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The three of them—Alex, Delana, and Ian—sat in the van, forming a small acute triangle. Alex faced them, sitting in his usual spot—his leather computer leather chair—looking at the two of them from behind his rectangle glasses, which were slowly sliding off his long nose. Delana sat there next to Ian, waiting for Alex to debrief them as usual, or at least to say something. But nothing came out of those thin lips of his, not even a prayer, which left them in a long and slightly awkward silence.

Delana’s bright blue eyes glanced over at Ian. Ian was slouching slightly leaning a bit over his knees with his hands clasped together as if in prayer—but he was not, even Delana knew that he a big of an Atheist as she was—his eyes closed. Delana wanted to look away from his face, but he looked kind of nice when he was in his own little world, not being so sarcastic and arrogant. So, she took the odd chance to study him. Ian had a strong jaw that was once smooth and shaven was now, since simple tools like razor blades were not available were not available, rough and prickly with whiskers. His face was slightly sprinkled with the tiniest of scars from a couple of months ago that were only noticeable if you stared long and hard enough. His hands were wider and longer than her’s—like a man’s should be—along with the dry roughness from the lack of hand moisturizer. Delana’s eyes shamefully drifted down to down to his chest and arms. They were both, not the pumped-on- steroids muscular, but like a nice, natural muscular shape. Delana found herself wanting to touch them, to feel her fingertips ripple over his firm muscles.

Ian opened his green eyes into slits, showing his greens surrounded by tired redness. His eyes met her blues and he smile a closed-lipped smile that, for once, wasn’t sarcastic or evil. “What are you looking at?” Ian asked in a hoarse voice that sounded more like a whisper.

Delana felt her face heat up. “ N—Nothing,” She lied pathetically.

But Ian didn’t seem to notice, he just nodded. Ian closed his eyes, took in a deep inhale as he leaned his head back, resting his head on the headrest behind him. He looked exhausted with a sickly look that Delana had never seen on him before. Ian looked thin and sallow with dark circles under his eyes, desperate for some real sleep.

And then Alex finally spoke. “Well,” He began, pushing his glasses back up his long nose, “this may be our last night together if we play our cards right.” Alex started to push that seat of his side to side as his hands clasped together, lying in his lap. “As the file says, the Marburg is arriving at an airport, which is where we are now. Just get the package, tell me, and the ISA will come and secure the area…and our job will be done.” Alex’s long fingers reached up to his chest, touched his silver cross that hung around his neck, and started to slide it back and forth on the silver string, which was strung around his neck. “ Any questions?”

They both shook their heads. “No,” They answered at the same time.

“Okay…well, get ready—and, oh, you might want to bring your IDs—just in case.”

Delana slid a holster over her shoulders, grabbed two glocks, and fit them into the holster. She grabbed her black leather jacket and put it on over her white short-sleeved t-shirt, forming two round lumps below her breasts where her two handguns were. Delana bent over close to the ground, not bothering to move, she stretched her arm, touched the straps to her black duffle bag, and pulled the bag across the floor of the van, nearer to her. Her slender hand dove into the bag and began to dig through her things, pushing clothing to the side until she found a thin black leather wallet at the very bottom of the bag.

She held the wallet in her hand and flipped the cover open to reveal nothing but a plastic card underneath a transparent sheet of plastic. The card looked like any other normal identification. A picture of an unsmiling woman at the age twenty with shoulder length that was so very black with bright blue eyes that contrasted with her pale skin and her hair was in the center of this card with bold letters above her head that read: ISA International Secret Agents. A younger Delana Marcello.

Delana put the wallet inside her jacket pocket and looked back at Ian. He was relaxing against his seat with his dry hands stuffed deep inside his pockets, his green eyes hidden behind closed eyelids. Underneath his jacket, she could see the same lumps like she had.

Delana looked at Alex, and Alex looked dback at her, smiling. “Good luck,” Alex said to the both of them softly, but loudly enough for them to hear. Delana stood up quickly, eager to finish this mission as Ian stood up slowly and painfully as if he was too sore to get up. She walked over to the door, placed her hand on the handle and swung the door open—perhaps for the very last time. Delana hopped out of the van down to the snow-cover road, stumbling a bit as she landed. Ian jumped out right after her, his movements looking a bit sluggish, and landed right next to her in the thin sheet of snow. He put one hand flatly against the slick, black surface of the door and pushed until he had it was closed. The two of them stood behind the van, feeling the black smoke from the exhaust pipe warm their cold legs until the van drove away and out of sight.

They stood there for a moment, looking for where the van was once parked. “Uh…perhaps we should…uh…go inside now,” Ian fumbled over his words after a short yawn.

Delana nodded. “Yeah, let’s get this thing done with.”

“So, we can go home, “ Ian sighed with a brief look of happiness at the word home.

The two of them both stepped up from the street to the curb. They walked together in stride like an army marching off to battle. Both of them walked and walked until they made it to the wide, electronic sliding glass doors that were one of many that entered into this massive airport. As soon as they made it to the door, it slid open quickly as it felt the touch and pressure of the bottoms of their feet. Delana and Ian walked briskly through the doorway into the room behind it. She felt a rush of cold air as they immediately entered, soon realizing that it was the sliding doors from behind. They started off again towards the baggage claim, once again together in stride.

They had entered a room, a very large room. As they walked across the clean blue tiles of the floor, their footsteps echoed throughout the large, square room. As they continued across a room, they passed a skinny, red- headed man with his head resting against a counter with his eyes closed, behind a desk that read: Rental Cars. They continued past the rental car desk to another door on the opposite wall. Once through that door, they found themselves in the baggage claim, which had five claim areas, but only one was working at that moment. It was crowded by people of all races and countries—some from Asia, others from Europe, a few from America or the UK, and even some from this country, Russia—just waiting for their luggage, if it hadn’t been lost, to appear from the metal chute.

Delana and Ian started forward once again to join the gathered crowd that stood around the baggage claim. The two of them stood in the very back, waiting for the crowd to reduce down to nearly nothing. But in a few moments, everyone had cleared out—very slowly—until there was there was only a somewhat short man wearing a black hood, which was thrown over his head, and blue jeans and the two agents, who stood unnoticed in the back.

Then the suitcase that all three of them had been waiting for, shot down through the chute and onto the track, circling the machine. The stranger stepped forward the baggage claim with a limp that was strangely familiar to Delana.

Ian was the first to step forward so quickly it seemed it was out of instinct. With Delana right behind him, at his heels, Ian kept striding confidently towards the hooded stranger. The stranger stopped at the very edge of the baggage claim. Ian picked up the pace, moving forward with his face with a fixed expression of determination. The man standing right in front of them bent over, reaching down for the handle of the large, slightly battered and even a bit tacky bag, his dry, cracked hands closing around the handle. But before the stranger could even turn around, Ian’s hands took a tight hold of this man’s arm. Delana could easily see the muscles in this man’s body tense as Ian’s crushing grip continued. Ian forced the man around to face them both.

Delana’s blue eyes widened. She knew this man, she actually did. Her wide eyes turned into narrow slits as she began to glare at the man in front of her. “David,” She said, identifying him as she yanked back the black hood off the top of his head, revealing dark, short, shaved-close-to-the-scalp brown hair. The now identified man quickly looked away from them both.

“You know this guy?”Ian asked, pointing at David’s chest.

Delana crossed her arms over her chest as she looked up into Ian’s eyes. “Of Course, I know him. I worked with Agent David McKay, he was part of the rescue team when I”—she looked away at the tiled floor as she shifted nervously in the spot she was standing—“when I, you know…was tortured.” Delana looked at her shoes as memories flooded into her mind, unable to stop them. She saw her own body on the cold stone floor, using her hands as pillows as she tried to go into a sleep full of nightmares. Her blood—some dried and old while more were new and wet—all around her. Delana remembered all those dark bruises on her face, arms, and everywhere else on her body and then all those deep slashes on her back. But more than the pain, she remembered what she felt emotionally much more vividly. The feeling of how death would taste so sweet… that is, until her savior rescue team came. “He worked for the ISA, you know,” Delana told Ian quickly, to avoid all the obvious questions. You were tortured? Why didn’t you tell me? And of course, I am so sorry. “He’s the traitor.”

Ian looked at the traitor he was gripping with a deep, intense look in those tired eyes of his. His free fingers twitched every so often, ready to grab his gun hanging from his holster, ready to shoot the goddamned bastard. Ian’s fingers wrapped tighter around his arm every silent second that passed by.

But Ian resisted shooting him, remembering the cameras looking at the three of them from every corner, just waiting to catch every move they make. Ian glances at the camera in the nearest corner, eyeing the camera. “So…”He began, “you’re the double agent, our fucking mystery man.”

Agent David McKay still had his head turned to the side, refusing to make eye contact with either of them. “I didn’t betray anyone,” David denied, every syllable sharp.

Next thing Delana knew, Ian had his gun whipped out and stabbed David’s stomach with the barrel, pressing it firmly where his belly button would be. “I know that’s bullshit…and I know that you know it’s bullshit. I know who you’re working for McKay, oh, I know.” David, for once, looked up at Ian cautiously, probably wondering how he knew.”Oh, that’s right, I know. Vladmir and Anya Caddock.” Delana watched David’s adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “You know, Russian couple.” David made absolutely no sound, except for a small sigh. “We know you were there. Marcello”—he looked over at his shoulder at Delana—“was under the desk as Caddock threatened death against you. And this is why you’re carrying a deadly disease—”

“No!” David practically screamed at Ian. “I’m not—”

Ian stabbed the barrel of his gun harder into his stomach, so hard that David released a small painful sounding grunt. “Listen,” Ian hissed through his teeth angrily, “ I know you’re carrying Marburg…and you are either going to give it to me—or I’m going to shoot you—”

“Bronson,” Delana warned, “this is not the way to do this.”

“Yes, it is,” Ian argued, gritting his teeth.

“No, it’s not,” Delana argued back as she stepped to a position where she could see both of their faces from the side. She turned to David. “David,” She began, trying to get his attention. “David…David, look at me.”

Slowly, he looked at her.

“David, just give us the bag.”

David looked at her, his eyes sad and confused. His eyes honestly looked like they were just about to cry. “I’m can’t, sorry Delana, I’m sorry. He’ll kill me if I do, he will. I have a debt to pay—he spared my life.”

Ian held his gun tighter than ever, his fingers hungry for that life ending trigger. “This isn’t working, Marcello, this traitor—”

David’s head snapped back to Ian, his eyes full of loathe. “You’re not much better, Bronson—”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Said David defensively, “ you aren’t much better than me the traitor, the goddamned coward.”

“There is no comparison—”

“You let him die! Carson die because you were too goddamned arrogant and fucking full of yourself. You killed him!” David screamed at Ian, full of anger. “You could have saved him—”

So, the truth would finally be revealed, the truth that Delana had always wanted to know. “I had no choice. I did what I thought was best. If I went after him, the whole squad would’ve died—instead of just one man,” Said Ian, defending himself.

David spit down on Ian’s shoes. “You’re not a real agent, Bronson. Patrick and Delana are much more of an agent than what you will be. Even I, the traitor, am so much better than you,” Said David, almost, it seemed, out of the blue.

Ian looked down at his shoe at the spit. “Give me the bag,” Ian urged one last time with complete edge in his voice.

“No.”

“You’d give me that bag, or I’ll shoot you right here,” Ian threatened. “ I’ll give you ’til the count of three—”

“No—wait, Bronson!” She screamed, before turning to David. “David…David, come with us.”

“I can’t, Delana. Caddock will hunt me down and kill me. I know he will,” He told her.

“Al will help you. He’ll put you under some sort of protection program,” Delana told him, trying to convince him to come with them unharmed.

“Delana…I’m not going with you. I have something to finish,” He decided.

“This isn’t working,” Ian said, briefly looking at Delana before going back to David. “Okay, agent, I’ll give you ’til the count of three to give me that bag…one”—he wrapped his fingers around the trigger, letting them just rest there—“two”—he reached over and pulled back—click—the hammer—“thr—”

David didn’t wait for the rest of the rest of the word to come out of Ian’s dry, chapped lips. Without a moment of hesitation, he grabbed Ian’s arm, twisted it so that if Ian tried to shoot then Ian would be the one who was shot, and, with all the power he had in those muscles of his, David flipped Ian over his right shoulder before Delana could even react. Ian fell hard to the tiled ground below him…And David, he was off sprinting towards the exit.

Ian, though, was determined to not let this mission, too, end in complete and utter disaster. He sprung up onto to his feet, aiming his gun directly at David’s head. David, though, looked over his shoulder and saw this. Refusing to be taken down, David whipped out his gun and fired. Ian, though, had no time to shoot his moving target. But David, on the other hand, got his target.

The gun in Ian’s right hand dropped to the ground, bouncing about a foot or two away. A hole, Delana noticed, had formed in the middle of the back of his hand. Ian dropped down to his knees from the excruciating pain. His uninjured limb held the injured, bleeding hand tightly against his chest, his shirt soaking in some of the blood. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”Ian screamed out of pain as his dark blood spiraled down and around his strong arm, making it look like a candy cane.

Delana reached underneath her leather jacket, wrapping her slender fingers around the glock’s handle, and she pulled it out, picking up from where Ian had left off. Her hands pulled the gun up, aiming at David’s legs. David was just a few feet away from the exit. Her fingers were ready to pull that trigger, but David had just looked over his shoulder again. He spun around, now running backwards, as he brought up his gun and aimed it right at Delana. David, though, did not carry around the bitterness and anger towards Delana as he did with Ian. So, he hesitated, which gave Delana her chance. She fired.

The bullet flew out of the barrel, spiraling through the air until it reached her target—his good leg. As soon as that bullet made contact with his leg, it gave out from under him, making his body collapse to the floor.

David would just not surrender, though. He raised his gun again at Delana just as she raised her gun, ready to shoot once again. But David, he was the one to shoot first this time. His bullet hit the gun in her hand, making the weapon fly up into the air above and then it landed a few feet away from her.

David began to pick himself up off the ground and began, to the best of his ability, hobble out of the room through the exit before Ian or Delana could even stop him.

Delana immediately ran over to Ian, who was still on his knees, and kneeled right next to him. She grabbed the wrist, pulling it outward towards her in order to see his bloody hand.

But Ian, he wouldn’t let her. With a wince, he yanked his arm out of her hold, leapt to her feet, and began to sprint as fast as he could towards the exit, following David. By the time Ian was through the exit, Delana was up on her feet sprinting through the exit after the two injured men.

Before she knew it, she was out, once again, in the cold. Almost immediately, Delana spotted Ian running through the parking lot, looking for the perfect car. Just as she was about to run out into the street after Ian, a large blocky Russian model car rushed past her. David.

Soon as it was past, Delana continued running, sprinting actually, towards Ian as fast as she possibly could in order to catch up with Ian, who was still jogging through the parking lot still looking for that perfect car for the job.

But then Ian sudden halted in front of a car, looking at it with his head to the side, his expression almost lustful, it seemed, as a man would look at a beautiful woman. Delana slowed to a stop right beside Ian, bending over with her hands on her knees, panting from the tiring sprint. Once able to breath easily and her heartbeats back to a normal, calm rhythm, she straightened out her body to find Ian walking over to the car’s driver’s seat.

The car, she thought in her own personal opinion, was unbelievable. It was small, silver, rounded car that was positioned close—perhaps a couple inches or, maybe, a foot—of the ground with a flat tail on the top on the trunk in the back. It was beautiful, it really was.

Ian stopped at the driver’s seat, which was on the right—it is Europe after all—his left hand, the unharmed hand, reached out for the silver handle. His hand was resting around the handle, ready to swing it open, when Delana spoke. “Do you really think this sort of car would really be left open—”

However, he did not seem to even hear a single word that came out of her mouth. His hand just pulled on the handle…and, he swung it open. With the door open, he just looked at her, smiling that closed-lipped smile of his. “I guess so,” He remarked, proud of this wealthy person’s foolishness.

By the time Delana was seated in the passenger’s seat, which was on the left, ready to go, Ian was tearing off a black plastic box down by the pedals underneath the steering wheel. When the box finally popped off, Ian threw it to the side at Delana, landing right square in her lap. Ian fit his hand into the tiny compartment where the box once covered and pulled many vibrantly colored—blues, greens, reds, yellows—wires out into the open.

Delana grabbed that box that sat in her lap and tossed it down to the floor beneath her feet. Ian pulled out a black flat tool and, with his thumb, flipped out a long sharp, shiny blade. He grabbed on red wire and cut it in two, and then he found a matching red wire and cut that, too, in half, revealing gold wires inside. After his knife was all closed and put away, Ian brought them together, with such confidence, and, when they touched, the car jumped to a start. As soon as Ian heard the sound of a car rumbling and roaring to a start, he jumped a few inches, it seemed, in his black leather seat as he clapped his hands together in joy.

Delana looked at Ian cautiously. “How,” Delana began slowly, “do you know how to do that?”

“Shut your door,” Ian ordered, seeming to not even hear a word she said—or, perhaps, just choosing to ignore her. Either way, followed his instructions, and shut her door as Ian shut his own door. “When I was a teenager,” He said, looking down shamefully at his dry hands gripping the steering wheel. When Ian looked back up a second later, a black car belonging to a certain traitor sped by down on the street below. “Hold on,” Ian warned, as his bleeding hand grabbed the stick drive, which was positioned right between their seats, and shifted it into drive. Ian suddenly stepped on the gas pedal, making the car shoot forward over the curb and down the grassy hill that looked down on the road below. After an extremely bumpy ride down the hill, the car soon fell to the road with one large bump, and Ian continued on his way, speeding down the road after David.

Ian gripped the stick so hard that she could see his blue veins through his semi-pale skin. Ian shifted the stick from gear four to a lower gear, grimacing as he did so as more and more dark blood gushed out of the hole in his hand all over the stick and even the area around it.

Thanks to the incredible speed—far past one hundred—they soon caught up to that clunky black car. They had to be a few feet away. Now that they were here Delana couldn’t help but think: Now what? What were they actually going to do now that they were behind him?

But Ian soon answered that question of her’s. “Marcello,” he said, looking at her one second and the other at the road in front of him, “I need you to do something—for this little plan to succeed.”

“And,” Delana began cautiously, already scared of where this was going since this conversation was all too familiar, “what is that, Bronson?”

“Well,” He started quite calmly, “I need you to get in that car. I’m going to drive up next to it, you’re going to jump in there, and get that Marburg from that goddamned traitor…Any means necessary.”

“What?”

“You heard me!”

“But—but I’ll get killed!”

“Yes, I realize that, but, you see, if we don’t get that Marburg millions of people will die—instead of just one measly life.” He looked back at the road, shaking his head as he sighed. His head went back to her. “You know what,” He began, already sounding really annoyed and a bit sarcastic, “ I’ll do it…since you’re too much of a baby to do anything.”—he paused—“Take the wheel. Take it!”

She almost did, too—but then her eyes traveled down to his injured hand and remembering how tired he was earlier that evening, she thought better of it. “No,” She refused firmly. “I’ll do it.”

“Okay, then,” He said, looking extremely relieved, “let’s do this.”

So, Delana pressed a black, jellybean shaped button that had two little arrows decorated on it down. The window began to roll down until it was hidden in the door. Ian, once again, shifted the stick to a lower gear and, once he was positive that no cars were coming, he sped out into the opposite lane. She quickly hoisted herself ontop of the windowsill, where the window once was. She used that windowsill as a step ladder to hoist her self up onto the hood, where she stood on her hands and knees, preparing herself to stand as the car below her palms and knees drove alongside of David’s getaway car. Delana positioned herself on her foot, squatting as more and more cold, bitter wind rushed against her face, making her eyes water and her nose run. As tears streamed down her face, she pushed up, now standing upright and forward, running for the edge of the car.

As she ran she could help but think that this seemed too familiar…it was always Ian whose stupid “plans” seemed to always nearly get her killed…first, it was jumping out of a fifty story building and now he’s telling her to actually jump from a car going at least one-hundred miles per hour onto another car going just as first. Delana knew that this job was going to be dangerous went she entered the training academy, but if she wanted to be a daredevil…He’ll be the death of her, that’s one thing for sure.

When she was just about to reach the edge—just a few inches away—she leaped across—just like in her high school days, when she was in track and field—the large gap between the two vehicles. She flew through the air across that space, her leather jacket flapping around her in the wind. As Ian began to fall back behind David’s car, Delana’s feet hit the hood of the car hard, making her legs collapse, falling down to her knees.

Delana felt the vehicle sharply swerve beneath her, trying to throw her off. Her body slid across the car’s slick and shiny hood as her hands groped around her looking for somewhere, anywhere to hold on to. Her hand eventually found themselves gripping underneath the edge near the windows. As Davis continued to try to throw her off, Delana dragged herself up the hood towards the passenger’s window very slowly. When she reached the passenger’s window, she, as she gripped the edge with her right hand, slid her hand underneath her jacket and wrapped those slender fingers around the handle of her gun that sat, waiting for her in the right holster, and pulled that gun out. Then Delana began to beat the window as hard as she possibly could against the window, hoping it would crack soon.

It seemed like forever, but the window eventually cracked. Encouraged, Delana continued to hit the now cracked window so it would, hopefully, shatter so she could enter the car to finish off this job. Soon enough, she felt the window completely shatter underneath her gun.

Once her gun was put away back inside the holster, Delana threw herself with all she could into the car through the empty space where the window once was. Once through that, Delana landed in the passenger’s seats, which were covers with sharp, shattered, tinted glass, right next to the scared and shocked driver.

“Give me the Marburg, David,” Delana ordered with a level, commanding tone of voice.

David whipped out his gun so quickly and suddenly that Delana didn’t have enough time to react. The gun pressed against the area in the middle of her forehead, right between her blue eyes while David kept looking back and forth from the road to Delana, whose back was pressed against the door behind her with her hair flying out the window, looking like black ribbons.

Once David looked back at the road, Delana grabbed his pale and fairly arm and twisted it like a police officer would to handcuff a criminal, and, out of pain, he dropped the gun as a sound that sounded like a mix between a shriek and a groan was released. Immediately, Delana snatched David’s weapon up and threw it outside at the dark through that empty space so that he was now weaponless.

Before David could even move another inch towards her, Delana reacted out of instinct by grabbing the wound in his leg with her nails. Once again, that mix of a shriek and a groan escaped from his dry, thin lips.

“Give me the Marburg, David,” Delana repeated, as her nails dug deeper and the pressure grew stronger.

This time a scream came from his lips as tears rolled down his round cheeks and off his short face. He tried his best to keep this car on the road as his hands shook.

“I’ll make it stop,” Delana told him, her face now so close to his that she could smell the nasty odor, which seemed to her to compose of disgusting smelling cologne and sweat, on him as she continued to mess with that wound of his, “If you would just pull over and give us the Marburg…I promise.”

David turned his head very slowly to look at her and then after a few seconds his eyes traveled down to her hand gripping his wound as hard as it possibly could. “I n—never thought y—you were the type to do th—this, D—Delana,”David responded with the quivering and shivering in his voice, showing off just how much pain in was in.

“‘This?’”

“Y—Yeah, you know, torture.”

Although Delana knew it probably wasn’t the wisest of things to admit that her friend-turned-enemy was correct, she knew that he was. Torture wasn’t Delana’s style; she hated everything about the tactic, in matter of fact. Everything about it was absolutely horrifying. Threats, violence, and, perhaps, even torture might be Ian’s style, but, no, definitely not her’s.

Without even thinking about it, Delana loosened her grip and relieved the pressure—not just by a tiny bit, but by a whole lot. David, he took this beautiful chance, grabbing her by a fistful of her jacket and throwing her against the dashboard so hard that she could have sworn her back had broke.

By the time she bounced off the dashboard back onto the seat she was once in, Delana was sick and tired of her reasoning nicely tactic and decided that it was time to become violent.

David reached over and grabbed her jacket’s fabric, probably preparing to repeat the same action. Delana, though, would definitely not sit around so he could kill her. So, Delana grabbed his sleeve to keep him still and, just like those women defense classes—which she didn’t stay in for very long—taught her, she shoved the bottom of her hand up his nose, making his nose break and blood exploded all over his face—and her hand. This moment of pain distracted him for a little bit, making him clutch the spot on his face where his nose was, so Delana kicked out her leg in the direction of his jaw. David, though, caught this so he grabbed her ankle with one hand, and twisted her ankle with both hands as he steered with his knee. As her Ankle was being twisted, Delana kicked him in the stomach twice with the opposite foot. Before David recover the breath that he’d just lost from those two powerful kicks, Delana punched him in the eye area. Delana was just about to take it farther—beat him to death—when David took both hands off the steering wheel, grabbed her by the leather of her jacket, and, with all the strength he had, he threw her through the weak windshield, which shattered as her body fell through it.

Delana rolled down the hood as she found herself, once again, groping around at nothing. However, unlike before, she found nothing to hold on to—and she knew there was nothing. Her hand quickly reached up to her neck to the spot behind her ear where Alex had placed that little, black, circular tracker, and she ripped it from her skin like you would a band-aid. Just before she reached the end, Delana firmly—so to make sure that it wouldn’t come off no matter what—pressed that tracker, which was now held between her pointer finger and thumb, against the hood. Leaving the tracker behind her, she continued to roll without anything to stop her, and then off the hot engine hood she rolled closer to the road full of loose gravel.

Once she hit the road, her body bounced before continuing to roll. When Delana stopped, the car sped over her as she immediately, not wanting to get ran over, scrunched up into a ball with her knees pushed up against her stomach and her arms wrapped protectively over her black-haired head.

Delana, breathing heavily, sat up as she put her hand over her heart, feeling it pound against her chest. Then all of a sudden another car—another silver, round, extremely fast car—came speeding down the empty road right. With those headlights shining bright in her face, making her feel blind, she felt like some poor animal stuck in the road in the middle of oncoming traffic. The car, though, was going at incredible speeds, so incredible, in fact, that by the time that Delana was going to get out of the road it was too late. Delana sucked in here breath and held it, awaiting the very worst.

Luckily, though, Ian must have seen her and the car soon screeched to a halt. So there Delana sat inches away, nose-to-nose with the car’s Russian license plate. Delana released her breath relieved as she pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead against those knees. As she closed her eyes, she heard Ian’s door swing open and his shoes crunch against the gravel as he got out and came towards her.

Just as Delana lifted her head and opened her eyes, she found Ian kneeling right next to her. Delana looked at him. “ I didn’t get it,” She whispered as she pulled the band in her thick hair out in order to put a new ponytail up.

Ian nodded. “Obviously,” He said, laughing a bit. “But it’s no problem”—he stood up—“we’ll just get back in that car”—he put his hands on his hips and began to pace back and forth—“and—”

Delana let go of her knees and pushed herself up off the ground. She walked over to him, and made him stop pacing—it was making her kind of nervous—by putting her hands firmly against his chest, which made her blush. He must have seen her blush since he was smiling down at her like crazy. Delana slowly took her hands off his chest, which felt firm, well toned, and a bit warm under her cold hands, and placed them deep inside her front jean pockets. “No,” She said. “No, we don’t.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, cocking his head to one side curiously.

“What I mean is that I put my tracker on that car. All we have to do is find it on Alex’s computer…So, there will be no more wild goose chases,” Delana explained to him, “unless, you know, the tracker fries from the engine’s heat.”

His smile broadened with every word that came out from that mouth of her’s. So when Delana was quiet with nothing left to say, Ian suddenly and abruptly—so abruptly that she flinched back just slightly—wrapped his semi-pale arms, sort of hairy, strong arms around Delana’s waist, trapping her arms underneath his as he lifted her up a few inches a few inches off the ground and spun her around a few times. Delana felt her cheeks heat up double, it seemed, from last time.

Ian laughed a large laugh that was loud and gleeful as he hugged her. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” He said enthusiastically as she felt his warm blood sink through her shirt.” God, I think I love you…I just want to kiss you!”

Delana stared down into his green eyes with her eyes wide and her mouth slight parted in shock as Ian looked back up at her, blushing as much as she was. The worst part, she felt, was that she was just about to say—it was on the very tip of her tongue—“So do I.”

Thankfully, though, Ian let her slide slowly from his arms down to the ground before she could humiliate herself. When they were apart, Ian looked extremely uncomfortable and nervous. As he nervously laughed, he blurted, “Don’t hit me.”

“What?”

“It’s just—just you don’t like me too much…so, don’t hit me.” Ian looked around him frowning at everything around him, probably thinking how stupid that sounded. “I’m sorry…I probably got too enthusiastic and, basically, I’m just really, really thankful you did what you did…I—I don’t really love you.” Delana hated herself even more when she felt absolutely horrible as he said that last part. Ian clutched her forehead with his hand as he looked down at his shoes. When he looked up, the first thing he said was, sounding sincerely concerned, “ You’re bleeding.” He reached up for her temple, which she guessed was where she was bleeding, and rested his hand there, gently massaging that spot with his fingertips. Delana closed her eyes as she wrapped her fingers around that hand’s wrist, her fingers feeling his blood pump through his veins. Delana yanked his hand away from her temple, remembering he could also feel her pulse—which was so much more fast paced—there… and that was one of those things that she wished to keep to herself.

“Well…you’re hand is probably much worse,” She said to him coldly as she glared at him before turning away, walking towards the car.

But before she could go any farther, Ian grabbed her upper arm with his uninjured hand in order to pull her back near him. “We’re not driving back…I’ll call Fulbright, and he’ll pick us up,” Ian said, sounding somewhat angry as he grit his teeth.

Delana sighed a deep sigh of relief. She never thought she would be so pleased by his aggression rather than the calmer, nicer side of him she just saw, which made her realize that not all of him is an asshole.

Ian reached his hand—his unharmed hand—up to his hear and his fingertips went inside his ear, pressing against that walkie-talkie. “Fulbright, come and get us, we’re done”—he paused—“No, we didn’t get it”—he paused again—“but we’ve got something so much better”—Once again, Ian paused as he smiled—“You’ll see when you get here…Bye.”

He took his fingers out of his ear and, right after, he started to walk over to the front of the car to lean against it. Delana stayed right where she was, determined to stay as far as away from him as she possibly could.

The van, though, didn’t take too long to arrive. So, leaving that expensive car behind them, they walked towards the back doors of the van. Ian got in first since he was the nearest, so he was the one to open the door. He climbed in first, and then Delana followed right behind him. Delana slammed the doors shut and sat down next to Ian, whose injured hand, she noticed—it was hard not to—was shaking like it was having a seizure.

When Alex twisted his skinny body around to look at them, he almost fainted when he saw Ian with his hand covered in blood with a hole in it. “Oh my goodness,” Alex exclaimed as he stumbled into the back with the two agents.

Delana saw Ian frown, his eyebrows knitting together a bit. “‘Oh my Goodness?’ What, are you like sixty, Fulbright? Even my grandmother doesn’t say that.”

Alex, though, ignored this. “We should get you to the hospital.”

Delana nodded. “I agree.”

Ian jumped up from his seat. “No! No, I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re not ‘perfectly fine,’ Bronson. You’re bleeding, and you look extremely pale. You need a doctor,” Alex pleaded as he clasped his hands together.

“Listen, we have more important things to take care of. We know where they’re taking the Marburg—just look at your goddamned computers for Marcello’s tracker,” Ian practically shouted at Alex.

Alex raised his eyebrows as his glasses began to slide down his long nose. After Alex pushed his glasses back up his nose, he took a few steps back wards and sat in his usual chair, which was behind him.

“We have no time to go to the hospital, we need to act now! It won’t take long for them to figure we’re right behind them. They probably know who we are by this time…I’ll go to the doctor later,” Ian said, trying to convince Alex to listen to him.

Alex pressed his thin lips together as he looked back doors of the van. “I’m not going to let you just leave your hand like this,” Alex said as he crossed one leg over another. “You’ve lost way too much blood.”

“I’m not saying that we’ll just leave it like this,” Ian said, looking down at his hand, which he tried to hold as still as possible to reduce pain. “I have an idea.”

The both of them—Alex and Delana—waited in silence for him to explain this idea of his.

“I need you, Alex, to drive to the nearest grocery store, and park behind it.”

That was all Alex needed. Alex got up from his chair and sat in the driver’s seat like before. Alex shifted the gears into drive and they drove the way they came towards the nearest grocery store.

It had to be at least ten minutes, but Alex had just parked behind a fairly large store mad of red bricks. Once parked, turned to look behind him at Ian for the next set of instructions.

“Okay…I need you to go into that store,” Explained Ian as he dug around in his back right pocket and pulled out a black leather wallet, “ and get me two of those cans of whip cream—you know, the ones that spray—tupperware, two large bottled waters, and a bag of sugar.” Ian pulled out a wad of Russian money and put them in Alex’s hand. Ian was quiet for a minute, so Alex thought he was done but Ian, who just obviously remembered something, sat up straight suddenly. “Wait—get the water bottles that have the screw on tops, not those—those pull and squirt tops.”

Alex, who was just about to get out, froze, startled by Ian’s sudden outburst. He nodded. “Okay…I’ll be right back.” And with that, Alex was out of there.

Ian closed his eyes while he rested his head against the headrest. He clenched his jaw together, grinding his teeth as his whole arm, from his injured hand up to his shoulder, shook furiously. Delana noticed that Ian looked like he was just about to cry, but his stubbornness and pride stopped him from doing so.

“Are you okay?” Asked Delana, whispering. Right after she said it, though, she realized that it was the stupidest thing to come out of her mouth. Of course he wasn’t okay; he was bleeding, shaking, and sweating a bit.

Ian sucked in his breath before answering. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m fine,” Ian, told her—obviously a lie—his voice shaking, unable to keep his voice level. “Once Alex comes ba—” His head snapped to the door, which was starting to open.

“Sorry I took so long…there was a line,” Alex explained quietly, once through the door.

A small, but happy smile appeared on Ian’s face. “Alex…” He began slowly, “Right on cue.”

Alex shut the door behind him as he held the plastic bag full of the items Ian wished for. He walked towards Ian and put the bag on the floor right in front of him. Behind Alex’s spectacles, his brown eyes took a pitiful look at Ian, shaking his head slightly. “You look—” He began with the deepest sympathy in his voice.

“Like shit? Yeah, I know,” Finished Ian, whose voice was still shaking, as a small, closed-mouthed smile appeared on his face.

“Well, I was going to say ‘horrible,’” Said Alex as a look of exasperation—probably over Ian’s overuse of vulgar language—appeared. “But I suppose that works.”

Ian shrugged as he looked at the opposite direction. “I need you,” he began to explain slowly as he looked back at Alex, “to empty those cans.” Ian bent over, picked out the two whipped cream cans out of the bag, and threw one over to Alex and one to Delana. Both of them, following Ian’s instructions went outside and started to spray all the white fluffy cream onto the assfault below. When there was finally nothing coming out but air, Alex and Delana went joined Ian inside the van.

Delana discovered, once they were back inside the van, Ian had taken the first huge bottled water and some of the sugar, which were both combined into some sort of concoction, and took a needle and a see-through tube from the emergency first aid kit to make a homemade IV, which he was holding shoulder height as it pumped sugar water into his body. As Delana handed the can she had just emptied to Ian, she noticed that Ian looked much better than he did before.

“Thank you,” Ian said, his voice not as shaking as much as before. He took the empty can from her and almost immediately he the dispenser into his mouth, and began to spray, breathing in the air inside.

Just as he began to do this, Delana snatched the can from Ian as she shouted, “What in the hell are you doing, Bronson?”

Ian looked at her, puzzled. “I thought you figured it out,” He said in a slow, confused tone, making his statement sound more like a question. “One of you’ll have to perform some emergency surgery.”

Delana looked down at the can in her hand. “That’s no reason to try and kill yourself, Bronson. If you’re not careful, you’ll die from this stuff.”

Ian nodded, bobbing his head up and down as he pressed his dry lips together. “Yeah,”Ian said quite bitterly, “then again, I’ll probably bleed to death.” Delana looked at him, extremely annoyed with him. “Besides—”

Delana, though, interrupted, a thought coming to her suddenly. “Are you an Inhalant addict?” Delana practically blurted.

Ian looked at her, bewildered. “No,” He shouted at her, sounding rather angry at her accusation. “I just don’t want to feel you cutting into me!”

“Oh…” Delana insisted, feeling quite embarrassed as she drifted off. Then it hit her. You. “Wait, what?” She exclaimed, panicking, as Ian snatched back the can out of her hand—not that she really cared at this point. “Did you say I’m doing it?”

Ian started to spray the inhalant in his mouth as he watched her talk. He took the nozzle out of his mouth. “Yeah,” Ian replied as he pressed his hand against his forehead, already feeling dizzy.

“No! No, No, No, No, No,” She shouted at him, retreating a few steps. “I can’t, I nearly failed that emergency training.” Ian looked away from her as she explained. Delana looked straight at Alex who was quietly watching the whole thing in his leather chair. “What—What about Alex?” She suggested as she gestured to him.

“I can’t,” Alex peeped up quietly.

Delana looked at him. “What do you mean, ‘I can’t?’ You’re the brains of this operation, you should be the one doing it!”

Alex looked down at his folded hands in his laps. “Actually…I can’t…because I, well, I’m quite squeamish about needles and, especially, blood.”

“You’re fucking with me right, you have to be,” Delana said sounding angry and bitter. “What about—”

Just then Ian grabbed her by her shirt and pulled her over, making her kneel right next to him. He looked her in the eye, and the most sincere yet shocking words came out of his mouth. “Delana, please.”

Delana’s blue eyes went wide with astonishment. They had never in all their years of knowing each other—which had to be three years—called each other by their actual first names. It was always “Marcello” or “Bronson,” it was never “Delana” or “Ian.” The thing was that names weren’t just names to her, when you actually used the first name it was out of respect, admiration, or because you were friends. Delana, though, was really quite happy about this since it could actually mean he was trying to make amends of some sort.

“Okay, Bronson,” Delana said, not saying his first name out of stubbornness. Ian just looked at her looking thankful as he started to breathe in the inhalant…and Ian was soon passed out, his eyes closed and breathing steadily.

Delana’s hand slid the emergency first aid box nearer to her. She changed position from kneeling to sitting with her legs under her bottom as she picked out a sharp blade to use. Delana took his injured, bleeding hand in hers and, just before she was about to cut, she looked at Ian’s tired-looking face. Then she looked back at his hand and gripping her tool tightly she started to cut at the wounded flesh around the bullet slowly, trying to be as careful and accurate as she could so there would be no dramatic mistakes. The bullet wasn’t too deep implanted into the skin, which was very lucky, but it still took a good thirty long minutes before it was possible to take the bullet out. After putting the tool away, Delana grabbed one of the tupperwares Ian demanded and the tweezers. The tweezers went into the hole and pulled the metal, blood-covered bullet from inside his skin—just like in that board game, Operation. She then placed the bullet in the Tupperware. Delana grabbed the roll of soft, white fabric bandages and she then wrapped those bandages around the wound tightly—that is, after she cleaned his wound with alcohol, of course.

Delana placed his newly wrapped hand on his chest over his beating heart. She looked over her shoulder just to see Alex, who was still holding Ian’s IV as he shut his eyes tight, not wanting to see any more blood or blades. Delana looked back at Ian—and she did something she thought she would have never thought she’d do, even in a million years.

Delana kissed Ian Bronson on the forehead, making her much more confused about this man and her feelings about him than she already was.