Langley, Virginia

John Clark’s brow furrowed as he read the record of the man he’d be meeting with in just a few minutes. Throughout the seventies and eighties, and right up until the mid-nineties, Clark had been his agency’s darkest secret, their best assassin, the man they used for all of their blackest most dangerous operations.

Unfortunately age caught up to all men, and just as grey now streaked his hair and wrinkles now decorated his face, he’d gotten to the age where his reflexes weren’t as quick as they’d once been and stamina not as ever-green as it had once been. So it had pained him to do so, but on his fiftieth birthday he’d requested and received a desk job.

His job title was ‘Strategic Operations Advisor’, but in reality he ran the agency’s black ops department and had done so for the past five years, since his predecessor had retired. In that time and during his active career, he’d seen many operatives come and go, but none of them had matched up to him at his peak.

Until now perhaps. The man he was meeting was fascinating, a former Green Beret Captain, he had an almost inhuman infinity with guns, was an expert in a number of martial arts, fluent in half a dozen languages, and had passed top of every single field craft course he’d endured, including infiltration, tailing, explosives, evasive driving, amongst others. He’d executed every single mission he’d been given in the past few years, whether it be a burglary, extraction, kidnapping, sabotage, or assassination, with a seamless professionalism.

Clark looked up at a knock on the door. "Come in."

The man who entered was in his early thirties, slightly above average height, with a functional, athletic but far from over-bulky physique. His dark brown hair was cropped short, but not short enough to suggest he was in military service, while his features were handsome but not strikingly so. All in all, just above average, but no so much as to stand out from the crowd unless one really knew what to look for. Perfect for his deadly trade.

"Bourne," he nodded at his number one operative and potential successor to his throne, "take a seat."

"Thank you sir."

Clark spoke the moment the man had sat. "I trust you’ve reviewed the file?"

"Yes sir," the agent nodded.

"Lt. Colonel Neville is one of the world’s leading bio-chemists and virologists, so in this age of biological terrorism, his disappearance a year ago is obviously of great concern to this nation," Clark commented.

"Sir, if I may?" Clark nodded, Bourne continued. "Thank you. You mention bio-logical terrorism, but according to the file he’s been held by a drugs cartel, correct?"

"Correct," Clark conceded. "However it’s possible that a terrorist group are funding and out-sourcing this cartel’s research, or perhaps almost as worrying is the possibility the cartel are forcing Neville to use his expertise to create a new strain of drugs. Your mission is to retrieve the Colonel and find out just what he was working on." Clark paused. "Failing that, kill the Colonel and sabotage whatever he’s been working on and get out. Stopping whatever he was working on and not his retrieval is the priority."

"Understood." Bourne nodded. "Sir, is there a chance that Neville wasn’t kidnapped but was taken willingly?"

"The odds are against that, his profile is that of a patriot and the scene suggested he didn’t go willingly," Clark replied. "However it’s always wise to remember how rare it is for everything to be as it seems in the intelligence game."

"And how reliable is our information?" Bourne queried.

"The man who spilt his guts to the DEA was got a twenty-five year sentence commuted to ten years with the proviso that if his information didn’t pan out, he’d get the full twenty-five and more besides," Clark replied. "The smart money says the Colonel’s there and he’s been held against his will. However the scumbag the DEA pulled in was just mid-level, the specifics are shaky, you’ll have to do recon before making your move. Obviously we want him out as soon as possible, but as far as we know there’s no tactical urgency to this mission."

* * *

Caracas, Venezuela

"So which one do you like?" Faith held her outfits out in front of her. "The blue sequined triangle bikini, the gold lycra bikini, or the black monokini."

"Eh, huh, gah." Faith hid a grin at Xander’s bulging eyes as his head bobbed from outfit to outfit. "I’m sure you’ll look great in any of them," Xander said, his words having the twin virtues of being what she wanted to hear and being true, "but you do realise this is a recruitment trip?"

Faith pouted. "Yeah, yeah, South America has no coverage, blah, blah, I was there for the speech on the flight over here, remember?"

Xander grinned. "Maybe you were, but you weren’t listening, ‘cause I never said ‘blah blah’."

"Might as well have," Faith stuck her tongue, "as interesting as you was."

"You wound me," Xander said in the worst faux-English accent this side of her own crappy impression before turning serious. "This could be real important, we could get a load of new teams from this tour."

"Yeah, but we can have fun right?" Faith felt a note of desperation enter her voice. After what happened in Arkansas, she really, really needed a break.

Xander half-flinched at her tone. "Yeah, sure," Xander seemed to be forcing a cheery note into his voice, "I mean, I’ll be out at meetings, but you and the others can have fun."

"Great." Faith’s forced enthusiasm withered and died.

Xander stared at her for a second before forcing a smile and rising. "I’m gonna have a shower. If anyone rings-."

"Take a message," Faith nodded as Xander walked off, despair filling her. In the days since the Arkansas mess, he’d been patient and gentle, but the dumb guy didn’t know what to do, whether to talk to her ‘bout it, whether to give her time, gloss over it or what.

Faith started as said goofball’s cell began ringing then picked up the phone, eyes widening as she recognised the number. "Hey Lorne," she forced an offhand note into her voice.

"Hello dear." Faith stiffened as warm concern dripped like butter from the demon’s voice. "And how are you doing?"

"He told you," Faith grated. "He couldn’t keep his big mouth shut-."

"Now my chocolate bun, don’t be mad at your suet dumpling, he loves you, he only talks because he cares." Lorne giggled. "After all, it’s not like he’s got any guy-pals on your trip."

"And you’re the next best thing?" Faith queried.

"Hush now, Miss Catty," Lorne scolded before turning serious. "Your Uncle, Xander, me, Tara, and yes even Kennedy, we’re all there for you if you need us. You know that don’t you?" Suddenly choked up with emotion, Faith could only nod. "You still there my little chocolate pudding?"

Faith let out a tension-filled laugh. "What is it with you always callin’ me chocolate?"

"Why my little chocolate cookie, it’s because you’re so dark on the outside, but so sweet on the inside," Lorne replied.

"I’ll take that as a compliment." Faith said.

"Now you listen to me, my girl. John Donne, smart man, said ‘No Man Is An Island’. You learnt that once, and Xander took his time to batter down those high walls you’d built. Don’t close up, you’ve got friends who want to be there for you, but you’ve got to let the drawbridge down let them in."

"Just for information, the Sunday School usually tells you to keep your legs closed."

"Hush now girl," Lorne said. "You want to talk, you know I’m only a phone call away."

"I know," Faith smiled, if nothing else, she had people around her who truly cared, which was more than she’d had as a kid. "What did ya ring for?"

"Yes," Lorne’s tone got a whole lot more serious. "I’ve just finished reading a vampire in my club, in just a few months he gets very, very addicted to a drug."

"Morpheus?" Faith queried, nose wrinkling in confusion. Junkie vamps weren’t a major threat, it was bad for the poor bastards and bitches they injected and fed on, but as far as world-ending threats went, it wasn’t.

"No," Lorne replied, "something new. It seems someone’s developing a new drug to addict vampires."

L.A., USA

"Ah Lindsey," Holland beamed as his subordinate entered his office, "you have the latest reports on our Colombian project?"

"Yes sir," Lindsey glanced at his notes. "A testing of the drugs was undertaken at our Bogota office two weeks ago. The drug was pumped into the cage of a street kid who’d been abducted, the next day, the boy was thrown into the vampire’s cage." Lindsey glanced down at his notes again. "From that point on, the vampire was fed packeted blood until on the ninth day it fell sick with stomach cramps that lasted for two days, its symptoms increasing to include sweats, incontinence, delirium, and muscle weakness. On the twelfth day, two days ago, it dusted from inside out, almost as if internally combusting. Lindsey looked up. "I have an video file that I’ve emailed to your account."

"I’ll view it later," Holland nodded. Unlike some of W&H employees he didn’t delight in the suffering of others, but viewed it as a clinical tool to use to further his and the firm’s goals.

"However further sample testing suggests that anywhere between one in every five to eight hundred people infected with the drug will fall violently ill and die," Lindsey said. "Their symptoms are roughly the same as those of the vampires, with the exception they don’t explode upon death, their organs literally melt inside them. Once infected there is no cure, any vampire who is infected from that point on will require weekly vaccinations to prevent falling ill."

Holland scowled. One in every five hundred didn’t seem a lot, indeed it was more than likely only one in every five hundred would survive the coming apocalypse but if that percentage of people died beforehand from the same mysterious cause, their hand would be tipped. "That’s not satisfactory, not satisfactory at all."

"No sir," Lindsey shifted uncomfortably at his tone. "Neville’s working on a solution-."

"How sure are we he’s giving the project his full effort?" Manners queried.

"Our best bio-chemists are working with him, apparently they’re amazed how well the project is going," Lindsey replied.

"And the method of delivery?" queried Holland.

"Airborne," Lindsey replied. "We’re also working on methods to get it into the human food chain as well."

Holland nodded. "And the antipode you mentioned?"

"Our estimates put it six months before they can eliminate the side-effects on humans and finish the antidote," Lindsey replied. "Then another two months to mass-produce both the infection and antidote."

"Too long," Holland shook his head. "By then we might well have lost too much ground to the predicted Slayer army. I want everything ready, mass-produced, and released into the general population in six months."

"Yes sir," Lindsey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "El Carmesí Garra are insisting their ‘rent’ for this project should be increased from ten to twenty-five million dollars a month, back-dating from the start of the project."

Holland didn’t blink. When you dealt with such unruly and undisciplined thugs, you had to expect these sort of shenanigans. "Tell them they’ll get twenty-five million from now on, and a bonus of another fifty million upon completion, plus a million a week extra for every week short of six months. But no back-dating." Holland smiled at Lindsey’s look of surprise. "You’re not thinking of the big picture, in a year we will end the world, and after that what will money matter? But make sure they have the project ready in six months."

"Yes sir," Lindsey nodded. "I’ll get right on it."

"See that you do."

* * *

Faith peered out of the window of their private plane and down onto the city they were heading for, the air gusting out of her lungs. Ancient churches and plazas sat in the shadows of a myriad of modern skyscrapers stretching upwards, reaching like fingers for the clouds above, but they were nothing next to the ancient Andes lumbering on the town’s outskirts. The shimmering sun gleamed down on the city, just above what looked to be a cloud of smog, only adding to the picture.

Another place the kid her could have never of dreamed of visiting. She was somehow sure that a few days ago she’d have been a lot more excited than she was right now.

"What’s this drug supposed to do?"

Tara’s soft voice prodded her out of her funk. Faith shrugged. "Lorne wasn’t real clear on that, but his vision started with a drug bein’ released into the air in LA, this vamp feeding on a girl and gettin’ real sick and bursting into flames some time later."

"But that’s good right?" Kennedy queried.

"Not if Wolfram & Hart hold the only antidote, that’ll mean they’ll be able to control every vampire in the world," Xander broke in. "And that’s what’s happening according to Lorne."

"How are they creating the drug?" queried Tara.

Xander scowled. "Lorne wasn’t clear on this either, but I contacted Brill for his thoughts. He did a little bit of checking around, talked to some old intel contacts, and it appears the US’ top virologist and biological weapons expert went missing a year ago."

Faith forced herself to focus. "Went missing? Voluntarily or was he snatched?"

"His apartment was a wreck and there was blood, his and two other people’s collected at the scene," Xander shrugged. "Could be a set-up though, either by the government to hide him or by him because he’s gone independent."

"So why are we flying to Bogotá?" Kennedy grinned. "Not that I’m complaining, the city looks amazing!"

"One of the blood samples collected at Neville’s apartment belonged to a Luis Garcia, mid-level muscle for El Carmesí Garra, one of the Colombian cartels based in Bogota," Xander replied.

"So this is a rescue mission?" Faith queried. "Why haven’t the US. done anything about this?"

Xander shrugged. "Diplomatic problems, boundary disputes, a lack of assets locally. Take your pick."

"Fuckin’ A."

Dreary wooden, corrugated iron, and a scant few brick buildings pressed together in a seeming competition to see which of the dilapidated dwellings would be the last to collapse. Thick smog cloaked the cramped together dwellings as their hired, tinted-windowed 4 * 4 sped by, the stench of despair competing with the rank sewage for supremacy in the air. Dust billowed beneath their car’s wheels as they sped through its narrow, crooked streets.

Bogota was actually the third highest major city in the world, meaning every breath was an initial struggle and the lack of air caused some giddiness until one got used to its thinness. The city was essentially made up of two sides, the wealthier northern suburbs where the great and the evil lived, the politicians, the drug barons, the crooks. Then there was the southern area containing the majority of the desolate, miserable slums where no tourist with any sense visited, filled with crooks, junkies, and whores.

So of course that was where Xander said their target was likely to hang out. Kennedy spoke suddenly, a point that had been festering for a while spilling out. "If the authorities investigating Neville’s disappearance found the blood sample, why aren’t they down here, trying to get Neville out themselves? It’s not like he was a nobody!"

"If I was to guess, I’d say Wolfram & Hart obstructed any diplomatic or military attempts to get him loose," Xander replied.

"Makes sense," Kennedy glanced out of the window as Xander pulled up outside a dusty brick, flat-roofed one-storey, sixties British pop music blaring out of it. "Where’s this?"

"Para Roca," Xander replied as he started pulling a veritable armoury out of the Always Pocket and passing it around, including weaponry to his unusually morose girl-friend, "El Carmesí Garra’s local hangout of choice for mid-level muscle. If anyone knows where Neville’s be kept, it’ll be someone here."

"Great," Kennedy wrinkled her nose. She just bet the health inspector never made his way down here.

* * *

The bar’s dank air reeked of booze and unwashed flesh, and pounded to the Rolling Stones’ ‘Jumping Jack Flash’, Jagger only slightly audible over the raucous growl of the bar’s patrons playing cards, laughing, and boastingly discussing fighting and sexual prowess. The bar owner hadn’t bothered with much illumination, probably to spare himself having to look at his customers’ hatchet faces.

The din, darkness, and general drunkenness made the place an ideal clandestine meeting place. An ideal meeting place if you were both a warrior waging war on the South American cartels of Colombia, Peru, Bolivia, Venezuela, and Brazil, and utterly insane.

Of course as those he’d attacked rarely lived through the experience, there was little chance of him being recognised. Still, it made for an uneasy meeting, all it took was for one of his contacts to be turned and he’d be dead.

Well eventually anyway, he’d scream a hell of a lot beforehand.

Sean Vetter forced aside such unsettling thoughts and concentrated on glaring at his contact, a short, weaselly looking man whose motivation for turning on his fellow cartel members were part avarice and part angry realisation he’d never get above the lowly rank he’d already attained in his organisation. Jealousy and greed, two great motivators for betrayal. Although his contact probably didn’t fully realise it, there was a third, the sure knowledge that as much as the cartel torture a gringo who’d cost them millions, they’d torture a traitor far, far more.

"Senor," his contact bobbed his head, his bald pate gleaming with sweat.

"What have you got for me?" Vetter grunted as he passed a thick envelope under the table.

The man eagerly snatched the envelope away, stuffing it down his white, food-stained T-shirt before replying. "A drugs lab," the man responded. "They’re making a new drug!"

A new drug? Vetter’s blood quickened, this sounded big, real big. It was an effort, but he managed to keep a casual, unworried air about him. "Details?"

"Don’t have them," the man shrugged then giggled nervously at his dead-eyed stare. "I’m only low-level, you know that, senor."

"I paid a lot of money for some information," Vetter grunted. "I expect value for money."

"Yeah, yeah," his companion nodded, head jerking up and down. "I don’t know anything about the drug itself, but I know they’re using a tenement building in Suba-."

"That’s outta your area," Vetter interrupted, eyes narrowing. The drug cartels largely kept their operations in the south, not wanting to anger the government by inadvertently spilling violence into a tourist area or worse still, actually killing some.

"I know," his companion’s fingers beat out a nervous rhythm on the table between them, "the guy I was talking to says he’s been delivering scientific equipment to an address in the district. Says the cartel want the operation kept low-key-."

"Oh well done," Vetter snorted. They’d certainly failed spectacularly.

"So they’re doing it out of the normal area, heavy security though," his companion licked his thin lips before continuing, "and there’s something else. The main chemist is a gringo and supposedly an unwilling guest."

"Oh?" Vetter kept his face expressionless. "You got a description?"

His companion shrugged. "Black."

Vetter waited for a second, but when the man didn’t go any further he nodded. "Okay, then give me the address."

The man wordlessly passed a piece of paper with a few words scrawled on it then let out a gasp. "Mi dios!"

Vetter glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening even as he shook his head at the young man leading a trio of very lithesome beauties into the gloomy bar, their attire spelling them out as tourists. "You stupid bastard," he muttered. The idiot kid had just signed his own death warrant and sentenced his companions to far worse, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Xander forced himself to concentrate as he entered the dive, the illicit substances thickening the air making it doubly difficult. Ignoring the greedy eyes on him, or more specifically his companions, Xander strode through the smoky bar and up to the unshaven, beetle-browed giant stood behind the filthy bar counter, a stink wafting from the lumbering man that would disgust a pig.

Somehow Xander didn’t think this would be a fruitful meeting. "Hello," he smiled at the round-shouldered man. "I’d like some information."

Yellow teeth flashed in the darkness as the bartender directed his drug-addled gaze down towards Xander. "We sell drink, nothing else."

Xander refused to be thrown off. "We want the address of your gang’s research facility," he continued, "we have money."

"How about we just take your money?" Xander forced himself not to recoil in disgust when the man thrust his head over the bar, his stale, beer-filled breath briefly in Xander’s face before the bartender peered over his shoulder towards the girls behind him. "And your bitches?"

Xander’s smile had the man back-stepping, a sudden clarity replacing the befuddlement clouding his eyes. "I was so hoping you’d say something like that." All the rage and helplessness he’d been feeling since Arkansas boiled up inside him as he reached forward, grabbed a hold of the counter, and one-hand vaulted over to crash feet-first into the man’s distended belly.

Stale air gusted from the man’s opening mouth as he left his feet and crashed into the wall of bottles behind him, shelves collapsing and bottles shattering with the impact. The man started to fold, but Xander’s uppercut to the jaw forced him to straighten, then flop again, Xander’s boot to his gut jack-knifing him.

And then Xander was spinning around to leap back into the continuing fight, 60s pop replaced by a battle’s unique soundtrack of screams, flesh hitting flesh, and breaking furniture.

* * *

"Shit," Faith’s eyes widened as Xander began to move, the skin-crawling she’d felt ever since they’d walked into the dump replaced by a blood-pounding adrenalin rush. Seeing the man nearest her start to rise, Faith kicked out, her boot’s steel-capped toe crashing into his collarbone with bone-breaking impact, his scream drowned out by the growing chaos. There was no doubting the blow’s impact, not with the way the man’s face pale and his body completely reversed momentum to crash back down and through the chair he’d been sittin’ on.

Seeing a man across the table start to his feet, Faith leapt onto the table, reached down, grabbed a hold of the man’s shirt, and before he could do more than just start to reach up to grab her wrists, hoisted him up, out of his chair, and flung him overhead and into the wood-beamed ceiling. And then she was leaping off the table and into a spin-kick to another thug’s jaw that sent blood spraying across the bar and the man flying back in the direction he came.

A fist thudded into the side of her head, a blow she could have avoided, but chose not to. "That the best!" She screamed as she spun around, grabbed her attacker’s wrist before he could withdraw and yanked him forward into a headbutt to the face and knee to the groin double-team before he could pull away, while also twisting on his wrist until it shattered like glass. "You got?" Seeing another couple of thugs charging in from the right, Faith contemptuously flicked her arm, flinging her would-be assailant into the couple, all three and the table they were charging around crashing to the ground.

Her blood pumping, Faith shot out a foot, heel smashing into the belly of a thug who looked like he ate enough to feed a couple of slum families. Faith hastened his descent with an elbow to the side of his head, the thug’s orbital bone socket snapping under the blow’s impact.

A woosh in the air behind her had her dropping into an instinctive crouch then leaping back up the moment a powerfully-swung pool cue had passed overhead. Her would-be attacker’s eyes widened, mouth dropping in shock as she snatched the cue from him and drove it into his mouth. Even as teeth flew everywhere she was adjusting her swing and driving it up between the man’s spread legs. The moment the cue crashed home, Faith was pulling back, driving the cue behind and up into the throat of a highly ambitious idiot who thought he could sneak up behind a Slayer, laying the man out on the pool table.

Faith saw a switch-blade wielding thug charging her out of the corner and played oblivious ‘til the last second then leapt up into a thrust kick to the man’s chest, flipping him into the ruins of an already wrecked table. Landing in a crouch, Faith saw another pair of hoods charging at her in a pincer movement. As they reached for her, Faith dropped to the dusty floor in a forward roll, arms snapping out like a pair of scythes to take the men’s legs out from under them at the shins. Springing back up, a back heel kick into a spin kick cracked into both men’s faces in turn, putting them out for the count. Faith dropped into a crouch as another brain-dead hood charged in, grabbing him by his pants crotch and dirty shirt, then straightening, yanking him overhead, back-heel kicking another thug coming in from behind, and flinging the man in her hands to the bar’s far end, head first into the jukebox, coloured glass exploding from its front as he hit it and the music cutting off.

Satisfied the thugs were out, Faith dead-eyed a bald, powerfully built guy about twelve to fifteen years older than her man sat at one of the few remaining tables. "We got a problem?"

* * *

Vetter forced himself out of his shock to slowly shake his head. "No, no problem at all." How in the hell had a small, swimsuit model sized girl flung around men easily twice her own size? It was fortunate the club had a strict ‘no-guns’ policy for fear its members would start slaughtering one another in a drug or booze fuelled haze but even so, her power, grace, and skills were impossible, no super-human.

"Yeah," the brunette’s dark, dangerous eyes continued to burn through him, "that’s what I figured."

"Faith," the lithesome beauty started slightly when the man she’d entered with put his hand on her shoulder. Probably the only man living who could do that and walk away with his limbs intact. "I’ve got the information, let’s get out of here."

"Senor! Senor!"

"Calm yourself," Jose Duro looked up as his subordinate burst into his office, the younger man’s face flushed and eyes dilated. He almost looked as if he’d been partaking in some of the illicit substances many of their clients traded in. "We are a law firm, not a track team, Miguel."

"I’m sorry sir," the younger lawyer’s wheezes reminded Jose that he should schedule physicals for the staff, "but we just got word, the Mithras Quartet are in Bogotá!"

Duro’s blood drained from his face, heart thundering like a drum. The Mithras Quartet in his town, bringing with them the hell that seemed to inevitably follow in their wake. He blinked as he realised his subordinate was speaking. "Sorry?" he croaked.

"S…should I alert the black operations team?" Miguel queried.

"Yes," Duro nodded. Much good they’d do, but he couldn’t just give up. "Where are the Quartet heading?" His heart sank as Miguel’s reply confirmed his worst fears. "Send them out to intercept, tell them extreme measures are sanctioned."

Sweat streamed down Bourne’s face as he sat at a table of a street café, eyes carefully avoiding his target. The tenement building was a three-storey, flat-roofed building, nothing fancy but not in that bad of a condition. However there was little traffic to and from the building considering it was supposed to be a residential building big enough to house twenty to twenty-five families. And then there was the three teens loitering outside the dwelling, apparently just arguing with one another, but never moving more than a couple of dozen feet away from the entrance. As far as he could see, they only had switchblades, not guns so not to draw the local police’s attention, so they shouldn’t be too much of a problem, but getting past them without drawing attention might be.

The one good thing was there was no apparent electronic surveillance, possibly because in this area cameras and the like in private houses would draw unwanted attention if not from rival cartels then from thieves looking to steal whatever riches needed such enthused security.

Still, he tapped his fingers on the round table in front of him, brow furrowing in thought. Getting in wouldn’t be easy, especially as he was far from sure that the Colonel was actually inside the building, he hadn’t seen him come or go in three days’ surveillance. Which either meant he was locked up inside the building and never left, or he came and went through sewer access, or most troublingly he wasn’t here at all.

He’d have to come back at night, full equipped. At the moment all he had on him was a .22 in an ankle holster and a .38 under his left shoulder. His eyes narrowed as a blacked out 4 * 4 pulled into view, partially blocking his line of sight. "Damn it."

* * *

Xander stared at the building, hating his aching knuckles from where he’d pummelled the bartender’s nose across his face. He guessed he’d lost it in there. That was dangerous, control was vital in this game, thinking with his heart would only get him and his girls in trouble.

Gathering his thoughts, he pulled a map out of the Always Pocket. "Okay," he said, "here’s a map of the place. The lab is on the second floor as are the computers they store the information on. They’re what we need to take out."

"Wait," Kennedy queried, "if you have a map, you must have known where this place was before we went into that dive?"

Oh shit, Xander winced inwardly at Kennedy’s stridently put query. "Yeah," Xander nodded even as he quickly spun an excuse. "I knew, but I took us here because I wanted them to know we knew." And to shock Faith out of her funk, but that amateur psychology had failed. Just like everything else he tried to do these days.

Well he was no Dr. Phil for damn sure.

"Why?" Tara asked, her tone softer and less confrontational than her girl-friend’s.

"Because," Xander grinned as the building’s door opened and a quartet of Latinos came out, a tall black man in manacles between them as they pulled him up to a van with blacked out windows, "they might panic and try and move him."

"What’s the plan?" Faith queried even as Xander put the car in gear.

"We rescue Neville first, then take care of the building," Xander replied as he took the brake off.

* * *

Bourne’s eyes widened as the 4 * 4 screeched across the road and directly at the group of men escorting what looked to be Lt. Colonel Neville out of the building. Suddenly his unexpected window of opportunity was turning into something far more complex. "Nothing’s ever simple," he grated, his carefully planned operation falling to pieces. "Who the hell are they anyway?"

* * *

Neville groaned as he blinked furiously, his eyes streaming at the unaccustomed light. After months stuck in a dirty, shadowy room, only let out to work in a barely more habitable lab, a day’s light took some getting used to.

His ears filled with his escort’s garbled chatter, but although he understood Spanish, his dazed condition meant he struggled to keep track of the conversation. He blinked owlishly as one of the man swore and then suddenly thrust his hands into his pants for the automatic stuck there.

And then a 4 * 4 screeched to a halt between them and the van, and the world exploded into hell.

Faith kicked the door open and leapt out, her Beretta spitting fire at the two men to her left, while Kennedy did the same at the men to her right, her ears roaring to the gun’s echoes and nostrils filling with gunsmoke’s arid stench. "Shit!" Faith dropped to one knee as the car window beside her exploded, glass shards showering everywhere. Her eyes widened as he saw one of the men grab a hold of the dazed looking hostage and attempt to drag him in front of him to use as a shield.

"Ain’t happenin’!" Faith snarled as she lunged forward, a blur as her legs pounded the cracked tarmac and she leapt around the stumbling black man to shove her gun under the gangster’s chin and tug on the trigger.

Blood, skull, and brains jetted out of the man’s head as he fell away, Faith snatching a hold of Neville’s arm and shoving him towards Kennedy, her eyes fixed on the three switch-blade wielding guards rushing towards them. "Get him in the back, I’ll take care of those three!"

The first came at her, slashing his knife up, only for Faith to swing her forearm down and block his knife arm on her arm while stepping into the man, and stomping hard on the inside of his knee. The man’s tanned face greyed as his knee cracked and he fell to the ground, Faith reaching out to grab his shoulder, twist at the waist, and fling him into the nearest of his companions. Faith spun to face the remaining thug as his two companions plunged in a heap to the ground, leaning back at the waist as the man slashed at her, grabbing hold of the man’s knife-wrist before he could yank it away then yanking him towards her and into a knee to the gut, her free hand karate chopping him in the back of the neck as he doubled up.

Her adrenalin was still pumping as she started back to the van, ramming her spare magazine into her gun. Faith spun around as she saw a ruggedly handsome man hurrying across the street towards them. "No Faith!" Tara let out a yelp. "He has a good aura!"

* * *

The moment his feet the ground, Xander was swinging his automatic up, blowing the head off the van’s driver as he climbed out of the van, shotgun in hand. And then he dropped onto his side, peered under the van’s oily undercarriage and fired at the ankles of the man stood around the other side, blood bursting from the man’s calves and the air ringing to the man’s screams as he crumpled to the floor. Xander grabbed a hold of the van’s side and pulled himself up before diving towards the van’s cab, leading with his gun.

When he was satisfied it was empty, he turned away, eyes widening at what he saw. "Don’t do it!"

* * *

Faith cursed at Tara’s shout. Why did things always get complicated? Shaking her head, she strode over to confront the approaching man. "You know," she drawled as the man stopped and reached under his jacket, Faith continuing her advance on him, "my boy-toy’s a real comics geek, wicked into that DC bullshit." Faith stopped just feet from the man. "I always wondered how fast someone had to be ‘faster than a speedin’ bullet’."

"Give me Neville," the man stared bemusingly at her as he pulled out a revolver and pointed it at her.

"Not gonna happen," Faith smirked. "You gonna pull that trigger or not?" The moment the guy’s eyes shifted an inch, she covered the space in a blur, grabbed his wrist and pulled it up. "You know what?" Faith grinned up at the shocked man as she twisted his wrist and sent his gun clattering to the ground. "Shame on you, you never pulled the trigger, now we’ll never know."

Before the man had time to react, Faith had him over her shoulders, and carrying him back to the 4 * 4 in a fireman’s carry. "Faith!" Xander let out a shocked yell as he rushed towards them. "What are you doing?"

"Tar said he’s a good guy," Faith looked towards Tara, hovering by the side of the 4 * 4 "sis jump in the front, I’ll be in the back with jackass." Faith glanced towards her boy-friend. "Tar said he was a good guy, I couldn’t shoot him could I?"

"That’s not what I’m arguing about-," Xander paled as he snatched at the man’s ankle and came away with a snub-nosed automatic. "Damn it Faith, you didn’t even check him for weapons!"

"He’d never had reached it," Faith shrugged even with the man’s weight on her shoulders.

"And trying to play chicken with a man with a gun, I know the last few days have shaken you-."

"I stopped him! I did!" Faith’s face tightened. "And FYI, this has fucking NOTHING to do with Arkansas! Stay!" Faith flung the man into the car, then punched him square in the jaw when he attempted to lunge at her. "He was a threat, but a good guy, so I took care of it!" Faith glanced to her left as she heard a pair of 4 * 4s screeching around the corner about a thousand metres away. "Maybe we can continue this later?"

* * *

"Colonel Benetiz!" Captain Chavez rushed into his office, cheeks flushed in excitement. "Wolfram & Hart have just phoned in a request to us. Ten million American dollars for the retrieval of this," his junior slammed a faxed photo on the desk, "man and the killing of any or all people with him."

Ten million. The amount of money hit him with an almost physical force. "Put out a call to all cars ordering them to prioritise this man’s capture."

His subordinate smirked and saluted. "Already done sir, I did it on the way through."

"Excellent," he nodded. Finally all those years of being in the law firm’s pocket was going to pay off.

Bourne gasped as the brunette caught him with a fist to the jaw, her impossible power knocking him into the dazed, manacled man. "Stay!" she barked as his head began to ring, then a few seconds later in to sit beside. "Don’t be tryin’ anythin’," the mystery girl drawled, "this is a grope free vehicle."

"Thank god it’s not like the backseat of that car we found them in in Australia," said the brunette the other side of Neville.

"Or the one in Italy," commented the honey-blonde in front. "Talk about nightmares."

"Or the one in Mexico," replied the smaller of the two brunettes, "it’s like they’re doing a world tour via car back seats."

"Yeah funny," snapped the brunette nearest him as she slammed the door shut, "let’s cut the damn comedy routine ‘til we get outta here!"

* * *

Xander cursed as he hit the accelerator and rammed it into reverse, spinning the car around in a half-circle before jamming his foot back down and racing away from the now trio of pursuing 4 * 4s. Things had been going so well. They’d gotten Neville, they were about to hit the tenement building, and then this other stranger had turned up quickly followed by these mystery vehicles. As usual everything had gone straight to hell.

Xander’s eyes widened as he screeched around a corner, dust flying everywhere, to see a virtual procession of police cars racing towards them, horns blaring. "And suddenly I’m Elwood Blue," he muttered before letting out a ragged shout. "Everyone hold on!"

He didn’t add ‘and kiss your ass goodbye’, because he figured in about 30 seconds it would be pretty damn obvious. "Whhhaaa!" His passengers let out a collective howl as he twisted on the wheel and sent the vehicle jetting to the left, mounting the kerb, and demolishing the tables of a thankfully empty street café as he twisted on the wheel and pulled the vehicle straight just inches from demolishing the café’s front.

Pedestrians scattered as he roared down the street, uneven paving stones wobbling under his tyres, sirens blaring in the background around them as he wrenched the wheel to the left and through a shopping centre’s gleaming entrance. Coloured glass flew everywhere as Xander sped through the shopping centre, zipping in and out of the pillars lining the centre of the aisle, heedlessly knocking over display stand after display stand even as shoppers charged for the relative safety of the centre’s shops.

"I hope you’ve got a plan!" Kennedy squeaked. "They’re still coming and this is a dead end."

"Plan? That really depends on your point of view." Xander grimly replied as he stared at the glass safety wall denoting the end of the aisle, some sixty feet separating them from the shopping centre’s far side.

"Oh no!" Tara’s gaze snapped to him just as he cleared the last of the pillars and jammed his foot down on the accelerator. "You can’t be serious!"

"Yep," Xander half-smiled, "that’s what my teachers said too. Hold on." Tara let out a muffled squeak as they hit the six foot high glass wall, the reinforced glass casually bursting like an over-blown balloon as the car thrust through it. "Here we go!" Xander let out a squeak of his own as physics took over and the car dropped like a stone, momentum only carrying it so far.

But just far enough to send the 4 * 4s crashing through the barrier two levels down on the opposite side, its rear wheels slamming down on top of the barrier, crumpling it under the impact. "Owww!" His companions’ cries rang in his ears as the car crashed down on the ground, bones jangling with the impact.

"Shit!" Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down into his eyes as the landing’s impact wrenched the wheel from his hands. Lunging forward, he snatched at the wheel, grabbing and wrenching it to the side just in time to avoid the nearest pillar, but passing close enough to tear Tara’s wing mirror off and tear the paint off that side of the car, sparks flying with the impact. Xander’s eyes widened as he pulled the wheel back the opposite way, straightening the car just inches from taking out the front of a health food shop, the terrified gazes of those stood behind the display staring back at him.

And then he was screeching down the brightly-lit aisle, the customers having thankfully scurried into the shops either side of the pillared passageway, and towards the exit.

"Oh hell!" Xander cursed as a trio of police cars pulled into the exit blocking his path. His hand dropped to the handbrake, grabbing, and yanking it up as he pulled savagely on the wheel. "Ahhh!" Xander let out a pained grunt as momentum threw him into the side of his car, smoke billowing from screeching tyres as the car skidded around in an U-turn, Xander releasing the brake and slamming down on the accelerator to send the car rocketing back the way it had come.

"Great," Kennedy sniped from the back, "you got us away from them, but have you got a plan that doesn’t involve us spending an eternity going around here in circles?"

"You really wouldn’t like the answer," Xander muttered as he gunned the engine and raced back towards the barricade’s gaping hole.

"Oh no," Tara groaned as she clung white-knuckled to her seat-belt, "he’s finally lost it."

"Lost-," Kennedy let out a gasp as they sped into mid-air. "Oh no!"

Once again their car plummeted to the earth with all the grace of a drunk albatross, crashing down at the foot of the ground-floor escalator with a slab cracking force, their spines receiving collective and very painful adjustments. Xander yanked the steering wheel hard, side-swiped a hot dog stand as he pulled the car straight, burnt rubber reeking in the air as he sent the car bolting through the entrance to the underground parking lot, its wooden barricade tearing like paper before their four hundred horsepower car, steam spilling out from under the hood.

Faith spoke for the first time in a long while. "Suspension’s fucked for damn sure."

"If anyone knows about messing up car’s suspension it’d be you," Kennedy snarked.

Bourne waited until their chaotically driven car was speeding into the city’s outskirts, their driver leading them into the sort of area where the police didn’t go unless mob-handed, wearing Kevlar, and carrying grenade launchers, using the minutes of helter-skelter driving through Bogota’s catacombed streets to formulate a plan. As far as he could see, his options were limited as was his information. Whoever these people were, they didn’t appear to be official, and they were too young to be mercenaries even though that was his best guess. Their motivation for rescuing Neville and NOT killing him was a mystery too. Most professionals would have dropped him without a second’s thought.

And the boy drove like a blind racing car driver, great technique and reflexes, but an apparent suicidal lack of awareness of the dangers around them.

He sneaked a glance at the sultry beauty sat beside him, her eyes fixed ahead The only thing he could do was take a hostage and play it from there. The girl had shown impossible power before, but she was his only possible option, and he was willing to bet the combination of superior technique and surprise would squeak him the victory.

His decision made, he waited until they went over a bump and slumped towards the brunette. At the last second, his elbow drove into the young beauty’s solar plexus, other arm reaching across and up to grab her around the throat in a chokehold.

"Uhhh!" His plan dissolved as the beauty contemptuously slapped his hand away. The air gusted from his lungs when the brunette drove the point of her elbow into his chest, doubling him up.

Shock filled him as the young woman looped her arm under his armpit and across his throat, snatching him in the very chokehold he’d been planning to utilise. "You wanna choke me?" the girl hissed, her breath hot on his neck as the oxygen fled from him, black dots blurring his vision as the girl cinched in her grip like a python squeezing air from its victim. "You think you can take me? We just saved your ass, you dick!"

Realising both his head and near arm were utterly immobilised, Bourne tried to fling himself forward in an effort to escape the hold. "Ain’t gonna happen," the brunette husked in his ear, her voice barely audible over the rushing blood as his vision darkened, drool dribbling down his face as he struggled vainly for air, "you’re my bitch, bitch!"

* * *

"Faith!" Kennedy let out a yell. "Oh boy, she’s finally snapped Xander!"

Xander glanced over his shoulder to see his girl-friend giving an UFC style spanking to the mystery man who’d tried to interfere with their plans. "Damn it!" Xander cursed as he pulled the car into an alley and leapt out, hurrying around to the back, yanking the car door open and reaching in to grab a hold of his girl-friend under her arms. "Faith, calm down!"

Faith snarled as he pulled her out of the car, his muscles straining as she refused to release her grip on the mystery man, meaning he was dragging both his girl-friend and the intruder. "Damn it Xan!" Faith grunted as the barely conscious man finally fell from her grip, hitting the ground in a limp heap. "He started it!"

"And you finished it!" Xander snapped as he released his grip on his girl-friend. From what he’d seen, Faith hadn’t been just restraining the man, she’d been half-crazed in there. "Don’t you think that was a little over-reaction?"

"Fucker made his play, didn’t have the stones to back it, how the hell is that MY fault?" Faith demanded.

"Perhaps we should find out just who our mystery guest is?" Tara softly commented.

"Yeah," Faith pulled away from him, reached down, grabbed the man and pulled him to his feet, her fist slamming into his gut as he attempted some sort of throw or other. The man was determined, if not exactly over-burdened with good sense.

The man croaked and fell to his knees, Xander grabbing Faith and yanking her back before she could go for a knee or foot to the face. "He’s down, let’s just leave it at that for now, okay?"

"Long as he does," Faith sullenly replied. "Hey asshole, who the hell are you?"

The man looked up. "Who are you?"

Faith shot the man a death-glare. "I’m the one who just comprehensively kicked your fucking ass, dipshit. Now talk, I am not a patient woman."

"Understatement of the century right there."

"Not helping." Xander glared at Kennedy when the potential threw more oil onto the fire. "Look," his gaze returned to the knelt man, "we’re clearly on the same side here."

The man spat on the dirty ground, winced, and shook his head. "We have the same goals, doesn’t necessarily mean we have the same motivations."

"Jesus, we’re gonna have to show and tell," Faith impatiently interrupted. "Give him the speech, X."

"I’m an US. citizen," Xander’s developing headache grew at Colonel Neville’s voice, "I demand you take me to the embassy."

"Like I said," Faith commented. "Show and tell, then we get some answers."

* * *

Bourne stared with disbelief at the four young kids surrounding him. All of them were a minimum twelve to fifteen years younger than him, yet talked so blithely about battling, no obliterating demons, vampires, and witches.

Oh and building international demon-hunting agencies, he couldn’t forget that. It was all utterly insane and yet…

Being relatively high-up in the intelligence agency community he’d heard rumours, not much, just a couple of words ‘Mithras’ and ‘Slayer’, really. And the brunette bombshell had incredible power. After all she’d snapped Neville’s chains with her bare hands. The honey-blonde had done things that could only be described as magical, and Harris had demonstrated his Always Pocket, Eternal Archive, and All-Seeing Eye. "Okay," he forced his eyes back to the young man, "we’ve shown you ours-."

"Not literally," snarked the leather-clad brunette.

"How about you share?"

Bourne licked his lips. "My name’s Jason Carter," he fell into his cover story. "I’m a contractor hired to rescue-."

"You’re lying," Tara said, her tone flat.

"Oh goody," Faith’s eyes burnt with an unholy glee. "A lie. That means-."

"Mr. Carter gets another chance," the hippy-looking chick interrupted the biker babe before looking towards him. "Please, you can’t lie to me, nor should you even try. We’re on the same side."

Years of training and discipline crumbled before the girl’s doe eyes. Hell, if even half of what they claimed was true, and the evidence appeared to support their wild tales, he should be helping them. "My name’s Jason Bourne," he sighed. "I work for the Central Intelligence Agency, and my assignment was to rescue Neville."

"See," Faith shot him a mocking beam, "isn’t confession good for the soul?"

"Faith," Xander rubbed at his forehead and sighed. "Play nice."

"Xander," Kennedy commented, the smaller brunette shooting furtive looks around. "We’ve been stood around here too long."

"Yeah," Xander nodded before looking towards the car. "Bourne, you wanna give me a hand torching the car?"

"Sure," he agreed.

"We need to get to the consulate," Neville suddenly spoke up.

"No," Xander sighed, "we’ve got work to do before that."

Vetter shook his head as he glanced out of the shaded alleyway and at what was supposed to be their target. Supposed to be, because with the half-a-dozen 4 * 4s and couple of dozen paramilitary types buzzing around the outside of the building, there was no way in hell they were hitting that place today.

All in all, what with Xena at Para Roca earlier, this was turning out to be a very weird day.

"Hey Sean."

"Miguel," Sean glanced over his second. With his bushy unkempt beard, long matted hair, and wild eyes set in a tanned, greasy face, Miguel looked like your stereotypical spaghetti western villain, a look only added to by his pot belly and slouched shoulders, but Miguel knew the Latin American drug cartels better than anyone he had, and had a steady nerve to boot. "What have you got for me?"

"Siiiii," the Peruvian national rubbed at the jagged bottle scar on his left cheek. "It’s very strange, Vetter. You know that gringo you mention, Vetter?" Sean nodded. "He no longer there. They," Miguel pointed towards the building "were moving him to another building when these other gringos, just kids turned up, and sprung him. Then disappeared!"

Just kids. Vetter fought back a groan, he didn’t need two guesses to know which kids had been here.

* * *

"It wouldn’t do any good to hit the lab," Neville said as they trudged into the dirty hotel room they’d just rented. "At the end of every day they send the electronic records off to another site."

Xander rubbed at his forehead. Two simultaneous targets, wasn’t impossible, but…. Xander shook his head. "We’re going to need more people."

"Wouldn’t they have already moved the lab?" Faith queried.

"No," Neville slowly shook his head. "A lot of the equipment we use there is very sensitive, needs very delicate calibration. If they tried to move it without expert supervision, they could easily damage it." Neville looked at him. "But I don’t see why you’re worried about the lab, you’ve got me -."

"And how many people world-wide have your expertise?" Xander interrupted.

Neville pursed his lips momentarily. "There’s a Harvard lecturer, two men in Russia, an English researcher, two Chinamen, and an Afghanistan bio-chemist. Although there’s rumours he might be dead."

"He is," Bourne confirmed. "I guided the missile strike into the compound he was working in."

"Great," Faith snarked, "we’re bonding."

Xander glanced at Bourne. "Always nice to have on the ground corroboration," he airly commented before looking towards Neville. "That’s six men who could finish off your work, six men they could snatch and force to finish their undead army."

"They might even come after you again," Tara added.

"Okay," the Colonel’s shoulders slumped.

"Maybe we can call in our Mexico team?" Kennedy suggested.

"No," Bourne spoke up from the corner of their dingy hotel room. "Before I left the US., I was given the email address of a man running a vigilante anti-drugs outfit I could use if I needed any off the book assistance." Bourne looked towards Xander. "Do you have a laptop?"

"Sure do," Xander nodded, opened the Always Pocket and passed the requested computer over.

"Thanks," the others crowded around the self-confessed CIA agent as he opened up a window and entered cyberspace, going to an innocuous looking sporting goods website, then clicking twice on the top left corner. Another screen opened up, with the words ‘Valued Customer’ above a pair of log-in boxes. Bourne typed ‘Delta One’ in the top box, then an asterisk-camouflaged six letter combo in the bottom box before double-clicking on ‘Valued Customer’.

All at once an email screen opened up. "Bet you don’t get much problems with spam," Kennedy murmured.

"Well who needs breast reduction anyway?" Faith queried with a half-smile. "’Cept Harris obviously."

"Hey!" Despite his protest, Xander was pleased to see his girl-friend commenting with at least some of her normal spirit.

Even as they bickered, the CIA Agent was typing.

"’Big fan’, ’tourists’ and ‘meal’?" Kennedy queried.

"Big fan means I’m aware of his work, tourists means we’re outta-towners requiring assistance and ‘buy a meal’ means we’re willing to pay for help," Bourne explained. "Not the hardest code to crack, but we are using a double-encrypted line that’s only vulnerable at his end of the line."

"Uncle William Donovan?" Faith queried.

"William Joseph Donovan was the founder of the CIA’s predecessor," Bourne replied. "That should be a subtle hint as to who I really am."

"And obviously I’m the eye candy," Faith commented. "’Cause quite beautiful brunette sure as hell ain’t gonna be anyone else."

"Hey!" Kennedy protested.

"Why would he agree to meet you?" Tara as always was the voice of sanity in the bickering madhouse.

"The CIA are pretty major players in the region. He won’t want to risk getting on our wrong side," Vetter explained. "At the least he’ll meet with us to show politeness."

Xander glanced towards the rescued virologist. "Do you know where they send the information?"

Xander’s heart sank at Neville’s head-shake. "Sorry, I wasn’t exactly privy to their office in-workings, but I do know who might know."

Xander sighed, from Neville’s tone he just knew he was going to ‘love’ this revelation. "Go on."

"Lorenzo Volcan," Xander groaned when Neville confirmed his worst suspicions, "head of El Carmesí Garra."

"The local don," Xander groaned. "Just perfect." His eyes narrowed as Faith strode to the window and peered out. "What’s up?"

"Cops here," Faith snarled. "We need to get outta here!"

"Damn it!" Xander cursed as he rushed over to the window and peered out to see a trio of police cars pulling up outside the front entrance. "They must have the entire city on red alert."

"How far can you throw someone?" Bourne looked up from his computer screen and to the Slayer.

Faith blinked at the question but answered anyway. "Someone your size, twenty-five feet tops, Ken or Tar, at least thirty."

"Well you won’t need to throw us anywhere near as far." Bourne rose and passed Tara the laptop. "I noticed a window opposite the top of the stairs that’s directly opposite a balcony across the road, perhaps a dozen feet away. If you could throw us across, then jump yourself, we could make it out through the front of that house, and into a completely different street."

Xander looked to Faith who shrugged. "Isn’t the weirdest use of my powers, well yeah ‘kay maybe it is. But what the hell."

"Okay," Xander nodded towards the others who started for the door, "I’ll go first, then Neville, then Tara, and Kennedy, you and Bourne last."

"Kay," Faith nodded. "What we gonna do for transport and shit?"

Xander pursed his lips and scowled. "I’m making this up as I go along," he admitted as he hurried out into peeling-wallpapered corridor. "We just need to put some distance between us and -," he paused at the sound of Bourne kicking the window in and then grimaced as he heard deep voices bellowing in the reception area three floors below them, "them."

"Yeah," Faith glanced across the gap, then looking down to the ground below. "Shouldn’t be a problem," Faith’s eyes narrowed, "over the rail and onto the balcony, but what if the window breaks or the balcony gives way?"

"Yeah," Xander grimaced as he peered towards the balcony. "That’s why I’m going first. Well that and my ever-present urges to run away from danger."

"Glad you qualified that," Kennedy commented, "I thought you were talking about your other ever-present urges."

Faith grabbed Xander before he had chance to reply to the potential’s unfair but on the balance probably true snark. Xander gasped as his girl-friend lifted him by his collar, it was always unnerving for Faith to casually display the immense power at her disposal.

And then he was flying through the air, the wind whistling around him, but little obstacle to his flight’s momentum. He landed on the balcony on his feet, but the landing’s impact reverberated up his lower body, sending him pitching forward and into the balcony’s window.

Very graceful.

Glass exploded as he fell through into a two single-beds bedroom. Xander hit the threadbare carpet on his shoulder, the air driven out of him, but instinct dragging him to his feet. Just as he rose, the bedroom’s door burst open and a five foot nothing swarthy Colombian stumbled through the doorway, black eyes shining with outrage, indignant Spanish flowing from his fleshy lips.

"Por alta!" Xander did the best he could with his high school Spanish while shoving twenty thousand pesos into the man’s shirt pocket with one hand while shoving him against the door and meaningfully waving a gun with the other. Behind him he could hear the sound of the others yelling as they crashed through into the bedroom behind him. Realising the room would soon get dangerously crowded, he shoved the house owner through the doorway and started yelling. "Via fuera! Via fuera!"

The man nodded jerkily as he backed out, frightened eyes fixed on the gaping muzzle of Xander’s automatic. Xander didn’t allow the distaste he felt to show but he hated threatening innocents, but a hell of a lot more innocents would be a lot more than just threatened if they didn’t get the hell out of here. "Via furea!"

* * *

"Shit!" Faith glanced over her shoulder even as she grabbed, lifted, swung, and released Bourne, sending the secret agent careering over the gap to the balcony. Those charging policemen were getting way too close for comfort.

Faith’s heart hammered as she ran over to the landing’s carved wooden railing and peered over to see the cops’ peaked caps make the second landing. She couldn’t be a prisoner again, she just couldn’t. Glancing to her left, she took a trio of determined steps to the left, grasped the five foot tall antique grandfather clock stood by the wall, then lifted and heaved it over the railing.

Even as the cops were falling back in horror, Faith was spinning around and racing towards the makeshift entrance, shattered glass tinkling underfoot as she leapt out and through the air, dark mane billowing behind her.

* * *

"We’re two streets away from them and they’ll have to make their way through the building to get out," Neville commented as they hurried out of the house. "But there’ll be police all over the place, any ideas?"

"Hide in plain sight," Bourne commented as they rushed down a busy, dusty street, the smells of a near-by market thick in the air as were the squawks and snorts of for sale livestock.

"How’s that?" Xander glanced towards the spy.

"Do you have some evening dresses and suits in that Always Pocket of yours?" Bourne queried. "Only we could get changed, alter our appearances then go to a fancy restaurant for a few hours. Have a meal, then leave for a hotel for the night." Bourne glanced at the two lesbians. "It would be helpful if we split into two groups while in the restaurant, the girls pretending to accompany the Colonel and I."

"I’ve got glasses that are just clear glass," Xander mused. "I could put them on, walk with a walking cane I have. Totally change my appearance."

"I could put my hair up," Faith commented, "put my aviators on."

"I could do a glamour," Tara suggested. "Turn myself into a red-head, age myself a decade, and make my skin more tanned."

"Glamours, hey?" Faith looked towards Kennedy, eyes speculative.

"Out with it!" the potential snapped.

"Na, nothin’," Faith shrugged. "Just thinkin’ when you’re," Faith tried to think of an euphemism but in the end went for blunt , "fuckin’, you ever get her to cast a glamour so she looks like someone else?" Tara joined Kennedy in staring at Faith. "You know like someone famous like Eva Mendes or Christina Aguilera?" Faith threw her hands up when the lesbians’ stares turned to glares. "Jeez, you ask a question!"

Criterion

"You realise of course if the cops do turn up, we’ll have a harder time getting out being as we’re on the second floor."

"Yeah," Xander glanced around the world-class eatery. Its second floor was an airy place with plenty of light beaming in through the vast windows, their illumination magnified as they reflected off the spotless white walls, and gleaming marble floor. The busy restaurant was filled with patrons dressed in much the same way as them, expensive suits and pretty dresses while rich French scents filled the air. "But it also gives us more notice if they do come here." He glanced towards the table of their companions, one row and three tables down, an almost unrecognisable Tara giving him a discreet nod back.

Xander returned his gaze to the brunette sat opposite, his glasses still uncomfortable to wear. For her past, Faith was looking devastating in a deep, v-necked sparkling black mini cocktail dress with a silvery band across its middle. Amazing how that woman could get changed in an alley and come out looking like she’d just stepped off a Paris cat-walk.

However it wasn’t her looks that concerned him right now. "Is the food okay?" It better be, considering the amount of cash he’d put down to bribe his way past the queue.

Faith didn’t look up from filling her face. "Yeah."

Xander licked his lips. It appeared as usual, his girl-friend wasn’t going to make things easy for you. "Faith, when we were fighting at the lab, were you-."

Faith’s head snapped up, eyes spitting dark fire. "Don’t go there."

Xander ignored the chill ice in his girl-friend’s voice. Right, she was on the edge, but she wouldn’t crack, would she? Forcing away the wariness filling him, he shook his head. "I’ll go there," he declared. "I’ll go there because you need me to go there. And I’ll go there because we all depend on you as part of the team and I need to know if you’re okay, I won’t have you jeopardise us -."

"JEOPARDISE!" Faith hissed. "How many times have I saved your ass?" The Slayer ignored the heads that turned towards them then jerked away at the sight of a Slayer reaching eruption.

Xander only wished he had the option. "Faith, being on the run sorta means playing things on the down-low. People tend to notice when one dinner companion flies over the table at the other."

"Funny fucker," Faith raised an eyebrow but then relaxed. Probably down from Defcon 1 to maybe 3.

If you were optimistic about these sorta things. "I," Xander glanced meaningfully towards Tara’s table, "we just care, you know."

"I know." Faith nodded jerkily. "And I’m hangin’ in there, kay?"

"Okay," Xander nodded, wanting but not having the heart to push the point.

Faith took a shaky breath. "I know." The Slayer’s slender shoulders stiffened. "What’s the plan for the rest of the night?"

"After we’ve eaten we’re going to catch two separate taxis to the Bogota Marriott Hotel," Xander replied. "Bourne’s fake id isn’t blown, and I’ve got new identities for us four."

"We don’t have a secret id for Neville," Faith commented. "Or any sorta papers and we don’t have any way of faking up a set."

Xander grinned. "He’ll be booking in in a room with Kennedy, she’ll use her ID."

"So Ken’s switching teams is she?" Faith’s full lips pulled up in a smile. "Guess she’s gonna find out if that ol’ story ‘bout black guys is true or not."

* * *

"Tara will go into the park just outside the Museum just before you wearing another of her glamours," Xander said, "there’s plenty of park benches around so she’ll be sat around talking on her cell. When Vetter makes contact with you, she’ll speak into the cell and say one word if he doesn’t read well. ‘Vamos’, that’ll be your signal to back the hell out of there. If he reads okay, she’ll say ‘si’."

"And how the hell am I supposed to hear this, it’ll spook Vetter if he sees me talkin’ on a cell," Faith pointed out.

"Thought of that too," Xander pulled out what looked to be a pair of pearl earrings, "these are receivers, Tara will just type your phone number into her phone, and they’ll call your earrings, no ring tone just straight through."

"You’ve got a tech company custom-building equipment for you?" interrupted Bourne, eyes wide in disbelief.

Xander smiled tightly as Faith fitted the earrings. "Strictly speaking, I own the company."

"Where will you guys be?" Faith queried.

"We’re going to drop you on the road just by the parking lot, just across the street." Xander replied. "If there’s a problem, Tara will phone us on her cell."

Faith scowled. She hated last minute shit like this.

* * *

Faith glanced around as she walked arm in arm with Bourne. The place was real busy, the sun high above not as hot as it might otherwise be thanks to the altitude and shadowing mountains. The museum itself cast a hell of a shadow, constructed in a Greek cross and made entirely out of thick brick. According to what Tar had said this place had been built one hundred and twenty years ago as a prison, a collection of arches, domes and columns that had housed untold misery in its time.

Faith forced her eyes away, glancing at a long-skirted brunette Tara with glasses and a skimpy top that struggled to contain her ludicrously-inflated boobs. Faith hid a grin , despite Kennedy’s protestations she had to wonder who’d chosen that ‘glamour’.

"The bald man by the fast food cart, he’s our man," Bourne’s casual tone broke into her ruminations.

"Right," Faith casually raised her hand to her face, brushing her hair off her face while discreetly speaking into her radio watch. "Tar, bald man by the cart. Whadda ya get off him-." Faith’s voice trailed off as her own eyes finally settled on the man. "Oh fuck."

"What?" Bourne glanced casually towards the entrance. "Seen the police?"

"No, but I know this fucker," Faith said. "He was at Para Roca when we turned it over."

Bourne glanced at his companion, eyes narrowing. The Slayer hadn’t been his first choice for this assignment, yeah she was super-powered but for some reason she seemed easily spooked and that was never an asset. "You’re sure," he grunted.

"Damn straight I’m sure," the Slayer hissed with an impatient flick of her long hair. "I eyeballed him when I thought he was gonna get involved."

"And what does Tara say?" Bourne queried.

Faith half-shrugged. "Sis says ‘si’, but she didn’t see him-."

"Then if you trust in Tara’s reading," he started to guide the brunette towards the man ,all the while wondering when the hell his world had gotten so complicated. It almost made him reminiscence for the simple days when all he had to worry about was terrorist groups, oppressive regimes, shadowy multinationals, and intra-agency politicking. "We should meet the guy."

Vetter’s eyes widened at their approach, confirming that he recognised his companion, but then quickly shut down. "Uncle Billy," the man’s voice was like gravel over whiskey, "wrecking bars, your methods have changed."

Bourne ignored the jibe. "We’re running an operation that has run into complications."

Vetter glanced from him to Faith and back again. "With her around I’m not surprised."

Faith growled, but Bourne ignored the jibe again. "You’re here, so I assume you’re interested?"

"Interested but not dumb," Vetter replied. "What proof do I have you’re CIA?"

"You’re a smooth operator, I bet you’ve checked the validity of my email address," Bourne said. "It’s legit, you know I am CIA."

"Maybe so," Vetter glanced at Faith. "But that doesn’t mean you’re friendly, this could be an operation to take me down for knocking over assets that just happen to deal on the side. And that could be your assassin."

Faith’s eyes burned into the former DEA agent. "Never know your luck."

Bourne glanced around. "I can see three no make that five places in a mile radius where I could have taken up a spot and shot your head clean off. Or I could have forgot about the eye candy," Faith’s glare turned on him, "walked up to you, shanked you in the back and walked off before anyone knew what I’d done, not even those two guys watching us from under that tree sixty feet away."

Vetter’s eyes narrowed. "Yeah and I suppose you couldn’t want to get me away from here and somewhere where you could pump me for information?"

"Yeah," Bourne shrugged. "At some point you’ve gotta trust though, right? Either you ignore us and maybe miss a chance to earn a chunk of money for your operation not to mention really fuck over a major player in the drugs trade. Or you could play it safe and walk away."

Vetter scowled. "Okay, my guys come with you though."

"Two guys?" Bourne nodded. "You can even keep your guns if you want."

"Oh yeah," Vetter glanced at Faith. "I’m sure guns come in real handy when you’ve got her on hand."

"He ain’t got me anywhere," Faith half-snarled.

* * *

The journey back to the hotel was a tense one, but eventually they were walking through into the Bogotá Marriott Hotel’s cream-coloured, gleaming with illumination reception area. Bourne smirked as he recognised a tanned, creased man sat on one of the reception area’s couches. "Xander," Bourne glanced towards the young man apparently leading their group, "that contact I requested last night is here."

Xander glanced at him then followed his eyes towards the agent, then nodded. "Okay, we’ll take this lot up to our suite," Xander said. "Why don’t you take him to your room and explain?"

Bourne nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

* * *

"I was hoping for more help than just you, Ding," Bourne commented as they entered his suite.

Domingo Chavez turned to face him, a quizzical look on his face. "To be honest, Control was surprised when you called for help, you don’t usually request it."

Bourne smiled tightly. He supposed he’d earned a reputation as a lone wolf. "This job is different from anything we’ve done before."

Ding’s eyes widened as he explained what was going on. "Look," the Latino operative growled, "I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, but Control doesn’t like the idea of practical jokes, and I don’t like being made to fly down here for a wild goose chase." Ding scowled. "If you want a retirement on mental health grounds, that’s fine, but don’t drag me into it with this shit!"

Bourne chuckled. "That was my reaction until Xander and the others proved it to me." Bourne shook his head. "Look, when they’ve finished talking to Vetter, let them show you."

Ding stared at him then shook his head. "Fine."

* * *

Xander stared at the dazed Latino. "Is he alright?"

Ding shook himself and nodded. "I’m fine," the CIA operative stiffly replied.

"Okay," Xander shrugged. Being confronted with the reality of the supernatural world could hit some people hard, but he hadn’t the time to worry about such things. "Thanks to whoever interfered when we grabbed Neville, the cartel knows we’re after them. However now we’ve got Vetter and his fifteen men, and Ding, that gives us an advantage again. They’ll still be expecting us, but not in these numbers." Xander paused. "So we’re going to split into two teams. Team Alpha- Tara, Neville, Vetter, and his gang are going to take down the lab. At the same time, Team Beta - Faith, Kennedy, Bourne, and Chavez are going to be waiting for a call from me where they need to hit."

Faith’s eyes widened. "You mean-."

"Yeah," Xander nodded. "I’m going after Lorenzo Volcan on my own. I’ll wait until tomorrow night to go after Volcan, so you have until then to run surveillance on the lab and decide how you’re going to hit it."

Lorenzo Volcan’s eyes fluttered uncertainly open, some instinct awakening him. His mouth opened and then something was jammed in it, a fist crashing into his jaw a half-second later. Dazed, he could put up little fight as his silk pyjamas were torn from him and his hands and feet expertly hog-tied.

By the time he did come around, he was surprised to see a kid less than half his age stood over him, a dark fire burning in his eyes. "It’s a strange myth wouldn’t you say?" the boy conversationally commented. "That killing people is this big weight to carry about? I really don’t see it? I mean I’ve killed dozens, hell probably hundreds in the past five years and I’ve not lost a wink of sleep." The boy smiled. "Including those three guards on this floor. But I will admit I’ve lost sleep about the people I’ve failed to save, those who’ve been hurt despite my efforts. So maybe that’s the key, the sort of people you kill. If you’re a scumbag drug-dealer selling misery to kids by the ounce, I don’t give a shit. Or maybe it’s the bad-ass warrior spirit taking up squatters’ rights in me. Whatever the reason I can do anything I want to the likes of you and not worry in the slightest."

The young man paused before continuing. "Let’s move past the predictable threats. I know who you are and could care to the sum of zero. Your fate’s sealed, you’re dead. The only question is if it’s slow and hard, or fast and easy." The man pulled the gag out of his mouth. "What I need from -."

"You’re a dead man! I will find every- uhhhh."

The boy’s fingers crashed into his throat. Tears sprang to Volcan’s eyes as he wheezed for air, the boy quickly stuffing the rag back into it. "Okay," the boy’s breezy tone was replaced by something colder than an iceberg. "We’ll do it the hard way." The youth shrugged his broad shoulders. "No problem. Inflicting a little pain on you to save the lives of countless innocents is no biggie." Volcan’s eyes bulged as the youth pulled out a car battery and attached jump-lead clamps to his nipples. "Well I said a little pain." The youth shook his head. "I really need to get a more inhibited girl-friend."

Volcan screamed into his gag, back arching as electricity pulsed through his chest, his entire skeletal frame seeming to throb and jingle to the power pouring through him. He wheezed and gasped for air as the boy turned the battery down. "Now that was setting two of five," the boy smiled. "Wanna see what four feels like?" The youth’s smirk widened at his frantic head shake. "Figured you’d see it my way." The boy waved a gargantuan automatic before his. "Now I’m going to take your gag off, one syllable above a whisper, and this goes up your ass, and I pull the trigger. Capice?" Volcan nodded weakly. "Excellent," Volcan gasped as the terrifying youth pulled his gag out of his mouth, "now what I want to know is where you keep the back-up records of Colonel Neville’s work?"

"Ha," despite his situation, Valcon managed a weak laugh. "You can’t mess with-, uhhh!"

"Boy," the youth shook his head, "you really rode the slow bus to school didn’t you? I am not known for my patience." His eyes widened as the youth’s attention returned to the battery. "Number four it is."

Vocan’s world exploded in agony, body thrashing on the bed as his blood boiled and his back arched, eyes bulging as he screamed into the gag in his mouth, body contorting into impossible positions. And then just as suddenly was turned off. "Thirty seconds at number four," the boy calmly proclaimed. "Next time it’ll be a minute, the time after that it’ll be up to number five. Or," the youth pulled the gag out of his mouth, "you could tell me what I want to know and I kill you quickly?"

Volcan forced a defiant smile even as his body ached like he’d been worked over by baseball bats. "It’s in Wolfram &Hart’s basement vaults."

"Shit," the youth stuffed the gag back in his mouth with a scowl. "That’s a problem." The youth stared at him for a long second, the mammoth gun tapping against his thigh. "Have you ever seen the film ‘Wild Geese’? There’s a really cool scene where Roger Moore’s character forces a drug dealer to eat his own product. Cool case of natural justice right there. Unfortunately I’ve never taken to carrying drugs around on me." The youth shook his head. "You see I lied about you dying easy. After all the misery you’ve caused, the weeping parents whose kids have died of drug overdoses, the girls turned out to pay for their habit, the people in this country you’ve enslaved." The youth shook his head again. "You don’t get the luxury of an easy death."

Vocan gurgled helplessly when the boy shoved a hand between his legs and clipped a clamp to his nuts. The youth shuddered. "I never wanna grab another man’s junk ever again." The youth smiled down at him. "Think of your first drug deal. That’s what brought you here."

His world exploded in a haze of pain, volcano’s larva filling his veins as he thrashed around in the bed, unaware that both his bowels and bladder released, spilling out waste everywhere.

* * *

Xander winced as the man’s thrashings finally stilled, blood running from his ears and nose. "Jesus, the smell." Shaking his head, he unclipped the clamps and quickly put the battery away before creeping out of the hushed house. It had been a hard death, but a hell of a lot easier than that Volcan had given to many of his victims. Once he’d reached the mansion’s outer wall, he pulled out his rocket launcher and brought it up to his shoulder and peered through its sight.

It was fortunate that Volcan sent the staff except his guards home at night. Doubly fortunate he hadn’t had any hookers with him, that would have made things complicated.

As it was, if he blew up the house, Wolfram & Hart might be suspicious of the timing. It would be awfully coincidental, but even if they thought it was him, they might figure that he’d just blown the place up as retaliation for Volcan being involved in W&H’s scheme.

Yeah, it sounded pretty thin to him too, but it was his only option really. Xander tugged on his rocket launcher’s trigger. The air whistled to the missile’s launching, sending its load through the front door. Xander spun around and hurried over the wall before making off to his car, flipping open his cell as he rushed away. "Team Alpha, you’re a go. Team Beta, you’re a scrub. Move from position to back up Team Alpha."

"We’re a scrub?" Faith’s nose wrinkled. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Well if he’d said scrubber, I’d have known he was just referring to you," Kennedy commented.

Faith looked towards the potential, brow furrowing. "Say what?"

"It means we do as he said," Bourne glanced at the GPS. "The lab is six streets away." The spy jammed on the accelerator. "Let’s go."

* * *

Tara stared at the lab; the plan in theory was simple. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to realise that if the lab had been attacked once, it could easily be attacked again. And so the lab had been reinforced, the three knife-wielders Faith had dealt with at the front of the building had been replaced by a quartet of gun-slingers, while a duo of snipers patrolled the roof-top, and a trio of thugs were hidden in the shadows at the building’s rear.

Of course, these reinforcements were expecting at most half a dozen people, not a force more than twice that in size. And therein lay their advantage according to Xander, and he was supposed to know more about fighting than Caesar, Hannibal, Genghis Khan, and Sun Tzu all rolled up into one.

Personally she had her doubts.

But anyway, Vetter resembling Xander thanks to a glamour she’d cast was going to lead in three of the smallest men, all wearing ski-masks to hopefully hide the fact they were men into an attack up the back alley. The moment all the four guards from the front ran into reinforce their companions, Neville’s men were going to allow themselves to get pinned down. The moment their enemies were advancing, Vetter’s second was going to lead five more of his men in for the rescue.

Meanwhile, Neville was leading the rest of their force through the unguarded front door, and Tara was using magics to make sure the two men on the roof didn’t become a factor.

All very neat. All sure to go completely wrong in short order. And they didn’t even know what sort of defences waited for the men inside.

* * *

Vetter’s heart thudded as he drove towards the target alleyway, his mind still consumed with yesterday’s revelations. It was hard to get to used of a world of the supernatural, a world of vampires, weres, and witches, but the evidence had been equally impossible to deny. The shy-looking witch who’d levitated the conference room table they’d been sat around and the tiny brunette who’d casually put a pair of cuffs on, then yanked her arms apart, snapping the cuffs as if they were just an elastic band.

Yes, his world view had definitely changed. But still, he had a drugs war to concentrate on.

The van screeched to a halt when he jammed on the brakes, the side door sliding open as his men inside opened fire, the guards placed mid-way down the alley, diving for cover even as they returned fire, Vetter leaping across the van’s front seat and towards the far side door.

He’d barely crawled out of the car door when its window exploded, showering him in shards. "Shit!" Vetter peered around the door to see two of the four front door guards racing towards him, their Ingram Mac-10s spitting fire at him.

Vetter’s heart thudded as he drew his Mossberg 590 from under his jacket. Damn that Harris kid’s Always Pocket was handy, the boy had given them a veritable armoury to use both now and in the future, in the addition to the million bucks they’d been promised.

Vetter dropped to the dusty ground under the open door he’d been using as cover, the shotgun bucking powerfully in his hands, its boom drowning out the machine-guns’ lighter ‘splats’. "Contact! Contact! Trap is primed!"

* * *

Neville let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding at Vetter’s tension filled report. "That’s our signal," he announced before stepping on the accelerator and releasing the brake. Power roared through the 4 * 4 as they surged out of the shadowy alley across the street and two streets down from the lab. "Hold on!" He yelled to his troops massed in the back of this and the 4 * 4 hopefully following behind them as they careered across the road towards their target.

Neville pursed his lips as he hunched over the steering wheel in an attempt to make as small as a target as possible for both the gunmen guarding the front door, but also to hopefully minimise the chance of either of the snipers getting a good bead on him.

He really hoped the witch knew her stuff, because otherwise he had a future as a pin-cushion coming up really soon.

* * *

Tara crouched on the roof opposite the two snipers, a simple glamour hiding her from their view. It was amazing what one could do with magic. Magic worked on a few rules, but the most basic of them was the more time one had to prepare a spell, the more power you could call on at the least cost to yourself.

Unfortunately that didn’t help Tara with her limitations. It would for example be a simple thing for a technopath to jam the snipers’ rifles, even at this distance. But Tara couldn’t turn a light on with her powers, magic didn’t work like that, not for her.

But, Tara smiled, she could create light. "Luminosus!" Tara let out an exulted moan as she released the spell she’d been holding in, the building power releasing like water from a dam.

Tara snapped her head away, eyes closing tightly as a dome of translucent light blasted into being on top of the lab’s roof. It would only last a minute or so, and it would only affect those inside in the dome or, those on the same level, but for that time anyone inside or looking at the dome would be utterly blind.

Tara only hoped it would be enough.

"Oh hell!"

Faith glanced at Bourne. "What’s the what?"

The spy glanced over his shoulder to her and Kennedy in the back. "See those two four by fours speeding up behind us?" Faith glanced out of the tinted rear window then nodded. "They moved off the moment we started off. They must be a reserve guard waiting to be called in if there was trouble at the lab."

"Kay," Faith pulled out her shotgun and nodded at Kennedy who did the same, "they’re coming in fast and heavy, probably gonna speed right pass us, so this is what we’re gonna do."

Bourne listened to her then shook his head. "If you’re sure."

"Yep," Faith undid the top couple of buttons on her top, wound down the window and leaned out, Kennedy doing the same at the other side. As the two cars drew level, they slowed, their drivers’ professionalism evaporating in the face of two hotties.

"NOW!" Faith yanked her shotgun up and out of the window, finger tugging on the trigger. Glass exploded out of the rival car’s rear window and then Faith was adjusting her aim, her second shot shredding the near rear window, sending the car screeching off the road. "KEN?"

"Done!"

Faith nodded at the potential’s shout. "Change of plan," Faith looked towards Bourne. "We need to lose this car and hurry back to the meeting place."

* * *

Impact juddered through the car as Neville jerked on the wheel, turning it into a sideways skid that ended with it crashing into one of the gun-men, the blow’s force lifting the man up like he was a rag-doll and flinging him into the front of the building, broken body slumping to the ground. At the same time, Neville saw his companion’s car mount the kerb, hit the other gunman, and likewise fling him into the lab’s front, but he didn’t stop there, his car launched itself into the air, slamming unmercifully into the gunman, and not stopping until ribs snapped and the car thudded to a halt, the gunman basically steam-rollered into two by the car’s grille.

Neville shook his head as he yanked his car door open. He really didn’t need to have seen that. Swallowing his bile, he glanced towards the door, motioning the fire-plug of their group forward, a SWAT battering ram in the thick-set Latino’s arms. "Come on!" He glanced up to see what was happening with the snipers then glanced away, eyes watering at the unbelievable brightness shrouding the building’s roof. Okay, so score that one in the proof column for magic.

The door crashed open at the sixth attempt, light illuminating a narrow passageway inside. "Come on!"

* * *

"Shit!" Vetter threw himself out from under the car door’s doubtful cover and curled up beside a five foot high pile of garbage, only peeking around it to fire desultory rounds at the advancing two gunmen. "Miguel, where-." His eyes widened as a 4 * 4 came to a screeching halt at the alley opening behind the two gunmen. "About time."

The machine-gunners spun to face the men exiting the 4 * 4 only to be torn apart in a hail of gun-fire, Vetter rising and glancing over the top of his 4 * 4 to wave the reinforcements in to help his companions before himself leaping onto the car’s hood and unloading at the pinned down guards.

* * *

Neville’s heart thundered as he stepped into the shadowy passageway, sweaty hands clinging to his shotgun as he peered through his infra-red goggles. It wasn’t the thought of being shot or even dying that chilled his blood, not exactly. It was the memories of the dank cage his captors had kept him in, the beatings-.

A door creaked to his left.

Neville spun, gun coming up even as one of his men fired, the bullet blasting over his shoulder and into the would-be gunman’s face, spinning him around and dropping him in a bloody, motionless mess. Neville swallowed down the bile rising in his throat before continuing on, he might be a Lt. Colonel, but he hadn’t exactly seen a lot of action.

Instinct had him flinging himself to the ground just ahead of a horde of bullets that tore into the men standing behind him. They wore Kevlar, but still… Neville panted and wheezed as he reached down to his belt, tugged out a flash-bang, pulled the pin, and flung it down the corridor.

Light blossomed, shocked cries ringing out as Neville leapt up and raced to the end of the corridor, shotgun blazing at the two silhouettes he saw there. And then he was at the trapdoor leading to the lab he’d been forced to work.

Mouth suddenly dry, he glanced at his three remaining companions, one injured leaning slumped against the wall. After taking a nervous breath, he looked towards the uninjured duo. "One of you guard," he glanced at the stairway to the hallway’s rear, "that." He tried the trapdoor only to find it locked.

Nodding to himself, he crouched, fixed some C4 to the door and backed away, striding to the side of the injured man. "We’ll get you to a doctor," he comforted as he pressed down on the detonator.

The door imploded inwards, wood splinters flying into the promptly made crater and arid smoke filling the air. Neville hurried to the edge, pulled a couple of grenades from his belt and dropped them in.

The ground shook as the grenades erupted, tearing through the lab equipment, computers, and office equipment. Neville scowled, relief rather than triumph filling him. "Let’s get outta here."

"Oh fuck," Faith groaned as Xander’s revelation sunk in. "So you’re saying that the other set of documents is at Wolfram & Hart’s offices right here?"

"Wolfram & Hart?" Vetter’s brow furrowed as he looked towards Faith’s boy-friend. "Heard of them, they do most of the defending for all of the major drug cartels and gangs from Mexico to Argentina."

"And Asia and Africa," Xander replied. "And they do more than that."

"Such as?" Bourne queried.

"W&H are dawn of time evil, they represent a bunch of demons that were run off this earth twelve thousand years ago, and date back far, far further than that," Xander explained.

"Lawyers representing demons," Bourne raised an eyebrow. "There’s a certain symmetry I suppose."

"They’re far worse than that," Xander said. "Wolfram & Hart have represented many of history’s biggest scumbags. Heck, some of them might not have even got to be history’s biggest scum bags without their backing. In addition, they also represent the major figures in organised crime, large corporations, corrupt politicians, and the most powerful figures in the demonic world. They don’t operate within the law and their client list and business interests aren’t limited to this dimension."

"Fuck!" Faith threw her hands up into the air. They’d all met up at the home of one of Vetter’s contacts, a man whose son had died in a shootout between two gangs, rather than a hotel, but that anonymity seemed rather thin. "Then we’re screwed!"

"Not necessarily," Xander glanced towards Neville. "Colonel, if they still have your research, how long would it take for them to complete your work if they managed to get their hands on one of the elite virologists you listed?"

Neville pursed his lips. "Those holding me told me I had six months to finish the project. If they brought in any one else to complete my work, it would take at least another couple of months."

"’Cause you’re so much smarter than them?" Faith queried.

The African-American grinned at the starch in Faith’s tone. "No, not at all. It’s just that as scientists we all have different working methodologies, ways of recording our findings etc. It’ll take anyone jumping into a project that’s been someone else’s time to acclimatise themselves to their counterpart’s workings."

Faith’s nose wrinkled. She supposed that made a sorta sense. "No," Xander shook his head, "that’s not acceptable. That’s not long enough," Xander shot Vetter an apologetic look, "too many men have died for this project to survive."

"Well what do you suggest?" Faith queried. "W&H is like the Death Star only with less friendly management."

Kennedy looked at her and then Xander. "Him?"

Faith sighed and nodded. "Him."

"I know how you feel, Tara and her Care Bear collection," Kennedy shuddered.

"Sympathies," Faith replied.

Xander coughed, his cheeks an amusing red. "Getting back on track, this information is too important to be allowed to stay in W&H’s hands-."

"Hate to ask the obvious question, but there isn’t just a Colombian W&H, there’s two in America alone," Faith commented. "What’s to say they haven’t shared out this information amongst themselves?"

Xander looked like he’d bitten into an especially bitter lemon. "Thought of that, and there’s not a lot we can do about that, except hope they haven’t."

"There is one argument against that though," Tara commented. "According to everything we’ve ever learnt about Wolfram & Hart, it’s a notoriously competitive operation. Both in-office and between offices. They’re not going to share out information unless ordered to by the Senior partners for fear of losing the credit."

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Faith grudgingly agreed. "Still, W&H are hardcore."

"So’s the Brotherhood," Xander looked around, eyes taking on a scary look that reminded her more of Mithras than of Xander. "Sean, you and your men still in this?"

Vetter nodded. "Okay," Faith’s eyes widened as Xander started pulling out bundles of money, "how many are still," Xander grimaced, "living and fit?"

"Ten." Nobody was looking at the money, everyone was gaping at Xander. Clearly they’d all noticed the sudden air of power surrounding him. Faith’s fists clenched, if Mithras was messing with X she’d….

Do what exactly, drop to her knees and offer to let him cop a feel if he just let Xander go? The self-doubt and fear that had taken hold since the Arkansas mess rose up, silencing her.

"Okay then," Faith forced her attention back to Xander. "In that case, here’s fifty Gs for each of your men." Xander pushed aside some of the money. "Do any of the dead have families?"

"Two of them did."

Faith’s heart soared when Xander’s shoulders sagged minutely. Yeah she hated it when he felt guilt, but that proved it, this was her Xan! "Okay," Xander pushed another pile of money over, "here’s two hundred Gs for each of their families."

Xander paused. "Here’s another fifty gs for each of your men to give a grand to every one of fifty protesters they can drag up for anti-globalisation protest tomorrow."

"Say what?" Faith raised a hand. "Don’t you sorta own a multi-national?"

"The company’s not quite that big, yet," Xander half grinned before looking at Tara. "Tara, their magic detectors will catch you if you try and enter the building you’re out of this mission, I want you in one car at the front of the building, Vetter in another car to the rear. Faith, Kennedy, I want you both in business suits, glasses, and hair up tomorrow morning, you’re going to be the sexy PAs to mine, Chavez, and Bourne’s junior partners."

"Sexist pig," muttered Kennedy, ever the feminist warrior.

"Oh shit Xan," Faith shook her head, dismay filling her. "You’re the man as far as W&H are concerned, do you really wanna go in there?"

"I’m the only one who can get a ton of explosives and weapons past security, not seeing a choice," Xander replied. "Besides, glasses, stooped over, and an ornate walking cane should make quite a difference to my appearance."

"How are we supposed to even get in?" Faith continued. "We haven’t go IDs or shit."

"The art to infiltration is looking like you should be there, in suits, looking relaxed. As long as no-one recognises us, we should be alright," Xander grimaced. "Going in, anyway."

"Do you know where the information is?" Tara softly asked before Faith could continue arguing.

"It’s standard W&H procedure to keep all the most valued files in the ground vault," Xander said. "So that’s what we need to blow up."

"Once we hit ‘em they’re gonna be on us like flies on shit," Faith commented.

"That’s where the protest comes in," Xander commented. "I want them timed to arrive ten minutes after we’ve gone in. If we can’t get to either the rear or front exit, the W&H buildings always have sewage entrances for their more nocturnal clients, we’ll make for that."

"The protest drawing security’s attention away from us?" Kennedy queried.

"I should be parked outside the car park entrance at the side, rather than at the front," Tara suddenly commented. "If all the security’s there, you’ll have a hard time getting out."

"Good point." Xander looked towards Vetter. "I don’t want the protesters hurt. Can you arrange for some impromptu press coverage so the security doesn’t get rough?"

"I’ve got contacts," Vetter growled.

"Great," Xander nodded. "Then we go in at 9:20 in the morning, the protest hits at 9:30. I want people coming in and out of the building pelted with rotten fruit, the building egged, banners hung from it, the whole works."

The W&H Bogotá offices was a gleaming tower reaching up into the clouds above, effortlessly dwarfing those other skyscrapers around it. Xander supposed those who worked there and were generally unaware of just how evil their employers were, or even some who knew but didn’t care, felt tremendous pride at working in such salubrious surroundings.

He just felt a pressing need for an incontinence diaper.

Xander glanced at Faith, just catching his girl-friend putting her tinted glasses on after fixing her normally unrestrained mane into a pony-tail. "Remember," he passed her his brown-leather attaché case to carry, "we belong here."

"Sure do, belong blowing its ass up."

"That’s the spirit," Xander muttered as they climbed out of the tinted limousine, Chavez, Bourne, and Kennedy getting out of another limo just in front of them. The three men strode, or rather Chavez and Bourne did, Xander faked a limp, leaning heavily on his cane, in ahead of the two girls, chivalry be damned.

The two freight-cars wearing suits that doubled as guards gave them lingering looks, and the girls’ much longer ones, as they opened the spotless glass door.

The marble-floored reception area was dominated by a pair of eight foot tall palm trees either side of the entrance, and a granite fountain spouting water from the end of a warrior’s sword and into the mouth of the dragon hovering over him stood just before the wood-panelled reception desk, the quartet of tanned twenty-somethings answering phones behind the vast desk each looking like they’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. Meanwhile suited people rushed about the office, the yellow ceiling lights blazing down.

"Elevator is over there, sir," Faith pointed with her head towards the glass cone in the centre of the floor some 300 feet behind the reception desk, her respectful tone and manner proving what a great actress she could be when given a half-way decent role to play.

"Not the elevator," Xander muttered out of the side of his mouth. "We can’t afford to get caught if someone notices us and decides to get clever by cutting the electricity."

"Normally I’d agreed," Bourne grunted. "But people are more prone to notice us if they see us stumbling around looking for a set of stairs we should know the location of."

"Okay," Xander nodded jerkily. "Elevator it is."

The five of them strode across the shining marble floor, the cost of the janitorial upkeep making Xander even with his deep pockets shudder. Upon arriving on the elevator, they found it thankfully empty. Still none of them spoke for fear of the law firm bugging enclosed spaces like elevators where disgruntled employees might just spout out complaints and grievances about their bosses or working practices.

Just ‘cause you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean you’re not about to be set on by a pack of howling senior partners or words to that effect.

The group wordlessly waited for the elevator to open on the third floor, Xander only speaking when they’d stepped out of the elevator. "Let’s find the stairwell," he stopped then grimaced.

"What’s up, sir?" Faith queried.

"My pager vibrated, we’ve been in here ten minutes."

"Wha-," Faith’s brow furrowed then cleared as realisation hit. "Right," Faith looked around. "Let’s find that stairwell."

"Why didn’t I think of that?" Xander murmured.

* * *

The moment they entered the starkly bare stairwell, Xander glanced at Faith with a grimace. Because of concerns regarding Wolfram & Hart having some sort of weapons alerts, they weren’t planning to grab weapons until they were attacked, meaning Faith as the Slayer would have to protect them in the brief seconds it took for him to open and draw weapons from the Always Pocket. Normally he wouldn’t have much of a problem with that idea, but with his girl-friend so fragile at the moment…

"What’s up?"

Xander forced a smile at Faith’s query. "Nothing," he replied as they made their way down to the basement. "Chavez," Xander looked at the Latino spy. "You’re the electronics man, right?" The spy nodded. "Good-," Xander’s eyes widened slightly as the door below opened and a janitor appeared, complete with wheeled bucket and mop. "Ms. Lucas!" Xander snapped as he looked towards Kennedy, choosing her on the basis she might not kill him for speaking to her in such a manner while he knew Faith would. "That paperwork in the McGuff merger isn’t of the standard either I or my colleagues expect! Buck up your ideas if you want to keep working here!"

"Yes sir," Kennedy nodded meekly.

Xander and the others strode past the janitor and down the next flight of steps, the hammering in his chest increasing with every step nearer the basement and their target, tension-filled queries filling his mind. How would their cover last? What obstacles faced them? Would they get out? Was the information even there? Were they too late?

The last two questions bothered him the most, mostly because he knew they were unanswerable. "There’s the trapdoor," Faith commented as they exited the stairwell and made their way through the grey-walled basement, its grim drabness a shocking contrast with W&H’s shiny public face.

Xander stopped and glanced at Faith. "Are you sure?"

"Course I’m sure," Faith shot him an irritated look. "You wouldn’t notice but this," Faith glanced down at the part of the floor she was stood on, "is a false floor panel. It’s here."

"And it’s convenient for the stairwell," Kennedy glanced back the dozen steps they’d taken from the stairwell and then at the lift tube entrance opposite it, "and the elevator."

"Okay," Xander nodded before crouching down by where Faith was stood.

"Is this really the time to be looking up my skirt?" Faith queried.

"There’s always time for that." Xander reddened as he pressed down on the floor. "I’m trying to work out if this is thinner than the rest of the floor, so I can guess how much explosive we’ll need to -." A door opened and a suited man strode out of the room to the left and towards them. "Don’t bloody drop those papers again, you stupid girl!" Xander snapped.

"Have you heard the alarms?" the pot-bellied, bespectacled man glanced at both brunettes in turn before looking towards Chavez, deciding that as the oldest he must be the most senior. "What is that all about?"

"Some stupid anti-globalisation protest!" Chavez laughed. "If only they knew, right? I’m glad we’re in the basement today," Chavez’s brow furrowed, "speaking of which, it’s so long since I’ve been down here, can you point out the vault for us?"

"Oh sure," the man’s eyes had already left Chavez to gaze at the brunettes again. He pointed distractedly over his shoulder, back the way he’d come, "it’s like a maze in here, all the way down to the end, last tunnel on the left, just walk to the end."

"Thank you," Chavez dipped his head to the man as the lawyer made for the elevator.

"Nicely done," Xander muttered a compliment as they walked off.

"Not my first time," Chavez replied.

"Kennedy," Xander glanced at the potential as they turned the corner leading to the vault. "Stay here but come running if anyone comes down here."

Faith’s skin started crawling the minute they turned into the tunnel leading to the vault, the prickling running up and down her back getting more intense with every second, and the moment they reached the vault’s imposingly brass door and its suited custodian she knew why.

The man was six six with linebacker shoulders, a barrel chest, and limbs that looked like someone had been tearing up tree-trunks and sticking them on people. But it was more than that, it wasn’t even the dead eyes sunk deep in his grey-skinned face. Faith shook her head, eyes remaining fixed on the humongous three hundred and thirty pounder as her skin pimpled in eerie pre-knowledge. "You ain’t human."

"No," the man stepped away from the wall he’d been slouched by and moved into the middle of the narrow passageway, a cold smile flashing across his face, "I’m not." Faith’s eyes widened as the ‘man’s’ suit began tearing as his muscles and girth started to expand, the thing growing until its head almost scraped the ceiling and shoulders widening until they almost touched the passageway’s walls. Golden fur sprang up all over the creature even as its arms expanded and lengthened until they hung down beneath its suddenly bow-legged knees, its fingers elongating into three-clawed fingers. "And you’re not employees, you’re food!"

"Skin-walker!" Xander yelled. "Faith-!"

"On it!" Faith reached up for the binding she’d used to secure her pony-tail. Her long midnight locks fell loose at her slight tug, cascading around her neck, but most importantly she had a weapon.

The weapon wasn’t much, just a foot long steel chain ending in a steel star that at first glance was merely decorative, but was far far more. Getting a weapon past security hadn’t been easy but Faith might have hated her studies with Tara, but in one area she was a natural, and that was fighting and finding new ways to do it.

Faith’s hand snapped out, her fingers wrapped around one end of the chain, the chain itself leaping out to whiz towards the charging juggernaut.

Blood crimsoned as the star’s knife-sharp points sliced into the creature’s tyre-thick neck, splattering its fur. The beast let out a wall-shaking roar but kept on coming, its speed impossible for something as large as it was.

Faith’s eyes widened as she realised she had precisely nowhere to go but…

Drop on the floor on her ass and kick at the beast’s inner knee. Her blow collided home a tenth of a second after she thought of it, instinct blurring into thought and then action like a blink of an eye. Unfortunately the attack just provoked a howl, the beast’s other foot coming down in an attempt to stomp a crater sized hole in her.

Faith rolled to the left wall, bumped it and started to spring up. "STAY DOWN!"

The air echoed to three shotguns’ collective booms, Xander, Bourne, and Chavez putting a trio of rounds into the beast’s pelt-covered torso. Blood blossomed on its thick chest, but the creature didn’t so much as take a step back. Then three more rounds crashed into it, the creature this time bellowing as its blood splattered the walls.

"CATCH!"

Faith plucked out of the air the sword Xander under-armed to her, then smoothly reversed the blade’s momentum, dragging the short-sword’s honed edge through the beast’s hamstring. The creature’s pained bellow rang out as it staggered, then finally stumbled back after another series of shotgun blasts from Xander and the guys, the guns’ retorts this time drowned out by sudden alarms. Faith’s eyes met Xander, Xander nodded then let out a cry. "Cease fire! All yours!"

Faith sprang up, powering through her feet to leap from the left floor up to the opposite far right corner, her blade swinging up and across the beast’s van sized back as she did so. Blood gushed as her blade sliced home. The beast swung around to face her, its claws gouging furrows in the wall as it sliced at her, but she’d already launched herself off the wall and at it, her blade thrusting up and through its open, teeth-filled snout, her sword not stopping until its point exploded out of the back of its head. After flinging a final swipe that she ducked under, the giant beast fell to the ground, its brains leaking out beneath him.

Faith grinned at the awed looks the two CIA operatives were giving her, then narrowed her eyes as she noticed the creature’s wounds were healing. "What the fuck?"

"Yeah, it’s part of what makes a skin-walker so difficult to kill," Xander commented. "Not only are they big, fast, and hard to hurt, they heal really, really quickly."

"Well what the fuck-," Faith smirked as her man passed her a chain-saw. Eyes gleaming she looked towards the healing corpse. "Wicked cool."

* * *

"Yeah, yeah," Xander muttered. His girl-friend was a Jason the Terrible fan, for some reason he wasn’t surprised. Xander looked towards the two open-mouthed CIA operatives. "Bourne, take these," he passed four sub-machine guns and a handful of grenades to the agent, "to Kennedy and help her hold the passageway."

"We won’t have time to break through the vault’s security measures," Chavez yelled over the twin sounds of Faith’s chain-saw and the blaring klaxons.

"I know," Xander nodded. If they didn’t get out here and fast, not only was he going to have the world’s worst migraine -.

"Grow that back, asshole!"

Xander winced at Faith’s triumphant yell. Telling himself he really didn’t want to find out what the nutty Slayer had sliced off, he kept his eyes on Chavez. "I know," he nodded. "So we’ll have to blow the vault and its contents with one explosion."

Chavez’s eyes filled with doubt. "We’ll need a hell of a lot of explosive."

"I’ve brought a lot," Chavez’s eyes widened as Xander began pulling out kilo after kilo of C4 out of the Always Pocket, "so start setting it and the detonators."

"This is enough to cause structural damage to the whole building!" Chavez exclaimed.

"I know," Xander grimaced. "That’s just a risk we’ll have to take."

Kennedy jumped as the alarms blared out. Her heart stilled as she hurriedly glanced over her shoulder to see Xander and the others fighting a humongous, grizzly-sized monster. "Oh boy," she whispered as she forced her eyes back to peering down the empty corridor, bile rising in her throat. Things sure went to hell quickly with Xander and the others.

Panic filled her as the doors at the far end of the corridor burst open, and fridge-sized men spilled out of the stairwell and elevator. "GUYS!" she let out a shriek. "WE’VE GOT COMPANY!"

"Take the guns!" She started at the voice beside her, her heart jumping as she spun around to see Bourne shoving a pair of Ingram Mac-10s into her hands. "You fire first; I’ll cover you when you reload."

Kennedy nodded, heart still hammering as she glanced around the corner, waited until the men were a hundred metres away and let loose. From that range and in such an enclosed area, what happened next certainly wasn’t pretty, but it was effective.

The sound of her guns chattering blocked out the klaxon’s blare as red-hot lead spat from the bucking machine-guns to tear into the charging men, cordite filling the air as they crumpled, lost screams on their lips as limbs disintegrated and blood splattered the walls. Cordite was heavy in the air as Kennedy’s guns clicked empty and she pulled back, Bourne taking his turn to send death spitting into the charging guards.

The moment Bourne’s guns fell silent; Kennedy threw her arm around the corner and flung a grenade. Fire burnt the back of her throat as the ground shook to the grenade’s explosion.

Kennedy glanced over her shoulder to see the others rushing up to her, her eyes widening at the pounds and pounds of C4 packed around the vault, almost obscuring it. "That is a lot of -."

"I know," Xander interrupted as he pulled out a rocket launcher, knelt and placed it on his shoulder before tossing the detonator to Faith, "probably over-kill, Faith do the honours."

The whole building shook and Kennedy’s ears burst as Faith pressed down on the detonator. The thick vault door crumpled like a piece of paper and ignited like a Catherine Wheel as it flew inside the vault, then Xander pulled on his missile launcher’s trigger.

The missile hissed like a snake as it flew towards its target, fire sparking and trailing from behind it. The building shook again, dust falling from the ceiling as the missile exploded inside the vault, adding yet more flames to the already raging inferno. Then Xander capped it off by flinging several incendiary grenades into the safe, sparks and flames firing.

"Now," Xander walked over to them in a crouch, the launcher still over his shoulder, Faith hurriedly following behind him and reloading the launcher, "let’s clear a way." Xander pointed the launcher’s muzzle around the corner while pulling his head back and pulled the trigger. A second later, screams erupted. "Let’s go."

Bile rose in Kennedy’s throat as she followed the others into the narrow passageway. Smoke from the grenades and missile had gouged the walls, but that was barely noticeable under the blood and flesh now decorating the once grey walls, while the dismembered, charred corpses of those who’d been caught in their attack lay on the floor. "DOWN!"

Kennedy cursed at Xander’s yell, but dropped face-first between a pair of still twitching corpses. The stairwell door crashed open, but Xander was already firing, his launcher replaced by a pair of MP5s, the sub-machine guns tearing through the trio of men. "Come on!" Faith grabbed hold of Kennedy’s collar and yanked her to her feet, almost choking her in the process, and then pulled her down the corridor.

Kennedy glanced over her shoulder at a huge crash, eyes widening as a wall to their left, just imploded, a cloud of eye-watering dust billowing up, dust also settling dryly in her throat. "Okay," Xander came to a stop by the trapdoor exit, "Bourne, Chavez, you watch the stairwell and elevator." Xander glanced at her and Faith. "Looks like we’ll have to take the scenic route. Xander grinned at their simultaneous groans then slapped some C4 on the trapdoor. "Step back, we’re gonna have to blow this."

* * *

"I’m gonna go change, Xan." Faith stared down at her outfit then wrinkled her nose as she made herself a mental note. If you have to clamber through a shit-filled sewer, then it’s generally best not to do it in high heels and a short skirt.

"Okay," Xander nodded, his furrowed brow probably indicating he was planning somethin’.

"You gonna ask them to join?" Faith guessed.

"Yeah," Xander nodded. "When Vetter and his team get back, I’m gonna make them and Bourne and Chavez offers."

"You’ll do great hon," Faith leaned up and kissed her boy-friend on the cheek. "Be right back."

* * *

Xander swallowed nervously as he, Tara, Vetter, and the two CIA guys sat in their hosts’ back garden, the sun setting behind the mountains casting the entire city in shadows. God, he hated this part of being a leader, well he hated most parts to be honest. Some times he wanted nothing more to going back to be the joker, but then a small voice in the back of his head would remind him of the people he’d saved, the teams that relied on him, and he’d push on to the next fight, the next recruit, the next decision. "Okay guys," Xander smiled, "thanks for all your help these past few days. Finding out about the supernatural can be a heck of a shock to the system, and although I could certainly understand if you didn’t want anything to do with it, I think you’d make really great additions to the Brotherhood."

Bourne opened his mouth to speak, but Vetter beat him to it. "What does the Brotherhood do exactly?"

Xander blinked at the question then nodded. "Okay." He talked about the Brotherhood’s aims, the resources they offered, the protocols they operated by for about five minutes. "That’s just an over-view of course," he smirked, "there’s a whole load of paperwork, documentation explaining just what we do, how we work, our resources. Bureaucracy, you know?"

"We know," Chavez grunted. "But I’m sorry, Bourne and I are out. We’re government all the way."

"Okay," Xander forced down the disappointment with a nod.

"Got anyone running Colombia?" Vetter shrugged at his grin. "I talked to the boys, and we’re all pretty pissed about this vampire crap. We’d like to get involved."

"Nobody in South America at all," Xander replied. "I have a few appointments set up with candidates in other South American countries-."

"Mr. Bourne, Mr. Chavez," Tara’s soft voice interrupted. "This is Brotherhood business, if you gentlemen wouldn’t mind; I understand our hosts are making us some food inside."

Xander glanced at Tara and grinned as the two men rose and left, his friend was ever the diplomat. Turning back to Vetter he nodded. "As I was saying, I have trips to other South American contacts for possible teams, but no cover at all in Colombia."

"Then I’ll take it," Vetter growled in his whiskey over nails voice. "What you got?"

Xander glanced at Tara who had turned her laptop on and was busy tapping at it. Finally the Wicca looked up. "Three teams of ten in Bogotá," Vetter let out a shocked gasp, clearly he hadn’t had a clue, "and a coven of white witches. Two teams of ten in Cali, Medellin has two teams of eight, plus another coven. Barranquilla and Cartegena both have teams of eight."

"All those people and I never had a clue," Vetter shook his head then nodded. "Okay, I’ll take it."

Venezuela.

"Hi," Xander beamed at the girl as she walked into the brightly-lit restaurant they’d agreed to meet at. The mutant was about Faith’s size and build, but with brown hair and eyes rather than black, and a couple of years older than anyone in Xander’s group. There was an impish set to the girl’s face that suggested she smiled easily, but she looked nervous right now. "Sofia Mantega?" The girl nodded. "Why don’t you take a seat and then we can order?"

The girl sunk into the booth the opposite him and Tara, Xander having decided that all of them turning up would have been intimidating. "We’re sorry about cancelling our appointment last week, only a crisis came up," Tara smiled.

"I’m only here because Professor Xavier vouched for you," the Venezuelan mutant declared.

"We appreciate you taking the time to meet us." Xander nodded. Sofia was a mutant with the power of aerokinesis, the power to control the air, allowing her to amplify vibrations in the air and draw far-off sounds to her, disrupt the balance of others, flight, to use air as a very effective weapon. Perhaps even more importantly she had the experiences of a former X-man, although one who needed to be tempted out of retirement.

"And why did you want to meet me?" Sofia queried after they’d ordered. The mutant listened as Xander and Tara explained about the supernatural. By the time they’d finished their explanation, they’d finished the first course, and Sofia was nodding. "I knew about the supernatural, I’ve met both Doctor Strange and Blade, but I didn’t realise it was so widespread!"

"Isn’t Doctor Strange so cool!"

Xander glanced at Tara. "Don’t you be starting with crushes too, Faith’s bad enough with Blade!" He shook his head.

Sofia giggled. "What do you want with me?" It took the second course for Xander to explain about the Brotherhood, helped by comments from the witch sat beside him. "And you want me to run a group for you?"

Xander nodded. "You’re super-powered which is always handy, you have experience fighting other than normal threats, and you’re familiar with Venezuelan customs, geography, and the like."

"And what sort of resources do I get?" Sofia said after a long moment. "Not the money and back-up you talked about, but actual resources in Venezuela?"

Xander glanced at Tara. "Tara?"

The witch nodded as she opened up the laptop. "Caracas has two teams of eight vampire hunters, Marcaibo has two teams of six and a coven of witches, Valencia has a team of ten, Barquismeto and Maracay both have teams of eight."

"So many," Sofia gasped then nodded. "I’m in."

* * *

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

"If she wouldn’t return our calls, I don’t see why we’re here now," Faith complained.

Xander shrugged as they started up the alleyway, the music from the disco blasting out. "Because Renata da Lima is a pretty powerful mutant according to Xavier. And because Brazil is the fifth biggest country in the world and the biggest in South America, we need a presence here."

"That must be her," Tara commented.

"Yeah," Xander followed the witch’s stare to a tall, athletic woman with a heavy tan and wide shoulders, "looks like it." Xander put on his best smile as he stepped around and ignored the protesting queue to stride to the club’s door. "Hey, Renata isn’t it?" He stuck out a hand that the woman ignored. "I’m Xander Harris, I tried to organise a meeting with -."

"You got my name from Professor Xavier, I know what he does and I’m not interested, I want to be left alone," the lady bouncer interrupted.

"Hey dog," Faith growled. "You got powers, you should use them to -."

"As long as I don’t break any laws, my powers are my concern and no-one else’s," the Brazilian interrupted.

Xander scowled then nodded. Well he wasn’t into press-ganging. "Okay," Xander looked towards the others. "Let’s get outta here."

* * *

Lima, Peru

The café’s early morning rush had just about ended when the girl with what looked to be a shoulder-high staff entered, she was about Faith’s size with flowing long black locks and a nice tan that Xander couldn’t help wondering was all over.

Bad thoughts, bad thoughts.

Xander smiled and rose as the young woman walked over to meet him. "Xander Harris?" Xander nodded at the girl’s question. "And you’re not Faith," La Bandera smiled at Tara, "Wolverine’s description was quite detailed."

"I bet," Xander muttered before raising his voice, "this is Tara." He looked towards the waitress hurrying over and then towards the mutant. "What would you like?" Xander glanced towards the girl once the waitress had hurried away. "Thank you for coming."

"Professor Xavier spoke very highly of you," the girl’s eyes flickered everywhere.

"That’s good to know," Xander replied. "I’m recruiting for a group. Now I know you like to work alone, just hear me out."

"You’ve bought coffee," the girl said with a light smile that failed to reach her eyes.

"And a sticky bun," Xander smiled, "don’t forget that." Xander’s expression sobered as he explained about vampires and the supernatural, the coming war, and the Brotherhood. He talked for so long, that they were into their third cup of coffee when he came to an end.

"And you want me to lead an unit?" El Bandera queried.

"You’ve got a hell of a power, the ability to influence people to follow you, not to mention the ability to use the wills of the people you’re inspiring to fire energy blasts through your staff," Xander replied. "But you’ve also never picked a cause and stuck to it, you jump around. Imagine what you could achieve if you focused on one specific task."

"What people are there in Peru?" El Bandera queried.

Xander looked towards Tara who glanced down at her computer, fingers tapping furiously at the laptop’s keyboard as she accessed the files that Tony Stark had given them so long ago. "Lima has three teams of eight vampire hunters, Arequipa and Trujillo both have teams of eight, and Chicalayo has one team of six."

"Okay," El Bandera’s eyes burnt with excitement, "I’ll do it."

* * *

Xander hurried up into his hotel room in Las Americas Hotel, the most exclusive hotel in Peru, his meeting with El Bandera finished just half an hour ago. Tara had gone to a lunch date with Kennedy, while Xander had received a terse text ordering him to hurry back to the hotel.

He just hoped whatever was up, it wasn’t anything serious. Opening the hotel room door, he walked into the darkened room, then stopped, mouth dropping open. "Ooooh, boy."

Faith was laid on the bed, clad only in a frilly pink garter on her left thigh, matching thong, and a translucent frilly rose teddy that didn’t come even close to covering her ass. "Ken took me out lingerie shopping," Faith explained.

"Yeah," Xander’s Adam’s Apple jumped as he forced his eyes to his girl-friend’ beautiful eyes. "I can see that."

"We haven’t been together since Arkansas," Faith licked her full lips, nervousness in his usually brash girl-friend’s dark eyes, "I want us to be together tonight. If you want that too?"

Xander swallowed at his normally confident lover’s shyness. "Sure, I’d love that honey, but only if you’re ready."

Faith’s small frame was consumed in a rattling sigh, then she nodded. "I’m ready stud."

* * *

LA

Holland Manners let out an unamused chuckle as he glanced through the papers spread across his desk. Each carried a report speculating that the attack on W&H’s Colombian office was either terrorist or drugs related.

"If only," Manners scowled. They’d found footage of Harris, his woman, the potential, and a pair of men now identified as CIA operatives entering the office. After the fact of course, a fact that the office’s head of security and his family had paid for with their lives at a public execution as an object lesson about vigilance.

Of course that wouldn’t bring back all the records. Over seventy percent of it had been lost in the fire that had engulfed their safe, the project put back a minimum of six months. Manners shook his head. If only Bogota hadn’t stalled on his order to email their records over here. Someone’s head was going to have to roll for that too.

Manners had to admit to a grudging admiration for Harris’ actions. Yes, he had the hellacious Slayer and that very helpful Always Pocket to aid him. Still, he shook his head, raiding one of their offices. The boy had moxie and no mistake. He’d already ordered McDonald put together a list of ways of their own internal security could be improved. He’d no intention of walking in the office one afternoon and finding that particular young man waiting for an appointment with him. If he glanced out of the door, he’d see the light on in the younger lawyer’s office.

Holland leaned back in his chair, groaning slightly as aging muscles stretched. Yes, it was becoming more and more apparent who their main opposition was going to be. Some in W&H’s senior management worried about the soon to occur mass empowerment of Potentials throughout the world. It might be required for their plan, but some worried about the short-term effects, but Manners felt that the heads of the Council were gullible and easily led.

"Directionless power is barely better than no power at all," Manners muttered then chuckled. That sounded so wise, Sun Tzu or Machiavelli might have said it.

As for Angel Investigations, Manners smirked, the vampire was powerful enough, but his operation was under-resourced and Angel lacked the will to do what was necessary. Should Angelus ever be released though….

Manners shivered at that dark thought, an icy finger stroking his spine. He’d made extensive use of their archives on the Irish vampire, and Angelus was horrifying. He secretly thanked whatever gods there were that their attempts to unleash the demon had been unsuccessful. Yes, Angel was far more palatable ‘neutered’.

As for other players that might attempt to get involved in their operations, the Vatican was still rebuilding after Crow’s defection and the devastation of their forces by the Chaos Lord. Likewise support for the Demon Research Initiative had waned in Washington after the Sunnydale debacle, not to mention the destruction of their Antarctic expedition. The Chinese, while undeniably powerful tended to fix internal problems and let anyone else go to hell, which was a short-sighted outlook that would send them all straight to hell. The same went for the Israelis and their organisation, blindly insular.

Anyone else, such as the Danites, Romany Clans, and Knights of Byzantium were either under-resourced or simply too far away to have an effect on their long-scale plans.

Yes, a scowl pulled at his face and his eyes hardened, Harris and his blasted Brotherhood were the major obstacle, and yet it seemed no matter what they did, Harris kept on going and the Brotherhood kept on growing.