Chapter 34: The Price

Horrified, Jackson stared at Sands’ body in disgust, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the gory sight as he stood there, rooted in place.

Snapping his cell phone shut, he slipped it into his pocket as he moved closer to the body. Sands was still… and bloody. Very, very bloody.

"What the hell happened?" Jackson breathed, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. He’d only taken around half an hour to get the bags, and talk with Cameron. Whoever did this, did it very quickly.

As he found himself standing beside Sands’ unmoving form on the bed, he realized just how much of a problem this could prove to be for him.

What if someone found Sands in this room, a room registered in his name? There would be an investigation of course. Where that would lead… well, he didn’t even want to think about that.

‘Is someone trying to frame me?’ he thought, quickly becoming worried. Noticing the broken sunglasses lying at his feet, he picked them up curiously as a thought occurred to him. ‘Sands never took off his sunglasses when I was around…’

Leaning down close to the body to see the damage that had been done, Jackson noticed that Sands’ dead body was, in fact, breathing, just as the barrel of a gun, seemingly produced out of thin air, was shoved into his face.

When Sands moved out of his death pose, his lips curved into an evil smile.

"Surprise, surprise rat fuck."

Jackson took a hasty step back, wanting to put some distance between himself and Sands as quickly as possible. Sands looked like the angel of death, come to take him to hell. Come to think of it, that was very likely what Sands was planning on doing. "Jesus!" Jackson shrieked, unable to believe his eyes.

"No. Try again. Think more… south."

"What the hell happened to you?"

"I was betrayed by one of my own, Jackson… and it seems history wants to repeat itself. If that is the case, then I guess I’ll just have to smoke your ass too."

"What- what is this?" Jackson stuttered, not fully comprehending what was going on. For all he knew, he could just be imagining this whole thing. Actually, he prayed that a temporary bout of insanity was the case, because if it wasn’t… he was in some deep shit.

"Your performance was less than stellar, Jackson. It might have amused some of your audience, but I’m your toughest critic... and the only person that really matters, as it turns out. I hope you weren’t planning on a thriving acting career." Sands cocked an eyebrow. "Did you really think you’d fooled me so easily? They must have at least briefed you on my history with the Company. I find your naivete hard to believe, even for someone with your lack of cerebral matter."

"Why? You were stupid enough to get caught on your last assignment," Jackson shot back, his anger fueled by Sands’ insults.

"So were you," Sands countered calmly, knowing very well what Jackson was trying to do. Sands took a threatening step towards Jackson. "I wonder… do you have what it takes to stop me from blowing you away? Because I don’t think you do."

"Better to die, than live like you."

Sands fought to keep his face neutral. "Never miss a good chance to shut the hell up, Jackson."

"You plan to kill me?"

"Well, naturally. However, how you die will depend on your answers."

Jackson wrinkled his brow in confusion. "You won’t kill me if I cooperate?"

Sands smirked. "That’s a little cliché, don’t you think? Let’s just go with the flow. See what happens." Swiftly closing the gap between them, Sands brought the heel of his boot down on Jackson’s injured foot.

Doubling over in pain, Jackson bit back a cry of agony. He tried to shove Sands away, with little success.

Sands grabbed a chunk of Jackson’s hair and jerked his head up roughly. "Do you have any idea what this is?" Sands asked, bringing the unusual gun into Jackson’s view.

"A fucking gun," Jackson ground out, his mind racing as he tried to figure a way out of the dangerous situation he was in.

Sands let out a huff of disappointment. "This is much more than a ‘fucking gun’." Sands’ voice changed to a parental tone, as if he was talking to a child. "You see… if I pull the trigger of this gun it’s hasta la vista, Tonto. This is a cyanide gas gun, and it’s only given to the CIA’s trained assassins." Sands paused a moment and tilted his head in query. "Did you know that about me? Did you know that was one of my specialties? Just how familiar are you with my 201?"

"I never read it, they just told me…"

"What you needed to know?" Sands interrupted, his smirk quickly turning into laughter. "Classic. What did they tell you? That I went rogue? That I betrayed my country? That I was completely whacko? All of the above? Is Officer Sands the talk of the town?"

"They said you turned traitor, sold information to Barillo, and hoped to gain a profit from the Day of the Dead operation."

Sands sighed in mock dismay. "No imagination. No wonder I’m the best."

"Used to be."

Sands ground his heel further into Jackson’s foot. "I’d make you pay for that, but I want everyone to think you died of… natural causes. Wouldn’t do for them to find signs of a struggle on your corpse."

Sands unexpectedly felt the impact of Jackson’s fist connect with his jaw, and he took a step back as he reeled from the punch, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "Whoa there Tonto, didn’t think you had it in you," Sands commented, amusement lacing his tone. "This might just be fun at that."

Sands heard Jackson take off for the door, and didn’t waste any time in going after him. Jackson, slowed down by his injured foot, didn’t make it far before his feet were kicked out from underneath him. He went down on his stomach hard, the force knocking the wind out of him.

"Ouch. That sounded like it hurt," Sands commented emotionlessly at the sound of the heavy thud. "Truth is, Jackson, to the Company, there’s no difference between you and me. We all pay a price eventually. I paid with my eyes, and you’ll pay with your life. In the end, it’ll all balance out," Sands said, his free hand gliding along an invisible line. Kneeling down, Sands asked, "You’re working for Martin, am I right?"

"Why should I tell you? You’re going to kill me anyway."

"You should have thought about that before you took this assignment. But…" Sands held up a finger. "I do have an incentive for you. If you cooperate, I promise that your death will be a snap. Otherwise… I won’t worry about what they think when they find your body, because they won’t find it. You’ll be fish food at the bottom of the first lake I come across."

Jackson’s breathing hitched as he pulled himself up off the floor, realizing the situation he was in. He saw little way out of it. If Sands was as crazy as the Company said he was… "If you kill me, they’ll put you away for life."

Snickering, Sands shook his head. "They can’t put me away for something they don’t know anything about."

Desperate, Jackson gripped Sands’ collar and pulled him close. "You’ll never get away with it," Jackson ground out, as tried to snatch the gun from Sands’ grip.

As they struggled for the weapon, Sands began to laugh. "What are you going to do, Jackson? Pull the trigger?"

"If you’re going to kill me, why not?"

Sands shrugged. "You’re dead if you do, dead if you don’t, Jackson."

"At least I’ll take you with me!" Jackson spat, trying to bluff his way out, and hoping that Sands wouldn’t call him on it. Unfortunately for him, Sands didn’t fold.

"You think so?" Sands asked. A feral grin played across his lips as he asked excitedly, "Why don’t we find out?"

Sands positioned the gun between them, facing up. With their faces only inches apart, they would both be killed if the gun went off. Sands pried Jackson’s fingers off his jacket with his free hand. Jackson’s hand now in his own, he forced Jackson to grip the gun, index finger on the trigger. Sands own gloved hand held Jackson’s firmly in place so that he was unable to move his hand away.

"Pull the trigger, Jackson," Sands coaxed him, coolly. "I’m giving you the chance to die with dignity, taking your assassin with you."

"You’re crazy Sands," Jackson said, a thought suddenly dawning on him. "You… you want me to kill you, don’t you?"

Sands tsk-tsked. "The real question is, are you man enough to pull the trigger?" he asked, not falling for Jackson’s bait. "I don’t think you are, Jackson. I think you’re a coward through and through, and I’m willing to bet my life on it. Are you?"

"I’m no coward," Jackson said, without much conviction.

"And I’m giving you the chance to prove me wrong," Sands replied, seemingly unfazed by the life and death situation. "You were right, you know. It’s not about how or when you die, it’s about who you take with you when you go. So do it, Jackson. Prove it. Prove the great CIA Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands wrong… and pull the trigger," Sands continued to cajole, waiting for a reaction and receiving none.

Sands’ trigger finger found itself on top of Jackson’s, and he applied a little pressure, egging Jackson on. Jackson’s sharp intake of breath made Sands smile. He was enjoying this game, but all good things had to come to an end sooner or later. "You can’t do it, can you?" Leaning in a little, he said quietly, "Stultum est timere quod vitare non potes."

Jackson tried to pull away, but Sands kept him in place. "I can understand why you want to die, but I don’t," Jackson said finally.

"And why, pray tell, would I want to die?" Sands asked, sarcasm lacing his tone. Of course, he knew what Jackson was thinking, but wasn’t willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d struck a cord. His defenses were up, and thinking about the insults Jackson was throwing his way was not something he was going to allow himself to do. "I’m a man who always gets what I want in the end, Jackson. If I wanted to be dead, I’d be dead." Sands appeared to study him for a moment. "You’re not afraid to die, are you Jackson?"

"Just leave me the fuck alone… I don’t want this worthless assignment to be the end of my life! Do you hear me?"

"Then tell me who you’re working for. I don’t even need you to tell me, really. It’s all just added confirmation. Gaining extra intelligence is always worth the time. You work for Martin, yes?"

Jackson took a couple of deep breaths before answering in a whisper, "Yes."

Sands took a deep breath of his own in a futile attempt to calm his anger. Of course he’d known in his mind that it was Martin, but now… now he had proof from someone else against his ex-boss.

‘How could the Company be so blind to such an obviously traitorous officer? How could I have been?’

Sands plastered on a fake smile. "You ever seen Broadway, Jackson?"

Jackson gave Sands a disbelieving look. "What the hell kind of question is that at a time like this?"

"Well, if you haven’t seen Broadway at night… you haven’t lived," Sands said seriously, an odd expression on his face. "It’s just that it would be a shame for you to die without seeing it." Shrugging, Sands didn’t linger on the subject. "You know, I knew all along that I was going to have to pull this trigger."

Smile still on his lips, Sands took a large breath, held it, and pulled the trigger.

Jackson gasped in shock, and in doing so inhaled a good portion of the toxic fumes. His gasp quickly turned into a wheeze.

Sands was caught by surprise, however, when Jackson grabbed hold of him as he fell to the ground, dragging Sands down with him. As Jackson fought in vain to get air into his lungs, he refused to let Sands go. Unable to hold his breath any longer, Sands sucked in a breath of the poisonous air.

"Never fuck over a rat Jackson, the rat always wins in the end," Sands told him, coughing in between words as he pried Jackson’s weakened hands off him. "Did you really think I’d come here without taking an antidote first? You’ll be dying alone tonight."

Jackson began to convulse, the cyanide taking it’s toll. Sands got up, feeling short of breath himself as he took shaky steps away from Jackson and the contaminated air.

‘Shit, I was too close,’ Sands thought, as the gun slipped out of his suddenly weak grasp. He could hear Jackson taking his last strangled breaths on the floor before stopping all together. Sands swayed in his spot, his own breathing labored. One hand reached into his pocket as the other searched for something to support his weight. ‘Too close, too close.’

Finding the bed, he clumsily edged along it, towards where he assumed a window would be. Hands seeking out the furniture in front of him, he walked around a table and chair before reaching the far wall. Locating the window, he quickly pulled it up. A light breeze touched his skin as he opened the small box he’d put in his pocket earlier. Removing the ampoule of amyl nitrate, he broke it in half and inhaled it as deeply as his struggling lungs would allow.

Then, he waited.

The sodium thiosulfate he’d taken a half hour before was an antidote that helped counteract the effects of the cyanide gas, and the reason he wasn’t lying dead on the floor beside Jackson. However, having inhaled a fairly large amount of the poisonous vapors, the antitoxin ampoule he’d just sniffed would, he hoped, take care of his breathing, which was currently short and rapid.

Either his breathing would return to normal or he’d die of respiratory failure and find himself following Jackson to hell sooner than previously expected. It was hard to tell which way things would swing at the moment.

With his heartbeat seemingly as rapid as his breathing, Sands allowed himself to slide down to a seated position on the floor by the window. Knowing that the poison would rise in the air, the lower to the ground and closer to fresh air he was, the better.

‘Well, that could have gone more smoothly," Sands thought wryly, as he sluggishly wiped away a few beads of sweat from his forehead. His gloved hands were clammy, and his whole body was weak. A few feeble coughs escaped his throat as his breathing began to gradually return to normal.

Starting to catch his breath, Sands removed his sports coat and tossed it as far away from himself as possible. The sports coat was quickly followed by his shirt, which he cut off with his pocketknife to avoid pulling it over his face and inhaling any cyanide that might still be clinging to the cloth.

After a couple of minutes, his strength slowly began to return and Sands reached up and pushed the window open the rest of the way. Waiting for the room to air out and the cyanide to evaporate and disperse, Sands performed the next action on his emergency procedure checklist; he lit up and took a drag.

A minute later, the door opened and Sands immediately froze, not knowing who it was.

"Sands?" Cam’s voice asked, and Sands shot to his feet quickly. Evidently, it was a little too quickly, as he felt a sudden wave of nausea sweep over him. Leaning heavily against the table, Sands motioned for Cam to stop. "Stop!" Sands ordered, and he heard Cam’s footsteps halt immediately.

"Close the door and lean against it. Don’t come into the room any farther," Sands said, fighting the lingering dizziness he felt as he waved a hand around in the air, cigarette still held firmly between his fingers. "The air in here is a real bitch." Sands let out a small cough, accentuating his point. "Not too fresh. Dig?"

Kneeling down, he retrieved the ampoule he’d used and tossed it towards Cam. Cam caught it, unaware of what it was. "I sniff this?" he asked after a moment.

"Righty-o," Sands confirmed, taking another puff and sitting on the edge of the table, waiting for his dizziness to go away.

Cam took a large whiff of the ampoule, coughing as he asked, "Am I good?"

"Stay away from Jackson for a few minutes and you should be keen. The cyanide evaporates quickly."

Cam nodded, walking into the room and keeping as far away from Jackson’s body as possible. "You alright? You look a little pale."

"I always thought pale was a good look for me," Sands drawled, still feeling a little nauseated. "I just finished dancing with the devil."

"Really? And what did you find out?"

"That I’m a much better dancer."

Sands heard Cam sit down in the chair next to where he was sitting. "About Jackson, Sands."

"He admitted he was working for Martin," Sands said as he flicked his cigarette ash out the window. He had no intention of leaving any evidence that he was in this room. "You wearing gloves, Cam?" Sands asked quickly.

"Yeah."

"Spiffy," Sands said, tossing his cigarette out the window and grinning. "I knew you had to remember something from the Farm. You ready for a little scavenger hunt?"

Cam chuckled as he stood. "You know it’s what I live for."

"That I do." Thinking for a moment, Sands walked over and began searching Jackson’s body. He heard Cam open a desk drawer and shuffle through some papers. Finding Jackson’s cell, Sands pocketed it for further inspection later. "Is there anything on the floor?" Sands asked. "I thought I heard him drop something."

Cam glanced down at the carpet and spotted the envelope. "It’s a manila envelope," Cam confirmed as he picked it up and opened it.

Sands stepped back from Jackson, and turned his attention to the bed, sticking a probing hand underneath the mattress.

As Cam removed some documents from the envelope, he looked up at Sands and commented, "You’re not going to find anything under the mattress. That’s far too obvious."

Sands smirked and stood, moving to inspect the other side of the bed. "You may know your clandestine surveillance and secret entry, but I know my psychology."

As Sands continued to search under the mattress, Cam unfolded the papers he found in the envelope. "Holy shit," Cam swore as he realized what he was looking at.

Sands looked towards Cam at the exclamation, and Cam started for a second at the sight of him without his sunglasses. He had no idea why it suddenly unnerved him, when he’d walked in moments earlier without any problem. The fake blood wasn’t making it any easier. He supposed he’d never fully get used to it, and he suspected that Sands probably wouldn’t either.

"What is it?" Sands asked anxiously.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he cleared his throat before answering. "False documents… it appears as though Jackson was going to deliver some forged records to a higher up at the Company," Cam said, ruffling through them. "They have your signature on them but…" Cam trailed off and shook his head. "It doesn’t look right. Sands, you have your wallet?"

Taking his right hand out from under the mattress, he retrieved the wallet out of his pocket and tossed it to Cam before returning to his search.

Cam flipped open the leather and took out Sands’ ID. Not lingering on the photo for too long, he started comparing the signatures on the documents to the one on the ID. He was trained to forge false documents, but also trained to catch them as well. It was clear to Cam that the ID and the false documents weren’t signed by the same person. "Someone’s trying to frame you in a big way," Cam said at last, reading some of the information the documents contained.

"Gee Cam, you think?" Sands asked sarcastically, pulling a small object out from under the mattress. He recognized the feel, shape and size of it instantly, and flipped it between his fingers a few times as Cam spoke.

"These documents… they’re a fake agreement between you and Armando Barillo. They even have Barillo’s signature…" Cam trailed off as he mulled things over in his mind.

"Wow," Sands deadpanned. "In bed with Armando Barillo. What a horrifying thought."

Cam glanced at Sands, then back at the papers in his hands. Folding them up, he put them back in the envelope. Placing the envelope in his pocket, he went over to Jackson’s suitcase and opened it.

Sands started searching the nightstand for any interesting items, and Cam smiled happily when he saw Sands’ change of location. "See, I told you that you wouldn’t find anything under the mattress."

Sands bit back a snicker as he opened the nightstand drawer. Finding nothing of interest, he shut it and walked over to Cam. "You have to get it right one of these days Cam. It’s the law of averages. However," Sands reached into his pocket and produced his find. "Today just isn’t that day. Better luck next time."

Cam eyed it doubtfully before stating the obvious. "It’s a silver dollar."

Sands shot Cam a trying look. "Really Cam, sometimes I wonder how you graduated from the Farm." With the coin between his fingertips, Sands pressed down on a point near the rim, and the top side of the coin popped up to reveal a secret compartment. "Silver dollar for your thoughts, Cam? Are there microdots inside?"

Cam took a step closer to get a better look inside the small compartment. "Well, I’ll be damned. Microdots."

Sands closed the fake silver dollar. "This might just be the proof I need," Sands drawled, tucking the coin safely into his back pocket. "Then again, it might have nothing to do with me." Sands retrieved his pack of cigarettes, and tapped one out as Cam finished going through Jackson’s suitcase.

"Everything has to do with you Sands. I found that out a long time ago."

Sands nodded as he took a drag. "You’re learning, Eric. You’re learning."