Well, here it is. The final chapter. It's been a slice! Thank you doesn't seem to cover all I want to say, but they are the only words I've got. So, Thank You to all of you dear readers. My deepest gratitude to Purdy's Pal and UnwittingCatalyst who rose high above the call of duty, and read parts of this over and offered helpful insights to make it better.

Chapter 10

Stoney backed a few paces away from his captive. A small smile played across his lips as he listened to Sam mutter curses about the flakes of rust rubbing into his favourite Hawaiian shirt.

"Don't fret. You'll have worse stains soon," Stoney sneered.

Sam didn't like what was being implied or that smarmy grin on the other man's face. "Don't let me keep you, if you have better things to do."

"Better than this? Hardly," Stoney laughed. "But I do have to meet my new partner. He wanted to stop by to say so long."

"How very friendly," Sam said. "That's how rumours get started. We wouldn't want to spoil the General's image."

"Speaking of images," Stoney stepped closer again. "You have a reputation of pulling rabbits out of your ass."

With a sinking feeling, Sam closed his eyes as Stoney began to search through his pockets.

Pulling out Sam's phone, Stoney smiled smugly, "Wouldn't want you getting any funny ideas." He threw the device onto the cement floor with such force pieces went flying in every direction.

"Your mother should have told you to be more careful with other people's things," Sam admonished. "Now how is my agent ever going to reach me? I was waiting to hear if I got that spot in the commercial."

Sam narrowed his eyes at Stoney who stared right back. This was one contest Sam would rather be damned than lose. Stoney growled with frustration as he took a step away, but a cruel smile soon appeared.

"I'm guessing you didn't want me to find your phone," Stoney smirked. "Not that it would have done you any good. There's no one available out there to come to your rescue."

Sam was afraid that Stoney might be right, but he gave a dimpled grin. "But you recognize that I have friends out there, who would come if I called. That's more than you've got," Sam pointed out smugly

Stoney glared again but didn't reply. He turned away in a huff.

"Don't go away mad," Sam pleaded, but then added mockingly, "Just go away."

With two quick steps, Stoney returned to Sam's side and with his good hand he gave Sam a powerful shot to the ribs.

Sam knew it would be coming as soon as he started his taunt, but that wasn't enough to prepare his already abused ribs for another round of pain. Leaning into the pillar was the only way he could keep himself standing as he fought to regain his breath.

Turning away, Stoney nodded with satisfaction as he hobbled out of view. Sam could only assume Stoney was going to wait by the entrance for the arrival of the Salvadoran general. This whole situation just kept spiralling out of his control, but he knew better than to curse himself with the false reassurance of 'it can't get any worse than this'. He knew from experience it could, in fact, be much worse. And this time was fast approaching one of those times.

Ignoring the protests from his body, Sam tested the tape that bound his hands together. He could feel a little bit of play and guessed his earlier burst of anger had accomplished something after all. Using the sensitive skin on his wrists, Sam felt along the corners of the pillar. He moved slowly and with great care. The last thing he needed was to slice open a vein. Further up, along the corner of the beam, he found a few inches where the seam had split; leaving a short, but sharp protruding edge.

Taking as deep a breath as he could manage to slow his racing heart beat, Sam leaned into the pillar to give his hands as much free room to move as possible. He had to stretch slightly further than his ribs were comfortable with, but comfort was highly over-rated anyway; at least when compared to the discomfort of dying. With slow, steady strokes Sam rubbed the duct tape over the broken seam.

It was amazing what a little desperation could do for a person's stamina. Five minutes ago, it was all Sam could do to remain standing; now all he could think about was getting loose in time to make a mad dash across the open space to hide amongst the abandoned crates and forgotten storage shelves. Not that running away was his ultimate goal. Something had to be done about Stoney, and now, apparently, the General as well. If only he had listened to his mother, he'd have gone into dentistry. Sam was willing to bet that dentists never had to wonder if their next patient was really a Salvadoran warlord out for revenge.

He was so deep into his thoughts that it took his hands falling exhausted to his side before he realized he was free. Just in time too, as he heard voices making their way through the maze of bins and boxes toward him. Sam was already two rows of stacked packing crates away by the time Stoney entered the cleared area.

"What the hell?" Stoney thundered. There were only a few small raggedy shreds of duct tape clinging to the corner of the pillar and the odd smattering of blood to indicate that anyone had been bound to the support beam.

General Regalado stepped past the dumbfounded Stoney and took in the sight before him. He didn't utter a word, just snapped his fingers. Half his men jumped to do his bidding and set off down one side of the warehouse. With a second snap the remaining three men crept away to check out the other side.

"You disappoint me, Ginger," the General said with little emotion.

Stoney was struck with fear as he looked into the black eyes of the man he planned on making his partner.

"He was right here. I only left him for a moment to meet you," he stuttered through his excuse.

"Then you best hope he is returned, or you'll be taking his place," General Regalado threatened without ever raising his voice.

Stoney knew the General didn't make empty threats. His life was in danger again because of that despised man. "I said I'd bring him to you, General, and I will." Stoney pulled his gun and limped painfully into the surrounding stacks.

With the condition he was in, there was no way Sam could take on his twelve year old paper-boy much less the well-paid henchmen travelling with the General. He had to come up with another way to reduce the numbers of the bad guys looking for him.

Taking stock of the crates and bins on the shelves around him, Sam started pulling on the end of a loose piece of twine sticking out from between two boxes. He found a few more lengths and managed to knot them together to make one long rope. There were several empty cardboard boxes of different sizes lying about. He arranged the boxes in a mish-mash pile in the centre of the aisle with the twine rope looped around a half-used can of yellow paint hidden underneath. The ends of the rope he trailed through shelved items on either side of the aisle. He tied each end to separate small pieces of broken lumber that he found laying on the ground. Hastily arranging piles on each side of the aisle, he did the best he could to ensure a substantial amount of crap would tumble down when the rope was pulled taut. He smiled at his handy work. Other than taking precautions to not leave tell-tale bloody marks on obvious surfaces, he had worked quickly and had set this booby-trap up in only a matter of minutes.

"That'll work," Sam smiled as he lumbered off, heading down the aisle and around the corner, away from the sound of on-coming footsteps.

The problem with old warehouses, Sam decided after by-passing two more aisles, was that they echoed. He couldn't be sure if those noises were heading this direction from down that aisle, or coming from this aisle and heading down that direction. He did know he shouldn't be standing here trying to figure it out. He chose a third row and went that way.

Sam made his way along a number of rows and aisles; his choices based on softly heard footfalls and directions that led him back the way Stoney had directed him in. He had thought about heading towards the back of the warehouse and searching for a possible exit there, but didn't want to chance finding no doorway and having to retrace his steps. He was tiring quickly and needed to get out soon.

He swore under his breath when the path he chose led him to a haphazard pile of stacked cardboard boxes between the shelves in front of him. Had he seriously been going in circles? There wasn't much light and his head was ringing from concussion, but his instincts had never let him down before. If he were any other man he'd sit down and cry. OK, not actually cry, but throw his hands up in frustration certainly.

As he stared at that cursed pile of boxes, two of the General's men approached from the other side. Sam had been so distracted he hadn't even heard them coming. They both had their 9mm pistols aimed at Sam's chest. One spoke in clipped Spanish and waved his gun upwards. Sam didn't have to be a linguist expert to know what that meant. Slowly he raised his arms up and offered a friendly smile.

"Hey guys," Sam took two small steps backwards. "No weapons, see?" He held his hands in clear view of the Salvadorans and took another two steps back.

The same man that spoke before, snarled another order as he took aim directly at Sam's heart.

"Stop. Yep, got that," Sam continued to smile but held his feet still. His arms were aching again from being held in this position.

The second henchman stepped up to the boxes blocking their path, he spoke to his partner as his gun gestured at the blockage.

The snarly man answered and forcibly waved with his free hand at the obstacle.

"Understood that, too," Sam took another small step away but stopped when the attention of the guard was again focused on him. Sam placed the smile back on his face.

The second guard kicked the boxes out of the path. There was a shout of pain when his foot connected with the hidden half-cinderblock that was at the bottom of the pile. Sam watched as a wire was pulled tight and moments later a pile of heavy debris, including the other half of the cinderblock tied at the end of the wire, fell from high up on the shelves. Both Salvadorans were knocked to the ground and covered with the array of abandoned warehouse rubbish. Neither one would be getting up any time soon.

Sam dropped to his knees to search for the now buried line of wire to tie these two up. He knew he didn't have a lot of time before someone came to investigate the noise. The sound of a bullet being chambered behind him made Sam twist in that direction. Before he could even utter a groan on behalf of his sore ribs, a tower of boxes and crates rained down on the third guard.

Sam sat heavily on the pile of dislodged items that was beneath him; not caring if there were any appendages from the two Salvadoran men stuck within it.

Sam spoke to the shadow that rounded the aisle, "Thanks, Mikey."

It was only three or four steps before Michael's image became clear in the fading light. He bent down to check the last guard was still alive. Determining that he was, Michael pulled a cable tie from his back pocket and attached the man's wrists to a bar of metal shelving.

"How'd you know it was me?" Michael asked as he came closer to Sam who seemed to be wincing with every indrawn breath. Michael looked his friend over as he pulled out two more ties. "You okay?"

"Better now," Sam sighed. He then indicated the pile he was sitting on with a wave of his hand. "There's another one of these set up five rows over."

Michael nodded his understanding. There's something to be said for team members that have spent time together on operations around the globe. Their shared experiences make use of short explanations.

"Where's Fi?" Sam asked.

Michael smiled as he stepped away from the now trussed up henchmen. "She's setting up her own greeting for your friends."

Sam returned the smile, "Glad to hear it. This show could use a little of Tinkerbell's attention."

"Fiona would be happy to hear you say that," Michael offered a hand to help Sam up, which he gratefully accepted. He didn't even complain when Michael placed a steadying hand on his shoulder once he was standing again.

"Are you going to make it out of here on your own two feet?" Michael asked, a little worry seeping into his voice.

"You offering to carry me?" Sam asked, his trademark grin helping to alleviate some of Michael's fears.

"Only if you want to pay for my Chiropractic exams for the next two years," Michael teased back, but wrapped a strong arm under his friend's shoulders. As happy as he was to have found his missing friend, they really needed to get moving away from this spot.

"Where we goin'?" Sam asked.

"We're meeting Fiona along the back wall in five minutes."

"Of course we are," Sam replied. Together they made their way towards the rendez-vous point.

Michael was helping Sam to settle onto the hard concrete floor when Fiona rounded the corner.

"Where were you Michael?" she huffed. "I went searching when you didn't show up on time."

"It took us a little longer than expected," Michael stepped to the side so Fiona could see behind him.

"Hey, Fi." Sam offered a half hearted wave from his spot on the floor. His head leaned back against the warped wall behind him.

"Oh my God, Sam!" Fiona crouched down to get the full effect of the battered man seated before her.

With a touch Sam had always suspected her capable of, but had never experienced from her before, Fiona softly cradled his chin and turned his head so she could see the damage done to the side of his face.

"I know you think scars attract women, Sam, but this is ridiculous," she admonished gently as she next examined both his wrists.

"I'll live," Sam said, happy that it was now probably true.

Fiona stood up and with hands on her hips, "Of course you'll live! I've seen worse paper cuts." She turned her back on Sam and spoke to Michael, "Everything is ready. One of my little surprises may have been set off already. I think we can count the bad guys down by one."

Michael's head bobbed as he did a quick tally, "A total of four, not bad."

Fiona huffed slightly, making Sam smile. He knew she wouldn't like being outdone.

Fiona looked like she might kick the smile off Sam's face but instead she insisted, "We should leave. Now." Suiting action to words, she quickly walked away, heading down the aisle.

"I always knew she had a soft spot for me," Sam groaned as he, again, accepted Michael's hand in getting up off the floor.

"I wouldn't say that in front of her," Michael warned. "She's might just shoot you to prevent that rumour from getting around."

"Aww, Mikey, everyone likes me. Even psychopathic ex-IRA operatives," Sam leaned on Michael as they began to follow the path Fiona took.

"How about lying, ex-Navy SEAL buddies?"

"No," Sam answered firmly. "Slimy, conniving, traitorous bums don't care for me much."

Michael and Sam were only a few feet from the rear door when Fiona, for the second time that night, yelled for Michael to get down.

From a waiting bag, Fiona had pulled out the Mac 11 Michael had given her back at the car lot. As soon as Michael and Sam fell to the floor, Fiona began shooting off automatic rounds over their heads. The sounds of cascading boxes followed by crashing shelving units had Michael pulling Sam up and dashing for the exit before the unit beside them fell on top and smothered them. Fiona was standing at the side of the door making room for the two men to run past as she continued to provide cover. Michael pulled her out of the way as he slammed the door closed. A convenient two-by-four was wedged under the door handle to keep the door from opening.

"One of those men had snuck up behind you," she started, but Michael held up a hand to stop her.

"No need to explain, Fi. I'm just glad you finally got to use the new toy."

Fiona smiled in return. "We should check the front of the building. We don't want any of our guests leaving before the police arrive."

"You called the cops?" Sam asked, holding an arm across his abused ribs.

"Of course we did," Fiona answered as she began to walk around to the main entrance of the abandoned building. "We wouldn't want the gang behind the shoot-out at Platinum Performance Imports to get away, would we?"

"I guess not," Sam said, growing a little tired of always talking to Fiona's retreating form. He then indicated with a wave of his hand for Michael to hurry after the woman. "You had better keep up with her, or all that'll be left is a smouldering crater. Don't worry, I'm right behind you."

By the time Sam finally caught up to his friends at the main entrance, Fiona was holding a little black box with an antenna protruding from the top. He could see the gleam in her eye as she checked his position before pushing the detonator button. There was a far off explosion followed by a distinctive 'foomp' as the far side of the decrepit building crashed in on itself.

"Another one, Fi?" Michael stared down at the petite woman beside him. "The police would like to find someone they could arrest."

Fiona shrugged her shoulders, "If they were smart, they would have been rushing to get out to their vehicles and no-where near that part of the building. Besides, all those rows of storage should have provided enough protection to keep their insides from being flattened."

Too late to do anything about it, Michael sighed in resignation. His attention was drawn to the blasted -open doorway where the sound of stumbling, shuffling feet could be heard coming their way. Pointing his gun at the centre of the door, Michael waited as the sounds drew closer.

Fiona stood in front of Sam protecting the unarmed man with her body and drawn weapon. Thankfully, it didn't take much effort on Sam's part to see over the top of her head.

Presently Stoney came stumbling out from the dusty entrance. He had thin streams of blood running from both his ears and he was covered with a film of grey dust. He stopped short when he saw the group of three before him.

"No," was all he could muster when he looked into the angry eyes of Sam Axe.

Sam stepped around Fiona when he realized that it was Stoney coming out and marched up to the dazed man. Sam stopped directly in Stoney's path without so much as a cursory glance to check if there were any hidden weapons.

"You bastard," Sam muttered and then without any warning drew back his arm and let go with as strong a left hook as he could muster. It was enough to send the traitor reeling into the still vibrating warehouse wall.

Michael had to step between the two men to stop Sam from continuing to pummel Stoney with his quickly waning strength.

"He's down, Sam. He's down," Michael kept repeating until Sam finally heard him and stepped back.

"You don't understand, Mike," Sam had a look of unadulterated hatred burning in his eyes that almost unnerved Michael. "He was meeting with a Salvadoran general. They were planning on starting up a new line for drugs to enter the U.S. Do you know how many kids he would have killed with that stuff?"

"I know," Michael used words to reassure his friend. "We've stopped him. None of that is going to happen now."

"He was going to have you and Fi killed by the Russians at that car lot," Sam continued.

This Michael had already figured out. "I know, Sam," he repeated.

Stoney began to stir. Fiona stepped closer to keep him covered with her weapon, but she continued to listen to her friend's ramblings.

"He shot Pete,"

"I meant to do so much more," Stoney mumbled through the dust in his mouth. Obviously, he was with it enough to have heard Sam through his damaged ear drums. The smile he aimed directly at his old commander made Fiona load a bullet into the chamber of her Sig P228 and take careful aim at the center of his forehead. Stoney turned his snakelike, bloody grin onto Fiona, showing he wasn't afraid of her.

"He called you a little girl, Fi," Sam prodded from the sidelines.

Stoney rolled his eyes at the implied threat, so he missed the glaring look Fiona threw at him. He was completely caught off guard when a bullet entered the wall mere inches from his head. When Sam gave a confirming smile and nod of his head, Fiona spun her leg, placing a well aimed kick with her wedge-heeled sandal to the surprised man's temple. He lost consciousness immediately.

"He say anything else, Sam?" Fiona asked placing the gun into the back of her waistband.

With a gratified smile, Sam answered, "Nope, that about covers it, Fi."

"What about the others inside? Who are they?" Michael asked, bringing the topic back to the matter at hand.

Sam sighed, "I can only assume they're part of a Salvadoran death squad, from General Regalado's army. That's who Stoney originally had meetings scheduled with. You remember that story I told you? About Pete?"

At Michael's nod, Sam continued, "That was when Stoney planned to murder the whole SEAL team; to keep his meeting with The Butcher of the Salvadoran Revolution."

"What?" Fiona was more than surprised.

"Tonight, they were renegotiating their old deal. Apparently, in the day, several of my missions got into the General's way and my death tonight was supposed to be the clincher," Sam sounded more bewildered than upset.

Michael placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, but Fiona's anger had only grown. She reached into the small bag she kept strapped to her waist and pulled out her final concussion grenade. All she had to do was toss it into the main door of the warehouse, and the likelihood that any rescue workers would get through to discover the men trapped within would be greatly reduced.

"Fiona," Michael warned, "That would be wrong."

Fiona glared at Michael, not pleased to have her thoughts so clearly read. "Wrong is a concept dependant on witnesses, Michael."

"Don't do it, Fi," Sam quietly requested. At the frustrated look that crossed Fiona's features, Sam added, "Let them stand trial for all the heinous crimes they've committed and be accountable to all the families they've torn apart."

Fiona dropped her head but as she hid the small package back into the many folds of her bag, she offered a sad smile, "You're too soft and shouldn't be allowed out on your own, Sam."

The edges of Sam's mouth crinkled up in a small, grateful smile.

In the distance they could hear the sound of multiple sirens.

"Time to go," Michael called to his friends. "Come on, Sam. We may have to call agents Lane and Harris, just to make sure the right alphabet groupings get involved with this one."

With a glance over her shoulder, Fiona added, "You may have to tell them that Stoney…"

"Ginger," Sam interrupted.

Fiona nodded her understanding, "That Ginger stole your car after…" she looked her friend over one more time, "a disagreement. It doesn't look like it's in any drivable condition."

Sam managed a smirk, "They'll be happy with the bigger fish to fry."

Michael gently wrapped a steadying arm around his friend's shoulders. "I'll take you back to the loft for the night."

"Aw, Mike," Sam whined. "It's a losing battle with that one spring in the centre of that old couch. I'll never find a comfortable spot to sleep. Why can't you just take me home? I've got this nice comfy bed; no weird objects trying to take out my kidneys."

From Michael's other side, Fiona sighed out her irritation with men.

The corners of Michael's lips turned up, the beginnings of a thankful smile. "You've got a concussion. It's either battle the spring in my couch, or I'll drop you off at my mom's so she can keep an eye on you."

"Madeline would be glad to take you in," Fiona gave a shark-like smile. "You could dust off her cigarette ashes from that plate of cookies she's had in the cupboard for the last two years. And I'm sure she's had that ant infestation taken care of."

Sam raised the eyebrow of one battle-weary eye at his friends. "When you put it that way…"

Michael opened the door to the passenger side of the Charger. Fiona crawled through to the back seat and Michael waited patiently to see if his friend needed a hand settling in, but Sam managed with only a muffled groan or two.

As Michael closed the door, he offered, "Maybe tomorrow we can convince Fi to tell us where she hid the rest of your stock of beer."

"I'll exchange the location of the beer for the swimming story," Fiona sing-songed through the open window. Sam let out a low groan that had nothing to do with his current bodily pains. Michael opened the driver's side door and slid in, beaming his full toothy smile.

- FIN -