Hugo shifts into drive. He cranks the wheel and guns the accelerator. The engine growls as he spins the car around and charges toward the entrance of the airstrip. Turning down the narrow drive, he races through the gate and toward the burning plane.

He slams on the brakes, throws the shifter into park, and flings himself out the door. His heart pounds in his chest. He sprints toward the fiery ball of metal.

'This can't be happening...' he thinks. 'Gone.' Hugo drops to his knees. Leaning forward, he runs his hands through his hair, painfully contemplating the ways he could have stopped this. "Oh, god..." he whispers. The sense of failure overwhelms him. 

Dietrich hears tires squealing along the tarmac. He looks up. Using his hand to smear the tears from his cheeks, he unconsciously paints his face with Anatoly's blood. He looks back down at his friend. Easing the body to the ground Dietrich rises to his feet. He draws his pistol and staggers out of the Hanger.

His eyes lock onto Hugo, kneeling in front of the flames, looking distraught. He hastens his pace. Approaching Hugo, he raises his gun with one hand. "What the hell do you want with us?!" he screams.

Hugo startles. Turning to see the German approaching at a dangerous pace, he throws his hands in the air. "Whoa, whoa! I'm on your side - I think!" he yells in English. The image before him is frightening. The pale man is tall and coated in intricate tattoos. His shirtless torso is defined and muscular. A dark bruise spreads across his chest from the impact of the bullet to his vest. Dietrich's face, hands, and jeans are soaked in crimson blood. His eyes burn red and his face is twisted in anger.

He charges Hugo, grabbing him by the collar and throwing him to the ground. Dietrich shoves one knee into Hugo's chest and jams the pistol in his face.

"Who are you!?" he demands. "Who do you work for!?"

"It doesn't matter who I work for," says Hugo, trying to remain calm. He keeps his hands up. "What matters is I'm here to help you."

"Bullshit!" screams Dietrich.

"Listen! Listen..." says Hugo, fighting to calm the crazed man. "I think we have a common enemy. I'm willing to bet, the guy who hired you is the same guy who just tried to have you killed."

"How do you know about that?" asks Dietrich.

Not willing to give up his cover, Hugo tries to evade the question. "I have intel, suggesting the man you were just meeting with isn't who he says he is."

"What intel?" asks Dietrich.

"The man's real name is Brian Erikson; he's a former CIA case officer, but now he's a fugitive of the United States. He's got quite the history, but we had no idea where he was, until today."

"What the hell are you talking about?" demands Dietrich.

"I can't tell you everything, but what I can tell you, is that the CIA never hired you to kill Perez. It looks like Erikson is actually working for Rodríguez."

"Who?"

"The President of Venezuela."

Dietrich goes silent. His mind attempts to process the new information. "What the hell..." he mutters, glancing down. His eyes return to Hugo. "Who are you?"

"That doesn't matter," Hugo replies.

"It matters to me!" screams Dietrich, jabbing the pistol's barrel into Hugos forehead. "I don't trust you and I don't give two shits if you die right here, right now! So, give me a reason to keep you alive!"

"Fucking hell," growls Hugo. He considers the demand. A case officer's cover is among the most important secrets to keep. "This whole operation has gone to shit anyway... My name is Ricardo. I work for the American government."

"CIA?" asks Dietrich.

"No, the post office," replies Hugo, sarcastically.

Dietrich eases his weight off the spook and points the pistol to the ground. He sits down on the tarmac and stares at Hugo. Still unsure if he should trust him, unfortunately this man appears to be his best chance.

"Why are you here?" he finally asks.

"I was tracking Erikson," Hugo responds. He pushes himself off the ground and into a sitting position. "Then I saw Snider and knew something else had to be going on here. I know his company and I know what they do. Which is why I figured you were a merc. But I didn't know you guys took black ops, like this. I thought you were all on paper."

"How do you know Jason? And Dark Angel?" asks Dietrich.

Hugo turns his gaze to the dying flames. "That's a story for another time." He quietly mourns Jason's death. Then suddenly, he pushes himself to his feet. "We need to get you out of here. Come on, let's go."

Dietrich stands, shaking his head. "Not yet... I need to get my friend. I'm not leaving him here."

---

"We're getting low on fuel," mutters Lexi.

"We're not too far," Miguel responds. After driving down the two-lane highway for nearly thirty minutes, Miguel finally recognized where they were. He now guides Lexi into Caracas and through the city.

"Are you sure this place is going to be safe?" asks Lexi.

"Of course. These people are my friends. They can be trusted."

"Are they cartel?"

"Does it matter?"

Lexi considers the question, but offers no answer. She glances out the window, to her left. The sun hangs low in the western sky.

"Turn down here," says Miguel, pointing to a street on the right.

Lexi slows the vehicle's speed and twists the wheel. They finally come to a halt in front of three story home. Its roof is flat and the residence is taller than it is wide. The property is small, and the neighboring houses are built close together.

Stepping out of the small coupe, Lexi and Miguel wander up the stone steps toward the front door. Miguel tries the handle, only to find it locked. He jabs his finger on the doorbell repeatedly and waits. He lets out an agitated sigh. "Come on," he says, turning to the right.

Lexi follows him across the poorly kept lawn, through a chain-linked gate, and into the backyard where he eases open a window. "Wait right here," he says. Grabbing the seal of the window, he launches himself upward and into the home. Lexi listens to the ungraceful tumbling, as Miguel knocks over a few items upon entry. A brief moment passes and the back door unlocks, swinging open. "Let's go," says Miguel, standing in the doorway.

She steps into the home. Miguel strolls across the kitchen and begins throwing open cupboards in search of food. They scavenge whatever they can, stuffing as much food as possible into their mouths. Lexi discovers a case of water bottles and drains one down her throat.

She leans against the kitchen counter. "Do your friends have any painkillers?" she asks, rubbing the side of her head.

"Let me check," Miguel replies.

After briefly searching another cabinet, Miguel finally finds the pill bottle he is looking for. He tosses it to Lexi. Snatching it out of the air, she examines the medication. Of course it's prescription. Expecting something similar to Ibuprofen or Tylenol, she shrugs her shoulders and reads the instructions carefully. She then twists off the cap and drops two pills into her palm.

After chasing the pills down with water, she glances around the room. The garbage can in the corner is stacked and spilling over with soda and beer cans. The dishes in the sink pile high. She pushes away from the counter and wanders into the living room. A massive television is mounted on the wall with cables dangling down, leading to two gaming consoles and an internet modem. On the other side of the room is a stained couch, two recliners, and a coffee table. The glass table is littered with discarded wrappers, beer cans, and two bongs. She then looks up to examine a series of pornographic posters along the wall.

The house has a lingering smell of cigarette and marijuana smoke.

Miguel enters the room. Lexi looks up at him. "I need to use the phone."

"Well, um," starts Miguel, "unfortunately, we live in the twenty-first century and they don't have a LAN line here." Miguel shrugs. "When they get back, I'm sure you can borrow one of their cell phones."

Lexi rolls her eyes. "Will your friends be coming home soon?"

Miguel shrugs again. "It's hard to say. But, uh... I'm going to throw my clothes in the wash and take a shower. So, you can either wait around here for them or, uh... if you'd like, you can wash up in the bathroom down here," he adds, pointing down the hall. "It's a nice tub... It'll help you relax. Um- I'm going to shower upstairs, so, uh... if you'd like, you can toss your clothes outside the door and I'll throw them in the wash with mine."

Lexi looks around the room again and then down at her clothes. She glances at the dirt trail her boots have tread into the house. "Si... it'll be good to clean up."

Miguel nods. He then leads her to the bathroom at the end of the narrow hallway. "I'll wait here," he says.

Lexi enters the room and shuts the door behind her. On the far side, is a large bathtub and shower. Lexi glances to her left at the water stained mirror, above the sink. She's shocked by the sight. An unrecognizable woman stares back at her; small pieces of dirt and twigs cling to her mangy hair. Dark bruises sag under her eyes and across the bridge of her nose. A red smear spreads across the white of her left eye - a burst blood vessel. More bruises swell along her skin, all down her tattooed arms.

"My god..." Lexi whispers. She begins to pull at the sleeve of her blood-stained T-shirt, dragging her arm through it. She then painfully pulls it over her head and eases her injured shoulder out of the garment. Lexi winces as she strips off the rest of her clothes. Standing in front of the mirror, she gazes at her beaten body. Bruise after bruise covers her tender skin. She turns slightly to see the welts across her stomach, side, and back. The trails of blue and purple marks lead all the way down her legs.

Miguel waits patiently, until the bathroom door finally eases open a few inches. Lexi reaches around from behind the door and drops her soaking clothes on the floor in front of him. Then she tosses out her boots. He scoops up the filthy garments in one arm and grabs the boots with his free hand. Turning away, he starts down the hall.

"Miguel," Lexi calls out, peeking around the door.

"Si?" replies Miguel, turning to face her.

Lexi pauses. "Gracias," she finally says, quietly.

Miguel manages a slight grin. "De nada."

Lexi gently shuts the door and limps to the shower. She leans over and twists the knob, releasing a cascade of hot water. Stepping gingerly into the tub, she draws the curtain and turns to face the water.

After a brief moment, she rotates her body. Lexi runs her fingers through her hair, purging the remains of jungle from her mane. She then slowly squats down and eases herself onto the base of the tub. Allowing the water to run over her body, she draws her knees under her chin. She wraps her arms around her sore and exhausted legs, holding them close. Then finally, she allows herself to feel - the tears well up in her eyes. Painful images flood her mind. Lexi quietly relives the horrors. She gasps for breath. Her silent sobs slowly turn into stifled wails of grief and pain.

---

"You did what?!" hisses Gomez.

"I know, I know, but hear me out," Hugo demands, holding the satellite phone against his ear. He grips the steering wheel with his right hand as he maneuvers the car through Caracas.

Dietrich sits quietly in the passenger seat, wearing a clean shirt pulled from his luggage. His face and hands are still painted in blood. He glances back at Anatoly's body, lying across the back seat of the sedan. Despite Hugo's earlier requests to avoid smoking in the car, Dietrich pinches the burning cigarette between his lips, as he sucks in the relieving nicotine.

"Listen," says Hugo. "Just keep tracking Erikson. I'm going to send you the photos so you can get an ID on him, but first I gotta get back to the safe house. I'm taking the merc with me - I'll interview him and we'll see if we can-"

"No. Hold on," interrupts Gomez. "You're taking the same guy who tried to kill our asset to the safe house? Are you out of your mind?"

"Raúl, what's done is done," says Hugo.

"No kidding, you've just blown your cover," says Gomez. "So, what's done, is you. We can't have an exposed operative, especially in the crisis we're dealing with right now."

"We're going to clean this up," says Hugo.

"And how the hell are we going to do that?" replies Gomez.

"I'm working on it..." Hugo's confidence deflates with his words. "We need to reestablish contact with Perez and capture Erikson. I'm going to get the merc's testimony on tape, as well."

"What the hell are you going to do with that?"

"It's something, alright? He's a witness to being hired by Erikson for an assassination attempt that was unsanctioned by the United States." Hugo pauses. "We'll use his testimony against Erikson when we grab-"

"Hugo. Hugo, Stop," interjects Gomez. Hugo listens. Gomez remains silent for a moment. He finally blows out a sigh. "Okay, get the testimony. Send us the photos. And then we need you to get eyes back on the target. Delta will be arriving in the morning. They're going to expect you to brief them with whatever intel you've got. And as for the merc... don't let him out of your sight."

"Copy," says Hugo.

---

Rapid pounding comes from the door. Lexi startles. She peeks around the curtain.

"Yo, Miguel! Is that you in there?" a man's voice hollers from the other side of the door.

Lexi hesitates. "Miguel's upstairs!" she shouts.

There's a pause. "Who the hell are you?" yells another man's voice.

Lexi rolls her eyes. "Go ask Miguel," she says.

She hears the men chatting as they walk away from the door.

Upstairs, Miguel hears anxious knocking against the bathroom door, just as he steps out of the shower. "Miguel! What the hell, man?" a voice yells from the other side.

Miguel wraps a towel around his soaking wet body and steps to the door. Unlocking it, he pulls it open to see his three friends - Thiago, Fernando, and Martin.

"Hey," he greets them simply.

"Where the hell have you been?" asks Martin, giving Miguel a shove. His broad shoulders, tattoos, and shaved head appear threatening to those who first meet him. Miguel knows these features, just like his abrasive attitude, are only a ruse to his soft personality. "You disappear and then show up again, bringing some girl with you?"

"Si, you could have at least told us where you were going, hombre," says Thiago. Similar build to Miguel, Thiago throws his gangly hands in the air. "We all thought Los Bastardos Invisibles got you."

Miguel looks his friends over. His mind races through the horrific events of the past few days. "They did," he answers quietly.

His friends look him over and exchange expressions with one another. "What?" asks Thiago. "What the hell happened? How did you get back?"

"Yeah, and who's the girl downstairs, hombre?" asks Fernando. The man is five feet and ten inches tall and weighs roughly two hundred and sixty pounds. He leans in and asks quietly, "Is she hot?"

"Listen, I'll explain everything in a minute, but first, I need to borrow some of your clothes," says Miguel, pointing at Thiago.

Thiago nods his head. "Sure thing, pana."

"Mine are in the wash," continues Miguel, "and I'm pretty sure Fernando's won't fit me."

"Is that a fat joke, hombre?" asks Fernando.

Miguel grins. "Let me get dried off and then I'll tell you boys everything." He starts to turn and then pauses. "Oh. And... try not to piss off my guest downstairs... Just- just don't."

Once dried and dressed, Miguel meets his friends downstairs. They sit in the living room, talking anxiously with one another. Thiago leans over the coffee table, strategically rolling a thin piece of paper, stuffed with marijuana. They turn their attention to Miguel as he steps into the room.

Miguel eases into a vacant cushion, next to Thiago, on the couch. Thiago finishes tightening up the blunt and grabs a lighter from off the table.

"So, start from the beginning," demands Martin.

Miguel relays the violent story of his capture and torture. His friends listen intently to the tale, without interruption.

"And then they shove us all in the same cell and bring her in," says Miguel, pointing down the hall with his thumb. "She looked like she really got the shit beat out of her. She just laid there, almost like she was dead... Then the guard started to pull up her shirt... and threatening her with his knife."

Miguel looks down and shakes his head. Returning his gaze to his friends, he continues. "She throws him off of her, grabs the knife out of his hand, and just butchers him, right there."

"Holy shit," says Fernando.

"Si. She just starts hacking. I'm telling you, it was some gruesome shit... By the end of it, she was just covered in the hombre's blood. Then she gets up, and when the other guard comes in, she rips this hombre to pieces, too. Literally slaughters both of these panas. Then she starts to leave and I'm like, 'hey, what about us?' She basically gives us the finger, like, 'screw you guys,' and just walks out."

"Who the hell is this chica," interjects Thiago. He puffs a white cloud of smoke, as he draws the blunt away from his lips. "Where the hell did she even come from?"

"I don't know, hombre," says Miguel. He reaches out his hand for Thiago to pass the blunt to him. "She won't give me a name." Thiago hands him the cannabis. "But I'll tell you... there's something about her. Louis..." he trails off, imagining his friend. What happened to the poor soul? He clenches his jaw, considering the likelihood of his fate. Miguel clears his throat. "Um... Louis seemed pretty sure she's el Diablo in the flesh."

"Oh, good," says Fernando. "So you brought el Diablo to our house."

"Shut up, pana" Martin orders. He turns his attention back to Miguel. "You said Louis was there?"

Miguel stares down at the blunt in his hand. "He didn't make it out..."

The men sit in silence, staring at the floor, as they reverently remember their friend. Miguel brings the cannabis to his lips. He inhales, cocks his head back, and puffs out a ring of smoke. Fernando extends his hand and Miguel leans forward to pass the blunt to his friend.

"After a little bit, we hear gunfire," he continues. "We figured she was dead. But then we hear another guard screaming, like she was torturing him. She drags him back in the room and just shoots this pana in the face - right in front of us."

"This bitch is a psycho, hombre," says Martine, shaking his head. "And you brought her back here?"

"Don't ever call me a bitch."

The four men jump, as Lexi's ominous voice echoes down the hall. Her tone is flat, but stern. She enters the room, wrapped in a white towel. Her wet hair hangs loosely from her head.

Lexi approaches the couch and glances down at Miguel. "Are my clothes dry?"

"Um, I- I forgot to, uh, switch them to the- the dryer," Miguel stutters.

"Then take care of it, Miguel," Lexi commands.

"Si, Señorita," he replies, sheepishly. Miguel then obediently jumps from the couch and hurries down the hall.

Lexi glances over the other three men. She then looks down at Miguel's former spot on the couch. Easing onto the cushion, she leans back and crosses one leg