Anatoly deposits more cash to reserve their room for three more days. He then secures the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door knob, hoping to keep motel employees out of the room while they are gone. The longer they can avoid housekeeping from seeing the mess, the better chances they have of getting away in time.

After returning the two sedans, Dietrich and Anatoly rent a van from another company down the road. The previous vehicles were too closely associated with their recent crime and they needed to ditch them. Dietrich uses his secondary passport to rent the new set of wheels under another assumed name.

The two men help Jason load himself into the middle seat of the van, where he can lie down with some stolen blankets from their motel room. His condition is worsening, but they're doing everything they can to stabilize him.

"We are running out of time," mutters Anatoly, as he moves to the passenger door. He yanks on the handle and swings it open, before hopping in and slamming it shut.

Dietrich sighs and then strides around the vehicle to the driver side door. He looks up to the gray clouds rolling in from the east. They're heavy, dark, and ominous.

He quietly curses his predicament before stepping into the van. Dietrich shoves the key into the ignition and gives it a twist. The engine comes to life and they set out toward the airstrip.

Just as he pulls into traffic, Dietrich feels his pocket vibrate. Reaching in, with his left hand, he pulls out the burner phone and examines the caller ID - Gabriel. He switches the device to speakerphone and answers. "Hello?"

"Hello," answers a nervous voice on the other end. "I was getting everything set up, but checked the weather and I strongly recommend we wait until the storm passes."

Dietrich and Anatoly exchange looks. "Yeah, that's not really going to work," says Dietrich. "We need to get our guy some medical attention as soon as we can."

"Well, to be honest," starts Gabriel on the other end, "if we take off anytime soon, we'll likely end up in the sea. The winds are going to be too strong."

"Can we fly above it?" asks Anatoly.

"The cabin is not pressurized. So... no," replies Gabriel, somewhat sheepishly.

"Scheisse..." mutters Dietrich. He weaves his way through traffic, struggling to figure out what to do next.

"Okay," he finally says. "Thanks for the heads up. We'll call you back." He hangs up the phone, without waiting for Gabriel's response, and then drops it into the van's cup holder.

"Well," starts Anatoly, "what now?"

Just then a digital ring comes from the back of the van. Anatoly and Dietrich exchange confused looks.

"My phone," groans Jason. "The satellite phone. That's our case officer."

"Scheisse," says Dietrich again. "Go grab it."

Anatoly pops off his seatbelt and quickly climbs around Jason and then leans over the back seat, reaching into the luggage. After a few moments, he finally finds the right bag and unzips it. The ringing stops.

He quietly curses in Russian as he fumbles through the bag, until his hand grabs the, now silent, satellite phone. "Got it," he says.

Dietrich pulls the van into a parking lot, searching for a place to stop. "Call the number back," he says.

---

On the other side of Caracas, Brian Erikson smashes his thumb down on the End Call button. "Goddammit," he mutters. Erikson slaps the satellite phone on the coffee table in front of him. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buries his face into his palms and continues muttering profanities. He then reaches for his beer and takes another swig. A little early for alcohol, but today's an exception, as he fights to calm his nerves.

Then the satellite phone buzzes against the glass coffee table, rattling loudly. He quickly trades the beer for the phone, presses the green icon, and places it against his ear.

"What the hell happened?" he asks, trying to stifle his frustration.

"Do not give us attitude," starts Anatoly. "You did not tell us house has bulletproof glass and then-"

"Stop it!" interrupts Dietrich. "Let me handle this."

---

Dietrich snatches the phone from Anatoly's hand and taps the speakerphone button. "I'm sorry about my friend," he says. "We've been under a lot of stress this morning."

"You're not the only one," Erikson says.

"Who am I speaking with?" asks Dietrich.

"You know who I am; it's Simon," Erikson replies.

"Okay, Simon. I just want to be sure I have the right man on the phone," replies Dietrich, attempting to remain calm and respectful. "We have a seriously wounded man and two MIA. We need medical assistance and some help finding our fr-"

"I'm sorry, but I've got nothing for you," says Erikson, firmly. "Those were the terms. You were to operate independently and the agency would deny any responsibility."

"I know the terms," says Dietrich. "This is different. You've got to have a doctor of some sort, close by, on payroll. Or at least a safe house with some medical resources."

"We're operating very lightly here," insists Erikson. "I'm sorry about your friends, but I don't have the resources to help you."

There's a pause from both ends. Erikson considers the predicament these contractors are suffering. He might be able to swing this in his favor. Finally, he breaks the silence.

"Listen," replies Erikson. "Perhaps I can pull some strings to get your man the help he needs. Give me a couple hours to see if I can get something set up. But, I just want to let you know, I have a contact in the local police department, who told me your friends were never booked... That means Perez's got your people."

Dietrich and Anatoly mutter silent obscenities in their native languages. Their minds turn to Sam and Lexi, captured and even tortured by Perez's men; no law will protect them. They look away from the phone and at each other.