"All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." – Edmund Burke

Chapter 1

After the fake rescue on the shipping vessel, Jonny's new captors had transported him to another undisclosed location. The conditions of his captivity had improved; where before he had been held in a filthy animal cage, he was now being held in a medium sized army tent. The men that had taken him had yet to expound on why they were holding him, but they had cleaned him up and tended to his previous wounds. Jonny couldn't tell how long he had been with this new group, but he imagined that no matter how long he was missing Race would still be searching for him.

From what little Jonny had seen outside of the tent, he surmised they were in a desert; making escape extremely difficult. The heat was suffocating and even the generator and air conditioner that serviced his makeshift prison tent were working at maximum efficiency. Inside the tent was three green army cots, but only two were occupied; one by Jonny and the other by the other boy, Andrew. Even Andrew's condition was improving. The fact that their captors were taking care to treat the boys and help them regain their strength was alarming to Jonny. These men weren't going to kill them, but that didn't mean their motives were not sinister. Jonny thought back to the man from the helicopter. Just like his new "bodyguard", Jonny knew him. He knew both of them. The one man had mentioned The Consortium shortly before Jonny had lost consciousness. He'd never heard that name before, but he knew that whatever it was, it wasn't good.

Sitting up, Jonny climbed off his cot and went to check on his companion. Andrew was asleep, but his brow was furrowed and he tossed about while mumbling; Jonny imagined the boy was having nightmares again.

He was about to shake the boy, bring him out of his frightened state, when he heard the zipper of the tent's door being pulled. Looking up, he watched as his new "bodyguard" entered along with two other men that Jonny only knew from his previous sessions with the big man.

Studying his adversary, Jonny tried to appear defiant, but the plastic bottle in the man's hand made Jonny shrink backwards. Seeing the young man's reaction, the big man chuckled.

Standing in the middle of the tent, the man appeared larger than he probably was as he loomed over Jonny. He chewed on a toothpick and had a cigarette tucked behind one of his ears. His short, close cropped hair was dark brown and Jonny figured he kept it short as to hide the few bits of grey that he could see sprouting up. He was definitely older, his age probably somewhere between his dad's and Race's, but he was menacing and vicious and his well-toned muscles revealed he was still in tip-top shape.

He wore tan, desert pattern cargo pants, suede combat boots and a tan shirt that hugged his muscled form; Jonny assumed he wore tight shirts in order to make himself look more formidable. He also wore an old style load bearing equipment harness with a pistol holster that currently had some type of handgun tucked inside, a combat knife, and a number of pouches clipped to the belt. His rifle, an older HK G3, was slung across his back.

He cocked his head and the two men strode forward, each grabbing Jonny by an arm, forcing the blonde to kneel.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Jonny pleaded. He knew what was about to happen.

The man chuckled again as he reached into one of his harness pockets and withdrew a small packet. Opening the flap, he poured the contents into the water bottle and shook it up. He never took his eyes off Jonny; dark, hate-filled eyes that held a hint of madness. He shook the bottle, mixing the contents.

The man didn't answer him. Instead he took two long strides and snatched Jonny's chin with his free hand; he was incredibly strong. With just the one hand, Jonny's tormentor pried open his mouth and poured the liquid down the boy's throat then snapped Jonny's jaw shut, forcing him to swallow the liquid. He tossed the empty bottle aside.

The moment the man let go of his jaw Jonny gagged as the other two men dropped his arms. Keeling over, he attempted to expel the repugnant liquid that his tormentor poured down his throat, but his coughing fit did him no good. Groaning he wrapped his arms around his waist and clutched his aching stomach as he began to sweat.

"You'll get used to it, kid." The man watched Jonny's misery, his features devoid of any emotion.

"What do you want from me?" Jonny questioned. He smacked his lips as he spoke the words, the nasty aftertaste sticking to his tongue.

"The sooner you learn to take this like a man the sooner we won't have to restrain you and you can begin your training."

"Training?" Jonny's face twisted in confusion. This was the first he'd heard of any 'training'.

Jonny's captor removed his rifle from his back and crouched down in front of him, resting the rifle across his thighs. Still hunched over, Jonny eyed the weapon and the man grinned. "Just like Bannon taught you, huh? Always resist. You can try and take this from me, but you won't succeed."

"Race will find me." Jonny replied boldly. "And when he finds out about you, he'll fucking kill you."

Jonny's words must have upset the other man. He watched as the grin vanished from his face, replaced with a deep, hateful scowl. "You think I give a damn about Bannon?"

Jonny snorted, "You're scared of him. I can tell. Good. You should be."

"Bannon is nothing."

"He'll find you. Intelligence One will find you."

"Intelligence One can do nothing against The Consortium." Pausing for a moment, his smile returned. "Even if they could, it doesn't matter, Jonny. You see, they aren't looking for you."

"Bullshit." Jonny shot back.

"Bannon isn't looking for you. He got his little girl back and that's all that matters to him. You know, that redhead you love so much? The one that left you in the hands of those traffickers."

"Shut up." Jonny growled.

"She doesn't love you. She's just happy she wasn't sold to some harem like you. She doesn't care about you. And her daddy…Race Bannon…he's given up on you. Your father fired him and sent Intelligence One away."

"You're lying."

"Am I?" The man laughed. "Think about it. Have you ever been missing this long before? Has Race ever let you down before? He's not coming for you. He can't. He has no resources anymore. Quest Enterprises isn't backing him and Capitol Hill has pulled Corbin's funding for your search. They failed to find you and now they've been stripped of their authority and are being investigated for their failures. Intelligence One isn't going to find you because the Agency is about to be defunded and dismantled. And even if that was all a lie, it doesn't matter because, like I said, Intelligence One can't stand against The Consortium. And Race…he's just one man, he can't fight us."

Jonny closed his eyes, fighting to expel the words from his mind. What he was being told, it couldn't be true. Race would never stop looking for him and neither would his father. Even Intelligence One wouldn't give up on Jonny. None of them would…would they?

Jonny lowered his head as another coughing fit assaulted him; his body shaking from the chills brought on by the concoction they were forcing him to drink. Even though he felt cold, he continued to sweat. Not wanting to hear any more of the man's taunts, he decided to change the subject. "What's in that drink? Why does it make me feel like I'm dying?"

"You're not dying." The man twirled his toothpick in his mouth with his tongue. "But the drink is necessary."

"Why?"

"It'll stop your resisting. Once you've accepted your role, you'll no longer need it."

"Mind control doesn't work." Jonny countered, moving to his knees.

"Sure it does," The man laughed. "Just take a look at your comrades here. Even that little kid on the cot over there is slowly succumbing to it. Just accept it, Hotshot."

"Don't you fucking dare call me that." Jonny spat and reached for the man's rifle.

Laughing even louder, the man reached out and smacked Jonny in the side of the head with an open palm, knocking the young Quest off balance and sending him back to floor.

"I said you wouldn't succeed."

"Fuck you, asshole."

"Keep resisting me and I'll give up on you, Quest. Then you'll just end up in his tent. You've seen the way he looks at you. He might try and convince the rest of the board to let him keep you. Is that what you want? To be his little toy?"

Jonny shook his head vigorously.

"Good. Then shut up and do as you're told. The sooner you stop acting like a fucking pussy, the sooner we can start training." Standing the man slung his rifle over his back then in a display of something akin to fatherly love, he gently helped Jonny back to his feet and guided him back to his cot. Jonny climbed wearily into the cot as the man pulled his canteen from his belt and handed it to Jonny. Drinking in long, loud gulps Jonny didn't stop drinking till the canteen was nearly empty.

"Listen to me, Hotshot. Stick with me and I'll make sure you're well taken care of. Remember that."

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"If you know what's best for you, you'll tell us everything you know." Race growled.

It had been over a week since the raid on the plant and having sent Jessie back to Maine with Doctor Quest, Estella, and Hadji, Race returned to D.C. with Corbin and the majority of his Agents. Roberts and a small team stayed behind just long enough to finish cataloging the evidence before packing it up and returning everything to Headquarters. Phil was expecting their return within the next twenty four hours.

Seated across from Race was the prisoner he shot during the raid at the coal processing plant. Arm in a sling, eyes lined with dark bags, and sporting some scruffs of hair on his face, the trafficker did his best to appear hard, but with his hands cuffed and wearing an orange jumpsuit, he only came off as pathetic.

"Why should I tell you anything? You fucking shot me, remember?"

"You're lucky I didn't kill you. I should have after what I saw in that plant. You're the lowest piece of scum on this Earth, selling kids for money. Even your lawyer suggests you tell us what we want to know. You're not getting out of this one, but you can at least help yourself by helping us. No death penalty, reduced sentence and protective custody. Better than the needle or life in Gen Pop at Leavenworth."

Race hated dealing with the scumbag, but he needed the guy to talk.

The trafficker snorted and rolled his eyes. "You can't make deals."

"Look, tough guy, this is how this is going to work. My partner, who happens to be the Director of this Agency, has the authority from the Attorney General's Office to makes these deals, but there's a catch; he only gets to do it once. So you should probably start talking before the guy he's interviewing starts yapping first. And from the looks of that waste of oxygen, I wouldn't be surprised if he's writing out his full confession right now."

Race drummed his fingers on the table as he sat back and stared the trafficker down. He fumed as the man said, "I want to see it in writing. Then I'll talk."

"You don't dictate terms to me, pal." Race countered.

"Then I'll take my chances with the courts."

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"I didn't do anything wrong." The man stammered. Race watched from the observation window as Phil grilled the second prisoner. Due to his cast, only his feet were shackled at the moment. Race knew the man posed no threat to Phil, but they still cuffed his feet just in case. He found it disgustingly ironic that he was watching this man squirm as he must have done to Jessie, Jonny, and the others as he decided which kids he wanted to buy.

It took everything Race had not to burst into the room and beat the man to death.

"You broke my hand." The man cried.

Phil ignored the statement. Instead he placed a hand on the folders he had set out on the table. "Do you know what's in these folders?"

The buyer shook his head adamantly.

"Let me show you." Phil opened the first folder. Inside were scanned copies of the Polaroid photos found at the gas station. In order to preserve the dignity of the captives and not allow the man to enjoy seeing the full photos, only the children's faces were visible, the rest of their bodies had been blacked out. Spreading them out for the man to see, Phil said, "These are the children you purchased."

"No."

Opening another folder, Phil showed his prisoner the crime scene photos of Emily Goss, the two girls from Douglas' house and the two dead boys Race had discovered in the plant. "And these are the children you murdered."

"I didn't murder anyone, I swear."

"That's not what the jury is going to hear." Phil replied coolly, but even through the window Race could tell his friend was tense.

"You can't,"

"I can and I will." Phil shot back. "I have five bodies, a slew of missing children and you. I. Have. You. Who do you think the judge will believe? A Federal Agent or a child rapist? And this is Federal Court too, don't forget that, Mister."

"I killed no one. I raped no one." The man screamed in an annoyingly high pitched whine.

Phil stood, leaning forward he tapped two fingers on the scanned photo of Jessie, drawing the man's attention to it. "You raped her."

"I did not."

"Unsolicited penetration is rape. And she's a minor. She can identify you as the man that violated her. Just because you did it with your fingers and not your little prick doesn't mean it's not rape." Lowering his voice Phil snarled, "I know what you did to her. I know what you forced her to do to you, you sick fucking pervert."

Then Phil straightened his posture, running his hand over his tie. "And I promise you, the moment you set foot in Leavenworth every inmate in there is going to know that you get off by raping kids."

"No, please, I…I…" The man was shaking with fear. Phil knew he had him.

"So talk." Phil gathered up the photos and put them back in the folders as he sat back down.

"I want…"

"I said talk, damnit." Phil growled. "This isn't about what you want. Tell me who bought the other children."

"I don't know." The man replied.

"Then tell me how they're transported from the traffickers to the buyers." Phil pressed.

"I don't know." Tears of fright ran down the man's cheeks.

Phil scoffed at the man's pathetic behavior. "I don't believe you. We traced your purchasing transactions to a financial institution overseas. How do you get the kids over there?"

"I…"

"Don't you dare say you don't know." Phil growled.

Race heard enough. Bursting into the room, he was on the prisoner in seconds, snatching him out of his seat. Phil was on his feet in a flash, startled by Race's sudden entrance. "Race!"

Pinning the man against the wall, Race growled in his face. "Talk right now, you son of a bitch."

"Wha…"

Keeping the man pinned to the wall with an arm across the throat, Race grabbed the man's cast covered hand and slammed it into the wall.

Howling in pain, the man called out, "Help me!" as more tears flowed from terrified eyes and he pissed himself again.

Race didn't care; pressing his arm harder against the man's throat, he saw commotion from the corner of his eye as two Agents appeared in the doorway, but Phil waved them off.

"That girl, the one my colleague showed you, the one you raped, that's my daughter. So you better start talking. Tell us what you know! If you don't, you won't have to worry about getting shanked in the Pen because I'll snap your neck like a fucking twig right now."

To drive his point home, Race let go of the man's cast and curled both hands meticulously around his throat.

Wide eyed, he nodded and croaked, "Okay, okay. I'll tell you what I know."

Race let go and the prisoner crumbled to the floor. Looking at Phil, Race nodded when he saw the approval in Phil's features. It may have been an unorthodox tactic, it was definitely risky, but this man was the weakest of the prisoners and both Race and Corbin knew it.

Walking back towards the door, Race fumed as Phil and one of the other Agents picked the man up and put him back in his seat. Shoulders slumped forward, his head hanging low, cradling his cast, the cretin was completely broken.

"Go find another jumpsuit for him." Phil directed his Agent. Then to the prisoner, he offered. "We'll take you back to your holding cell so you can clean up and change after you've told us everything you know."

Head still low, eyes downcast from shame, the man sniffed and bobbed his head in agreement. "There is a bar called The Spot." He mumbled.

Race closed the door then stood against the wall, staying in the interrogation room.

"Where is this bar?" Phil asked as he sat back down across from the broken and piss soaked prisoner.

"Baltimore." He said.

Race grunted; he hated Baltimore. Phil looked back at him for a brief moment then back at the prisoner. "What happens at this bar?"

"The men that run the docks go there. They are the ones that the traffickers take the merchandise to for shipment."

"Merchandise?" Race sneered.

The man raised his eyes briefly, then lowered his head again. "The children."

"Give me a name." Phil prodded.

"I never met the man in charge of the operation."

Shaking his head, Phil stood and gathered his files. "Not good enough." He said as he looked at the prisoner. "Give me a name or I walk out of here and head straight to the Attorney General's office. You'll be charged with the kidnapping of every one of those kids in the pictures as well as five counts of felony murder."

"Please…" he mumbled.

Phil continued, "You'll be given no consideration because I'll tell the Attorney General that you refused to cooperate. When you're convicted and sentenced, and you will be, you'll be placed in general population. You won't last long enough to make it to your scheduled execution day."

Race watched as the man continued to cry, drool and snot running from his lips and nostrils, a gross little stream that ran down his chin to splatter in the lap of his soiled jumpsuit. No matter what happened, the prisoner was a dead man and he knew it. Finally, he looked between Race and Phil, "The man's name is Benjamin Hanson. He's in charge of the transportation operations on this side of the Atlantic. He's also the leader of a biker gang that runs the docks."

"The teamsters run those docks." Race stated.

The man shook his head and laughed a little. "If you think so."

Phil told the man, "One of my men will take you back to your cell."

He nodded then asked, "What will you tell the Attorney General now?"

Phil stared at the man for a few moments then looked at Race. Turning back Phil set down his files then leaned forward, his hands clenching the edge of the table, staring down the coward that sat before him. "I'll tell him you're a rapist and possibly a murderer. I'll tell him you partook in trafficking in persons, specifically children, as part of an international smuggling operation."

The man's face paled as Phil spoke.

"I'll recommend you receive the harshest sentence possible with no possibility of parole and that you serve your time in general population, no protection."

Race smirked as the man hiccupped from fright.

Phil pointed at Race, "You raped that man's daughter." Then he pointed at himself and added, "And she's my goddaughter. I don't make deals with scum like you."

With that both men left as the prisoner lowered his head to the table and continued to cry.

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"Jessie, honey, do you want to come downstairs? Dinner will be ready soon." Estella spoke as she poked her head into Jessie's room.

The young redhead was perched on her window seat, legs pulled up against her chest, staring blankly out the window. Estella winced at the sullen and haunted look on her daughter's face. They had returned to Maine a little over a week prior, without Jonny and without Race, and Jessie was slowly retreating back into herself.

Quietly entering the room, Estella sat on the edge of the bed, studying her daughter. She saw Jessie was holding the stuffed Belgium lion that Phil had given to her, making her wonder if the little animal had subconsciously become a security blanket for Jessie.

"If you want I can bring you something to eat up here," Estella started. "But I think it would be better if you came down and spent some time with your family."

Jessie sighed heavily as she turned her gaze towards her mother. "I'm not hungry."

"Honey, you need to eat something." Estella spoke softly.

"I said I'm not hungry, mom." Jessie shot back then turned away again, thinking that by looking away she was masking her tears.

Briefly closing her eyes, Estella gathered up a bit of courage. Moving over to the window seat, she sat across from the distraught young woman. A hint of sadness crept into her smile as she nodded at the toy and said, "It was awfully nice of Mister Corbin to think of you while he was gone."

Jessie gave her a strange look. "It's just a stuffed animal."

"But it makes you feel safe."

Jessie huffed and set the lion down. "It can't make me feel safe."

"That's not true, Jess." Estella said. "It reminds you that men like your father and Mister Corbin are out there trying to make the world a safer place. And in doing so, they'll bring Jonny home."

"I really just want to be alone right now." Jessie stated.

"Jessie, I know you are missing Jonny, but your father is out there looking for him as we speak."

"I should be out there looking for him too." Jessie retorted. "Not cooped up in this house doing nothing."

"Let your father and his colleagues do their jobs, honey. You need to focus on your own recovery. You need to talk about what those men did to you." Estella offered sympathetically.

Jessie glared at her mother. "I don't have to talk about it. I don't!"

Sighing, Estella rubbed her hands on her pants then reached to embrace her daughter. Jessie recoiled causing her mother to wince. She didn't want to force Jessie into anything the young woman didn't want to do, but Estella knew the dangers of keeping such feelings bottled up inside.

"Jessie, I'm here for you. You know that. I don't want to see you make the same mistakes I did, that's all."

"Trust me, mom," Jessie spat. "I won't."

Shaking her head slightly, Estella knew the conversation was over. Standing she went to the door then simply said. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

Jessie didn't respond. Giving her daughter one last look, Estella watched as the redhead picked up the lion again and stroked its fluffy mane as she went back to staring towards the cliffs and the lighthouse.

"I love you, Jessie. Please let me help." She whispered, but she kept her voice low and departed.

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"How is she?" Benton asked when he saw the forlorn look on Estella's face as she entered the kitchen.

"Not good." She sighed as she sat at the island next to Hadji. Benton placed a cup of steaming tea in front of her and Estella wrapped her hands around the mug, feeling the warmth on her palms. "She doesn't want to come down to eat and she doesn't want to talk. She just stares out the window."

"Perhaps I should speak with her." Hadji offered.

"Maybe," Estella replied. "But not right now, give her some time. Perhaps later this evening."

"How much of what happened to her and Jonny do you know, Estella?" Benton asked as he sat down across from her.

"Nothing really. Race only told me a little about Jessie's confession to Corbin. Other than that, she hasn't said anything to anyone." Estella sniffed, fighting back tears. "I want to give her time, but the longer she holds it all in, the more it will eat away at her. I know, oh gods, do I know."

"Estella," Benton offered. He was still a mess himself, but he saw the need to help the rest of the family as well and even though he had lashed out against Race, he still considered all of them to be family. It was why he insisted that Estella and Jessie return to Maine with he and Hadji; he couldn't leave them on their own when Race returned to D.C. to continue searching for Jonny. "Maybe she'd feel more comfortable talking to a third party. I know a number of excellent Doctors in the area, in Bangor, and at the University that would be willing to help."

"That's too much for me to ask, Benton." Estella smiled.

Benton shook his head, "Do not even think that money is a concern, Estella. It's not. I'll take care of it. Just let me know and I can make a few calls."

Standing, she nodded. "I will. Thank you, Benton. And thank you for allowing us to come home with you."

"This is your home as much as it is mine. We are family and we need each other's support now to remain strong, for both Jessie and Jonny."

Smiling weakly, she said. "I'm going to go for a walk along the beach before dinner."

"May I come with you?" Hadji asked.

Smiling at the young Sultan, Estella saw the pain etched into his features. He was hurting just as much as everyone else. "I'd like that, Hadji."

"Dinner should be ready in an hour." Benton stated.

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Consumed with reading the buyer's confession, Race didn't hear Corbin's approach until the man was standing in the doorway of his office. Phil had arranged for Race to setup in one of the empty offices down the hall from his own. Race was grateful for the space, but they'd been back for over a week and he already hated being stuck behind a desk, preferring instead to be out in the field, chasing down the leads.

"You know this is the part of the job that sucks, but it's necessary." Phil said as if he could read Race's mind. In fact, the look on Race's face probably gave this thoughts away.

Race shook his head as he gestured at the paper in front of him. "It took every ounce of restraint I had not to kill that sniveling piece of human garbage earlier today."

"Same here." Phil nodded. Smiling at the surprised look Race gave him, Phil said, "I'm bound by my oath and the law, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to strangle that pitiful bastard. But he'll get his, I have no doubt about that."

Leaning back in the leather bound chair, Race sighed and rubbed his hands over his face as Phil took a seat in one of the chairs opposite the desk. "Send me out there, Phil. You go to Baltimore and check out this Hanson guy. Put me on a plane and I'll start running down leads overseas."

Chuckling, Phil replied, "Yeah right. I'll never forget the ass chewing I got the last time I let you use an I-1 jet and scurry off to Bangkok to chase down Jade."

"Hey that was a real mission." Race shook his head, but smiled.

"Sure it was, pal. Chasing tail on the Government's dime under the guise of recovering stolen bioweapons formulas. Remind me how that mission ended again? Because all I remember is standing on the old man's carpet covering for your ass then getting suspended for a week."

"You got a week off and I bought you a beer." Race joked.

"Yeah, the cheap shit." Phil shook his head. "How long do you plan to keep at it tonight?"

"It doesn't feel right taking a break when Jonny's out there somewhere. It's not fair to him or Benton for that matter."

Phil nodded. "Agreed, but you need to get some rest. Terry will be back first thing in the morning with the rest of the evidence from Pennsylvania. He reported that Agent Altine was able to recover some of the corrupted files from the traffickers' servers and workstations. I've got Dugger and Velk looking into this Hanson guy and a team heading out to do recon on the biker bar and the docks. If the lead on Hanson turns out to be true, we'll raid the bar and learn what we can about the transportation piece of this operation. Until we know if the information that little worm that keeps pissing himself gave us is viable, we can't do much more at the moment. After that, you can get on a plane and go get Jonny."

Race nodded, Phil's assessment was correct.

Phil stood. "Come stay at my house tonight; get out of that hotel room for at least one night. Sarah and the girls would love to see you. We'll bring what we have, have something to eat, then look over the evidence again later tonight over a beer. We can work on developing a plan to raid the bar if necessary. Alright?"

Race stood and stretched. "Sold. I'll take your wife's cooking over some grab and go crap any day of the week."

"Good. Gather up your things and let's go."

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Jonny was jolted awake as the rough hands of his guard shook him awake. "Get up."

"What?" He was groggy and his words slurred, one of the main side effects of the drink they'd been forcing down his gullet. When he could think straight, he theorized that whatever was in the mixture not only dulled his senses, but left him so tired and scrambled that he'd have zero chance of actually making a successful escape attempt.

"I said get up. The boss wants to see you."

"Right now? It's the middle of the night."

"Just shut up and do as you're told, damnit." The man grumbled as he put a hand on the back of Jonny's neck and guided the teen out of his own tent through the dry night air and into a much larger and more luxurious tent.

As his eyes readjusted to the eerie light within the tent, Jonny willed his resilient nature to take over as he examined his surroundings. While it was spacious and maintained a cool temperature in the desert night, Jonny felt dread seep into his bones. After his initial shock of his new environment and new set of captors, Jonny had only interacted with his fellow drugged-up captive and his guard, having yet to see the man his guard referred to as "the boss" again; at least until now. What Jonny hadn't yet revealed was that he knew the identity of his guard and the boss already.

A curtain separated the front of the tent from the back and Jonny watched as the lanky, blonde haired man with burn scars on the right side of his neck make a dramatic show as he entered. Even with the old scars, the man's countenance would still be considered handsome by many and Jonny attributed it to reconstructive surgeries. His tastes were more sophisticated than his confederate as his outfit consisted of an elegant dinner jacket worn over a purple silk shirt, dark high priced slacks and expensive Italian shoes. Not really the ideal attire for the desert, but Jonny assumed the man wasn't in the trenches with the rest of his crew. Removing his jacket, he purposely revealed to Jonny that he was armed with a gold plated Desert Eagle .50 AE with what Jonny assumed was the man's family crest emblazoned on the grips.

"Ah, Young Jonathan Quest, forgive me for having you summoned at such a late hour, however I felt it was time to explain to you why you are here."

"I know who you are. Both of you. You realize that, right?" Jonny responded, hoping he didn't sound as scared as he felt.

"Of course you do." The burned man smiled.

"But how? How are you still alive?" Jonny asked. Then turning towards his guard, he asked, "And you? You betrayed Race."

Both men laughed, but the big man replied, "Bannon was always a patriotic sucker. First the SEALs, then Intelligence One. He bought their bullshit hook, line, and sinker. This is where the real excitement and money is."

"You betrayed your friend for money and cheap thrills?" Jonny sneered. "Race admired you, Temple."

"Race was a fool. He couldn't see beyond his own ego to realize that the entire Greenland operation was a setup."

"What?" Jonny was visibly shocked.

"Mister Temple speaks the truth, young Quest." The other man replied.

"So how'd you get burned, Kreed?" Jonny asked, showing the Englishman that he knew his identity as well.

"We had to make it look real." Kreed replied. "However, I did not expect Agent Bannon to be so persistent and for a moment I was actually trapped inside the burning structure. Mister Temple pulled me to safety as your hero, Race Bannon, fled. You see, Jonathan, Mister Temple and I had been working together for years. He'd bring me top secret information on Intelligence One operations and I'd sell those secrets to the highest bidder. We built the foundation for what would become The Consortium."

"You sold out your fellow Agents? How many died to pad your bank account, Temple?" Jonny stated, the words made him feel sick.

"Can it, Hotshot. Get off your high horse."

Kreed interrupted Temple's rant. "We had to make it appear that we both perished so we could continue our operations unhindered by the watchful eyes of I-1 spy satellites."

"Bannon wasn't supposed to make it out to tell the tale." Temple growled.

"You set up your partner to have him killed?"

Temple grunted, but didn't respond directly.

"What about the island? How'd you make it out of there alive?" Jonny asked.

"I'm resourceful," Temple snorted, "more so than Bannon, that's for damn sure."

"Enough about the past," Kreed waved his hand flippantly. "We are here to discuss the future. Your future in particular, Jonathan."

"Don't call me that." Jonny replied.

Kreed smiled, "Before you know it, that bloody attitude of yours will be gone. We have a lot of work to do before they come for you."

"Before who comes for me?"

Kreed clasped his hands behind his back as he moved to stand in front of Jonny. "You really do not understand what's happening, do you?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"Mister Temple and I are…how should I say it…suppliers. We take orders and we make deliveries. A number of years ago we realized that while there's always people willing to deal in high priced weaponry, being a mere gun runner had lost its flare."

"So you switched to running people." Jonny guessed. "You're a couple of sick fucks, you know that right?"

"Watch it, smart-mouth." Temple growled and squeezed Jonny's neck tighter.

Kreed wasn't moved by Jonny's insult. "However, while we have many potential buyers for our merchandise we work for The Consortium."

"You keep saying that name as if I should know it." Jonny scoffed.

"You will soon learn just what The Consortium is capable of. You see, Jonathan, some time ago we realized that coming together as one would enable each of us to achieve our goals together. Individuals fighting against the likes of Quest Enterprises and Intelligence One did nothing, got us nowhere. But together…together we've formed an alliance that is too powerful to topple. No one, not your father, nor the U.S. or world Governments will be able to stand in our way now. We will achieve world domination through sheer force."

"You're fucking insane." Jonny sneered.

"I said watch your mouth." Temple growled and smacked Jonny in the back of the head.

"You, along with the others here, will quickly learn your place. Soon enough you'll no longer be resisting the cocktails, you will be taking them willingly." Kreed smiled as Jonny squirmed in Temple's grasp.

"Not likely." Jonny defied.

"They all say that, but you probably are the feistiest young man we've seen as of late. How fortunate for us that one of our suppliers ran across you completely by accident! When I saw you up for bid, I knew I'd stumbled upon a goldmine. Any number of people are willing to pay for the son of Doctor Benton Quest and of course that proved to be true. While The Consortium was interested, we were outbid."

"Outbid?"

Kreed and Temple both laughed viciously. "When I told you we rescued you, I was speaking the truth, Jonathan. You had been sold to an individual buyer…one that enjoys the company of young boys. So, we intercepted your vessel, rescued you and saved all that money by not buying you outright! Like I said before, you should be thanking us, not fighting us. Where was Race Bannon and his band of do-gooder I-1 Agents? They didn't come for you."

"They would have found me eventually. They still will."

"Somehow I doubt that." Kreed sneered.

Jonny glared at Race's old nemesis. "You'll never get away with this."

Kreed made a ticking noise with his tongue. "We have been doing so for years."

"Bannon thinks we're dead." Temple rumbled with a laugh. "His survival in Greenland actually did us a favor when he reported back to I-1 of our demise. Stephens, the Director at the time, closed the case and it never reopened after Corbin took over because he had no reason to look into it. Then when the island was destroyed it solidified my death in the eyes of I-1. In a weird, twisted sort of way, you can thank your own bodyguard for where you find yourself today. If he had taken the time to dig a little deeper he probably would have discovered our plot."

"More like your logic is what's twisted."

"Take the young man back to his tent, Mister Temple. He'll need his rest as his training is about to begin."

Temple grunted, grabbed Jonny by the back of the neck and led him away. Jonny simmered as Kreed's insane laugh followed them out into the silent night.

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To Be Continued…