The future we deserve
Title: The future we deserve
Author: pemphredouk
Pairing/Characters: Michael, Sara, Lincoln, OC, Alex, Sucre Bellick, Agent Self
Rating:NC-17 eventually
Summary: Scylla has been found and the Company is falling apart....Michael and the rest of the team are ready to take the freedom Self promised...but this is PB and life is never that simple.
Chapter 2 : Know thy enemy
"Turn the car around!" he commanded to Self with a fierce determination in his eyes.
"What?" and the hapless Agent creased his forehead in incomprehension at Scofield's order, for there was no mistaking that it had been an order.
"We're nearly there Michael..."
"She's at the hospital!" and he forced the tracker into Self's field of vision so aggressively that Self had to sit back in the seat for a moment to avoid it actually touching his face.
Self immediately started to shake his head, his voice adopting the lower calmer tones his training had told him worked well in these situations as he faced the unwelding force of Michael Scofield.
"Michael....if she's at the hospital, she's alive and being looked after, we need to see whats happened to the others...I will make arrangements later ok, but at the moment the rest of the world thinks you're still an extremely dangerous escaped fugitive and you stand more chance of getting arrested if you storm into ER than you do of seeing Sara...so...be patient.."
The car had slowed as it maneuvered its way through a maze of police cars, paramedics’ trucks and black SUVs which were scattered on the dockside by the warehouse. The sun had finally set and both their faces were now just illuminated by the strobing red and blue lights of the myriad emergency vehicles and Self caught the exact moment Michael's face crumpled into one of passive acceptance of Self's words.
"I'll get you there soon ok?" and he reached out and placed a hand on Michael's arm, receiving a slight flicker of the eyes from him before he withdrew his arm and opened the car door to leave.
Self watched Michael walk towards the door of the warehouse ignoring the several obvious stares from the LAPD cops who were now milling around. They had been called to the incident but told quite firmly to remain outside the building since the men in suits were dealing. He leaned forwards to the driver.
"Send someone to Mount Cedars Tom and keep me updated with Tancredi's status ok?" The driver nodded back in response and Self jumped out of the car and half ran the last few yards to catch Michael up.
They were both stopped at the door by another dark suited man and for a brief moment Michael wondered why the good and bad guys dressed so alike - Agents and Company...peas in a pod.
Self instinctively reached for his ID and flashed it in the face of the serious looking man, then nodding to his side.
"He's with me." he made eye contact again with the other agent and watched expectantly as he stepped aside.
"Crime Scene guys are still here." the man murmured and Self nodded slightly in acknowledgement before pushing the heavy iron door open wider and slipping through followed quickly by Michael.
Every single light had been turned on and they had illuminated the inside of the warehouse in a harsh brightness, making it seem even vaster than it had first appeared on that first day many weeks before to Michael. The light took no prisoners, the grime on the windows and walls, the dully grey stained concrete, even the yellow handrails which seemed more chipped then he had remembered were intensified by it, and Michael took a second to take in the scene, the room that strangely had become almost homely to him in the last couple of months.
For a moment he was taken back to another large room its roof towering above its occupants, three levels of floors jutting out into the larger open area and his mouth fell open as for the first time he realised how similar the warehouse was to Fox River. There was something about the way empty space occupied and almost dominated the room, and what that did to noises and voices within it that had caused this flashback...or was it that now both areas had witnessed terror and death and frighteningly clear images of the riot flashed into his head. There had been other similarities he had probably chosen to ignore beyond the obvious yellow handrails defining each level. The warehouse and Fox River had, in the beginning, in some bizarre way been places of hope. Locations to get a particular job done then take the people he loved and start again elsewhere. With Fox River he had been focused on Linc....here it had been the trifecta Sara, Linc and Sucre, he had promised himself that as long as they all made it out his job was done. But in the space of just a few hours even that had been put at risk.
Immediately ahead of him lay a body, its arms spread out like some fallen crucifix, blood that had seeped from beneath the head, face down on the cold floor....cold...strange that word had come to him, it didn't really matter now did it?.... was now congealing in a flat dull puddle. It was Bellick, a beer bottle still clutched in one hand after what would have been his last ever visit to the head since he had barely made it three steps from the bathroom before the silent assassin had dispatched him, clinically. Even from this distance Michael could see the two neat bullet holes in the back of his head.
He felt a confusion of emotions wash over him. He had loathed and pitied this man in equal parts since knowing him. He had come to the conclusion after reluctantly working him at Sona and here that he was a weak man who could occasionally raise himself to acceptable levels of competency. This seemed a somewhat harsh epitaph for the man now lying in front of him but it seemed appropriate that even in death Bellick failed to stir anything stronger in him.
He sidestepped the body, his face momentarily whitened by the flash of the camera as a SOCO took careful pictures of Bellick that would never make the mantelpiece of his devoted mother. Moving into the lower part of the room he made his way up the ramp
"Don't touch anything!" hissed Self and Michael pulled away his hand that had been about to grasp the handrail on the ramp.
There were two men hovering over another body slumped forward in the chair at the end of the large conference room. He couldn't see the face but he didn't need to. He already knew who it was.
All of them had through the long weeks of brainstorming and planning gravitated towards sitting in the same chairs around the table each time, claiming them as their own. It had taken just a couple of raised elbows and muttered apologies before the less socially adept members of the group had realised this was happening and shuffled their papers along the table and out of someone's 'space'.
Roland had always sat at the end, Michael had often wondered if this was because with just an upward glance from his screen he could take in all the others in one efficient sweep of the room. Assessing where each and every predator was and their readiness to pounce. Roland seemed to have been born with the word 'prey' indelibly stamped across his forehead and despite his brains and skills with the laptop that rarely left his presence, Michael suspected he had been hunted through every phase of his life.
The hunt was over, Roland would never tap another key, or make another inappropriate wisecrack. He was still sitting in his chair, his body pitched forwards onto the table his head resting on the laptop keyboard. The screen was splattered with sprays of blood and a large crack ran from a hole near the centre to the top left corner. Evidence of the path of the bullet that had passed through Roland's head. The screen was dark, the finality of this last boot down of the only thing he felt comfortable with, obvious. There were three empty bottles of beer on the table next to the laptop and Michael shook his head in dismay that Roland had once again chosen his laptop as the best company he could manage even in the midst of their celebratory party.
He looked up and could see several people gathered around another body, the hand hanging limply over the edge of the level above. Its hue, a rich golden darkness signaling what he had feared, it was Sucre. He headed for the stairs, but before he had reached the sleeping quarters level a voice shouted out over the rails
"We've got a pulse, this one's still alive." and Michael doubled his speed, crashing around the corner to witness the two paramedics now desperately fighting to save Sucre. He must have been sitting on his bed when the attacker found him, a bottle of beer was half drunk on the small box they used to store their possessions and use as nightstands, The force of the bullet or bullets sending him crashing to the ground. He wasn't sure how many it had taken to silence his friend, but he could see just one wound in his chest,.... too close to his heart.... Michael thought...far...far too close and he gasped with fear. More terrified now because finding him alive had brought a slither of hope and he wasn't sure he could have that snatched from him twice if he had to return to his earlier assumption that Sucre had been killed as efficiently and incisively as the other two.
He moved closer, watching as they inserted lines and stemmed the bleeding and it was only as he felt his foot brush against something on the floor did he look down. There were two photographs lying face down on the floor. They must have been on the bed next to him when he was shot, the medics had tipped the bed on its side to make more room to treat him and they had slid unnoticed to the floor. He bent down to pick them up, conscious for a second of Self's earlier instructions of not to touch. But that had only been important when they needed forensics for a body hadn't it?..Sucre was alive....He turned them over in his hand but he already knew what they would be, he'd seen one of them every day he'd been inside Fox River. It was Mariacruz...Sucre's love and total focus in life. The other was newer but already slightly frayed at the edge though constant viewing. It was his daughter, Leena Maria Sucre swaddled in a pink blanket, her dark curly hair just peaking out from a small woolen hat. These two photos had been Sucre's constant companions and Michael was not surprised that he had sneaked away to enjoy them even during a party.
He was jolted out of these thoughts by the clatter of two more paramedics making their way up the stairs with a stretcher. In a blur of paramedics vests and shouted warnings "careful with the line, " Michael managed to focus and shout out.
"He’s blood type O" and a medic nodded his thanks. Michael wondered why he managed to retain such huge amounts of peripheral knowledge. He wasn't even sure how he had known, perhaps some whispered conversation at night in the cell, ...Then it suddenly came back to him. Sucre had talked one night about how he had tried to raise the money to take Maricruz out on a date and he had been determined to impress her despite a severe shortage of funds. In his desperation he'd sold his blood at a local transfusion centre at which he'd learned he was blood group O. But one session hadn't paid enough so he'd gone back again only to be told they didn't accept repeat donations within a month let alone a day, and had been turned away.
Watching his friend, surrounded by the medics, one standing and holding a bag of precious plasma in his hand the others still applying dressings to the whole in his chest....just inches from his heart....Michael sighed and swayed slightly, holding onto the edge of the upturned mattress for support. He looked down again at the two photos in his hand and placed them carefully in his pocket. Sucre would want him to keep them safe for him. He stepped back, finding an elusive shadow in the warehouse despite the harsh lights and leaned back against the wall for a moment. He had to gather his thoughts, whoever had caused such mayhem was still out there and he had little confidence in the Agents and Cops being able to protect them. Sara was vulnerable and alone, Linc and Alex were out there somewhere possibly running for their lives and he...well.. the path for him and Sara he had felt was becoming so clearly defined on his flight back was now fading away again.
He needed to speak to Linc, he wondered what Mahone was doing and where had they both been when the assassin...assassins had arrived. But most importantly he needed to see Sara. He knew what Self had said earlier had been right but he could be careful, low key, draw little attention to himself if needed. He clenched his fists together slowly and banged the wall a couple of times before pushing off away from it and moving to the edge of the level again. The medics were still working on Sucre with an unhurried calm that suggested they were confident of how it was going.
He turned and looking down he could see Self standing next to the conference table, talking in hushed whispers to one of his team, occasionally looking over to the boards that had mapped out their slow progress through the collection of the cards and descrambler. The picture of the general had caught his attention, someone had drawn an elaborate moustache, beard and eye patch on his features with a black sharpie...and Self just knew it would have been Roland....
Michael made his way silently down the stairs, past Self and the other group and then down the ramp towards the other exit from the warehouse barely visible behind the boat. He stopped at the boat, perhaps he could take some things to Sara, toiletries, her hair brush, personal stuff if she was to be in hospital for a while and he made his way up the steps. He stepped into the boat and almost slipped over, a low gasp escaped his lips as he saw what had caused him to stumble. In front of him was a small upturned bucket and spread out across the floor of the boat were large chunks of ice now slowly melting, he could see two unopened bottles of beer and a smaller bottle of apple cider lying amongst the ice and he realised his little joke with Sara had been taken seriously. She had found somewhere a bucket and more incredibly ice and it looked as if she had been preparing for a rather more intimate party for the two of them on his return.
He weakened, there were so many reasons why he loved this woman so much, they were beyond words, and they all momentarily reared up and engulfed him, causing him to falter and he had to sit on the edge of the boat's side. His hands came up to his face covering them completely as he tried to shut out the light and the voices and the presence of all these strangers around him. With his eyes now closed he recalled Sara's face, her smile, her scent, this was real to him, not the death and destruction behind him in the warehouse, but Sara’s touch, and warmth and love. He breathed heavily into his cupped hands, feeling the hot damp air against him and wishing it was her breath skimming over his skin like little vespers of love. The horror of what had happened here only now truly impacting on him. He let his hands drop and his eyes once more found the mini devastation on the floor of the boat.
It was only then he noticed the blood, splatters of tiny drops against the whiteness of the boat's paintwork. A few had combined and had started to drip down the glossy walls; some had even reached the deck and had become pinkish stains mixing with the ice and melted water. Sara's blood, she must have been standing in the boat with the bucket when she was hit and suddenly his thoughts of taking personal things to the hospital seemed completely inconsequential. She'd been shot, the guy was good at his job, she could be clinging desperately on to life just as Sucre was just feet from him and he was still standing in some ridiculous landlocked boat too many miles from her. He almost ran down the steps and out of the door.
The area was still full of LAPD and agents, he searched amongst the cars finding at the third attempt one without a driver but with the keys still in it and slipped in through the drivers door. He quickly turned it around and was about to pull out when he realised he was blocked by the ambulance in front of him. He thumped his fists against the steering wheel, but seconds later the paramedics appeared from around the corner carrying a stretcher...Sucre. He watched as they placed him in the back and just minutes later started weaving their way through the remaining vehicles, siren wailing. Michael couldn't help thinking how perfect this was. If they were taking him to the same hospital as Sara then he could follow them all the way and he quickly slipped his vehicle in behind them turning onto the dock road and heading north towards the lights of downtown LA.
He lost the ambulance at the fifth set of lights, they had raced through the lights set on red, their emergency blue lights flashing the siren still wailing into the night and he had been unable to follow, conscious of an LAPD patrol car waiting at the intersection. The last thing he needed now was to be pulled over and arrested....so he had braked, cursing his luck and then, once the lights had changed to green valiantly tried to follow the quickly receding blue lights as they disappeared into the distance.
He tried to picture the image he had seen on Self's tracker how many blocks had he scrolled north...then three...four blocks east...? .and he slowed the car bringing it to a halt outside a Laundromat as he tried to recreate the satellite picture once more.
Back at the warehouse Self had spoken with the two agents who had been first to arrive and the Scenes of crime lead man. The evidence collected so far pointed to one or possibly more professional killers. The way they had found and shot four victims without making them aware of their presence. The precise shots, to the head or heart, the lack of forensics on any entrance or exit... Self had already jumped to this conclusion and knowing what he did, he had already added a name to the killer, he knew there was just one, there only needed to be one when that killer was Wyatt.
He was now wondering how this all affected the timeline that had been planned so meticulously back in Washington. The Company operatives were already being rounded up across the country, teams of agents moving in on Government representatives, senior people in Law enforcement, Banking, local government administration, there had been at least three city mayors on the list, and several high ranking military offices including the second in command at Westpoint, a fruitful recruiting base no doubt...But this was all happening now, and it was imperative they captured as many as possible before they caught wind of the operation and took flight and breaking news about Scofield's team could put that at risk.
The release of Michael's team was supposed to be low key, a few official announcements lost in the blur of news once the downfall of the Company could be made public and this latest incident put both operations at risk. He looked up to see a colleague walk briskly across the floor of the warehouse to him, pausing only briefly to stare at the body of Roland Glenn who was now getting the attention of the forensic photographer.
"Sir, Scofield has left the warehouse, and err...taken my car." Self sighed,
"You left the keys in it?"
"Yes sir..this area had been closed off by security... I didn't think..."
Self raised his hand to stop him
"It's, ok I know where he's gone."
"You do? I wondered ...since his brother's missing, and could be considered a suspect... if he's gone to warn him?"
Self couldn't stop a small laugh from escaping.
"Burrows a suspect?" and he shook his head, "No way, and no...Scofield hasn't gone to find his brother. He's gone to Sara Tancredi's bedside...." and he pulled out the tracker and pointed at the small blue marker now heading north and just a few blocks away from the blue marker for Tancredi.
"I have Mathers at the hospital, I'll ask him to keep a close eye on Scofield when he arrives so he doesn't get recognized and blow this whole thing sky high and onto every television set in the country." He paused, the other two team members still not accounted for inched their way into his thoughts.
"Has anyone picked up Mahone yet?"
"They're heading out now, if as you said the guys on foot they'll be there in minutes, he hasn't got that far."
"and Lincoln Burrows?"
Fox and Lund are still proceeding to the location shown by the tag, we should hear very soon he's been picked up."
"Good." and Self turned away brushing his hand through his hair and surveying the scene in the warehouse, already drafting the words for his report in his head......
Michael's cell phone buzzed on the seat next to him and he picked it up, the ID letting him know it was Linc,
"You ok?" asked Michael, unable to hide the panic in his voice.
"Yeah, I'm in the car, I'd gone to get some more beers when Alex called me and said they'd been attacked at the warehouse..he said they'd all been shot......Mikey I'm so sorry....Sa....I should have been there...I could have saved her...." and his voice broke down into an anguished murmur.
"Linc she isn't dead, they took her to the hospital, thats where I'm heading now. She survived..." and as he spoke those words he allowed himself renewed hope that it was in fact true, that she had once more escaped the fate the Company seemed determined to deal her.
"Thank god for that...Alex mustn't have realised although man..he sounded out if it, mutterring stuff I couldn't undertsand something abut his eyes and how they'd seen Cam's last moments, and how that wasn't right ...something like that...I must admit I just turned the car around and headed south after the call."
"Thats ok, you;re safe thats what matters" replied Michael with intense relief in his voice.
"Shall I come back?"
"No! ..." Michael almost shouted down the line, "No...not yet... I need to think this through, work out whats best of for us. We can't leave this to Self,"
"Ok Ok just tell me what to do bro."
"Stay low, lose the tag, and call me tommorrow morning, use the code ok, they could trace our calls, they might already have started."
The code? ...sheesh THAT code?" and Michael could hear a low chuckle from his brother that for a moment chased a weak smile onto his face.
"You remember it Linc?" it had been nearly twenty years since he had created the code for him and Linc to use when they were kids and needed places to meet up without adults finding out.
"Yeah of course Mike...talk then."
"You sure youre going to be ok Linc?"
Linc looked into the back seat,
"I've still got the beer and some other crap Sara wanted me to get, she said we shouldn't just drink without food so ...yeah I'll be fine. Where are you going to be?"
"With Sara, at Mount Cedars hospital, I have to go ...take care."
"You too bro."
Michael flipped his phone shut, he knew he sounded worried and had begun to feel the crushing weight of these new frightening responsibilities. His team were fragmented, some were dangerosly wounded and vulnerable and out there was an assassin who didn't see the dissolution of the Company as a reason to stop hunting them....
tbc
Author: pemphredouk
Pairing/Characters: Michael, Sara, Lincoln, OC, Alex, Sucre Bellick, Agent Self
Rating:NC-17 eventually
Summary: Scylla has been found and the Company is falling apart....Michael and the rest of the team are ready to take the freedom Self promised...but this is PB and life is never that simple.
Chapter 2 : Know thy enemy
"Turn the car around!" he commanded to Self with a fierce determination in his eyes.
"What?" and the hapless Agent creased his forehead in incomprehension at Scofield's order, for there was no mistaking that it had been an order.
"We're nearly there Michael..."
"She's at the hospital!" and he forced the tracker into Self's field of vision so aggressively that Self had to sit back in the seat for a moment to avoid it actually touching his face.
Self immediately started to shake his head, his voice adopting the lower calmer tones his training had told him worked well in these situations as he faced the unwelding force of Michael Scofield.
"Michael....if she's at the hospital, she's alive and being looked after, we need to see whats happened to the others...I will make arrangements later ok, but at the moment the rest of the world thinks you're still an extremely dangerous escaped fugitive and you stand more chance of getting arrested if you storm into ER than you do of seeing Sara...so...be patient.."
The car had slowed as it maneuvered its way through a maze of police cars, paramedics’ trucks and black SUVs which were scattered on the dockside by the warehouse. The sun had finally set and both their faces were now just illuminated by the strobing red and blue lights of the myriad emergency vehicles and Self caught the exact moment Michael's face crumpled into one of passive acceptance of Self's words.
"I'll get you there soon ok?" and he reached out and placed a hand on Michael's arm, receiving a slight flicker of the eyes from him before he withdrew his arm and opened the car door to leave.
Self watched Michael walk towards the door of the warehouse ignoring the several obvious stares from the LAPD cops who were now milling around. They had been called to the incident but told quite firmly to remain outside the building since the men in suits were dealing. He leaned forwards to the driver.
"Send someone to Mount Cedars Tom and keep me updated with Tancredi's status ok?" The driver nodded back in response and Self jumped out of the car and half ran the last few yards to catch Michael up.
They were both stopped at the door by another dark suited man and for a brief moment Michael wondered why the good and bad guys dressed so alike - Agents and Company...peas in a pod.
Self instinctively reached for his ID and flashed it in the face of the serious looking man, then nodding to his side.
"He's with me." he made eye contact again with the other agent and watched expectantly as he stepped aside.
"Crime Scene guys are still here." the man murmured and Self nodded slightly in acknowledgement before pushing the heavy iron door open wider and slipping through followed quickly by Michael.
Every single light had been turned on and they had illuminated the inside of the warehouse in a harsh brightness, making it seem even vaster than it had first appeared on that first day many weeks before to Michael. The light took no prisoners, the grime on the windows and walls, the dully grey stained concrete, even the yellow handrails which seemed more chipped then he had remembered were intensified by it, and Michael took a second to take in the scene, the room that strangely had become almost homely to him in the last couple of months.
For a moment he was taken back to another large room its roof towering above its occupants, three levels of floors jutting out into the larger open area and his mouth fell open as for the first time he realised how similar the warehouse was to Fox River. There was something about the way empty space occupied and almost dominated the room, and what that did to noises and voices within it that had caused this flashback...or was it that now both areas had witnessed terror and death and frighteningly clear images of the riot flashed into his head. There had been other similarities he had probably chosen to ignore beyond the obvious yellow handrails defining each level. The warehouse and Fox River had, in the beginning, in some bizarre way been places of hope. Locations to get a particular job done then take the people he loved and start again elsewhere. With Fox River he had been focused on Linc....here it had been the trifecta Sara, Linc and Sucre, he had promised himself that as long as they all made it out his job was done. But in the space of just a few hours even that had been put at risk.
Immediately ahead of him lay a body, its arms spread out like some fallen crucifix, blood that had seeped from beneath the head, face down on the cold floor....cold...strange that word had come to him, it didn't really matter now did it?.... was now congealing in a flat dull puddle. It was Bellick, a beer bottle still clutched in one hand after what would have been his last ever visit to the head since he had barely made it three steps from the bathroom before the silent assassin had dispatched him, clinically. Even from this distance Michael could see the two neat bullet holes in the back of his head.
He felt a confusion of emotions wash over him. He had loathed and pitied this man in equal parts since knowing him. He had come to the conclusion after reluctantly working him at Sona and here that he was a weak man who could occasionally raise himself to acceptable levels of competency. This seemed a somewhat harsh epitaph for the man now lying in front of him but it seemed appropriate that even in death Bellick failed to stir anything stronger in him.
He sidestepped the body, his face momentarily whitened by the flash of the camera as a SOCO took careful pictures of Bellick that would never make the mantelpiece of his devoted mother. Moving into the lower part of the room he made his way up the ramp
"Don't touch anything!" hissed Self and Michael pulled away his hand that had been about to grasp the handrail on the ramp.
There were two men hovering over another body slumped forward in the chair at the end of the large conference room. He couldn't see the face but he didn't need to. He already knew who it was.
All of them had through the long weeks of brainstorming and planning gravitated towards sitting in the same chairs around the table each time, claiming them as their own. It had taken just a couple of raised elbows and muttered apologies before the less socially adept members of the group had realised this was happening and shuffled their papers along the table and out of someone's 'space'.
Roland had always sat at the end, Michael had often wondered if this was because with just an upward glance from his screen he could take in all the others in one efficient sweep of the room. Assessing where each and every predator was and their readiness to pounce. Roland seemed to have been born with the word 'prey' indelibly stamped across his forehead and despite his brains and skills with the laptop that rarely left his presence, Michael suspected he had been hunted through every phase of his life.
The hunt was over, Roland would never tap another key, or make another inappropriate wisecrack. He was still sitting in his chair, his body pitched forwards onto the table his head resting on the laptop keyboard. The screen was splattered with sprays of blood and a large crack ran from a hole near the centre to the top left corner. Evidence of the path of the bullet that had passed through Roland's head. The screen was dark, the finality of this last boot down of the only thing he felt comfortable with, obvious. There were three empty bottles of beer on the table next to the laptop and Michael shook his head in dismay that Roland had once again chosen his laptop as the best company he could manage even in the midst of their celebratory party.
He looked up and could see several people gathered around another body, the hand hanging limply over the edge of the level above. Its hue, a rich golden darkness signaling what he had feared, it was Sucre. He headed for the stairs, but before he had reached the sleeping quarters level a voice shouted out over the rails
"We've got a pulse, this one's still alive." and Michael doubled his speed, crashing around the corner to witness the two paramedics now desperately fighting to save Sucre. He must have been sitting on his bed when the attacker found him, a bottle of beer was half drunk on the small box they used to store their possessions and use as nightstands, The force of the bullet or bullets sending him crashing to the ground. He wasn't sure how many it had taken to silence his friend, but he could see just one wound in his chest,.... too close to his heart.... Michael thought...far...far too close and he gasped with fear. More terrified now because finding him alive had brought a slither of hope and he wasn't sure he could have that snatched from him twice if he had to return to his earlier assumption that Sucre had been killed as efficiently and incisively as the other two.
He moved closer, watching as they inserted lines and stemmed the bleeding and it was only as he felt his foot brush against something on the floor did he look down. There were two photographs lying face down on the floor. They must have been on the bed next to him when he was shot, the medics had tipped the bed on its side to make more room to treat him and they had slid unnoticed to the floor. He bent down to pick them up, conscious for a second of Self's earlier instructions of not to touch. But that had only been important when they needed forensics for a body hadn't it?..Sucre was alive....He turned them over in his hand but he already knew what they would be, he'd seen one of them every day he'd been inside Fox River. It was Mariacruz...Sucre's love and total focus in life. The other was newer but already slightly frayed at the edge though constant viewing. It was his daughter, Leena Maria Sucre swaddled in a pink blanket, her dark curly hair just peaking out from a small woolen hat. These two photos had been Sucre's constant companions and Michael was not surprised that he had sneaked away to enjoy them even during a party.
He was jolted out of these thoughts by the clatter of two more paramedics making their way up the stairs with a stretcher. In a blur of paramedics vests and shouted warnings "careful with the line, " Michael managed to focus and shout out.
"He’s blood type O" and a medic nodded his thanks. Michael wondered why he managed to retain such huge amounts of peripheral knowledge. He wasn't even sure how he had known, perhaps some whispered conversation at night in the cell, ...Then it suddenly came back to him. Sucre had talked one night about how he had tried to raise the money to take Maricruz out on a date and he had been determined to impress her despite a severe shortage of funds. In his desperation he'd sold his blood at a local transfusion centre at which he'd learned he was blood group O. But one session hadn't paid enough so he'd gone back again only to be told they didn't accept repeat donations within a month let alone a day, and had been turned away.
Watching his friend, surrounded by the medics, one standing and holding a bag of precious plasma in his hand the others still applying dressings to the whole in his chest....just inches from his heart....Michael sighed and swayed slightly, holding onto the edge of the upturned mattress for support. He looked down again at the two photos in his hand and placed them carefully in his pocket. Sucre would want him to keep them safe for him. He stepped back, finding an elusive shadow in the warehouse despite the harsh lights and leaned back against the wall for a moment. He had to gather his thoughts, whoever had caused such mayhem was still out there and he had little confidence in the Agents and Cops being able to protect them. Sara was vulnerable and alone, Linc and Alex were out there somewhere possibly running for their lives and he...well.. the path for him and Sara he had felt was becoming so clearly defined on his flight back was now fading away again.
He needed to speak to Linc, he wondered what Mahone was doing and where had they both been when the assassin...assassins had arrived. But most importantly he needed to see Sara. He knew what Self had said earlier had been right but he could be careful, low key, draw little attention to himself if needed. He clenched his fists together slowly and banged the wall a couple of times before pushing off away from it and moving to the edge of the level again. The medics were still working on Sucre with an unhurried calm that suggested they were confident of how it was going.
He turned and looking down he could see Self standing next to the conference table, talking in hushed whispers to one of his team, occasionally looking over to the boards that had mapped out their slow progress through the collection of the cards and descrambler. The picture of the general had caught his attention, someone had drawn an elaborate moustache, beard and eye patch on his features with a black sharpie...and Self just knew it would have been Roland....
Michael made his way silently down the stairs, past Self and the other group and then down the ramp towards the other exit from the warehouse barely visible behind the boat. He stopped at the boat, perhaps he could take some things to Sara, toiletries, her hair brush, personal stuff if she was to be in hospital for a while and he made his way up the steps. He stepped into the boat and almost slipped over, a low gasp escaped his lips as he saw what had caused him to stumble. In front of him was a small upturned bucket and spread out across the floor of the boat were large chunks of ice now slowly melting, he could see two unopened bottles of beer and a smaller bottle of apple cider lying amongst the ice and he realised his little joke with Sara had been taken seriously. She had found somewhere a bucket and more incredibly ice and it looked as if she had been preparing for a rather more intimate party for the two of them on his return.
He weakened, there were so many reasons why he loved this woman so much, they were beyond words, and they all momentarily reared up and engulfed him, causing him to falter and he had to sit on the edge of the boat's side. His hands came up to his face covering them completely as he tried to shut out the light and the voices and the presence of all these strangers around him. With his eyes now closed he recalled Sara's face, her smile, her scent, this was real to him, not the death and destruction behind him in the warehouse, but Sara’s touch, and warmth and love. He breathed heavily into his cupped hands, feeling the hot damp air against him and wishing it was her breath skimming over his skin like little vespers of love. The horror of what had happened here only now truly impacting on him. He let his hands drop and his eyes once more found the mini devastation on the floor of the boat.
It was only then he noticed the blood, splatters of tiny drops against the whiteness of the boat's paintwork. A few had combined and had started to drip down the glossy walls; some had even reached the deck and had become pinkish stains mixing with the ice and melted water. Sara's blood, she must have been standing in the boat with the bucket when she was hit and suddenly his thoughts of taking personal things to the hospital seemed completely inconsequential. She'd been shot, the guy was good at his job, she could be clinging desperately on to life just as Sucre was just feet from him and he was still standing in some ridiculous landlocked boat too many miles from her. He almost ran down the steps and out of the door.
The area was still full of LAPD and agents, he searched amongst the cars finding at the third attempt one without a driver but with the keys still in it and slipped in through the drivers door. He quickly turned it around and was about to pull out when he realised he was blocked by the ambulance in front of him. He thumped his fists against the steering wheel, but seconds later the paramedics appeared from around the corner carrying a stretcher...Sucre. He watched as they placed him in the back and just minutes later started weaving their way through the remaining vehicles, siren wailing. Michael couldn't help thinking how perfect this was. If they were taking him to the same hospital as Sara then he could follow them all the way and he quickly slipped his vehicle in behind them turning onto the dock road and heading north towards the lights of downtown LA.
He lost the ambulance at the fifth set of lights, they had raced through the lights set on red, their emergency blue lights flashing the siren still wailing into the night and he had been unable to follow, conscious of an LAPD patrol car waiting at the intersection. The last thing he needed now was to be pulled over and arrested....so he had braked, cursing his luck and then, once the lights had changed to green valiantly tried to follow the quickly receding blue lights as they disappeared into the distance.
He tried to picture the image he had seen on Self's tracker how many blocks had he scrolled north...then three...four blocks east...? .and he slowed the car bringing it to a halt outside a Laundromat as he tried to recreate the satellite picture once more.
Back at the warehouse Self had spoken with the two agents who had been first to arrive and the Scenes of crime lead man. The evidence collected so far pointed to one or possibly more professional killers. The way they had found and shot four victims without making them aware of their presence. The precise shots, to the head or heart, the lack of forensics on any entrance or exit... Self had already jumped to this conclusion and knowing what he did, he had already added a name to the killer, he knew there was just one, there only needed to be one when that killer was Wyatt.
He was now wondering how this all affected the timeline that had been planned so meticulously back in Washington. The Company operatives were already being rounded up across the country, teams of agents moving in on Government representatives, senior people in Law enforcement, Banking, local government administration, there had been at least three city mayors on the list, and several high ranking military offices including the second in command at Westpoint, a fruitful recruiting base no doubt...But this was all happening now, and it was imperative they captured as many as possible before they caught wind of the operation and took flight and breaking news about Scofield's team could put that at risk.
The release of Michael's team was supposed to be low key, a few official announcements lost in the blur of news once the downfall of the Company could be made public and this latest incident put both operations at risk. He looked up to see a colleague walk briskly across the floor of the warehouse to him, pausing only briefly to stare at the body of Roland Glenn who was now getting the attention of the forensic photographer.
"Sir, Scofield has left the warehouse, and err...taken my car." Self sighed,
"You left the keys in it?"
"Yes sir..this area had been closed off by security... I didn't think..."
Self raised his hand to stop him
"It's, ok I know where he's gone."
"You do? I wondered ...since his brother's missing, and could be considered a suspect... if he's gone to warn him?"
Self couldn't stop a small laugh from escaping.
"Burrows a suspect?" and he shook his head, "No way, and no...Scofield hasn't gone to find his brother. He's gone to Sara Tancredi's bedside...." and he pulled out the tracker and pointed at the small blue marker now heading north and just a few blocks away from the blue marker for Tancredi.
"I have Mathers at the hospital, I'll ask him to keep a close eye on Scofield when he arrives so he doesn't get recognized and blow this whole thing sky high and onto every television set in the country." He paused, the other two team members still not accounted for inched their way into his thoughts.
"Has anyone picked up Mahone yet?"
"They're heading out now, if as you said the guys on foot they'll be there in minutes, he hasn't got that far."
"and Lincoln Burrows?"
Fox and Lund are still proceeding to the location shown by the tag, we should hear very soon he's been picked up."
"Good." and Self turned away brushing his hand through his hair and surveying the scene in the warehouse, already drafting the words for his report in his head......
Michael's cell phone buzzed on the seat next to him and he picked it up, the ID letting him know it was Linc,
"You ok?" asked Michael, unable to hide the panic in his voice.
"Yeah, I'm in the car, I'd gone to get some more beers when Alex called me and said they'd been attacked at the warehouse..he said they'd all been shot......Mikey I'm so sorry....Sa....I should have been there...I could have saved her...." and his voice broke down into an anguished murmur.
"Linc she isn't dead, they took her to the hospital, thats where I'm heading now. She survived..." and as he spoke those words he allowed himself renewed hope that it was in fact true, that she had once more escaped the fate the Company seemed determined to deal her.
"Thank god for that...Alex mustn't have realised although man..he sounded out if it, mutterring stuff I couldn't undertsand something abut his eyes and how they'd seen Cam's last moments, and how that wasn't right ...something like that...I must admit I just turned the car around and headed south after the call."
"Thats ok, you;re safe thats what matters" replied Michael with intense relief in his voice.
"Shall I come back?"
"No! ..." Michael almost shouted down the line, "No...not yet... I need to think this through, work out whats best of for us. We can't leave this to Self,"
"Ok Ok just tell me what to do bro."
"Stay low, lose the tag, and call me tommorrow morning, use the code ok, they could trace our calls, they might already have started."
The code? ...sheesh THAT code?" and Michael could hear a low chuckle from his brother that for a moment chased a weak smile onto his face.
"You remember it Linc?" it had been nearly twenty years since he had created the code for him and Linc to use when they were kids and needed places to meet up without adults finding out.
"Yeah of course Mike...talk then."
"You sure youre going to be ok Linc?"
Linc looked into the back seat,
"I've still got the beer and some other crap Sara wanted me to get, she said we shouldn't just drink without food so ...yeah I'll be fine. Where are you going to be?"
"With Sara, at Mount Cedars hospital, I have to go ...take care."
"You too bro."
Michael flipped his phone shut, he knew he sounded worried and had begun to feel the crushing weight of these new frightening responsibilities. His team were fragmented, some were dangerosly wounded and vulnerable and out there was an assassin who didn't see the dissolution of the Company as a reason to stop hunting them....
tbc