Sands released El’s hand as he moved past. Coming to stand beside Cam, he tapped a foot impatiently as he waited for the officer to pull himself off the floor.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," Sands said, offering Cam an unusually helpful hand up.

Cam eyed Sands’ proffered hand wearily before tentatively grasping it.

Sands jerked him up unceremoniously. "Even a little white lie can come back to bite you in the ass, Cam. Don’t do it again," Sands said dangerously, squeezing Cam’s hand painfully to accentuate his point.

Extracting himself from Sands’ grip, Cam walked over to the bed and sat down heavily as he gently felt the lump beginning to form at the base of his skull. "I was just trying to get you two to reach an understanding."

"I know. That’s why you’re not dead right now," Sands said bluntly. "In fact, El and I did reach an understanding during your siesta."

A knock on the door caused El and Cam to look towards it. "Expecting someone else?" Sands asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Food," Cam said shortly, feeling more than a little irritable. His head throbbed painfully when he stood up and went to answer the door.

Returning with the food, Cam handed Sands his chimichanga before sitting down on the bed and taking a bite out of his own.

"What’s this?" Sands asked, holding the plate in front of him.

"Dinner. Eat it," Cam said between bites of food.

Sands rejoined El, his plate dropping to the table with a light thud. "We can’t catch flies with vinegar, so I think it’s time to get out the honey trap."

Cam swallowed his mouthful of food before asking, "Feeling violent today?"

"No, just creative with weapons," Sands replied calmly, idly spinning his plate on the table with an index finger and listening to the sound it made as the ceramic turned on the wooden tabletop. "Soon Martin will realize that he’s no longer getting any of those nifty reports from Jackson. It won’t take long for him to put two and two together."

Cam nodded his agreement. "I still don’t completely understand what Jackson was going to do with you."

Sands stilled his plate. He’d figured out what Jackson had planned to do with him, the revelation coming after several swigs of tequila. His exchange with Jackson repeated itself in his mind, and the only upside to it was that he’d been able to glean some crucial information about Jackson and his motives. It was clear that Jackson was no assassin, and that he’d had no intention of killing him. After all, he’d had plenty of time to try and off him if that had been his assignment. By process of elimination and Jackson’s lack of any specifically honed skills, he guessed that Jackson was most likely a bridge officer. "He was intending to make a special delivery to Martin. Me."

Cam was about to ask how Sands knew that, but El cut in before he could voice the question.

"What are we going to do?"

"We are not going to do a damn thing. You are going to take Jackson’s car, drive down to CIA headquarters, and search for any and all documents with my name on them." Sands tasted the food in front of him and grimaced. "What is this?"

Cam wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Beef. It’s what’s for dinner."

"Haven’t you ever heard of the other meat?" Sands asked dryly. "You know, pork?"

Shifting his attention back to El, he plopped the chimichanga back onto the plate. "You’ll also want to keep a sharp eye out for any files with information about operation number…" Sands stopped mid-sentence. "Write this down. I’m not going to repeat it."

Cam glanced at Sands, as El grabbed a notepad and pen. "He’s going to headquarters alone?" Cam asked skeptically.

"The assignment is simple enough. I’m sure a man of El’s reputation can handle a little illegal entry and theft. Besides, you and I have bigger fish to fry."

"Such as?" Cam prodded.

"Martin," Sands said, his grumbling stomach winning over his tastebuds as he took another bite of his meal.

"We’re staying here?"

"That’s the plan." Sands faced El again. "Ready? I’d hate to rush you," he continued sarcastically.

"Yes," El grunted.

Nodding, Sands started where he’d left off. "Grab any documents with operation codename Intense Harvest or personnel codename Iron Ocelot."

Cam laughed. "So it’s Iron Ocelot this time?" Sands smirked as Cam asked, "Who comes up with these codenames?"

"That’s classified information, Chicken Little," Sands countered, smirking at the memory of one of Cam’s more embarrassing codenames.

"I’ll take no guff from you, Carnivorous Leech," Cam shot back.

"That one was cool," Sands drawled, pushing away his empty plate before digging out a cigarette.

"It fit," Cam said, watching Sands light up. "This is a non-smoking room."

Sands smiled humorlessly, inhaling deeply. "Not anymore."

"Is that everything?" El interrupted.

Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Sands asked, "What are you going to do when you have the documents?"

El, realizing the stupidity of his question, grudgingly muttered, "I do not know."

"Of course not, because I haven’t told you yet." Sands flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. "When you’re done with your search, you’ll go back to Guitar Town with the documents and wait with bated breath for my call."

"I do not have a phone."

"What happened to the last one I gave you?" Sighing, Sands continued without waiting for an answer. "I'll drop a cell off for you before you go. Hang on to it this time. Those things can be fucking expensive."

"Why my home?"

"Because home is where the heart is." Sands took another drag as he waved a hand in dismissal, his acerbity not escaping El’s notice. "Best to ask any questions you have now. This could be the last time you see me."

El’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. "You are not picking up the documents?"

"No."

"Then why am I doing this?" El asked, unable to understand Sands’ logic.

"I said that I will not pick them up. I didn’t say they wouldn’t be picked up by someone."

El shook his head a little. "From you, I expected a large shoot out with much bloodshed," El told him dryly.

Sands said nothing at first, while he decided what to tell El. "That’s exactly the point."

El regarded Sands thoughtfully. The officer continued to surprise him, which was in and of itself quite… surprising. It was a continual reminder to not underestimate the man. His ability to anticipate what others would do and how they would think was both astounding and unnerving. "No wonder it bothers you so much," El said at last.

A frown creased Sands’ forehead. "What?"

"What happened on Día de los Muertos. You didn’t anticipate it. That’s why you need your revenge."

Sands’ muscles tensed at El’s words. So reminiscent of Ajedrez’s they sent a tingle down his spine. "That’s deep, El. Really deep. But you’re also wrong, so why don’t you leave the psychobabble to the pros, like me, and stick to what you’re good at, shooting people?"

OK, so he wasn’t exactly telling El the full truth. The fact that he hadn’t been able to see the setup coming did eat at him, but it wasn’t what truly drove his need for revenge, and he certainly wasn’t about to give El the satisfaction of knowing he’d seen through part of his mask. "Any other questions?"

"What do I do when I run into CIA personnel?"

Sands shrugged. "I don’t really give a fuck if you shoot them, hide from them, or just wound them. I’ll leave all those fun details to you. My only requirements are that you get the job done and you don’t get caught. However," Sands motioned El to wait a moment as he reached inside his jean pocket and came up with a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and set it on the table in front of El. "This should help you make a more stealthy entrance."

Looking at it, El realized that it was a building plan of the CIA headquarters. "On the back of this, I wrote down Martin’s full name, and where his office is located, as well as some other information that might prove useful." Sands quirked an eyebrow. "I find it interesting that I told you to get any documents with my name on them, and you never asked what my full name actually is."

El took the piece of paper, and stuck it in his pant pocket. "I thought I’d take any documents with the last name Sands."

"Nice thought El. But what if the documents only have my initials?"

"I did not think of it," El said bluntly.

"The initials would be SS or SJS, for Sheldon Jeffery Sands. I want you to leave in about…" Sands trailed off and turned to Cam. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Nine."

"Leave in three hours. Leave on time, and drive straight through with only the necessary stops… because timing is everything in this little game of ours. Half past four you need to be inside headquarters. Try not to take more than an hour at headquarters, and definitely don’t stay there longer than an hour and a half. You get your ass out of there with whatever you have, and drive straight to Guitar Town. You may want to make sure you’re not being followed while you do that. From there, you wait for my call, and you don’t take orders on what to do with the documents from anyone but me. Cam, did you get Jackson’s car keys?"

"Yup."

Sands held out his hand, and Cam passed the keys to him with a somewhat bewildered look. "Anything else you need to know?" Sands asked El.

"No."

"Then I suggest you rest up. In three hours you’ll be starting one hell of a day."

"The keys?" El asked.

Sands stuck them in his pocket. "You’ll get them when you need them."

Once El had left, Sands turned to Cam. "You have any of your trackers with you?"

Cam nodded and went over to his suitcase. "You know I always carry a few."

Sands nodded, stubbing his cigarette out on the table as he stood. "Got anything to drink?"

"There’s probably something in the minibar, eight o’clock," Cam said by way of direction as he found the trackers he had brought with him. "How many trackers do you need?"

Sands opened the fridge door and, finding a shape that felt familiar, he grabbed it and twisted off the cap. "Two." Sniffing the contents of the bottle, he was happy to discover that it was brandy, and downed it quickly. It was cheap stuff, but then he really wasn’t in a position to be choosy at the moment.

"What are we going to do?" Cam asked, handing Sands the trackers.

"We’re going to let the bastards catch us."

Sands stepped out of the hotel lobby and into the night air. It was thankfully much cooler after sunset. It wasn’t that he had a problem with hot climates. After all, he’d grown up in Florida where the winters dipped down to a drastic seventy degrees. Floridians freak when they wake up with a covering of frost for Christ’s sake. No, it wasn’t exactly heat that bothered him.

His cane tapped lightly in front of him as he walked down the sidewalk and toward Jackson’s car, keeping an ear out for any vehicles or people that didn’t have his best interests in mind.

No, it wasn’t exactly heat that bothered him. It was this dry heat that he disliked. Dry heat and dust. He hadn’t minded it before the Day of the Dead, but now it affected him in a way he didn’t want to dwell on. Psychobabble aside, he knew very well that his mind was doing one hell of a number on him and the only way to pull it out of its downward spiral was to focus on his mission.

Stopping in front of a car, he went around to the driver’s side and tried the key. He heard the click as the door unlocked. He opened the door, grateful that he’d counted his steps right. He set the recently emptied shoulder bag down on the front seat and began searching the car, putting everything he found in the bag. There wasn’t much in the car. Anything that had any chance of being informative came from the glove compartment, and a small locked box that he found under the driver’s seat. Slinging the bag over his shoulder again, he slammed the door shut and moved to the back of the car. Popping the trunk he felt around and came across one more unidentified item. Putting it in with everything else, he zipped up the bag before taking a tracker out of his pocket.

‘Sorry, El, but trust isn’t my strong suit and I don’t trust you.’ Fingers running along the bottom of the trunk, Sands found a loose edge of carpet and pulled it up. Slipping the tracker between the fabric and the metal, he turned it on before smoothing the carpet back in place. There was only one thing left. He nabbed the guitar, and closed the trunk.

Hearing a car park, Sands leaned against Jackson’s car and set the guitar down beside him. He lit up a cigarette and took a drag as he listened to two people get out of the car and walk towards the hotel entrance.

Looking casual as he puffed at his cigarette, he waited until they were inside before walking to the car on the left of Jackson’s.

He took out the second tracker, flicked it on, and listened intently for any sign of other people in the parking lot as he took another drag. Hearing no one, he went to the front of the car and quickly slipped the tracker into the front grill. ‘I trust you even less, Ava.’

Having planted the trackers, he retrieved the guitar and slung it over his shoulder with the bag. As he did so, he heard a car pull into a spot about three spaces away. Starting back for the hotel, Sands stopped when he realized that nothing was guiding his way.

‘Fucking cane.’ He’d left it on the driver’s side of Jackson’s car.

As he walked around the car his hearing was focused on the sound of someone getting out of the vehicle that had just parked.

Bending down to search for his cane, he immediately bristled when the footsteps didn’t pass him and continue to the hotel entrance, instead coming to a halt directly in front of him.

Not knowing whether the individual was a threat or not, he continued to search for his cane, deciding to wait the person out. He heard his unknown visitor pick something up off the ground, so he stopped his search and lifted his head towards them.

"Looking for this?"

Sands straightened up from his crouch slowly. A woman’s voice, and a familiar one at that.

"In a manner of speaking," Sands said dryly. "Hello Tina."

He didn’t bother asking what brought her here. He was sure the Company had sent others besides Cam to bring him back to the States.

"It’s just business, Sands."

"Nothing personal," he finished, smirking. He took the cigarette from his lips, flicking off the dangling column of ash.

She had his cane still clutched in one hand as she continued. "Please don’t make this difficult, Sands. If you’re innocent of these crimes, like you say, then you don’t have anything to worry about."

She walked out from between the cars, and Sands followed, setting the bag and guitar down on the asphalt beside him.

"I’m hardly worried," he said, taking one last draw of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground.

He heard her sigh, and noted a hint of regret in her voice, as she said, "You should be."

Sensing what she was about to do, he ducked and kicked her legs out from under her before she could deliver a blow to his head with the cane she still held. She let out a startled cry as her feet went out from under her and Sands pushed her weight backwards as she fell. He knew he’d guessed her intentions right when the cane connected hard with his shoulder as she went down flat on her back.

The cane fell to the asphalt, rolling out of her reach. Tina struggled for breath, the sudden contact with the cement knocking the wind out of her.

Sands stepped over her prone body and knelt down, straddling her. Taking hold of her neck, he applied pressure, making it impossible for her to get her wind back.

Leaning in close, his expressionless mask in place, he said quietly in her ear, "You were always good, Doll, but never try and best the best."

He pulled away from her, listening to her wheeze. Loosening his grip on her neck slightly, he continued. "Although you’re not as sharp as you used to be."

Her knee came up, hitting him in the back in an attempt to push him off. Unfortunately for her, she was too weak from lack of oxygen and the blow lacked force. His grip on her neck loosened, however, when he was jarred forward from the blow, his sunglasses slipping down his nose.

Finding her voice, she said weakly, "And you’re not as pretty as you used to be. Guess we both…" She was cut off as Sands shifted his position, knee now pressed firmly against her throat.

He pushed his sunglasses up with an index finger, oblivious to the fact that she was reaching for the gun at her hip. As blackness closed in on the edges of her vision, she used the last of her strength to cock her gun, aiming it at his stomach.

Hearing the gun being cocked brought his attention back to Tina in a hurry. Not thinking clearly in his surprise, he looked down expecting to see the gun, and realized where she was aiming it. Cursing his foolishness, he quickly twisted to the side, hoping to escape the path of her bullet.

As blackness cloaked her vision, she squeezed her eyes closed and pulled the trigger. Sands let out a hiss of pain as he fell to her left. The pressure on her neck let up and she gasped for breath, her lungs burning. Coughing, she dropped the gun to the ground and opened her eyes. She lay on the ground for a minute, struggling to catch her breath. It took a moment for everything to come into focus, and she turned to see Sands lying beside her in an oddly twisted position, one leg still on top of her own.

Tina’s head swam as she sat up. Eyeing Sands warily, she picked up her gun and moved her legs out from under his. He seemed to be unconscious, and after retrieving her gun she crawled over to him cautiously, still not trusting her own legs to hold her up just yet.

She bent over him, her hand going to his throat, feeling for a pulse. Finding one, she breathed a small sigh of relief. It was better to return him to the Company alive rather than dead. Hearing someone, she looked up to see a man walk out of the hotel. She tucked her gun away and out of view just as he caught sight of the two of them.

"¿Quál es el problema?" he called out to her, approaching quickly.

"Do you speak English?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Si. A little. Is he hurt?" he asked, motioning to Sands’ still form as he stood next to her.

She closed Sands’ jacket to cover the blood on the side of his torso before she stood up. "Yes, but I think he’ll be alright. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention and ran into him. I must have caught him off guard because he stumbled and fell. Hit his head on the ground."

He looked at her somewhat skeptically, and she reached over and grabbed the cane. "He must be blind," she continued, and he dropped his suspicious look.

"Need help?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, thank you. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding or anything. I’ll stay with him until he wakes up. No need for you to stay."

"What if he is hurt badly?"

"I don’t think he is, but if so I can go into the hotel and ask for help. Thank you, though."

The man nodded, wishing her luck as he walked away and got into a truck. Within a minute he was gone, and she let out a shaky breath before she leaned over Sands again, intending to disarm him while he was still out.

So it was a big surprise to her when he pressed his gun to her temple. "Don’t run. You’ll just die tired."

She didn’t have time to think about his comment. He pulled the trigger and she fell onto his chest, dead.

He pushed her off him roughly and stood, grimacing as he felt the pain in his side. He buttoned his jacket closed, covering the wound. Adjusting his sunglasses, he felt around until he found his cane.

Picking it up, he slipped its band around his wrist, got out Jackson’s keys and unlocked the trunk. Opening it, he grabbed hold of Tina’s arms and dragged her to the trunk of the car, thankful that he didn’t have far to take her. Ignoring his protesting side, he picked her up and deposited her in the trunk.

He was sure El would be thrilled about this turn of events. One side of his mouth twitched up in amusement at the thought.

Closing the trunk, he slung the bag and guitar over his shoulder and headed back into the hotel.

Dropping the bag and guitar off in his room, and picking up an envelope he’d prepared earlier; he walked back down the hall to El’s room. He knocked on the door; it didn’t take long for El to answer.

Sands dangled the keys in front of El, and El took them with a grunt. "It is about time."

"Oh, stop complaining El," Sands said, leaning against the doorway, managing to keep the pain he felt out of his voice. "I’d think you would be happy. After all, you’re on your way home." He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, handing it to El. "Don’t be a stranger."

Pushing himself off the doorframe, he reached into the room and grabbed the doorknob. Before closing the door, he paused. "By the way, you might want to empty the trunk when you reach a deserted area."

Sands closed the door, leaving El to stand in his room, wondering what surprise Sands had in store for him now.

The moment Sands stepped into his room, he knew that something was wrong. He listened carefully for signs of anyone else in the room. Hearing none, he closed the door and walked further into the room. He didn’t make it far, his foot tripping over an unfamiliar object lying on the floor. Sands groaned in irritation as he caught himself before he fell, narrowly avoiding a hard collision with the ground.

Kneeling, his hand brushed up against the lump on the floor. As his hand ran along it, his stomach turned at the realization of just what it was.

A body.

And judging by its temperature and stiffness, a dead one.

"A gift for me?" Sands muttered as he searched the body, trying to figure out just who was lying on his floor. All he could tell was that the body was that of a man, but he didn’t know whose it was. "But it’s not even my birthday…"

His hand grazed a piece of paper that was pinned to the man’s shirt. Pulling it off, he quickly realized it wasn’t just an ordinary note. The paper wasn’t smooth. It had bumps on it.

But it wasn’t just bumps… it was Braille.

Sands let his fingers do the reading, and when he figured out what it said he nearly dropped it in horror.

"Shit!" Sands spat. Slowly he stood up and backed away from the body. His hand clutched the note tightly, as his mind screamed.

‘Who’d know? Who’d know what Barillo said to me right before he took my eyes? Who? Who? Who?’ Sands took a deep breath. ‘They’re all dead.’

Sands ran his fingers over the note again.

Barillo was dead. He knew that. Ajedrez was dead too. He shot her himself.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a phone ringing, but the ring wasn’t coming from the hotel phone. Sands snatched Jackson’s cell off the dresser. Making up his mind, he flipped open the cell and answered. "County morgue. You stab ‘em, we bag ‘em."

There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line. "My God…. Sands?" It was Martin. "Where’s Jackson?" he asked, catching on quickly.

"I haven’t seen him," Sands said, keeping his voice neutral despite the rage he was feeling.

"You’ve killed him, haven’t you?"

"Oh yeah, he’s dead," Sands drawled. "But I’ll have him call you back later."

"You can’t stop what’s going to happen, Sands. I’ve put too much thought into this. You can’t escape this time. I know where you are."

"I know. So come and get me. Or are you such a coward that you can’t deal with one blind officer on your own?" God, how he hated to say that, but he needed Martin to come after him, and he’d rather Martin did it on his terms and his turf, rather than the other way around. "I know you’re nearby. Had to keep an eye on Jackson, after all." He paused for a moment. "So come and get me yourself mother-fucker, if you’re man enough."

Sands snapped the cell phone shut, feeling his hands shaking.

Goddamn it, he should have known. He should have put the pieces together sooner.

Throwing the cell phone as hard as he could, it hit the wall with a crunch as he ran a hand through his hair. "You asshole!" he screamed to nobody but himself, allowing his mind the loss of the trademark cool he was so known for, his voice cracking. "You fucking did this to me!"

He ran a hand over his face, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself.

Returning to his bed, he lifted the room phone from the cradle. Speaking to a man at the front desk, he asked about the package he was expecting. His blood ran cold when the man told him that it had already been picked up.

"What?" Sands asked, unable to believe it. "By who?"

"Signature says Sheldon Sands."

Slamming the phone down on the cradle, he tried to clear his mind enough to figure out just what his next move should be.

Approaching the body again, he knelt down next to it as he wondered just whose body it was. The only thing he knew for certain was that the body was that of a full-grown man, and his stomach knotted when the only two obvious choices entered his mind.

It was either Jackson… or Cam.

Not bothering to get up this time, he reached over and yanked the phone, cradle and all, off the nightstand. The base hit the ground with a thud and the same man he’d spoken to previously answered at the front desk again.

"Eric Cameron’s room." He tapped the side of the phone with his index finger nervously as it rang. ‘Answer the phone, Cam.’

After five rings, Cam picked up, and Sands felt surprisingly relieved.

"Yeah?"

"This is your wakeup call," Sands said.

"I don’t remember asking for one. Why’d you call?" Cam asked with a yawn.

"Because of all the people I know, you’re one of them," Sands said, his free hand searching the pockets of the man on the floor.

"I’m honored. Any other reason you called me in the middle of the night?"

"There have been some changes to the plan," he said cryptically. "Keep a sharp eye out. The wolves are baying at our door and we can’t be caught by surprise." He found a wallet in the right pocket, and as he turned it over in his hands he realized that he’d done so before. Recognizing the shape, size and clasp, he sighed and sat back on his heels.

"What’s happened?" Cam asked, quickly waking up as he realized that something must have happened.

"The package you ordered has been picked up," Sands said, opening the wallet and pocketing the money inside. Tossing the wallet over his shoulder, he interrupted Cam as he started to reply. "By me, no less."

"Then what’s the problem?"

"I wasn’t there at the time."

Cam paused a moment before figuring out what Sands was saying. "That’s not good. What’s the new plan?"

"You stay in your room. Wait for me to come. Don’t answer the door to anyone but me; not Ava, not El, not anyone. I may be a while, but stay put."

"I don’t like this," Cam said. "I’m here to help you, not sit here and do nothing."

"I’m touched," Sands deadpanned. "Just do it."

Hanging up, Sands turned his full attention back to the body on the floor. "Thanks for the spare change, Jackson. I’d hate to find out you’d stuck me with the hotel bill."

The note’s message repeated itself in his mind over and over as he bent over the body. "So, were you delivered by UPS, Fed Ex, or Air America," Sands mumbled. An image popped into his mind and before he even realized it, his right hand went to Jackson’s cheek. Fingers touching something wet and sticky, Sands’ steeled himself as his fingers moved further up Jackson’s face.

When he encountered the empty holes he’d been dreading, an involuntary shudder ran up his spine. He snatched his hand back quickly as if it had been burned.

He took a deep breath. Then another.

Sands pulled off his sunglasses. His breathing hitched as his hand grazed over one of his own empty sockets. "No," he whispered, pulling himself off the ground and backing towards the bed in the center of the room. "Just like me, but it’s not me. It’s not me," he muttered. Shaking his head back and forth as if to convince himself that it wasn’t true, he snatched up the pillow on his bed, and the gun that was hidden beneath it.

Kneeling down, he placed the pillow over Jackson’s face, cocked the gun, and held it against the pillow.

Then he pulled the trigger.

He pulled the trigger three more times before he was able to regain control.

‘I’m on the razor’s edge,’ Sands thought to himself suddenly. Panting heavily from the sudden rush of adrenaline, Sands got up, not bothering to take the pillow off Jackson’s head.

‘What am I doing?’ he thought, tired of his constant struggle to remain in control.

A sharp twinge reminded him suddenly of the bullet wound in his side. He pulled his coat off gently, tossing it on the bed with his gun. When he felt his shirt, he realized that he’d lost more blood than he’d thought. It hadn’t felt like it was that bad.

At least it explained why he felt so drained. Removing his shirt, he held it against the wound as he dug around in his bag for his first aid kit. Finding it, he went over to the minibar and found another bottle of liquor, taking both items into the bathroom with him.

Taking the shirt away, he felt his side tentatively. He had accumulated an unbelievable amount of scars over the past few months, and now he had yet another one to add to the list.

The bullet had cut straight through his left side, in the front and out the back. He’d live. It hadn’t hit any vital organs, but it was bleeding like a son-of-a-bitch. "Glad I dodged that bullet," Sands mumbled, as he began to patch himself up. If he had been in a better mood, he might have considered himself lucky. It had been a damn close call.

After fixing himself up and taking a couple of aspirin to ease the pain, he decided to go through the bag of stuff he’d taken from Jackson’s car. He was especially curious about the locked box he’d taken from under the driver’s seat. What he found was interesting, indeed.

Sands knocked on Ava’s door. He had to admit, he was curious to see whether or not she had decided to stay. His question was answered a minute later when she opened the door.

She looked at Sands for a moment, noticing that he looked even paler than he had before, and stepped aside to let him in. "Come in."

Acting on her invitation, he came inside and she closed the door behind him. Sands turned to face her as she stood in the entryway. "Well, I must admit, I thought you were brighter than this, Miss Hunter."

She looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"If you were smart you would have left when I gave you the chance. But seeing as how you’re not, I don’t see why I shouldn’t use you to my advantage." Sands turned away and took a couple more steps into the room. Opening his coat and taking out an envelope, he redid a button before turning to her, holding up the envelope. "The information in this envelope can boost you to the highest ranks of journalistic excellence. Or, if you choose, it can make you very, very rich by selling it to the highest bidder. So, if I hand this envelope to you, what are you going to do with it?"

She came to stand next to him, sensing that he was testing her. "I’m going to do whatever you tell me to do with it."

"Are you, Sugar?

"Of course. But why tell me how valuable the information in it is?"

"If you were crooked, you’d open it anyway," Sands shrugged, handing it to her. "This includes information on a CIA operation in Culiacan. I am asking you to hold on to it."

"You don’t want me to do anything with it?" she asked, surprised.

"Just keep it," he said, giving her the envelope. "If you don’t, I’m sure I can think of a fitting end for you."

She nodded, swallowing thickly. "You don’t seem like the type to trust someone with documents such as these, so why are you?"

"Don’t flatter yourself Miss Hunter. Everything in that envelope is a copy of the original. You’re nothing more than backup. A little extra leverage against the Company." Sands smirked. "I believe in covering all bases."

"Can I ask you something?" Ava asked after a moment, envelope in hand.

"Shoot."

"Are you really blind, or is it just an act?"

Sands arched an eyebrow. "Are you really trustworthy?" he asked, walking past her to the door. "Pack up and leave. Right now. I assume that Tom knows how to contact you?"

"Yes."

"Groovy," Sands said, opening the door and listening for any movement in the hallway. Hearing none he stepped out of her room and called "Happy trails," to Ava, before closing her door. He had one more stop to make.

"What is this?" Cam asked, taking the clear baggy with two half-inch minidisks.

"My proof. At least part of it."

"You’re kidding! These are the recordings from your cell?"

"Seems that Jackson had a few surprises in his car," Sands said, removing a second smaller envelope from his jacket.

"Why are you giving these to me?" Cam asked. He knew that Sands was anything but trusting and he wondered why he didn’t just keep the recordings on him.

Sands tilted his head, pursing his lips slightly. "Any reason I shouldn’t?"

"Of course not… I just don’t think I’ll ever understand you. Why not keep them yourself?"

"Who said I wasn’t keeping a couple myself? But don’t you think it’s possible that when Martin comes, he’ll try to ensure that I have no evidence of his illegal acts of treason? What if he has someone else with him to search me or my room for this evidence? Never put all your eggs in one basket."

Putting the recording in the false bottom of his suitcase, Cam asked, "So what are we going to do now that the package with all the equipment didn’t arrive?"

"Sometimes you just have to do a little bit of improvising. Go with the flow. Stay here like I told you to. I’m hoping that they don’t know that you’re here. I’ve been careful about not being followed, but it’s better to be safe than sorry." Sands took out a second envelope, handing it to Cam.

"Alright," Cam said, recognizing the mode that Sands’ mind was now set in. All the bizarre metaphors, riddles and mind games dropped away, stripping Sands’ dialogue down to the bare need-to-know facts. It was the way he became with another officer or agent when an operation was at its climax. Somehow, seeing that Sands was still able to reach this mindset was oddly assuring.

"If anything goes wrong, and I don’t return to this room, you take this to the dead drop specified in two days."

Cam nodded, looking down at the directions taped to the envelope. Turning it over, his eyes widened as he read the name on the back.

Sheldon Sands.

"What is this about?" Cam asked.

"If I wanted you to know, I’d tell you. Just do it."

Cam sighed, tucking the envelope away in his suitcase. "Why are we staying? Why not leave with what we’ve found? Get the information El discovers and take it to the Company?"

Sands sat down at Cam’s table and took off his sunglasses, hanging them off the collar of his shirt. He sat there for a long time, and Cam could tell that he wasn’t in the room anymore, but somewhere else. He wore an indescribable look that seemed oddly out of place on his face. It took him a long time to speak, and when he did, he sounded utterly drained. His face was haggard and pale, and uncharacteristically pained.

"My biggest problem is that I believe everything that I tell myself."

Cam took a deep breath. Sands had never talked to him this way before, and might never do so again. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, waiting for Sands to elaborate.

"I told myself that I had control. If I don’t have control over myself, then I am nothing. I told myself that they couldn’t break me." He paused as he lit a cigarette. "I have to win this. I have to get my revenge against Martin. I have to prove him wrong." Sands took a long drag, holding the smoke in as long as he could. "I have to prove that I can’t be broken so easily," he said at last, leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees as he smoked.

Cam was speechless. This doubt was not part of the Sands he knew, and he realized that Sands needed to do this to prove to himself that he was still the officer that he’d always been. He needed to prove that Officer Sheldon Jeffery Sands hadn’t died on the Day of the Dead.

"Little fish get eaten by big fish, and big fish get eaten by sharks, Eric. So what are you? Have you ever stopped and asked yourself that? What am I? What is Martin? I can’t live the rest of my life blind, wondering about the answer to that question. If I’m not the shark, then fuck it."

Sands stood and walked to the door. He didn’t want Cam to say anything. He just wanted to leave. But before he could walk out he heard Cam behind him. "If you think you’re anything but the shark, than you really are crazy."

Sands allowed himself the ghost of a smile as he walked back to his room. He had no intention of losing.