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 | Part 9 
~*~
Spook Speak | Translation Guide

Part 9 (final)

“You’re a lousy host,” Sands said, shaking his head in dismay. “Didn’t anyone tell you that threatening your guests with paralysis is rude?” He turned to Ava. “I hope he’s treating you better, Sugar.”

“He’s an asshole,” she quickly replied.

Martin ignored the barbs sent his way. Judging from the creak of Martin’s chair, Sands guessed that he was leaning forward. “Answer something for me. What does it take to make you angry?” Martin asked, slight curiosity lacing his tone. “I set you up, I betrayed you… I had your eyes ripped out! What the hell does it take?” Martin demanded, his voice steadily rising in aggravation.

“I can’t get angry with a crazy person. I can only accept that you’re a nut-job and tolerate you as best I can,” Sands said smoothly, pushing away the hair that had fallen in front of his face. “What? Am I not following the script you wrote?” Sands asked, arching an eyebrow. “I have to warn you, I’m at my best when I improvise.”

“I fucking ruined your career! Doesn’t that piss you off?”

The door opened, and someone stepped inside the room. Martin grunted as he hefted himself out of his chair and went over to the person.

Sands heard a woman’s whisper, though it was pitched so low that even his heightened hearing could only just pick up what was being said. “I got the tape,” she said quietly.

“Good.” There was a rustle of clothing, and the woman left.

Sands sighed, wondering what new ammunition Martin had just received. “You ruined my career? News to me. My old job is still waiting for me back in Virginia.”

“Even if you wanted to go back to that job, and I know that you don’t, you’re going to have a hard time going to work everyday when you’re committed.”

“There’s no hospital, mental or otherwise, that I can’t get out of,” Sands said, pointing at Martin. “I could be your therapist; if I’d chosen that side of the profession. Luckily for everyone, I didn’t. Do you know why I didn’t, Chief?”

“Because you’d be more messed up than your patients?”

“No. Because I like screwing with the mind more than I like fixing it.” Sands smirked. “That’s counter-productive for a shrink… although I could make a shit-load of money that way.” Sands chuckled as he thought about it, propping his feet on the table. “Actually, that could be more fun than a barrel of monkeys. I’d make megabucks with a racket like that.”

“You can’t take me seriously, can you?” Martin asked, clearly tiring of their banter, and growing increasingly irritated by Sands’ flippancy. “Do you know how screwed you are?”

“Do you?” Sands countered. “Don’t confuse indifference with incomprehension.” He paused, tipping his chair back and balancing it precariously on two legs. “You seem to be at a loss. I’m disappointed. You thought I’d be a total wreck by now. You counted on it. That was a big mistake.”

“Give me time,” Martin said, and Sands heard him walk around the table, coming to stand in front of him. “You’re tougher than I thought you were. But I’m not through with you yet.”

“Are you going to rough me up?”

“I did some digging into your history.”

Sands took a drag, exhaling the smoke through his nose. “Hope you had a big shovel.”

“How many departments have you gone through since joining the Company?” Martin chuckled. “Three? Four? You’ve worked as an interrogations officer, a psychologist, an assassin, a handler… I think that must be a record.”

“News flash: I don’t play well with others. Even so, your numbers are wrong.”

The rickety table groaned in protest as Martin sat down on it. “Stop the act.” Martin tapped Sands’ shin with the toe of his boot. “Don’t you remember who you are anymore?”

Sands spread his arms wide. “No need. I am whoever I need to be at any given time. It’s very efficient that way.”

“You want to know what the really sad thing is? No one will miss you. That’s how I’ll get away with committing you. No one will fight to get you out. No one cares.”

Sands forced the ring of truth in Martin’s words from his mind. “I’m not so sure about that. I’ve already missed this month’s rent. I’m pretty sure my landlord cares.”

Martin laughed and dug into his pocket. “That’s pathetic.”

“Sticks and stones. You really don’t have time for all this gabbing. Is it tea hour? Do we need to spend an allotted amount of time passing around mindless scuttlebutt like some bored housewives? I was under the impression that you were after my twenty million pesos.”

“Triggers,” Martin said, seemingly apropos of nothing, completely ignoring Sands’ last statement.

The word caused an uneasy feeling to stir in Sands’ gut, and he hesitated a moment as he pushed the unsettled sensation aside. “Careful. A change of topic like that can give you whiplash,” he drawled, hiding his growing discomfort by taking another puff of his cigarette.

“Like I couldn’t put it all together. You experimented with mind control, didn’t you?”

Sands raised a quizzical eyebrow. “The government doesn’t condone or participate in human experimentation; mind control included.”

“That’s a wonderful line of government bullshit you just recited. What about MK-Ultra?” Martin asked.

Sands almost smirked. He wouldn’t have believed his line of bullshit either, but Martin certainly wasn’t worthy of the truth. “MK-Ultra didn’t exist. However, it makes a nice bedtime story for the kids at the Farm.” Sands tapped his index finger against his cigarette, letting the ashes fall to the floor. “MK-Ultra was supposedly implemented in the fifties? Do I look that old?”

“I’m not talking about the original MK-Ultra. In the mid-nineties you were one of the top psychologists working on a very similar project, weren’t you?” Martin stood, and began pacing in a small circle around Sands’ chair.

“Maybe I should make a recording for you.” Sands paused. He lifted his feet off the table and let them drop back to the ground. His next words were pronounced slowly, as if talking to a child. “The government doesn’t participate in human…”

“That’s what happened to Cecelia Sands, isn’t it?” Martin interrupted.

Sands’ froze in mid-motion, cigarette halfway to his lips. He wasn’t sure what’d hit him harder; hearing her name out loud, or how close to the truth Martin actually was. He stuck the cigarette between his lips. Realizing how tightly his hand was clutching the lighter, he tucked it back into his pocket, forcing a laugh. “What are you implying, exactly? I not only fucked with her head, but I actually got paid to do it?”

“Yeah.”

‘So close to the truth, and yet so wrong.’ Sands rolled his stiff neck, and it cracked with an audible pop. He hurt all over, and the pain was growing by the minute. Aware that it would make his story more believable, he exhaled slowly, and a part of his emotionless mask seemed to leave with the air in his lungs.

“You want to know what I did when I worked for PsyOps at their Virginia base? Propaganda. Wartime propaganda. Do you know what I found out?” He heard Martin snort in disbelief, but continued after taking another puff of his cigarette. “If I gave a guy the correct information for seven days, he’d believe the incorrect information on the eighth day .” Sands smiled tightly, not intimidated by Martin’s vulture-like circling. “Creating bullshit is my gig, and that’s why I’m so freaking good at it. No bullshit.”

“You’re the best.” Martin stopped his pacing, standing in front of Sands again. “I know you’re lying. I have proof.”

“Oh… I never lie,” Sands said, somehow managing to keep a straight face while he said it.

Martin laughed. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“The jury is still out on that. I haven’t decided if you’re a fool, an idiot or a moron.” Sands heard a click, like the sound of a button being pressed, and knew he was right when he heard the static of a tape recording fill the room.

An unfamiliar man began speaking with a New England accent, and a tone of voice that suggested he’d practiced the art of indifference all his life.

Shrink. Sands barely managed to keep himself from squirming nervously in his chair, something he rarely, if ever, felt compelled to do. ‘Please, no.’

“…now, I want you to tell me about your husband,” the shrink said.

‘No. No. No…’ Sands’ mind chanted, not able to accept the voice he knew was coming.

A woman’s voice spoke next, sounding tired and small. “He’s made out of paper; one side’s a picture, the other side’s a blank.”

‘Oh, God. Cecelia.’ A feeling of nausea swept over him, and he fought the urge to snatch at the recorder; he wanted to scream, demand that Martin stop this… to completely pummel the sick bastard right where he stood.

But he didn’t do any of those things. Not because he didn’t want to, but because it was exactly what Martin expected. Instead, he bit the inside of his mouth; the pain and taste of blood a small distraction from the voices, which were threatening to strip away his carefully crafted mask of indifference.

“I am the mask you wear,” Sands said under his breath, flicking the ash off his burned down cigarette, as the doctor on the tape asked Cecelia to explain herself.

“He’s not real,” Cecelia said in a hushed tone, as if confiding a state secret… and in a strange way, she was. “We were strangers that lived in a cardboard house. But I tore it down,” she said, her voice faltering. “I tore down our house! Why did I tear down our house?”

Sands felt as if the floor had dropped out from under him. His hands trembled as he fought to forget, and he quickly moved to take another drag of his cigarette, in hopes of covering up his growing anxiety. “What is this? A stroll down memory lane? Stop this. Get on with it.”

Martin didn’t say anything, damn it, knowing that the silence would bother him.

“Why did you set your house on fire?” the doctor asked calmly, as if he were asking why she didn’t tie her shoe that morning.

“He said I changed, but I didn’t. He was the one who changed! That’s why he had to be burned and turned to ash. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t real anymore; he was a copy.”

Sands throat involuntarily constricted. ‘Goddamn it. Pull yourself together.’ The recording was a brutal reminder that he’d never once gone to visit her after she’d been committed; not even a phone call to the shrink to check up on how she was doing. He kept telling himself that he didn’t care. Why should he visit her when she clearly wasn’t the woman he used to know? He didn’t regret it; he had to move on with his life, and he did.

‘So why the hell does she continue to haunt me?’

“You didn’t burn him, Cecelia,” the doctor corrected her, after a brief pause.

Sands swallowed thickly, head lowered as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Even now, it was hard for him to listen to her like this.

“Yes I did!” she screamed suddenly; her voice so loud that it made the recording pop.

Sands jolted in his chair, surprised by her sudden outburst. That hadn’t even sounded like the woman he remembered from five years ago.

The door to the room opened again, a reminder that they were still at the CIA base, and a man with a thick Texan accent asked, “Can I speak with you for a sec, boss?”

Martin hit the stop button on the recorder, cutting off the doctor’s next question. “Not now,” he said, clearly unhappy about the man’s interruption.

“Uh… this really ain’t somethin’ you can put a hold on,” the Texan said.

Sands assumed that Martin made some sort of gesture to the man, because the door shut quickly. “You’re as white as a sheet,” Martin commented, turning his attention back to Sands. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Sands ground his teeth as he reigned in his anger, but said nothing as Martin left. He was trying to determine whether or not there was any possibility of turning this situation to his advantage. He took one last pull on his cigarette before slowly grinding it out on the table with a forced calm.

“Sands?”

He turned towards Ava’s voice. She’d been so quiet, he’d almost forgotten that she was in the room.

He wearily massaged the back of his neck in a futile attempt to rub away the tension that hearing Cecelia’s voice had brought on. “Yeah?”

“You OK?” she asked hesitantly.

“Peachy.” Sands draped an arm over the back of his chair. It was difficult for him to tell how Ava was taking all this; her voice sounded calm, all things considered, but that could be misleading. She was in this as deep as he was now. There was no way Martin was going to let her live with all this information. “Life’s not all tequila and skittles. Sometimes you have to take the nuts, too.”

She started towards him, stopping a few feet away, as if afraid he would bite. “What are we going to do?”

Motioning her closer with a crook of his finger, he waited until she stood next to him before answering. “This room has eyes and ears. Thula. Ingonyama ilele.” He waved his hand in dismissal, and silence settled in the room as she took the hint. Deciding to enjoy it while it lasted, he pulled out another cigarette and lit it.

He had a sneaking suspicion that he knew what Martin’s urgent business was about. Taking a drag, he wondered how long it would take Martin to figure out where he’d gone so wrong.

About a minute later, the door burst open, quickly accompanied by Martin’s angry voice. “What did you do?”

Sands only answer was a sly smile as he took another puff of his fresh cigarette.

“Tell me, or you won’t be walking again.”

Sands face sobered quickly, and he shook his head. “Cecelia… that wasn’t my doing,” he said, pretending that they were still on that subject. He knew damn well that wasn’t what Martin was referring to, but he decided to play ignorant for as long as possible. It would tick Martin off. “Even if there was a mind control program, and I’m not saying there was, but if there was… why would I offer my wife as a test subject? The fact is, she…”

“I’m not talking about that,” Martin cut in, his fist slamming down on the table in frustration. “Who did you tell?”

Sands furrowed his brow in confusion. He hesitated before answering, pretending to think over Martin’s question. Finally, he shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He paused, his eyebrow’s creeping up slowly. “Oh… did you just get your ‘you’ve been screwed’ notification call? Those really blow.”

‘Damn, I should have been an actor.’

Martin went over to Ava, grabbing her upper arm and pulling her towards the door. Opening it, he told someone standing on the other side to, ‘take care of her’ before slamming it shut.

“You’re going to regret this,” he said, in a tone that Sands hadn’t heard from him before; warning mixed with insane glee.

“Your sadism is showing. So, are you going to talk me to death, or do this right?” Sands flicked his cigarette at Martin, aiming as best he could. There was no telling if he’d hit his target or not. “Nevertheless, I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I bet there are plenty of people on this base who do, though.”

Unable to sit still any longer, Sands stood up slowly, trying to minimize the inevitable head rush as he did so. He went over to Martin, stopping beside him. “Who can you trust, Officer?” he asked quietly.

Martin shoved him back, but he easily caught his balance and laughed. “Surround yourself with traitors, and eventually you’ll be betrayed.”

“I wasn’t. You did this!”

Turning his back on Martin, Sands retraced his steps back to the chair. “I’d love to take the credit for this. I really would.” Sands paused, then turned round and smiled mischievously. “So I think I will.”

Sensing the shit was about to hit the fan quicker than he had originally anticipated, possibilities of how to get out of this mess ran through his mind. With the communication delay between the camera guy and the door men, he had about twenty seconds before Martin's goons would come to their boss's rescue.

‘Twenty seconds,’ Sands thought. There were a lot of things he could do in twenty seconds.

He just had to pick the right thing. Easier said than done.

Judging by Martin’s reaction, OOS must be on their way to the base, having listened to the recorded conversation. Good ol’ Tom.

He listened to Martin approach from behind, and steeled himself for what was no doubt coming. He grasped the back of the chair just as Martin jabbed a needle into the base of his neck.

Sands didn’t give Martin any time to inject whatever drug was in the syringe, throwing an elbow back into Martin’s face. Sands knew he’d hit his mark when he heard a loud crack; he’d broken Martin’s nose.

Martin reeled back in shock, and Sands didn’t waste any time. He grabbed the back of the chair, and spun around, putting every ounce of strength he had left into the swing. The chair slammed into the side of Martin’s head.

Martin went down hard on impact, and Sands hoped that he’d be out for at least a minute.

‘Ten seconds.’ Sands dashed to the door, the chair still in his hand, ignoring the pain in his side. He jammed the door with the folding chair, then locked it too, just for the hell of it.

Pulling the syringe out of his neck, he kept it handy as he knelt beside Martin. ‘Twenty seconds.’

Martin mumbled incoherently under his breath, still trying to shake off the blow. His men outside the room began to push on the door, trying to force it open.

Sands found the officer’s gun and pulled the hammer back. “Interfere and your boss is toast,” he drawled, for the benefit of the goons listening on camera.

He rolled Martin over, so he was lying on his stomach. The movement seemed to wake Martin, since he instantly tried to get up. He froze, however, when the feeling of a cold needle piercing his skin instantly cut through his hazy consciousness.

“Let me tell you how it is, Martin. I’ve got your gun, your wonder drug, and your goons searching for a clue. I did all this blind and weaponless; it took me twenty seconds.” A twisted grin flashed across Sands’ lips. “Now, sing for me. What’s inside this particular syringe? The psychotic? Or the paralyzing agent?”

“You do anything…” He paused and cleared his throat. “… my men will kill you.”

“I’m quaking in my… uh, uh, uh,” Sands warned as he felt Martin try and move underneath him. “I’m guessing by the way you froze before that you’re really not too keen on me pumping this shit into your system.”

The sounds of his men attempting to break through the door seemed to bolster Martin’s confidence. “What the hell do you want me to do? Let you go? It’s not happening!”

Sands aimed the gun at the door and popped a couple of rounds. Regardless of whether the bullets passed through the door or not, the men seemed to stop their efforts for the time being. He turned his attention back to Martin. “I guess I’ll just have to inject this into you. We’ll see what happens.”

There was a long pause, and Sands could already tell Martin was fabricating a lie. Even so, Sands waited for him to answer. “It’s a heavy sedative.”

Sands’ eyebrows rose, and he leaned close to Martin. “That’s a very stupid lie.”

Sands pushed down on the syringe, injecting Martin with the drug, and Martin immediately shot up, throwing Sands backward. Still, it was too late for Martin to do anything.

“Motherfucker!” Martin shouted, and it came out more desperate than angry. Sands heard the sound of something dropping to the concrete floor, and guessed that it was the empty syringe.

“Lies are terrible for your health,” Sands said, letting out a sharp laugh that became increasingly hysterical as he backed further away from Martin.

He’d known, just from where Martin had tried to inject it, that it was the paralyzing agent. “That shit permanent, Chief?”

Of course, Sands knew that it was. Martin didn’t fool around with his torture. Sands decided that when this was all over, he’d have a proper freak out about how close he’d come to becoming a blind quadriplegic.

Martin began to move towards him, but seemed to have some trouble about halfway through the journey, as his footsteps became oddly timed.

Sands continued to back up until he came in contact with the far wall. Leaning heavily against it, Sands laugh started to die as he slid down to the floor. Setting his gun hand on one bent-up knee, he zeroed in on Martin’s panicked breathing.

He had no real desire to kill Martin. This was far more fitting. Still, he’d blow him away if he had to.

“You’ll pay…” Martin said weakly, and it sounded like he was choking on his words.

“I already have."

Damn, did that drug work fast; even for something injected straight into the spinal cord. If there was an antidote, there was no time to administer it.

“You know, I never switched departments,” Sands drawled into the ever-present darkness. Martin was in that blackness, somewhere, fighting against the drug destroying the nerves in his spine; no longer concerned about the blind officer at all.

Sands felt compelled to tell Martin the truth, because it was insulting that Martin thought he’d been tossed around departments like a cheap dog toy. “I’d never want to return to PsyOps? Wrong, Amigo. I never left them.”

Sands listened intently. Martin seemed incapable of speech at this point; whether it was a result of the drug, or his panic, Sands couldn’t tell.

Martin was down for the count, but Sands knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He was quickly reminded of that fact as someone shot out the lock on the door.

Sands chuckled again; he wasn’t sure why. There was no rational reason for it. Maybe it was a reaction to Martin’s ironic fate, or relief… or maybe he’d finally shot his bolt. He really couldn’t say. But as he heard Martin fall to the ground, he seemed unable to stop the laughter from escaping his lips.

Chapter 40: Showstopper

Sands sat against the wall, biting back his laughter, and waiting for the inevitable sound of the door bursting open. He tilted his head back, willing the pain in his side to go away, as he tapped the gun against his thigh in some private rhythm. The door finally gave way, and Martin’s goons came rushing into the room.

“Come to crash the party?” Sands drawled, keeping his gun pointed down towards the floor. Since they could very well shoot him right then and there, he didn’t want to provoke them into firing their weapons.

“Don’t fucking move!” a man shouted.

“Now why would I want to do that?” Sands asked dryly. He heard one of several officers approach him, while another headed straight over to where Martin was lying unconscious. Well, Sands assumed Martin was unconscious. It was hard for him to tell for certain.

Whoever was standing beside Sands cocked his gun, nudging him in the shoulder with the barrel; just so Sands knew that it was there. How considerate. “Is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?” Sands drawled.

“How ‘bout I show you?” the man shot back, clearly not in the mood for jokes.

Not that he cared. “Sorry. I don’t swing that way,” Sands said.

“Get him to a white coat immediately!” a female officer ordered, interrupting their banter. Sands thought that her voice sounded familiar, but couldn’t quite place it.

A couple more officers went over to Martin. The female officer approached Sands, coming to stand in front of him. “Drop the gun, or Andy here will shoot you. Martin may care about keeping you alive, but I don’t.”

Sands tilted his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. “Maybe you should ask yourself why Martin’s gone through all this trouble to keep me breathing.”

“What are we going to do?” Andy asked the female officer.

“We carry out Martin’s plan, and if he struggles, kill him.”

Something suddenly clicked in his mind, and he was able to put a name to the voice. Sands grinned. “Officer Shivel? Charming, as always.” He’d never really liked her.

A second hard jab in the shoulder from Andy and Sands dropped his gun. It was time for a subtle blend of psychology and escapology, anyway. He didn’t really need the gun; at least, not right away. “Can you imagine the mountain of paperwork you’ll have if you kill an officer working for the Directorate of Intelligence?”

She laughed. “I know better than to believe a single word that comes out of your mouth, Sands. Get up.”

“You’re on the wrong side of the fence, doll.”

“I suppose your side is the right side?” She knelt down next to him, her voice pitched softer than before. “You’re drowning, and I’m not taking the side of a doomed man.”

Sands leaned towards her. “You already have.”

Shivel humphed, and stood. “I’m fully aware of what you’re capable of. I won’t be making the same mistake that Martin made.”

Sands smiled, his right hand digging into his pocket for cigarettes. One of the officers, he couldn’t tell which, pressed their gun to his temple, but when he pulled out the lighter and pack of cigarettes the pressure subsided. “But you are. You just don’t realize it.”

“Why are you letting him talk?” Andy cut in.

Sands spoke before Shivel could answer. “Because the Company has your balls in a vice, Andy. I’m the only one who can relieve the pressure.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” Andy snapped.

Sands lit up, letting the nicotine relax him. “If I was, how would you know?”

“We’re not in any danger of being caught,” Shivel said.

Sands smiled mischievously, and listened as an unconscious Martin was moved out of the room. “Why do you think Martin was so upset? The Company is fully aware of the entire goings on down here, and I have to tell you, they’re not happy campers.” Sands took a deep drag of his cigarette, before continuing cryptically, “With any luck, you’ll come full circle and end up with me again. I’ll give you some of my personal ‘therapy’.”

Shivel grunted in annoyance, asking, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that the Company likes to make traitors disappear. The Company’s reputation is rotten enough as it is, and the less bad publicity the better.”

“Why don’t you just spit it out?”

“Let’s just say that you’ll end up helping the Company in the end, albeit maybe not willingly… or even knowingly,” he said, getting into a subject that he would be wise not to bring up. He decided to tell the truth, because it was the scariest of all.

“Get up,” she demanded.

Sands made a weak attempt to get up. Muttering “shit” under his breath, he dropped back down to the floor. He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think I can. It’s hard for me to move.” He massaged the back of his neck. “I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Too bad for you,” Andy said.

“Worse for Martin,” Sands quickly pointed out, cigarette planted firmly between his lips.

“Go get the tranquilizer,” Shivel ordered, and the other officer left immediately.

“So, pray tell. What is this big bad plan that you’re going to carry out in Martin’s honor?”

“You’ll be committed to a dreary Mexican sanitarium. Stripped of all identification, you’ll soon be lost and forgotten.”

Sands raised an eyebrow. “Swell.” He took another puff of his cigarette, careful not to move too easily, faking sluggish movements for the lady’s benefit. “What about you, doll? How do you plan on escaping the inescapable? How do you plan to lose the Company?”

“I know people,” she stated crisply.

By the tone of her voice, he could tell that she was certain of her contact’s reliability. He took a deep drag, contemplating the best way to strip away her confidence. The other officer would be back soon with the tranquilizer, so he had to act quickly. Perhaps a change of tactic was in order. He’d denied everything with Martin, but this officer had a completely different personality, and the circumstances were completely different… so an alternate approach was called for.

He knew she was loyal to Martin. That much was obvious. He was sure, however, that she was more loyal to herself.

“The Company casts an inescapable shadow; it will fall over any place you go, darken everything you do. Are you willing to run for the rest of your life?” Sands asked, his voice so matter-of-fact it was hard to believe that it could be anything but the truth.

“I’ll do just fine.”

Sands shrugged, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “Always a possibility. It won’t stop you from having to look over your shoulder every day for the rest of your life, but there is always the remote chance that you’ll slip through undetected. Best of luck to you.”

“Why are you suddenly concerned for my well being?”

Sands’ bark of laughter cut through the air like a knife. “Concern for others is not a feeling I indulge in.” He smirked, bringing the cigarette to his lips. “I’m offering you a deal.”

“What could you possibly have to bargain with?”

Sands grinned as he exhaled smoke through his nose. “An escape from the Company’s shadow. You do nothing more to me, and I’ll see to it that the Company thinks you a hero instead of the traitor you so obviously are.”

She closed the gap between them. “What makes you so sure that they’ll believe you over me and the rest of the officers working under Martin?”

Sands tilted his head back until it rested against the wall. “Well, I do have my wonderful reputation working in my favor, but…” Sands raised his head and smirked in her direction. “Most importantly, I gave them proof. I handed them hard evidence that they’re already acting on. That, my dear, is why Martin was so upset after his phone call. It signaled the beginning of the end for his illegal activities.”

“An officer who’s been transferred as many times as you have can’t have much sway in the Company,” she countered. “They have to respect the officer to--”

“I’ve never been transferred,” Sands interrupted, exhaling a large cloud of smoke.

“How’s that?” she asked. He was happy to hear the surprise lacing her tone. He’d managed to catch her off guard.

“Let me ask you something. Why would the Company bother bouncing around an officer that they consider such a pain in the ass? Why not get rid of me and be done with it?”

When she seemed to be at a loss for words, he continued. “You know, I think it would be therapeutic for me to tell you the truth. It’s been a very long time since I’ve done that.” He took a deep breath, stubbing his cigarette out on the cement floor. That last part was a lie; he was only telling her because it would unnerve her. “Like I said, I work for the Directorate of Intelligence. PsyOps, because of its controversial past, is an unstable branch of the DI that has to disperse and relocate the bulk of its officers whenever there’s an investigation into the CIA’s activities. The Company can’t afford another MK-Ultra scandal, so major projects, especially experiments, are put on hold; everything is neatly tucked away for a not so rainy day. The majority of its officers are sent wherever they are needed, until things can resume back at home.”

“You worked as an assassin…” she cut in, not quite believing him.

“Twice,” Sands said, holding up two fingers. “But that wasn’t my original assignment in either operation; it was a last resort. Psychological persuasion was no longer an option. The only reason I was asked to do the wet work was because I was conveniently close by, and fully capable of carrying out the orders.” He shrugged. “Besides, that was a long time ago; my first few years working for the Company. Nowadays, it’s a cold day in hell before they ask for someone to be whacked… officially.”

“So, if I let you go, then I’m just supposed to trust that you’ll carry out your end of the bargain?”

“Bitch of a deal, isn’t it?”

The door opened and closed. “Here’s the tranquilizer.”

Sands didn’t acknowledge Andy’s return, keeping his attention on Shivel.

“If I am supposed to trust you…” she started, but Andy quickly interrupted.

“What? Trust him?”

“Who called Martin?” Shivel asked Andy.

“How should I know?”

While the two officers were distracted, Sands nudged the gun he’d dropped earlier, still lying at his feet, ever-so-slightly towards him with the heel of his boot.

“He said that they know!” she hissed.

“He’d say anything to get out of this!”

“But what if they do? We need to get out of here.”

“Not if you trust me,” Sands interjected smoothly.

She let out a half-hearted chuckle. “I can’t trust you. That’s the problem.”

“There is far more to me, to this whole operation, than either of you realize.”

“Why did they send you here, Sands?” she asked, as if the question had just occurred to her. “Why was a PsyOps officer needed in Culiacan?”

“Ah, finally you ask a worthwhile question.” Sands smirked. “Neither of you are cleared for that sort of information. You’re aware that there will be consequences if I tell you?”

“You don’t tell us, and we have no deal.”

Sands pretended to think over whether he was going to tell them or not, before starting the explanation with a lazy wave of his hand. “Social destabilization,” Sands said at last, giving the gun another light tap towards him as he extracted another cigarette from the pack. “It was necessary to study the social dynamics in Culiacan, so that we could successfully influence a coup d'état. It was a particularly tricky operation because the overthrow had to be timed perfectly. Imagine Mexico as an ancient fortress. For everything to balance out, certain walls had to fall, but we couldn’t just knock down all the walls; the supporting walls had to remain standing.” Smiling, Sands lit up. “It was a plan so crafty you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel.”

“Are you telling me that you influenced all of Culiacan into a coup on the Day of the Dead?” Andy scoffed.

“No, Ignoramus. I’m telling you that I was controller for not only Martin’s operation, but for PsyOps’ operation as well. The truth of the matter is, Martin’s operation was nothing more than an expensive distraction.” While he was talking, Sands managed to slip the gun into his pants without them noticing. He was extremely thankful that their nervousness about the uncertain situation had made them careless… it was exactly what he’d been hoping for.

There was a long stretch of silence before either officer seemed able to make a decision. Sands tilted his head and arched an eyebrow in question, but said no more.

It was Shivel who finally broke the silence. “Get him up.”

“What are we doing?” Andy asked, clearly unhappy about the whole situation.

Another long pause. She was definitely uneasy. “We’re going to stick to the plan.”

Sands said nothing in response, taking a final drag of his cigarette. He showed no outward signs of worry, and wondered what their body language would be telling him right now. She hadn’t switched sides like he’d hoped, but he’d accomplished the main goal just the same. She now lacked that extra boost of self-confidence that she’d had before, and he’d managed to unnerve her enough to get his weapon back without her noticing. He tossed the cigarette to the ground without bothering to stub it out, and then exhaled the remaining smoke through his mouth in a well practiced vaporous ring.

Inhaling a lungful of air, Sands struggled to his feet. Although he wasn’t as helpless as he was pretending to be, it wasn’t all an act either. His entire body ached, and he knew he needed to end all this before his body decided to give out all together.

Standing upright, Sands leaned against the wall to steady himself. When Andy tried to pull him along, he held up a hand. “Just give me a second.” Bending over, he placed his hands on his knees, swallowing thickly.

“Should I give him the tranquilizer now?” Andy asked, a firm grip still on Sands’ upper arm.

Shivel sighed, walking towards the door. “No, he’s weak anyway. Things will just take longer if we subdue him.”

‘Thank God for absolute stupidity,’ Sands thought to himself, moving his hand to his hip as if the wound in his side was causing him pain.

That’s when Andy finally took notice. “Hey, where’s the Glock?”

‘Showtime.’ Sands pulled the gun from his pants, pressing the barrel against Andy’s chest. “Right here.” Sliding back the safety, Sands pulled the trigger. Turning around to face Shivel, he pushed Andy backward as the man fell to the floor. “Sorry, doll. I just couldn’t go along with all this.”

Giving Shivel little time to think, he ignored his protesting muscles and spun round quickly, kicking her feet out from under her.

“Shit!” Shivel yelped. Her gun fired; the bullet going astray as she lost her balance and hit the ground.

Wasting no time, Sands aimed at where he’d heard her land, and squeezed the trigger.

She let out a yelp of pain, and he approached her quickly, his gun never wavering from his target.

“You so much as breathe too deeply and I’ll kill you,” Sands said coldly. “Toss the weapon.”

He listened as she dropped the gun, and then picked it up and tucked it away so she couldn’t pull the same stunt he had. Her breathing was labored, and laced with pain. He was pretty sure he’d gotten her in the stomach. “You should have gone along with me. Now look at you. You’re bleeding all over the cement. You’re a mess. It’s pathetic.” Sands paused, kneeling down. Reaching out his free hand, he found her jaw and turned her head so that she was facing him. “Can you really blame a man with no eyes for what he’s about to do?”

“Fuck you,” she gasped.

Sands heaved a put upon sigh and, hearing Andy groan, swiftly trained his gun on the sound and fired, silencing the man once and for all. Turning his attention back to Shivel, he flashed a twisted smile. “It must be my lucky day. If there was anyone watching the camera, they would have come rushing to your aid by now.” Sands tilted his head. “Not many people on this base are privy to Martin’s illegal operations, are they? Where am I, exactly? Inside the base or in one of the connecting buildings?”

When she said nothing, Sands ran the barrel of his gun slowly down her chest, stopping between her breasts. “If you don’t answer me, you’re of no use to me. I hope your affairs are in order.”

“Okay, okay…” she said, feebly attempting to push the gun away from her and failing miserably. She took a long, ragged breath before she continued. “Interrogation… B.”

“Give me your cell,” he said, holding out his hand. About half a minute later, she dropped the phone into his palm.

“I… need a doctor.”

“I noticed,” Sands said, not sounding overly concerned as he flipped open her cell phone and ran a finger over the keypad. “You know that old cliché… I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you?” Snapping the phone shut, he returned his attention to her. “Well, I told you about PsyOps’ operation. I warned you both that there would be consequences. Well, these are those consequences. You’re not classified for that sort of information.”

“Please, I…” she trailed off as he stood and walked over to the chair, lying by the door. Picking it up, he moved it to his best guesstimate of the center of the room.

“I hope the base is up to code,” Sands drawled.

“Call…” Shivel’s voice was interrupted when she began coughing violently. After the coughing subsided she finished faintly, “Doctor,” sounding as if she was about to slip into unconsciousness.

“Am I near the smoke detector?” Sands asked, ignoring her plea.

When she didn’t answer, he turned back towards her, mostly out of habit. “Doll?”

Silence. She must have passed out… or decided that she’d helped him enough.

Groaning in annoyance, Sands turned his attention back to the task at hand. Holding the chair up over his head so the chair back touched the ceiling tiles, he moved around the room until it made contact with the smoke alarm. Luckily, it hadn’t taken too long, and he hadn’t been too far off the mark. He planned on using the alarm as a distraction… but only if it was absolutely necessary.

Setting the chair down so that it was positioned directly under the smoke alarm, he sat down on it and pulled Shivel’s cell phone out from his pocket. He needed to find out how far the OOS officers were from the base. Fingers quickly familiarizing themselves with the keypad he dialed Cam’s number, one foot tapping impatiently as it rang.

‘Damn it Cam, just because you don’t recognize the number doesn’t mean it’s not important!’ When he was sent to Cam’s voice mail, he pinched the bridge of his nose and spoke calmly into the phone, despite the anxiety he was feeling. “Hello Cam. This is hell calling. If you don’t answer your fucking phone or call me back, I will devour your soul. Have a nice day.” Sands snapped the cell phone shut, and waited.

He knew that he could attempt to leave the complex, but there were random factors in abundance. For one thing, until OOS arrived, he was still considered a rogue officer. Second, he had no idea how many officers were set up outside the interrogation building, working for Martin, armed and ready to shoot if necessary. The fact that he couldn’t see complicated things almost to the point of absurdity.

When the cell rang, he immediately answered it. He didn’t say anything, not wanting to give himself away if it was someone calling Shivel.

After a few seconds of static over the phone line, a voice finally asked, “Sands?”

“Cam, I may have to kill you,” Sands stated.

“Later. Thank God! I was afraid that you were dead.”

Well, maybe someone did care after all. “What’s the situation?” Sands asked.

“OOS received your recording from Tom. They’re coming to pick you up and arrest Martin. There is going to be one hell of an investigation. OOS’ ETA is 1800…” Cam stopped for a moment, and then added, “That’s in ten minutes.”

“This could be over in three,” Sands said. As if on cue, the room’s door opened with a creak. Sands head snapped up at the sound, and he immediately aimed the Glock at the door.

“Don’t shoot!”

“Ava… close the door.”

She did as he asked without any argument. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed, obviously getting a good look at the carnage around her. “Did you do this?”

“No, it was Santa Claus.” Sands returned his attention back to Cam, who was repeatedly asking, “What is it?” in a slightly panicky tone.

“Forget it. So, how is the Company feeling about me these days?”

“Mixed, as always. Martin’s the one getting the axe, though. What’s going on?”

“I’m at the Mexico Base, in Interrogation building B. Ava’s here too. Long story short: I paralyzed Martin, and several officers rushed him out of here to see the white coats. I’ve… taken care of the two goons in charge of committing me to the loony bin. Now I’m sitting in an interrogation room with bodies surrounding me and no… visible way out of here.”

“You have been busy,” Cam said after a brief pause, and to his credit, he didn’t sound terribly shocked by Sands’ summary. “Sit tight. I’ll report your exact position to OOS.”

A rustle of clothing distracted Sands from his conversation, and his attention quickly shifted to Ava. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Checking to see if she’s dead,” Ava answered.

A tingle ran up Sands’ spine, and he frowned at the voice in his mind that whispered, ‘Don’t trust her.’

Suddenly, he didn’t like the company he was keeping.

“Cam, I’ll call you back,” Sands ended his cell conversation with a snap of its cover, and asked Ava, “Dead or alive, why is she any concern of yours?”

“I’m not used to death like you…”

“Bullshit,” Sands interrupted, standing up. He leveled his gun on her. “Back away.”

She did so, moving back towards the door. “Sands… don’t be crazy.”

“When am I anything but?” Sands asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. “I’ve got some time to kill. Let’s do a puzzle.”

“What?”

“You know… a puzzle. You have several of the missing pieces, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, and Sands had to give her credit, because she certainly sounded convincing.

“You’re very good,” he stated. “But I’m always just a little bit better. I never did trust you, you know.”

“I feel very sorry for you, Sheldon, because you can’t trust anyone.”

Sands stiffened when she used his first name, knowing that Tom wouldn’t have given it to her. “With good reason,” he said, slowly approaching her.

“Maybe.”

Sands stopped in front of her, smirking in a way only a true cynic could. “So, you’re the sleeper.”

Chapter 41: Pop! Goes the Weasel

“I am,” Ava said in confirmation, after a short pause. Her voice was steady and even, but it wasn’t threatening. Evidently she’d decided that the truth was the best option.

Clever girl.

Sands tilted his head thoughtfully, and gave Ava an appreciative smirk. “An honest sleeper.” Chuckling to himself, he took a step closer to where Ava was standing. “Now I’ve heard everything, Doll.”

“I’m not your enemy.”

Raising a contemplative eyebrow Sands stated, “You’re not my friend, either.”

Ava sighed, and Sands realized that she sounded tired. “No. You’d hardly allow that.”

He lowered his gun, but kept it at the ready. If she’d wanted to stop him, she’d had ample chance to do it before now. Even so, he wasn’t about to trust someone who’d lied to him so easily. Lying was her job, but then again, it was his as well.

“People like me don’t have friends, Sugar. We have enemies in disguise, and they tend to accumulate quite rapidly.” He gestured at her with the barrel of the gun, making his way towards her as he spoke in a bored tone that contradicted the severity of his words. “I should kill you. It would make things much easier. Kill first; ask questions later, you know the motto. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

She didn’t answer right away, evidently aware of the precariousness of her situation. “Because you have nothing to gain by killing me, and nothing to lose by letting me live.”

She was very good at saying the right thing at the right time, he had to give her that. It wasn’t a talent that came naturally to most people in situations like this; saying exactly what it took to get the other person to stay on your side of the fence. No, that was something that took years to perfect.

Indeed, she was a well-trained officer, and she’d probably worked in the field for quite some time.

Perhaps he should have paid a bit more attention to dear Ava Hunter.

She stood her ground as he drew near, and he was aware that he probably looked like some mangled angel from Hell. He knew his face must be ashen from blood loss and exhaustion, and he could feel his hair, almost certainly jet black from sweat and grime, clinging to the perspiration on his face and neck. Dark sockets instead of eyes would be taunting her, daring her to turn away as he stood a mere inch away from her.

“Exitus acta probat. That assumes that I trust you, and I don’t, because you’re nothing special; just another puppet dancing on their stage.” His drawl was mocking as he traced the outline of her jaw with his index finger.

She stood her ground, even as she clasped her hands tightly in an effort to stop their trembling, a bracelet on her wrist giving her away as it jingled. “So are you.”

His hand dropped back to his side, her words catching him off guard. “So are you,” Sands repeated, the words coming out in an exhale. Those three words, three simple words, shook him more than anything Martin had said. Three words that made his mask of indifference shatter, if only for a second.

A puppet. Nothing more, nothing less.

So are you.

Furrowing his brow, he inhaled sharply, pulling his mask back together almost before she could see that it was cracked. He was almost quick enough. Almost.

Before Ava had time to react, he shoved her backwards, aiming the gun at the sound she made as she hit the wall. “Bad career move, Doll.”

“If you shoot me, it’ll be you making the bad career move.” From the tone of her voice he could tell Ava’s patience had finally worn thin. He supposed that looking down the barrel of a gun could do that to a person.

Good. He wanted her angry. She was far more likely to tell him the truth when she was pissed.

He tucked the Glock into the back of his pants, smiling at Ava as he did so like the cat that ate the canary. Reaching out, he ran his hand down the length of her left arm slowly, and then did the same with the right. He felt her begin to relax underneath his touch, and just as she did so he grasped her wrists tightly, pinning her against the wall.

She bit back a cry of protest as she hit the wall for the second time. He pressed up against her, and leaned down, speaking into her ear. “Who pulls your strings, my little marionette?” he whispered.

He could tell she was once again trying to choose her words wisely, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath she took. “I can hear the wheels in your head turning, but if you haven’t noticed, let me enlighten your busy mind; I’ve lost patience with you.”

Letting her go abruptly, he stood his ground, giving her no breathing room as he waited for her to answer.

“I’m an officer, like you.”

“Your assignment?”

“To make sure no one interfered with your objective.”

“Oh!” Sands exclaimed, taking a step back. “My guardian angel,” he finished derisively, his hands gesturing as if he was presenting her to someone as he took a step backwards. Letting out a sharp bark of laughter, he shook his head. “I think the picture’s finally starting to develop, Ms. Hunter.”

“It worked out well for you, didn’t it?”

“Oh yes. A puppet never fails to gives a good performance.”

She laughed lightly, causing Sands to raise his eyebrows in silent question.

“You’re no puppet, Sands. A puppet doesn’t think; it just does.” Becoming serious, she continued. “You’re far too hard on yourself.”

Not acknowledging her last comment, Sands rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he asked, “Which branch do you work for in the Company tree?”

“Telling you could cost me my job, Sands. But I think you should know… your extra caution when dealing with the Company will not have been for nothing. You’re going to need all the leverage you can get.”

He could feel her eyes on him, watching him like one would watch a rattlesnake. Her answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and she knew it. “I suppose I shouldn’t count on you to follow through on your end,” he said matter-of-factly.

The ring of Officer Shivel’s cell phone interrupted Ava’s answer. The ring reminded him that Cam was on his way. Pulling the cell out of his pocket, he flipped it open and waited for the person on the other end to make their identity known.

Cam’s voice came on the line a second later. “Sands?”

“Yeah.” Lowering the phone, he addressed Ava again. “Split, Doll.”

“What?”

“You. In the hall.” He was in no mood for an argument, and he made sure she knew it too. It wasn’t that he was afraid of her overhearing; she’d probably listen through the door anyway. He just couldn’t quite gather enough trust to let her stay in the room while his attention was focused elsewhere. He knew what the consequences could be if he let his guard down in front of her.

‘Once bitten, twice shy.’

He didn’t shift his attention back to Cam until he heard Ava walk out into the hall and close the door behind her. “Where the hell are you?” he asked as soon as he heard the door shut.

“You’re asking me?” Cam asked, sounding a little miffed as well. “Where are you?”

“The absent-minded CIA Officer. I’ve told you a million times to write these things down.” Despite his sarcasm, Sands frowned, fearing where all this was really going. “I’ve stayed put like a good little boy.”

“Then you must be invisible, because you’re nowhere in sight,” Cam said, worry evident in his voice.

A tingle ran down Sands’ spine. “You’re there.” It was a statement, not a question. This was bad.

Very bad.

“Bingo.”

‘Fuck.’

Sands collapsed into the chair in the center of the room as Cam asked anxiously, “What’s going on?”

Things just continue to get curiouser and curiouser, Sands thought, biting his lip uncharacteristically in nervous anxiety. Bad things tended to happen when he didn’t know what was going on.

“Deeper and deeper the rabbit hole goes. Where it stops, nobody knows,” he said to Cam cryptically, as if in answer. In a way, it was one. He figured Cam was used to his odd lingo, and would get his meaning, despite the fact that it didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

It would be a cold day in hell before he flat out told Cam that he had no fucking clue what was going on, or where he really was.

Even if that was indeed the case.

But Cam wasn’t stupid, and despite all of his teasing to the contrary, Sands knew how quick and efficient Cam could be. “Sands, you’re in deep shit.” Cam said. “You need to find out where you are.”

“Yeah. I guess I shouldn’t have followed that white rabbit,” Sands said distractedly, his thoughts briefly returning to Ava and the part she had to play in all this.

“What should we do, Alice?”

Sands didn’t answer right away. An odd smile tugged at his lips, out-of-place in the dire situation he found himself in now. “I’m going to step though the looking glass,” he said at last.

“It’s time to be serious, Sands.”

He stopped himself from making a snide comment in response. Cam didn’t seem to realize that he was deadly serious. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he replied calmly, “I know.”

Moving the phone away from his ear, he held it in front of him, as if looking at it. Cam was probably still talking to him. He didn’t care.

‘I’m running out of options.’

In a daze, he turned off the cell, cutting off Cam’s attempts to come up with a plan.

Placing his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his face tiredly. Everything had just gotten a whole lot more complicated, and to make matters worse, he was so drained that it was becoming hard to think straight.

Ava clearly didn’t work for Martin, nor did she work for OOS, nor did she really work for Tom. He had the feeling that if he knew who she worked for, the rest of the puzzle would fall into place. He had the feeling he was missing something obvious, something that would have come to him clear as day if he wasn’t so fucking exhausted.

Sands’ blind gaze started to wander to the table that he and Martin had sat at earlier.

The tape.

Sitting up straight, he furrowed his brow, a question forming in his mind. “Where did you get that tape, Martin?” he wondered. It suddenly occurred to him that some of the answers he was searching for just might be sitting in the room with him.

With some effort on his part, he stood and made his way over to the table. His attention had been so focused on Martin that he hadn’t counted his steps. As a result he was forced to hold out his right hand slightly in front of him so that he didn’t walk into the table.

About half way there the toe of his boot hit one of the bodies on the floor, and he nearly fell. Righting himself, he muttered a curse and closed the gap between himself and the table in two more steps.

Once his hand made contact with the table, he slowly ran the palm of his hand over the tabletop. He bumped his hand against the object he was searching for, and it tipped over with a clunk. Grabbing it, he turned around and made his way back to the chair.

He sat down heavily, turning the small tape recorder over in his hand. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes, knowing he was going to need one as soon as he hit play. Extracting one, he put the pack back in his pocket and exchanged the pack for his lighter.

‘Well, what am I afraid of?’

Lighting up, he smirked to himself at his own ridiculous question. He knew very well what he was afraid of. Sighing, he only realized that his hand was shaking when he brought the cigarette to his lips.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette, trying to relax. It didn’t really work, but he felt a little more confident when he had a cigarette between his lips. With a determined set of his jaw, he felt out the buttons on the side of the tape deck, the process made a little easier by the raised symbols on each main button. It didn’t take long to find the familiar sideways triangle that represented ‘play’. His index finger hovered over the button hesitantly.

The fact was there was one question that he was dreading hearing the answer to.

‘What was it that Martin wanted me to hear before he was interrupted?’

After a moment, he bit the bullet and pressed play. The tape crackled to life.

There were a few seconds of static before the shrink’s voice spoke. “You never burned down your house, Cecelia. You tried, but the house is still there. You didn’t destroy it.”

“No, no, no. It can’t exist. Burned to ash. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Forever… gone forever,” Cecelia said, her words a rambling mish-mash of thoughts that didn’t form complete sentences.

“It does exist.”

“You’re just like him!” Cecelia hissed, her tone of voice changing abruptly.

It sounded as if she’d hit the table to accentuate her point. Sands exhaled smoke out through his nostrils, trying desperately not to picture in his mind’s eye the conversation playing on the tape. He only half succeeded.

“Like your husband?” the shrink asked after a short pause.

The change of subject seemed to affect her adversely, as she began to mumble to herself. Her mumblings were incoherent to Sands, but he wasn’t sure if it was the result of the static noise on the tape or if she’d been talking so quietly that the recorder wasn’t able to pick up her words.

“I’m tearing down our paper house, Sheldon!” she said suddenly, loud and clear, her whispered ramblings stopping as suddenly as they had begun.

It sounded as if she were convinced that she was talking right to him. As if he was in the room with her, rather than the psychiatrist. Taking another puff of his cigarette, Sands frowned, realizing that she must still be suffering from dementia, even after all these years of treatment.

“It’s all wrong. All wrong. Everything is wrong,” she blathered on, and the shrink interrupted her before she got too excited.

“What do you mean by ‘it’s all wrong’?”

“I saw… things, so many things. He couldn’t see them – he didn’t think I could see them – but he was wrong. I saw – I know, because I saw them.”

“Why do you think your husband couldn’t see what you could?”

“He had no eyes. No eyes, no soul.”

Sands inhaled sharply, and coughed as he took too much smoke into his lungs. He cursed his own stupidity as he regained his composure.

“Do you mean that he was blind to what you could see?” the shrink asked, trying to make sense of her riddles.

Cecelia didn’t answer, and the shrink didn’t press her on the question. Sands wondered why; he should have had her answer the question. It would have forced her to think about the things that were spilling out of her mouth.

“What did your husband see?” he asked instead.

“Nothing. Nothing but lies. He was a lie.”

A tremor shook Sands’ body, and he took another drag of his cigarette like a drowning man inhaling oxygen.

‘Holy fucking shit.’

So that’s what Martin had wanted him to hear, sick fuck that he was. He could just imagine what Martin had wanted to say.

“I may have done this to you, but I could never have dreamed it up without some help from your wife.”

Sands’ suddenly felt dizzy. He bent over, holding his head in his hands. It took him a moment to realize that he’d missed part of the conversation on the tape.

Cecelia was reciting the end of 3 Blind Mice. Apparently she found it hysterical because she began to laugh, and then she recited the old nursery rhyme again.

The shrink finally interrupted her hysterics with a calm but stern, “Cecelia, stop!”

It was no surprise that she didn’t.

“He told me we didn’t have a daughter!” Cecelia said, still laughing, but it was quickly replaced by sobbing as she continued. “Isn’t that funny? He told me that, you know. Paper. She must have been drawn on paper. That’s were I saw her. He told me. Blind mice lie—“

Sands stopped the tape abruptly.

‘Couldn’t quite pull that one off, could I?’ Sands’ mind taunted.

Hitting the appropriate button, he sat in silence as the tape rewound to the beginning.

‘Don’t think about that now.’

He tapped the ashes off his cigarette, listening to the cassette reels spin, slow, and then stop with a slight shudder from the deck.

‘Time to find out who out-weaseled the weasel.’

Sands hit play and waited.

This time the voice recorded was very familiar, and it spoke with cool, clinical detachment. “Project number 05493. Subject PB – 048C. Annual evaluation. January 15th, 1999.”

Sands stopped the tape. That was all he needed to hear. Stubbing out his cigarette on the arm of the chair, the realization of how deep all this truly went began to sink in, and all those extra pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.

And the picture it was forming wasn’t pretty.

The nasty outcome in Mexico had been set in motion long before he’d even been given the assignment. Shit.

Ejecting the cassette from the deck, he flipped it over and began pulling the tape out of its casing. As he pulled out the tape, it struck him that the cassette was a lot like one’s mind. Everything was neatly stored inside until someone began to pull on the tape; if you pulled on the tape long enough, eventually it would snap completely. You might be able to salvage some of the tape, but it would never play the same again, nor would it ever be so neatly spooled inside its casing.

The door opened just as he broke the tape from the reels. “What timing!” he exclaimed with mock enthusiasm, tossing the unraveled tape away. “What style! Tell me, did you listen through the door with a glass or did you have to rough it?”

“I—” Ava began, but was immediately interrupted.

“A little late for explanations. Besides, they’re boring.” Sands stood, using the back of the chair for support as he swayed ever so slightly on his feet. “Why don’t you tell me my fortune, instead?”

“Your fortune?” Ava asked, but it was clear that she knew where Sands was going.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your crystal ball,” he drawled.

She stepped further into the room before answering. “I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you that you opened up quite a… Pandora’s Box in Mexico.”

“How enlightening.” Folding his arms in front of his chest, he smiled slyly. “At least, your choice of words is.”

“Do they mean something to you?”

“You know they do,” he stated matter-of-factly. “But don’t attempt to look inside. There could be terrible consequences if you do.”

“Oh, I have no intention of looking inside,” Ava said, and he imagined that she had a slight smile on her face as she said it.

Tilting his head, he considered Ava’s role in all this. He stood unmoving as his thoughts drifted from Ava to Cecelia then back again. Ava didn’t realize it, but she’d reminded him of an important strategy. Sometimes the best action was no action at all. “And it really was a kitten, after all,” he half-whispered.

Sands unfolded his arms, and ran a hand through his hair, pulling the stray strands away from his face. “You do what you have to do,” he stated at last, having made his decision as he approached Ava once more. “But I’m like a bad penny… I always turn up again. Remember that, if you choose to become an enemy.”

Ava didn’t seem to know how to respond, but recovered fairly quickly and took a tentative step forward. “You seem to think that you’ve lost, but you haven’t. You just finally stopped fighting.”

He said nothing to Ava in response. He didn’t tell her that he’d continue to fight if his goddamn body wasn’t about to collapse. He didn’t tell her that he’d continue to fight if he knew who he should fight against.

And he didn’t tell her that he’d continue to fight… if there was any point to it at all.

He’d already obtained the evidence he needed, and had gotten his revenge on Martin. He knew how the pieces fit together, and who had a part to play. His anger seemed to have left him, leaving him with nothing but exhaustion.

‘If you don’t know where you’re going, then every road you take will lead you nowhere.’

“Where to?” Sands asked casually, but he dreaded the answer.

“Back to the States.”

He chuckled. “A deliciously vague answer,” Sands replied, closing the gap between them.

He leaned in close, and inhaled deeply, taking in her perfume. Without warning, he reached out and grabbed her by the waist. She let out a breathless gasp as he pressed her body against his, and despite the situation he smiled wickedly when he felt her heartbeat quicken.

“What awaits dear Officer Sands back in the good ol’ US of A, Doll?”

“They’ll take you back. You’ve proven yourself useful to the Company.”

“Nunc, vero inter saxum et locum durum sum. How will they take me back?” He wasn’t naïve, and had seen and been a part of enough Company operations and projects to know that ‘they’ll take you back’ wasn’t necessarily a good thing at all. Although his decision was already made, he wanted to know what was in store for him in the coming days. He couldn’t formulate an effective plan when he didn’t know what was going on.

“What makes you think that I know?” Ava asked.

Sands smiled knowingly. “Because you do.”

The door opened suddenly, interrupting them both, and Sands’ attention quickly shifted to the newcomers. He let Ava go, but she surprised him when she grasped the back of his neck and pulled him close. She whispered quickly into his ear, “Pandora,” while at the same time relieving him of his gun. He didn’t try and stop her. It wasn’t as if he’d had any intention of using it. “Remember yourself,” she said softly, before pushing him away and ordering the officers who’d just entered to “Get on with it.”

His instincts screamed at him to not give up without a fight, but in the back of his mind he knew that fighting would be suicide.

He found it funny, that as bad as things were, anything seemed better than that.

Just because he was letting them have their way this time, didn’t mean he couldn’t go out with some style. Sands faced Ava, and said in a sing-song voice, “I’ve no time to plead or pine. I’ve no time to wheedle…” Sands hand mimicked pulling the trigger of a gun in Ava’s direction, “Pop goes the weasel.”

Chuckling, he let an Officer take hold of his arm and lead him out.

He wanted to believe that returning home wouldn’t be so bad, but then Ava’s warning - and he wasn’t stupid enough to believe that it was anything but - rang clear in his mind.

Pandora…

He had the distinct feeling that this was far from over, and returning home wasn’t going to be pleasant.

Chapter 42 – Through the Looking Glass

It felt like he’d stood up too fast; he was dizzy and barely hanging on to consciousness. Only… he wasn’t standing or sitting; he was lying flat on his back, yet he couldn’t feel anything beneath him.

Sleeping the day away?

A voice.

His own? He wasn’t sure. Everything seemed unreal, yet he was pretty sure that he wasn’t asleep.

Have you ever seen such a thing in your life, as three blind mice?

‘That’s not right,’ Sands thought, but couldn’t pinpoint why. The more he tried to think, the more confused he became. That wasn’t his voice, but who else’s voice could be in his head other than his own?

“Not quite all there yet, are you, little mouse?”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion, instinct the only thing he was able to go on while his mind was stuck in idle. The room seemed impossibly dark. It was as if he was deep within the bowels of some dark cave, where light was unnatural and darkness was the norm.

Such darkness could make a sane man go mad.

‘Three blind mice, three blind mice…’ a voice sang, different from the last. Not his own. It was most definitely not his own. It was feminine, and although the voice was pleasant it made him uneasy. ‘See how they run?’

He tried to see through the blackness, and attempted to focus his gaze on the silhouette of his mystery companion.

Although he couldn’t be certain, he thought he could just make out a figure. But the more he stared into the blackness, the more wrong everything seemed, and the more elusive the figure became.

Then it occurred to him; the outline of the figure was not darker than the surrounding blackness… it was lighter.

He attempted to focus his gaze on the figure but the longer he stared the harder it became to separate the figure from the darkness.

Not just darkness: absolute darkness.

‘This isn’t right,’ he thought. Even at night it wasn’t this dark.

An ache in his side began to make its presence known, and a soft moan escaped his lips. But the moan didn’t come from pain, rather from relief. He could feel something now, and it reinforced his belief that this wasn’t a dream.

He wiggled his fingers experimentally and they responded, albeit sluggishly. The result was a tingling sensation that started in his hand, then quickly spread all the way up his arm.

Unexpectedly, feeling came back to his body and the sensation was overwhelming. It was as if he’d been falling, feeling nothing but the air around him, until he made impact with the earth. The feeling left him breathless, and his hands grasped whatever they could find in an attempt to ground himself. His whole body tensed, suddenly aware.

Sheet. He was clutching a cotton sheet in his fists.

“Breathe,” the voice spoke; soft, feminine and recognizable. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and his body relaxed into the warm bed beneath him. Opening his mouth, he tried to form words, but couldn’t seem to get any sound out.

That was most definitely odd; he was positive he’d never had trouble with the spoken word before.

Your specialty.

Frowning, he realized that the form beside him was beginning to dissipate. It became ghost-like as foggy tendrils lost their form and dissolved into blackness.

He took a long, deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “What…?” he croaked out, unable to say any more.

“Don’t,” she said, whoever she was. “Here, drink this.”

Damn it, why can’t I think?

Paper touched his lips, and he opened his mouth, grateful for the cool water that was slowly tipped into his mouth, wetting his parched throat. “Drink.”

The wispy tendrils formed a solid image; so brief was the visual that it was almost too quick to comprehend the face they formed before dissolving back into the darkness. “Cecelia?” he asked, voice still gravelly from unconsciousness.

As soon as he said the name, he knew it was wrong.

No, no, no. Wrong again, amigo.

He took another sip of the cold water, and then relaxed back.

“Better?” she asked, moving the cup away.

Ava. That’s who it is. Ava.

The realization of her name brought a flood of memories with it, and they all tumbled back in a disorganized jumble that left his brain spinning. “Ava?” he asked.

“Just relax, dear.”

He furrowed his brow in confusion. Dear? He attempted to sort out all the information going through his mind, but his thoughts were still too mixed-up to completely grasp the oddity of her endearment.

Trying to sit up, he was quickly stopped by Ava’s firm hand on his shoulder. He found that he was too tired to protest, and sank back into the pillow as she asked, “So, what are you up to today, Officer?”

He coughed, clearing the lump that had formed in his throat. He wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but he was sure that he didn’t like the child-like tone she was using with him.

“Ah, what games we play,” he said, regaining his voice. “Back and forth, left and right, up and down. When do we stop?” he asked. One hand swayed lazily back and forth as he spoke.

“Whenever you want it to stop, dear,” she said in the same patronizing tone. Her weight left the bed as she stood, causing Sands’ body to roll to the left. He gritted his teeth as he turned onto his sore side.

“Say when?” he asked with a tired laugh, a rush of air escaping his mouth.

“Mmm hmm.”

Sands frowned as he heard her prepare something beside him. She wasn’t even listening.

He tried to sit up again, this time having a bit more success when she didn’t attempt to stop him. He propped himself up on his elbows and turned his head in Ava’s direction. “I have this nagging suspicion that everyone’s out to make me insane.”

She paused in her preparations. “Do you know where you are?” she asked, sounding more interested than before.

“I’m trying to decide if I’m in Wonderland or Oz.” Bringing a hand to the back of his head, he popped his neck, but it did little to ease the stiffness. “Tell me; are you a good witch or a bad witch?”

“You’re at OMS…” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “In the psychiatric ward.”

Sands couldn’t help it. He rolled his head back and laughed. “It seems that all the rabbit holes lead to the same place.”

He wasn’t sure why he found the whole situation funny, but he continued to laugh. Maybe it was because of the irony of the situation, or maybe it was because if he didn’t laugh, he’d probably flip out. That definitely wouldn’t help the situation he was in now... no, something was going on and it was vital that he maintain his normal temperament.

Keep cool. Gather information. Don’t flip out.

“Playacting nurse today, are we?”

“I am a nurse.”

Sands smiled cynically. “And what will you be tomorrow? An astronaut? ” he asked as his laughter subsided, leaving him out of breath. “What’s the story, Morning Glory?”

Although his fuzzy mind couldn’t be sure of the situation, he had an inkling of what was going on here.

Are you broken, Officer?

She chuckled a little, returning to the side of the bed. “Are you insinuating that I’m lying?”

“I’m more than insinuating.”

“Well, if you’re so sure about it then it must be true,” she replied lightly. “Time for your pills.”

She grabbed his right hand, and turned it so that his palm was up. She dropped two pills into his hand as he asked, “And what are these groovy little happy pills for?” He was fairly certain these would send him tripping or put him in a sedative-induced coma. Either way, it wouldn’t be conducive to a worthwhile thought process.

“Antibiotics,” she said. It would have been convincing, had she not paused a beat too long. Sands found that interesting, because she seemed to be extremely efficient at misleading people, and he was certain she could lie through her teeth without any pesky morals getting in the way… or dead giveaways that would tip him off.

He popped the pills in his mouth, but pushed them to the side with his tongue. She handed him the water, and he took a sip, pretending to swallow the pills.

It was totally obvious.

It was the oldest trick in the book.

And she didn’t say a word. She didn’t even check to see if he’d swallowed the pills. Silently, she took the cup of water from his grip and walked away.

Perhaps she wasn’t all bad.

‘Pandora.’

After all, she’d given him fair warning… and perhaps even a fighting chance.

“How was Alaska, Shelly?”

Of course he knew he’d never been to Alaska, just like he knew this wasn’t Cecelia talking to him now, and that he had indeed returned to Mexico after the Day of the Dead.

‘Up for a little sport, are they?’ he thought, smiling to himself. The voice continued on, and it sounded incredibly real, making it all the more satisfying when he was able to block it out completely.

Oh yes. He was game.

Of course, that didn’t mean that he was going to play their game. Sheldon Jeffery Sands didn’t play other peoples games; he made other people play his. The best part about it was they had no idea that while they were playing Clue, he was buying out Boardwalk.

“Why are you ignoring me?” the voice asked. “Please talk to me, Jeff. I know something is bothering you,” it continued to plead.

Sands took a deep breath, and continued his earlier mantra.

Keep cool. Gather information. Don’t flip out. Keep cool. Gather information. Don’t flip out.

This was going to be a long night.

For once it seemed like a good idea to let his thoughts drift to the past, and let the present fade away.

The sound of a coin spinning on the oak table broke the silence. After completing several successful rotations on its edge, the coin slowly began tilting to one side, succumbing to the forces of gravity. It was not quick to stop its motion, however, as its circular spin flipped its axis and it rotated around the edge instead of on it. The coin continued its horizontal spiral until finally coming to a rest on the tabletop.

“Well that clears everything up,” said the man sitting beside him after a few seconds of silence.

Sands smirked at his so-called-peers seated at the table; the three other psychologists assigned to this project. He was the newest addition, having been hired on to the project when it seemingly hit a standstill a couple months ago.

The lead scientists were also there today, as well as two Company big-wigs from Washington who carried a lot of power in the form of government backing, but didn’t have a fucking clue what the rest of them were talking about. It was clear that the best way to get them to understand was to treat them like five year olds… and hope they were able to keep up with that level.

“Doesn’t it, though?” Sands said, leaning back in his chair.

“Would you kindly explain your ‘demonstration’, Officer Sands? We haven’t got all day, and we were starting to get somewhere before your interruption,” said one of the suits - also known as Karlin – sounding exasperated.

Sands gave the coin another twirl and watched the quarter perform its pirouette again, aware of the suit’s close scrutiny. He waited until the quarter came to a stop, and then looked up to meet Karlin’s expectant stare.

Sands said nothing, and spun the quarter once more with a practiced flick of the wrist. He pointed at the coin as he spoke. “Congratulations. This quarter knows far more about PANDORA than all of you.” He looked up from the coin again and was met by a group of blank stares. Sighing, he returned his gaze to the quarter before continuing on. “For a few moments, this coin is able to do as I ask it to. I ask it to spin on its end, and voila! So it does. But what’s happened?” Sands asked, the coin once again becoming motionless on the table.

“Get to the point, Jeff,” said one of his colleagues, all too familiar with his long-winded, round-a-bout explanations.

“I’m sure I’ll get there eventually,” Sands said flippantly, his eyes locking with Karlin’s, daring him to answer.

“It stopped.”

Sands threw his hands up in the air. “Brilliant! Give the man a monkey.”

Tapping the quarter with his index finger, he ignored everyone but Karlin. “I know what your next question is. Why?” Sands held up his hands and slipped into his familiar sarcastic drawl. “Right on the ball Karlin, there’s no evading your sharp intellect.”

Sands quickly became serious, lowering his hands to the table as his lips settled into their trademark smirk. “The coin begins to lose the power and direction I give it as soon as I let go. In other words, you can’t control something you don’t have a handle on at all times… and none of you have a handle on PANDORA.”

Somehow Sands had managed to fall asleep, despite the fake Cecelia’s persistence, and morning came surprisingly quick. Cecelia, it seemed, had left sometime during the night; probably when he’d fallen asleep. He wondered how long it would take before the Company’s patience wore thin.

He figured it wouldn’t take too long. The Company had never been known for its inaction.

That, coupled with the fact that he became inhuman while in the grips of nicotine withdrawal, practically insured that he’d be speaking to a head honcho before the week was out.

As it turned out, it only took two more days. Two more days of Ava pretending to give him pills that he never swallowed, of hearing Cecelia’s voice come and go, of repeating his mantra over and over in his mind, and of fantasizing about the next cigarette he could get his lips around… it was almost enough to drive a man off the deep end. Almost.

Close, but no cigar. Well laid plans go up in a puff of smoke.

Damn. He needed a nicotine fix, and quick.

“Got a light, Mac?” Sands asked with a wave of the cigarette. Something metal slid towards him next, and he grabbed it while it was still sliding across the table. Lighting up, he threw the lighter back.

“You’ve been through quite a lot the past few months, haven’t you Officer Sands?” an older man asked. He sounded vaguely recognizable, but Sands couldn’t place him, too preoccupied with his cigarette.

He took a deep drag, and held the smoke in his lungs for as long as possible. Exhaling, he absently fingered the sunglasses on his face; he was silently grateful that Ava had given them back earlier in the day. “Whatever gave you that idea?” he said at last, slipping into a silky drawl.

The sound of a lighter flicking open broke the silence as the man lit his own cigarette. “You don’t remember me?”

“I’m sure the earth moved for both of us,” Sands said, taking a puff of his cigarette.

The man snapped the lighter shut, chuckling softly. The creak a moment later told Sands that his companion was also leaning back in his chair. “Looks like PsyOps couldn’t even make a dent. I think that’s bad for the Company, and extremely good for you.”

“A pathetic effort,” Sands said. “I’d say the Company is in need of my expertise.”

“Why do you say that?” the man asked, exhaling slowly. It wasn’t a question so much as it was an admission.

Sands smirked. “They took my eyes, not my brain, Mystery Man. The Company tested me, but they certainly didn’t try to break me.”

“That’s good for the Company, then. No one understood PANDORA like you did.”

Sands kept his face neutral, taking another drag of his cigarette. So Ava had been acting on his behalf after all… this was about PANDORA. Not only that, but she hadn’t given him the drugs that would have made the mild test of sanity much more effective.

“Tell me, Sands. How is it that you weren’t fazed by the last few days?” Suspicion worked its way into his voice as he continued. “Not even by the drugs?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Damn straight I would, but I know you’re not going to tell me.”

Sands leaned forward, and said in a conspiratorial tone, “The element of surprise is your number one amigo.” Sands held up a single digit to accentuate his point, and flashed a wolf-like smile. “Bad form to try and test me with techniques that I dreamed up. Couldn’t you think up any of your own?”

“I never claimed to have a knack for the head-fuck. I’m just a man who has power in every place but the brain.”

A slow smile spread across Sands’ face. “Give me a quarter and I’ll explain it to you again sometime, Karlin.”

“So the earth moved after all.”

Sands snorted, taking another pull of his cigarette. “I can practically feel the aftershocks. Let’s cut the foreplay and get down to the heavy stuff.”

“All right. The only reason I’m here right now is because of our mutual acquaintance, Eric Cameron. He tossed some information my way, and I’m merely making sure no one drops the ball.”

“And?” Sands prodded. “You want to lift the lid of Pandora’s Box for one more look-see?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Sands tapped the ash off his cigarette, quirking an eyebrow. “What about all those pesky little side-effects PANDORA was blamed for?”

“You’ve got the wrong idea. That bitch PANDORA died a slow and torturous death, and none of us are looking to relieve that nightmare.”

“But you’re going to create a whole new one of your own.” Sands said.

“No.” Karlin stated. “You are.”

Chapter 43: Special Delivery

Sands quirked a curious eyebrow in Karlin’s direction but said nothing, waiting for the elder man to continue. A funny thing had happened after he’d given himself up to the Company; he’d rediscovered the power of patience.

After all, the cat didn’t catch the canary when it couldn’t wait for the perfect moment to pounce. He had no intention of letting Karlin best him, but he had every intention of allowing Karlin to think that he had.

Silence quickly replaced conversation, and Sands’ lips twitched into an amused smile.

Karlin never had been one to rush a discussion. Sands let him set the pace as he thought about what the man was offering. He took another drag, relaxing into his chair and thinking about his possible return to the PANDORA project. It certainly wouldn’t be his first choice, but he had a feeling it would be the best he’d get from the Company in his current state and standing. He was sure that Karlin knew it too and was using it to his full advantage.

“PANDORA was fucked from the beginning, and you knew it. You had balls, coming out against your own project,” Karlin stated.

“That ship hit an iceberg long before I joined the crew.”

“The Company still wants something that will fulfill PANDORA’s promises.”

Sands chuckled, tapping the ashes of his cigarette onto the floor. “Naturally. Absolute power leaves little room for conflict.”

“You, of all people, wouldn’t be lecturing me on the corrupting effects of absolute power, would you?”

Sands smiled. “I dig the idea, but the results you’re lookin’ for kinda suck the fun out of wielding the power. It’s a groovy problem solver, though.”

“Unless, of course, it was you who was doing the wielding,” Karlin stated knowingly, and not without some amusement of his own.

A puff on his cigarette preceded Sands’ answer. He settled back into the chair, exhaling a large plume of smoke, and leaning his head back as he did so. “That goes without saying,” he drawled, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You still have the irritating habit of beating around the bush, I see.”

“Do you?”

His smirk didn’t falter. He’d walked right into that one, but he was quickly becoming accustomed to that tactic and it was growing old fast. “What are you offering me?”

“A chance to continue with the Company, and fuck with people’s heads.”

“Sounds like a romping good time,” Sands said with a shrug. Pausing, he stubbed out his cigarette on the table in front of him. “The catch?”

“The only other offer you’re going to get from the Company is forced retirement with disability.”

So that’s how they were going to play it… winner take all.

Well, he to could play at that game.

His smirk contorted into a cynically twisted grin as he moved out of his relaxed position and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Oh? Is that so?”

Karlin chuckled. “If you aren’t crazy now, you will be once the boredom of retirement sets in. If you take this assignment, you’ll be in charge of the program that will replace PANDORA.”

Karlin dodged his question. Sands took note of that. He also took note of Karlin’s choice of words. As far as he knew, PANDORA had never made it past the testing stage.

Sands cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “Replace her…” he trailed off, nonplussed for a second as he absorbed the information.

Leaning back in his chair again, he couldn’t help but laugh.

So that’s why they wanted him back; to fix the mess they’d made. He couldn’t say he was surprised. “Didn’t work, did it?” he asked knowingly, suppressing his laughter.

“The Company was in need; still is. You can fill that need. That’s what it’s all about. I’d take advantage of it, if I were you.”

“But you’re not. Never could be.”

“How’s the old ball and chain?” Karlin asked, quickly diverting the conversation to a more sensitive topic. Sands heard the chair creak again and assumed that Karlin had stood.

“Don’t you know?” Sands asked coolly, not about to let Karlin rile him.

“Maybe I do.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. After all, she’s under PsyOps’ loving care.”

Unbeknownst to Sands, Karlin’s eyes had widened at his comment. Sands wasn’t supposed to be aware that PsyOps was in control of his wife’s therapy. However, Karlin kept his tone neutral as he continued. “Perhaps her situation could change…”

“Ah…” He was starting to see where all this was going. He propped his feet on the table, then asked, “Still looking for the magic elixir? Maybe you can ask Indiana Jones if he can help you find the Holy Grail while you’re at it.”

“You wouldn’t want one?” Karlin asked, ignoring Sands’ jibe as he made his way around the table. “You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t give anything to see again.”

“If you really think I’m that desperate, or that stupid, then I wouldn’t be the man you’re looking for.”

Karlin didn’t answer at first, taking a drag of his cigarette. Sands listened as he exhaled slowly, and then finally said, “True. You up to it?”

Sands waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s pure gravy. Just not sure I want to take the gig.”

“I don’t ask twice.”

“You don’t ask at all,” Sands stated wryly. “However, my keen intellect tells me that I’m getting a decent deal here.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, betraying his words and any hint of gratitude which may have been hidden there.

Karlin missed – or ignored – the tone, however. “The best that you’re going to be offered.”

Sands gave a derisive snort. “Do you want me to say thank you?”

“I wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself, Sands.”

“Maybe I’ll send you a card,” Sands said with a smile that was less than friendly. He sat silently as he listened to the sound of Karlin’s footsteps retreat to the door, bringing an end to the conversation.

“So, is that a yes?” Karlin asked.

“You know I get a perverse kick out of performing a good mind fuck. How could I resist?” he said lightly.

“I had a feeling you’d come around,” Karlin answered.

The smugness in Karlin’s voice did not go unnoticed by Sands. “By the by, who unearthed the bitch?” Sands asked with grim amusement. Somebody had done some digging, and he wanted Karlin to know that he was fully aware of what was going on.

Karlin’s only answer was an amused laugh as he walked out the door and shut it firmly behind him.

The offer sounded all well and good on the surface, but a sinister little gremlin was lurking underneath. It didn’t take a rocket scientist – or even an experienced CIA officer – to figure out that he was being set up for a fall. He suspected that a more powerful suit than Karlin had found out a bit too much about PANDORA, and they were looking for someone’s head to put on the chopping block.

Karlin and the Company had another thing coming if they thought that person was going to be him. His mind drifted to El suddenly, and he wondered if the Mariachi had held up his end of the deal or bolted to some secluded hide-away to brood about bygone days.

------------------------------

Karlin walked down the sterile hall at a brisk clip, meeting up with two other officers waiting by the elevators.

“He buy it?” the female officer asked, while her partner kept an eye out for any eavesdroppers in the immediate area, doing his best to look nonchalant as he did so.

“Hook, line and sinker,” Karlin said confidently. The woman made him nervous, though he did his best not to show it. “He knows we’re up to something, but he underestimates the Company.”

“Did you find a trigger?”

“Yeah. I don’t think Sands’ll be too happy in the near future.”

She gave a sharp nod, then signaled to her partner that it was time to leave. Turning her icy stare back on Karlin she said, “Get this wrapped up, or you’re history.”

Karlin swallowed thickly. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

She quirked a well-kept eyebrow. “Don’t make the same mistake he is,” she said, then looked him up and down before turning to leave. Her partner was holding the elevator for her as she stepped inside.

“Bitch,” Karlin muttered as soon as the doors closed. Straightening his tie, he set out to find Ava and let her know that he was through with Sands.

------------------------------

“I don’t understand you, Sands,” Cam said with a shake of his head. “You’re back in D.C., you get to work for PsyOps again, Martin’s practically a vegetable… shouldn’t you be happy right now?” he asked lightly, as he and Sands walked down one of the paths in Lincoln Park.

Sands frowned slightly, miffed that Cam had noticed his mood. His cane tapped lightly in front of him as he walked, and he was aware that Cam had probably chosen Lincoln Park because it had paved walks.

He couldn’t say that he wasn’t happy about Martin’s current vegetative state… still, he had a bad vibe that he just couldn’t seem to shake. “What makes you think I’m not chipper as a jay bird right now?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I haven’t received my daily put-down from you yet,” Cam tried to joke. “You’re remarkably dull, a word I thought I’d never associate with you.”

Sands stopped dead in his tracks. “Dull!” he scoffed.

“Yeah. But now that I think about it, boring is more the word.” Cam stopped walking as well, but knowing that his teasing might not be well received, he kept a safe distance in case Sands retaliated with his fist or cane.

Sands arched a dark eyebrow in Cam’s direction, remaining dangerously still. He refrained from doing anything rash, as real revenge was better taken when Cam was least expecting it. Instead, he took his time lighting a cigarette. He said nothing, knowing it would freak Cam out more than anything he could say.

After watching Sands take a deep drag of his cigarette, he said with finality, “You’re going to get me for this later, aren’t you?”

Sands flashed Cam a twisted smile. “Ah, but an eye for an eye would make the whole world blind.”

“Thank you, Gandhi,” Cam said, looking up at the approaching storm clouds before returning his gaze to Sands. “Please, we went to the Farm together. I know you better than that.”

“You presume to know me so well. Don’t you think that might be a mistake?” Sands took a puff of his cigarette as he resumed walking. The heavy moisture in the air signaled an approaching storm.

“Have you heard from El?” Sands asked, curious.

Cam shook his head. “No.”

“Hmm, bailed as soon as I cut him loose,” Sands said as if to himself. Just one more example of how you couldn’t control something, or someone, once it left your immediate influence. Luckily, he’d considered the possibility before he’d let El go and didn’t have to rely solely on El to blackmail the Company.

Still, he’d thought he’d pegged El as an honest man… at least for a murderer. He was a little disappointed that he’d up and split without doing the job.

“Is it going to be a problem?”

Sands shook his head, no, taking another puff of his cigarette. “It just would have been the icing on the cake.”

“Do you want me to see if I can find him?” Cam asked after a moment.

As much as teaching El a lesson appealed to him, he knew it wasn’t a good idea, and he simply didn’t have the energy to do it. He’d been told this morning that he was going to need reconstructive surgery on his eyes and soon. He wasn’t surprised. They’d told him that when he was first in the hospital. Still, he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of going back under the knife so soon. “Did you send off what I gave you?” he asked after a couple minutes.

Cam halted, and Sands followed suit. “I did what you told me to.”

“Shit,” Sands muttered with a shake of his head. He’d half-expected that would be the case. After all, Cam had always been – at the very least – true to his word.

He was glad the proof he’d obtained in Mexico was safe; he just wasn’t too keen on who he’d sent it off to. Sure, it was the only option at the time, but he still thought he must have had a complete meltdown to go through with it.

“Right,” Cam directed when they came to another pathway, leading them both back to his car. “Jeff, what’s going on?”

Sands sighed, feeling a few raindrops hit his face. “You remember that list that was circulating around the Company a few years back? Washington Rules? One of them was ‘there’s always one more son of a bitch than you counted on’.”

Cam laughed lightly. “Oh, yeah.” He sobered up when he realized what Sands was implying. “Do you think there’s another traitor?”

“Fallaces sunt rerum species. I’m getting a few too many bad vibes.”

------------------------------

Cameron pulled up alongside the curb in front of Sands’ apartment building. He shot Sands a worried sidelong glance as he came to a halt, wishing he didn’t have a shit-load of work piling up on his desk. Sands was acting a bit off, there was no doubt about it. He wondered if more had happened in the psych ward than what he’d been told. “I need to get going. I’ve got paperwork coming out the wazoo.”

Sands nodded, listening to the raindrops as they hit the windshield. The light sprinkling had turned into heavy rain and Sands braced himself for a quick dash. Swinging open the car door, he jumped out quickly and, familiar with the area, had no trouble making a hasty retreat into the apartment building. He heard Cam pull away just as he stepped inside.

The stuffiness of the old apartment building assailed his remaining senses full force, and he thought for the first time in a long while that he might want to move.

Pulling wet strands of hair back, he dried his face with the sleeve of his coat and headed up the nearest stairwell.

Once up the stairs he quickly hurried down the hall to his apartment, and was surprised when the toe of his shoe hit something sitting on the floor in front of his door. Bending down to pick it up Sands realized that it was a package.

Standing in the hall, dripping wet, he held the package as if it was an alien creature. Frowning, he wondered what it could possibly be. He hadn’t been expecting anything, and he couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

Hearing someone else come up the stairs, Sands hurried to find his keys. Opening the door and stepping inside, he took off his coat and set it on a small table by the door, along with his cane.

He carried the package into the living room and set it on the sofa.

He had the feeling that he needed a drink before opening it. Whatever it was, he held little hope that it would be good. Feeling a cold breeze, he realized that he had left the living room window open and went over to shut it.

As he did so, his thoughts remained on the package.

Why are you so edgy about a fucking package? It’s probably from dear ol’ dad. Or Cam. Or the Company…even El if you really want to grasp at straws.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t from any of them. Damn it, if only he could see the return address – or lack of one – it wouldn’t be such a mystery.

Going into the kitchen, he grabbed himself a beer from the fridge and returned to the living room, taking a long swig from the bottle as he did so.

It’s probably a bomb, come to end your misery.

Sands actually chuckled at the morbid thought.

Setting the beer down on the table, Sands grabbed his pocket knife and sliced open the packing tape before returning the blade to his pocket. He sat down heavily on the sofa, picked up the package and opened the top flaps.

Curiosity killed the cat, didn’t it?

Sands reached into the box, finding a lot of packaging popcorn, and had to fish around for a moment before his fingers felt something plastic and bumpy…

Bubble wrap.

Pulling the object from the foam popcorn, he unwrapped it to find that his fingers were holding something cool and slick… like glass. Feeling the shape he discovered that it was a glass jar.

He sat there for a minute bewildered until a thought entered his mind, tainting and poisoning every thought after it. A cold shudder passed through him and he set the jar heavily on the table in front of him.

Leaning forward he held his head in his hands, trying to calm himself down as he attempted to breathe deeply.

It’s just not possible.

Suddenly he thought of Jackson. The note found on him in Braille.

But Martin had been responsible for that…

Hadn’t he?

Sands turned back to the empty box and, with a feeling of dread, felt inside. At the very bottom of the package, he found a piece of paper and pulled it out with a shaky hand.

Again, it was printed in Braille. As he read the short sentence his stomach twisted into a tight knot.

Something to remember me by.

It wasn’t signed. He let out a shuddering breath, dropping the note to the floor. If this was what he thought it was, it was far worse than a bomb. Far worse.

Sanity be damned, he had to know.

With a new resolve, he snatched up the jar and went into the kitchen. It can’t be. Over and over again his mind chanted that. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it. That man was dead. He had to be.

In front of the sink, he unscrewed the jar. He felt sick as the lid came off; so much so that he had to set the open vessel down and lean against the counter before continuing.

Please, let it be a fucking jar of jam.

Taking one last deep breath, he moved the jar over the sink, then poked a couple fingers inside it.

His fingers made contact with something that was a little thicker than water, before diving deeper into the jar. Then he felt it, soft and fleshy against his fingertips.

He let out a cry as he yanked his hand out of the jar, and the jar fell. He heard it shatter as it hit the bottom of the sink and several shards of glass flew up and embedded themselves in his hands.

No, no, no, no, no.

Determined to prove himself wrong, he reached into the sink desperately; the glass bit into his hands as he searched. When he found what he was searching for, he was unable to touch it any longer than was necessary to identify it.

An eye.

Something to remember me by.

It was his fucking eyes.

Dropping it, he backed away from the sink. Truly sick, he stumbled out of the kitchen as fast as he could. The unseen world seemed to tilt and spin beneath him.

He knocked over a lamp as he lurched into the bathroom. The contents of his lunch were soon in the toilet.

Collapsing onto the floor, he fell against the wall behind him. When he came back to his senses he realized that his face was wet, and it wasn’t from the rain. He drew up a knee and rested his elbow on top of it, leaning his head in his hand.

He remained that way for a good five minutes before he realized his hands were bleeding badly, and glass was digging painfully into his palms.

Guevera.

The mere name made his blood run cold.

He tried to convince himself that he should wash the blood off his hands, get the glass out, clean up the mess… yet he seemed unable to move. He was distantly aware of the phone ringing, but even if he was in any condition to get up, he was in no condition to answer.

He couldn’t think, couldn’t focus; it was as if his mind and body had ground to a halt. Everything was still and silent, even his mind… and that was the most eerie thing of all.

He sat there – immobilized and unthinking – for who knew how long. Could have been ten seconds or ten minutes. Fuck, it could have been ten hours or ten days for all it mattered.

Then, suddenly, something penetrated the stillness; it was the hum of his heater as it kicked on. His body bolted upright as if he’d been shocked.

Oh yeah, he was trembling, wasn’t he? Still, he was pretty sure the cause wasn’t the chill of the air.

A single question entered his mind: Why couldn’t it have been a bomb?

He considered the thought for a moment, and then began to laugh wildly.

There’s always one more.

Always one more.

One more.

More.

His thoughts ground to a halt.

The ceiling creaked as his neighbors in the apartment above walked about.

Get up.

Not a thought, but a command from his brain. He made a weak attempt to push himself up, but slid back down to the ground.

He tried again with a little more effort and managed to bring himself to a semi-standing position.

Christ. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t wounded.

Are you going to let Guevara get away with this?

He pushed himself up completely, but still leaned heavily against the wall. He forced himself to concentrate on the things he needed to do, and tried not to think about what he’d just received in the mail.

But something like that doesn’t just go away, and despite focusing on washing the blood off and pulling the glass out of his hands, his thoughts still drifted back.

“He had no eyes. No eyes, no soul.”

Well, he may still be in search of his soul but he had at least one eye in the kitchen sink.

He grimaced as he pulled a large piece of glass from his left palm and dropped it into the sink.

She stood beside him, smiling as amusement twinkled in her eyes.

“You’re a thinker, Shelly. The ideas man.” She absently fixed his collar as he got ready. “Why do you try to be the man of action?”

He shook himself clear of his memory. He hated to admit it, but he’d known she was right then and it was painfully clear how right she was now.

He made things happen, he pulled the strings, but he was never meant to be the man of action.

When had he forgotten that?

The Day of the Dead? Before?

The phone rang again as he finished pulling the glass out of his hands. He took the gauze from the cabinet above the sink and opened the wrapper. The answering machine picked up, and although he couldn’t make out the words from the bathroom, he could tell it was a woman’s voice.

He wrapped the deepest cuts as best he could. Finished with that, he tiredly made his way out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.

He stayed as far away from the kitchen as possible. He couldn’t. Not now…

Tomorrow. He’d do… something about it tomorrow.

He sat heavily on the bed. Thinking about the phone call again, he reached over to the answering machine and hit the play button.

“Hi Sands. I need to talk to you… mihi cura futuri.”

She didn’t leave her name, but he knew who it was. Ava – who was a little more overeducated than she’d first let on.

She did leave her number and when the message was over, he made sure to save it. He’d call her tomorrow.

He fell back onto the bed; still dressed and lying crooked across the mattress. It was probably still light outside. He didn’t care. He just wanted to sleep – escape – and forget… if only for the night.

Tomorrow he’d come up with a plan.

And tomorrow he’d remember where his strengths truly did lie.

The End

Fallaces sunt rerum species. – The appearances of things are deceptive.

Mihi cura futuri. – I care for the future.

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