in had told her about it… and that had been enough for her.

"You ready to go, Cowboy?" she teased as he lifted his head a bit higher, satisfied that he’d won the little game.

"Ready when you are, sugar-butt."

---

Crystal led Sands into one of the debrief rooms at OOS. He’d been here many times in the past so although he couldn’t see the room now, he knew how it was set up and what it looked like… exactly.

Sands had become very well acquainted with them, not only during his own debriefs, but during his days as a rookie when he was an Interrogations Officer, doing an occasional debrief here and there when his days were slow. Of course, both jobs had been a perfect fit, considering his knack for messing with people’s minds.

Listening to the sounds of the room, Sands was able to establish that the light was on, because he could hear the faint hum of electricity emanating from it as he sat in one of the chairs, Crystal still by his side.

On most occasions, only one officer would debrief another. However Sands suspected he might get two officers because he was always such a pain in the ass during debriefings. It had happened before; with the way Sands talked during debrief it often took two people just to follow what he was saying.

The Debrief Officer wasn’t always armed, and whether or not he or she was or wasn't depended on the individual.

When Sands had done his debriefs and interrogations, he’d always been armed.

Normally Sands would hand in a report at this time as well, with detailed intelligence and information on his clandestine operations. The report would also include the names of officers and agents who had worked along side him, blow back reports, outcome, casualty tally and, in this case, reasons why the operation eventually rolled up and the events leading to his injury.

However, Sands had been unable to make such a report while in OMS so he assumed that they’d cover all that in debrief and substitute the tape-recorded conversation for his report.

Sands leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, fully aware that it was body language for being closed off, as he heard another person enter the room.

"I’m sorry Miss Powers, you’ll have to leave now. You can wait outside in the lobby and we’ll come for you after we’ve finished with debrief," the man said to Crystal, who was still standing beside Sands.

Sands cocked his head slightly to the side as he thought.

This revelation made Sands extremely happy. He didn’t hear Crystal reply to Mike and figured that she must have nodded her head, because after a brief moment of silence she patted him lightly on the arm in a show of support, before leaving him alone with his old partner.

"Hiya, Mikey! Long time, no see eh?" Sands drolly remarked after Crystal left the room, feeling the tension in the air rise at his ironic comment. Sands knew full well Mike had been briefed on his condition.

"Sands." He greeted him stiffly, obviously uncomfortable. Sands didn’t break the tension, but remained quiet, gaining strength from Mike’s discomfort. "This is just a debrief, so let’s not make it more difficult than it already is."

Sands cocked an eyebrow, but still remained silent.

Mike shifted his weight uncomfortably. He’d never liked nor trusted Sands. When they had worked together, his old partner had always loved making sure Mike knew his place in the duo. Mike was to shut up and be quiet, while Sands "worked his magic", as Sands himself once put it. Mike did have to admit that Sands was awesome at mind games, but Sands also knew he was awesome, and that ate at Mike every time he saw Sands. Even now, blind and completely at the mercy of the Company, Sands sat before him clad all in black appearing as bad ass as ever and just as cocky and sure of himself to boot.

Sands listened intently, waiting for Mike to say something. Mike was armed, unsurprisingly; he could hear the familiar sound of the gun’s holster against a pair of jeans. ‘Still not good at breaking the ice. Obviously he doesn’t know whether or not he should acknowledge my "condition".’

"My mother once said that some things are better left unsaid," Sands finally said, fake sweetness lacing his tone, as Mike sat across from him. He heard Mike sigh, and Sands wondered if it was a sigh of relief or frustration. Sands smirked before continuing; "Then again, she said it, so I guess she didn't really play by the rules."

At this point Sands imagined that Mike was rolling his eyes.

"Much like you," Mike replied knowingly.

"The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree," Sands said with a smirk. "So, who’s the other lucky Officer who gets the pleasure of debriefing Officer Sands? Anyone that I've had the pleasure of annoying? Don’t tell me you’re going to do it alone?"

"No, I don’t believe he’s had the pleasure of meeting you Sands," Mike told him, using the word pleasure extremely loosely. "Officer Lake will be your second debrief Officer, and he’s a rookie... so try not to kill him or make him go insane."

"Ah, fresh blood." Sands flashed an evil grin, teeth shimmering in the dim light.

Mike narrowed his eyes at his ex-partner, sensing mayhem in Sands’ devious mind. "Be nice."

The door to the debrief room opened again, and Officer Lake stepped inside as Sands replied to Mike, "Now let’s be rational Mikey. In all the years we’ve worked together I’d think you’d know me well enough by now to know that what you’ve just requested is an impossibility."

Mike grunted in reply.

"Oh, you two have worked together?" Lake asked conversationally, as he entered the room and moved to stand next to the table beside Mike, setting down the tape recorder and getting it ready.

Sands turned towards the sound of his voice, "You could say that. Or you could say that we just annoyed the hell out of each other until the Company decided it best to find us both new partners."

Lake chuckled at what he thought was a joke, as he sat down across from Sands, not knowing what he was in for. Mike glanced over at Lake, but the rookie was messing with the tape recorder and not paying attention. He’d warned Lake about Sands’ rather unusual personality and infuriating ways beforehand, but doubted he’d got his message across as strongly as he would have liked. Making himself comfortable in his chair, Mike decided that one had to experience Sands to fully understand… and the rookie was definitely about to get the full Sands experience, whether he wanted it or not. Just looking at Sands Mike could tell that his ex-partner was in one of his more confrontational moods. Then again, he couldn’t really blame Sands after all he’d been through.

Sands just smiled and relaxed further into his chair. ‘I’m going to have fun with this one.’

"Officer Sands, my name is Richard Lake. Mike and I will be debriefing you today."

"Peachy keen."

"I’m sorry to hear about your injuries, but we’re glad to have you back," Lake continued, no real emotion in his voice.

‘He’s definitely come directly from the Farm; those words are straight out of the textbook for debriefing an officer injured on the job.’

"Yes well, the Company couldn’t get rid of me that easily." Sands could hear Lake hitting the record button.

"Could you please state your name, position and operation location for the record?"

"Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands. Controller in Culiacan, Mexico." Sands could hear Lake suppressing a snicker at hearing his first name, and Mike kicking him roughly under the table to silence him.

Mike knew what kind of wrath Sands could bring down when angry, and already the rookie was baiting him... it didn't bode well for the kid.

‘Amateur hour,’ Sands thought, disgusted, but kept his face an emotionless mask, as Officer Lake stated the date and time for the record.

"Now Officer Sands, I’d like to get this started-" Lake began, only to be immediately interrupted by Sands’ cool voice.

"Oh, by all means. Let’s shoot the breeze."

Lake dutifully ignored the interruption and continued. "Please begin by telling us what intelligence you’ve gained pertaining to the Barillo Cartel, the Assassination attempt on the President of Mexico, your operation's outcome, how you came to be injured and what caused the roll up."

Sands leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, folding his hands together and completing one last mental ego boost before starting.

Today Officer Sands was going to be extremely economical with the truth.

"How about a cigarette first?" Sands asked the two debrief officers before him. He was really starting to miss his habitual hourly cigarette. He hadn’t had one since the day Lake was questioning him about.

"Sands, you know that it’s against policy to smoke in a debrief room." Mike stepped in.

"Screw it. It’s against policy to smoke anywhere anymore, anyway. But I’m here to tell you about some pretty fucked up shit, so I think it’s the least you two could do," Sands smirked. "Besides, I’d kill for a cigarette right about now, and getting between me and my cigarettes makes me very, well, let’s just say… unpleasant."

Mike, knowing Sands wouldn’t let it drop, and probably meant the word kill quite literally, started digging into his pocket and produced a cigarette from his own pack, passing it to Sands despite Lake’s protests. Sands put the cigarette in his mouth and it hung there as Mike handed him a lighter.

"Gracias," Sands said, with the cigarette dangling from his mouth, proceeding to light it carefully. It was a little more difficult to light a cigarette when you couldn’t see the end of it.

Lake, trying to remain professional, repeated his question as he watched Sands struggle to light up, until he finally succeeded. "Please, tell us what you know Officer Sands."

"Well, you see," Sands started, speaking in his unique monotone drone. "There are known knowns… that is to say, things that I know I know. There are also known unknowns, that is to say things I know I don’t know."

Sands paused for a moment and held up a solitary gloved finger as if to accentuate his last point. "But there are also unknown unknowns… things I don’t know that I don’t know."

Lake stared at Sands, trying to disentangle the sentence, as Mike closed his eyes and shook his head. Sands hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d seen him.

Sands took a long drag off his cigarette and relaxed back into his chair. He was the master of saying things that sounded like utter nonsense, but really made perfect sense if you sat and thought about them long enough.

In the awkward silence Sands took the opportunity to tap the first ashes of his cigarette off onto the table, not bothering to ask for an ashtray or find something to catch them. He gave Lake a burdened moan before he spoke, "Look kid, why don’t you ask me one question at a time? That way, you’ll get specific answers to specific questions and the Company will be happy with this here debrief."

Sands smirked as he took another puff. He knew the Company would already be unhappy with everything recorded so far, and that it would be crystal clear who was in charge. Sands.

"Very well," Lake said, clearly aggravated at being called ‘kid’ and being told how to do his job. "Please begin by telling us about the human intelligence you gathered."

"No need. A day before the roll-up I sent a full and detailed report with all the HUMINT that I’d gathered since my last report. No new HUMINT to tell the Company at this time."

"But what about the roll-up?" Lake asked, knowing there had to be more since Sands had been caught so off guard.

"Well you didn’t ask about the roll-up. You asked about the HUMINT."

Sands noticed the growing frustration in Lake’s voice as he continued.

"Please tell us about the roll-up then Officer Sands, and how the operation turned into a wet job."

Sands took another puff off his cigarette. "Shouldn’t you ask me, for the record of course, what my operation objective was to begin with?"

Lake’s face grew a bit red. Of course Sands couldn’t see it, but Mike interjected at the kids change of color. "Just answer the questions as they’re asked Officer Sands."

Sands put on a fake pout, "But… you’re doing it all wrong."

"Just answer the question!" Lake burst out, finally losing his temper.

Sands eyebrows shot up. "No need to shout Officer. My hearing is very good, I assure you."

"What caused the roll-up, Sands?"

"What happened to Officer?"

"Damn it, Officer Sands, I told you to take it easy on the kid," Mike cut in. He’d seen this coming, but had no real way of stopping it.

"Alright, but I think you both should know, I am taking it easy, on both of you." Sands took another drag, letting the words hang in the air for a moment. Cigarette in hand, he was already feeling like his old self. His old self on a bad day, anyway. "What caused the roll up was a bad bona fide on AFN Agent Ajedrez. After she was cleared by OOS for up to Flash Classified intelligence, Ajedrez was hired by yours truly as an Agent. She was working under my control in Culiacan. She was to leak false intelligence to the Barillo Cartel, specifically Armando Barillo himself. However, she leaked the real intelligence instead. As it turned out, she was a mole for Barillo, and as you can imagine, that put a little kink in my spiffy well-planned plan."

"That just sounds like bad HUMINT, Officer Sands. Why do you say a bad bona fide is the reason for the roll up?"

Sands slowly let out his deep inhalation of cigarette smoke. "I’d say someone at OOS should have caught the tiny detail that she was Armando Barillo’s daughter. Needless to say, things got a wee bit dangerous after I found out that little tidbit. Catch my drift?"

"What became of Armando Barillo and Ajedrez?"

"Both terminated."

"By you?"

"I terminated Ajedrez, purely in self defense of course. I did not, however, terminate Armando Barillo. That would be one of those unknown unknowns I was speaking of. I have reason to believe that retired FBI Agent Ramirez was the executioner."

"Why do you think that?"

"Well, I was having a bit of a bad day… being tortured, shot up and having your eyes removed does take its toll on a person. After all that, I wasn’t able to do much of anything in the way of gaining intelligence for the Company. However, they do have my deepest apologies for that." Sands sighed, his cigarette burning down too quickly for his liking.

"My point being that Ramirez ran across me after the coup and informed me of Armando Barillo’s death. Years ago, Barillo had tortured Ramirez’s partner, and then killed him, so it doesn’t take a genius such as myself to put two and two together and make such an assumption."

Lake frowned as he realized that he only had one last question to ask at this time, and it was one that he was not looking forward to.

"Would you mind telling us how you were captured by the Barillo cartel, and the events that happened after your capture?"

"Tuis pugis pignore."

Lake blinked, confused, and asked Sands, "What?" as he looked at Mike. Mike was about to answer, but Sands went ahead and did it for him.

"It’s Latin, kiddo. Don’t they even touch on Latin at the Farm anymore?" Sands shook his head in mock dismay. "Roughly it translates to ‘You bet your bippy’, and to translate that for you it means that I do mind, seeing as I’ll have to live with what happened that day for the rest of my life." Sands paused, and could feel the cigarette starting to burn his fingertips. Hoping they didn’t catch that little blunder, he stubbed out what remained of the cigarette. He immediately regretted his last comment. He’d felt so good before, but admitting to the consequences of his failed operation out loud sobered him pretty fast.

At Sands’ abrupt change in mood, and unnatural silence Mike prodded gently. "Sands?"

Snapping out of his reverie, Sands continued. "I suppose I have no choice but to tell you. Vae. I need another cigarette."

This time neither of them protested at his request, Mike giving Sands another cigarette, already lit for him. Sands inhaled deeply. ‘Ah, I did so miss smoking.’

"I knew things had gone sideways as soon as my hired agents began pulling grand disappearing acts. First it was Cucuy, and after that El Mariachi—"

"El… as in ‘The’?"

"Wow, you are a true master of languages, Lake," Sands snorted. "Yes, as in ‘The’. Don’t know what happened to either of them, if they survived or not. I do know that Cucuy double crossed me at the first chance he got, so I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass if he were lying in a ditch somewhere. As for El… there was a hell of a lot of shooting going on during the coup, but he is rather capable of handling himself, so who knows?" Sands was almost positive El was alive; the man was a fighter and simply too damned stubborn to die. "Ramirez was the only one of my hired agents that stuck with me to the roll-up. Ramirez was tailing Barillo, and as I said before, I believe he eventually took him out. It was obvious to me that I was being shadowed by the cartel, so I called my superior, Martin, and told him what was going on. That I was being shadowed, my agents had all turned on me or vanished, and that I needed back up. As a matter of fact, I called him a total of three times that morning voicing my concerns about the operation and asking for at least one other officer to assist me. Martin did nothing, of course.

"On our third conversation he hung up on yours truly and I made my way over to La Vaca Volando to figure out my next move."

"Why did you go there?"

"I was to meet Agent Ajedrez there. At the time, I wasn’t aware that she was a mole." Sands tapped his cigarette, and the ashes fell onto the table. "Plus, they serve good slow roasted pork there and I was hungry."

"I see."

"I half expected her to not show up, with my luck that day. Now, looking back on it, I wish she hadn’t."

Strands of Sands’ shoulder length black hair fell across his face as he spoke, and he quickly pushed them back behind his ear. "I called Martin one last time from the restaurant and told him my position had been compromised and again reiterated that I needed back up. He finally agreed to send some, but it was a little late. I remember after my phone call Ajedrez showed up and sat across from me. She had a smug look on her face and said ‘You really didn’t see it coming, did you?’. I didn’t have a chance to reply. Someone came from behind and stuck a needle into my neck. I don’t know exactly what they gave me, but it was powerful. I only remember her smiling as I stumbled out of the restaurant. They didn’t try to stop me; they knew I wouldn’t get far. I remember passing out after getting about a block. The next thing I remember is waking up, strapped to a table… after that my memory is pretty fuzzy. I was hopped up on a hell of a lot drugs apparently. Ajedrez, Barillo and Dr. Guevera were there, as well as some other members of the cartel. Don’t know their names. It was then that Ajedrez informed me that she was Barillo’s daughter. I saw a man all wrapped up in bandages, and asked if it was Barillo. It was. He stated that I’d been spying on his operation for some time now and I remember saying something about ‘killing me would be crossing the line and Marines would be up his keister in no time if they did terminate me’." Sands chuckled, an odd, humorless, tension-releasing noise that broke the room’s silence. "Not the best comeback, I must admit. He didn’t ask me for any information on the operation. I assume he got what he wanted from Ajedrez. He then told me that fortunately I hadn’t done anything worth dying over; that I’d only seen too much. It was then that…" Sands trailed off, his voice a little unsteady despite his best attempts to hide it. The other two officers must have been stone still, as Sands could barely even hear them breathing, much less moving.

He cleared his throat, and moved to finish up his second cigarette, which was dangling from his fingers. "That’s when Dr. Guevera appeared, and he took my eyes. After that, it’s all very hazy. I was in a lot of pain. I could hear them all laughing as they untied me and stood me up. Someone handed me my sunglasses and pushed me through the room’s door. I eventually made it outside and paid off a little boy to take me to a taxi. However, someone was following me, and I took out a small .22 I had hidden. Turned out Ajedrez and another cartel member were following me, I guess they really had no intention of letting me live after all. Since I couldn’t see my attackers, I had to listen for them. Someone shot me in the leg, and Ajedrez taunted me a few times." Sands smiled bitterly, "That was her downfall. I was able to zero in on her voice and shoot her. The man got a couple pieces of lead in me before I could return his favor. After that I talked to Ramirez. Ramirez left and I sent the boy to go get a taxi. It took me to La Vaca Volando where Officer Cameron picked me up. I assume you know the rest."

Sands took a deep breath as he concluded the account, the lies intertwined within the truth coming effortlessly. He certainly wasn’t going to tell them that after he had been tortured he’d gone to get the money, planning to split it with Ajedrez, and offed a couple more cartel members in the process. Nor that he had murdered Belini for valuable information about the cartel. Not even the more humorous information about how he’d bet on bullfights and made sure the bet would go his way, using the earnings to pay off informants.

Really, it was a rather brilliant scheme, he had to admit. Easy dough.

"How did you know Officer Cameron would be at La Vaca Volando?"

Sands took another drag off his cigarette and his eyebrows furrowed together. "I told Martin that I was waiting at La Vaca Volando in our last telephone conversation, when he told me he’d send back up for me, finally. It was too late for it to do me much good, but at least I got out of Culiacan. Come to think of it, it’s rather odd that it was Officer Cameron that pulled me out. He certainly wasn’t assigned under Officer Martin. I hadn’t even been privy to the information that he was in Mexico."

"That’s one of the many problems we’re finding, Officer Sands."

"What, pray tell, do you mean Lake?"

"Officer Cameron was assigned to a totally unrelated assignment in a nearby town. However, according to Officer Martin, he never called Officer Cameron. As a matter of fact, he said that he had never even heard of an Officer Cameron before your exfiltration."

"That’s interesting."

"Officer Martin also said that he never spoke to you that day either. Not once."

Sands frowned. ‘Well Jeff, I guess you know for sure now. He definitely wanted to burn you.’

"Well, that’s truly unbelievable," Sands said at last. Sure, Sands hadn’t told the two Officers anything about his cook killing or his covert attempts to retrieve the 20 million pesos, but he certainly had been telling the truth when it came to his conversations with Officer Martin.

"That may be, but Martin also told us that you went rogue some time ago, and that he hadn’t heard from you in over a week."

"Credo quia absurdum est."

Lake sighed, "Pardon?"

"Never mind." Sands exhaled heavily. Something had to be done about Martin. "I guess I’ll just have to prove that in the current situation, I’m the one to be trusted."

Go to Sands Through The Hourglass: Part 3 ~>