Past Shadows Part 1

Jamie woke to the scent of coffee and sunshine filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

For a moment, he just lay there, blinking at the soft light cutting through the curtains. No nightmares. No gunfire. Just the peace and quiet.

With a low exhale, Jamie sat up slowly, pressing his fingers against his temples as a dull headache throbbed behind his eyes. The lingering effects of last night's drinking weren't terrible, but enough to remind him he'd had more than he should.

His mind drifted back to the night before. The conversation with Derek. The piano. His mother.

And the fact that he'd talked—really talked.

Jamie frowned, rubbing his face. He wasn't the kind of guy who spilled his past over a bottle of wine. He had no idea why he'd let it happen. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was just the way Derek looked at him like he actually wanted to understand.

Jamie pushed the thoughts aside as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabbed a T-shirt from the chair by the window, pulling it over his head as he stepped into the hallway.

That's when he noticed the figure still passed out on his couch.

Jamie sighed, rubbing his face before making his way to the kitchen. He poured two cups of coffee, setting one on the table near Derek's slumped form before taking a sip of his own.

"Rise and shine, Shepherd," he said, his voice edged with dry amusement.

Derek groaned, shifting but not fully waking.

Jamie shook his head. "Not how I pictured my morning, but sure, make yourself at home."

Derek cracked an eye open, his voice gravelly from sleep. "Shut up."

Derek stirred from where he was sprawled across the couch, blinking against the morning light. He let out a quiet groan, rubbing his face.

Derek let out something between a grunt and a sigh, his voice hoarse. "I hate wine."

Jamie nodded toward the coffee. "Drink. You look like hell."

Derek took it without protest, bringing it to his lips. He took a slow sip, then glanced at Jamie over the rim of the mug. "You always this generous with your expensive coffee?"

Jamie shrugged, leaning against the counter. "Just don't get used to it."

Derek set the mug down, running a hand through his hair. "Last night… you said a lot."

Jamie stiffened slightly. He had figured this was coming. He met Derek's gaze, his voice calm but firm. "Whatever I said—keep it to yourself."

Derek held his stare for a beat before nodding. "I wasn't planning on writing a hospital-wide memo, Knight."

Jamie shot back. "Good. Because I don't need my life becoming lunchtime gossip."

Derek let out a chuckle, stretching his back as he stood up. "Your secret's safe. Though, for the record… you might be better off letting someone in every now and then."

Jamie didn't respond right away. He just turned, heading toward his bedroom. Over his shoulder, he said, "Make yourself comfortable. We're heading back to the hospital together when I'm back."

Derek raised a brow. "Because…?"

Jamie grabbed his running shoes from the closet. "Because your car is still there."

Derek groaned. "Right. Fantastic."

Jamie smirked as he pulled on his running shoes.

Derek watched him, still sluggish from sleep. "Where are you going?"

Jamie grabbed his keys, rolling his shoulders. "For a run."

Derek huffed. "Of course you are."

Jamie just grinned. "Try not to break anything while I'm gone."

Derek muttered something under his breath as he settled back onto the couch, sipping his coffee.

Jamie stepped outside, letting the cool morning air clear his head. He needed this. The run. The movement. Something to push away the weight of last night before it settled too deep.

Then, he took off down the street.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jamie pushed open the door to his penthouse, still rolling his shoulders from the run. His muscles were loose, his breathing steady, and the crisp morning air had done its job—clearing his head.

But the second he stepped inside, he felt it.

Something was off.

His instincts kicked in before his brain had fully processed the scene.

There was a man sitting on his couch.

Not Derek—Derek was still nursing his coffee, watching from the kitchen like he wasn't sure if this was about to turn into a situation.

The stranger sat comfortably, his boots planted firmly on the floor, one arm resting on the back of the couch, posture relaxed but deliberate. He was dressed like someone who hadn't entirely left deployment mode.

Dark tactical jeans, a fitted black long-sleeve shirt, and a lightweight field jacket that barely shifted when he moved. His boots were broken in, well-worn but sturdy, the kind built for any terrain. A military-grade watch sat on his wrist—functional, not for show.

Everything about him said operator. Not someone playing dress-up. Someone who'd been in the field, seen real combat, and didn't need to advertise it.

Jamie narrowed his eyes, scanning him. Something about the guy felt familiar—the posture, the way he held himself—but his brain wasn't clicking into place.

"Get out," Jamie said flatly, dropping his keys onto the counter. "I don't do this anymore. I was discharged."

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Jesus, Jamie. It's been a few years, but is this really how you greet family?"

The voice.

Jamie froze for half a second. His mind finally pieced it together.

Mason.

His gaze sharpened, taking in the subtle changes—Mason looked older, more polished, but there was still something about him that screamed military beneath the expensive suit.

Jamie exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. "Mason?"

Mason grinned, standing up. "There he is."

Jamie shook his head, still processing. "I thought you were still in Kandahar."

Mason smirked. "I thought you'd still be in a war zone playing hero, so I guess we're both a little surprised."

Jamie huffed a quiet laugh before pulling him into a quick hug—a brother's embrace, brief but firm. They weren't blood, but Mason was the son of one of Jamie's father's closest friends, and that meant something. They grew up together. 

Jamie pulled back, giving Mason a once-over. "So what the hell are you doing here?"

Mason's smirk faded slightly. "I need your help."

Jamie didn't answer right away. He just studied him, noting the way Mason's easy grin didn't quite reach his eyes.

Then, with a sigh, he gestured toward the kitchen. "Give me five minutes."

He turned, heading toward his bedroom, already pulling his damp shirt over his head. As he reached the hallway, he threw a glance over his shoulder at Derek.

"Tell Webber I'll be back in a few days," Jamie said casually. "And take the Aston to work."

Derek blinked, processing the information in real time. "Wait, what?"

But Jamie was already gone.

Derek leaned against the counter, watching Mason like he was something he needed to figure out.

He wasn't subtle about it either.

This guy—Mason—had made himself comfortable on Jamie's couch again, barely paying attention to him. He looked too calm, too collected, like he was used to being in control of whatever situation he walked into.

Derek wasn't buying it.

"So, Mason, was it?" Derek asked, crossing his arms. "You want to tell me what exactly is going on here?"

Mason barely spared him a glance. "Not really."

Derek's jaw twitched. "Jamie doesn't work for the military anymore. He's just a surgeon now. So whatever you need, you can find someone else."

Mason chuckled, shaking his head. "If it were that simple, I wouldn't be here."

Derek exhaled sharply. "That's not an answer."

Mason finally turned to face him fully, his expression calm but unreadable. "It's classified."

Derek scoffed. "Of course it is."

Mason smirked, clearly entertained by the conversation. "Relax, doc. Jamie is in no danger. It's just… he's the only one who can do the job." He paused. "Or I wouldn't be here."

Derek wasn't sure why, but that made something uneasy settle in his stomach.

Whatever this was—it wasn't small.

The bathroom door swung open a moment later, steam rolling out as Jamie walked back into the room, dressed in fresh clothes, still towel-drying his hair.

"You two getting along?" he asked dryly.

Derek glanced between them, then exhaled, shaking his head. "I don't like this."

Jamie smirked slightly. "Noted."

Derek gave him a look. "Jamie—"

"Not now, Shepherd," Jamie said, his voice leaving no room for argument.

 He tossed the towel aside and grabbed his keys. "Let's go, Mason."

Mason stood smoothly, giving Derek a brief nod before following Jamie toward the door.

Derek watched them go, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

The door slid shut, leaving Derek standing in the middle of Jamie's penthouse, coffee in hand, thoroughly confused.

Inside the Elevator

The moment the doors slid shut, Jamie exhaled, rolling his shoulders back.

"Alright," he muttered. "Talk."

Mason adjusted his posture, his voice dropping slightly. "It's about Ryan."

Jamie stilled.

He turned his head slowly, his expression darkening.

Mason sighed. "Yeah. Thought that'd get your attention."

Jamie clenched his fingers into a fist.

Ryan.

Of all the people—

Jamie inhaled sharply through his nose, schooling his expression into something unreadable.

"Start from the beginning," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Mason nodded. "Let's get in the car first"

The elevator doors slid open.

Jamie stepped out without another word.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Flashback

Location: Karachi, Pakistan – 2002

Mission: Embassy Evac & Surgical Extraction

The C-130 Hercules vibrated with the steady hum of its engines, the cabin filled with the low murmur of men checking gear, tightening straps, and preparing for the jump. The scent of sweat, metal, and adrenaline hung thick in the air.

Jamie sat against the cold metal wall, adjusting the straps of his parachute for what had to be the tenth time. His fingers worked with precision, but his breathing was a little too controlled, his posture a little too stiff.

Across from him, Dr. Jack Ryan smirked, watching him with the kind of amusement that came from having done this a hundred times before. Unlike Jamie, Ryan wasn't checking his gear—he already knew it was perfect.

"You always this fidgety before a jump, Knight?"

Jamie shot him a look but didn't answer. He wasn't nervous. Not really. At least, that's what he told himself.

Ryan tilted his head, grin widening. "First time in combat?"

Jamie exhaled through his nose. "First jump outside of training."

Ryan nodded like he already knew. "Well, you know what they say—if you screw this up, at least it'll be over quick."

Jamie huffed. "That supposed to be reassuring?"

Ryan's smirk didn't fade. "Nah, just a fact. But you're good, Knight. You'll be fine. These HALO jumps are part of what I love about this job."

Jamie didn't feel convinced, but before he could say anything else, the jump light flicked from red to yellow.

Three minutes to drop.

The SEALs and Delta operators started moving—silent professionals, double-checking their weapons, giving each other sharp nods. Jamie's heart pounded, but his hands stayed steady as he clipped onto his static line.

"Green light in sixty seconds," their team leader's voice crackled through comms. "Drop, regroup, secure the asset. No screw-ups."

Jamie clenched his jaw as the first operators stepped off the ramp, disappearing into the night.

One by one, they jumped until only Jamie and Ryan remained.

Ryan clapped Jamie on the shoulder. "You got this. Blue Eyes"

Jamie inhaled deeply, nodded, and—

They jumped.

The world exploded into motion.

The second Jamie stepped off the ramp, the roar of the Hercules' engines vanished, swallowed by the night. The cold air slammed into him, the wind tearing at his clothes as he dropped fast, weightless, surrounded by nothing but sky.

Darkness stretched out in every direction, endless and infinite. The stars above burned sharp and clear, the vast desert landscape below nothing more than shifting shadows. The rush of air filled his ears, a deafening, howling roar, and for a moment—just a moment—Jamie felt free.

The adrenaline hit him hard, a sharp jolt to the system, his senses going razor-sharp.

No thoughts. No hesitation. Just the drop, the speed, the moment.

He kept his arms close, body tight, tracking Ryan's silhouette ahead of him. They weren't alone in the sky—

Small figures, barely visible, dropped in controlled descents around them. The rest of the team.

His altimeter beeped.

5,000 feet.

4,500 feet

4,000 feet

Ryan turned his head mid-fall, his hand flashing a quick signal.

Pull.

Jamie gripped the handle at his chest and yanked—

The parachute deployed with a violent snap, his entire body jerking as the canopy caught air. The speed of his descent cut dramatically, the wind still roaring but no longer threatening to rip him apart.

He exhaled, hands tightening on the toggles, steering himself into formation as Ryan's chute bloomed open ahead of him.

Below, the lights of the city flickered, and in the distance, the plume of smoke from the embassy attack curled into the sky.

Jamie's heartbeat settled into something steady. Focused.

The mission was about to begin.

Jamie hit the ground hard, rolling with the impact before his chute collapsed behind him. Within seconds, Ryan was already there, unclipping his harness like it was nothing.

"See?" Ryan grinned, helping Jamie up. "Still alive."

Jamie shot him a look but didn't have time to reply. The radio crackled to life.

"Teams are in position. Safe house secure. Ambassador is stable—barely."

Jamie and Ryan exchanged a glance. That was their cue.

They moved fast, weaving through narrow alleyways and half-destroyed buildings until they reached the safe house. Two SEALs guarded the entrance, weapons up, eyes sharp.

The safe house was cramped, dimly lit, and smelled like blood and gunpowder. The ambassador lay on a makeshift stretcher, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His skin was pale, sweat beading on his forehead, his shirt soaked in red.

Jamie crouched beside him, already assessing the situation. "Vitals?"

A SEAL medic shook his head. "BP's dropping. Shrapnel wound to the chest—looks like it might have nicked something big. He won't make it if we don't get it out now."

Jamie swallowed hard, shifting his gaze to Ryan, who was already pulling on gloves.

"Alright, Blue Eyes," Ryan said, voice calm. "You're up."

Jamie frowned. "What?"

"You're lead on this one."

Jamie blinked. "Ryan, we don't have imaging. We don't even have—"

"We have what we have," Ryan interrupted. His voice was steady, but there was no room for argument. "And what we have is you. So, tell me—what do you see?"

Jamie forced himself to focus. He ran his fingers gently over the ambassador's torso, feeling for rigidity, for the telltale signs of internal bleeding.

"He's tachycardic, hypotensive," Jamie muttered, thinking out loud. "Based on the entry wound, the fragment is close to the pericardium, maybe even embedded."

Ryan nodded, encouraging him. "And?"

Jamie exhaled sharply. "We need to open him up. If the shrapnel's in the pericardial sac, it could cause cardiac tamponade."

Ryan smirked. "There we go. Now, get to work."

Jamie grabbed the scalpel from the med pack, making a precise incision down the sternum.

Ryan handed him the retractors, watching as Jamie worked. "Good. Now, let's assume imaging would confirm what we already suspect—how do we extract without nicking something vital?"

Jamie carefully peeled back tissue, his hands steady despite the sweat on his back. "We have to approach from the side, avoid the phrenic nerve. If I go too deep, I could hit the pulmonary artery."

Ryan gave him an approving look. "And that would be bad."

Jamie let out a breathless chuckle. "Yeah. That would be bad."

He reached deeper, fingers brushing against the jagged metal fragment lodged dangerously close to the heart. He adjusted his grip on the forceps, carefully angling the shrapnel away from the myocardium.

Ryan watched closely. "Pressure's dropping fast, Knight. No time to hesitate."

Jamie gritted his teeth. With one smooth, careful movement—

He pulled the shrapnel free.

The ambassador's heart stuttered.

Jamie moved instantly. "Epinephrine, now!"

The medic handed him the syringe, and Jamie plunged it into the myocardium.

A second passed. Then—

The monitor beeped. The heartbeat steadied.

Jamie exhaled, hands still covered in blood.

Ryan grinned. "Not bad, Knight."

Jamie huffed.

Ryan helped him close the wound. "See? It's easy."

Jamie shook his head, muttering, "Yeah, yeah."

But before they could move, the building shook.

The explosion tore through the wall.

Jamie heard the Delta scream before the heat, the pressure, the sound slammed into him.

The room blurred.

Everything slowed.

The dust settled just enough for Jamie to see the wreckage, to see the injured soldier bleeding out on the floor—

And Jamie froze.

His breath locked in his throat, his muscles stiffening as the familiar cold grip of shock wrapped around his chest.

Ryan shoved him aside.

Jamie hit the ground hard, and a second later, debris crashed down where he had been standing.

Ryan rolled off him, shaking off dust. "You good?"

Jamie swallowed hard. "I—"

"No," Ryan snapped. "Not out here. Not when people's lives are on the line."

Jamie forced himself to breathe.

Ryan's face hardened. "I don't care if you're scared. You move, or you get someone killed. Understood?"

Jamie nodded.

Ryan studied him for a moment before sighing. "You're still green, but you'll get there."

And he never froze again.

The SEALs secured the ambassador into a local ambulance they had commandeered, disguising themselves as medical personnel.

It was a rough ride. Bumpy streets, gunfire in the distance, tension thick in the air.

But when they reached the makeshift field hospital, the ambassador was still breathing.

Ryan clapped Jamie on the back. "Not bad, Blue Eyes."

Jamie exhaled. "Not bad yourself."

Ryan just grinned. "Told you first jumps are the hardest."

Jamie huffed a quiet laugh.

Maybe he was right.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The moment Jamie and Mason stepped out of the building, the black SUV was already waiting at the curb. Blacked-out windows, armored plating, government plates.

Jamie didn't hesitate. He slid into the back while Mason took the passenger seat. The driver barely waited for the door to shut before slamming the accelerator, tires screeching as they merged into traffic.

Jamie barely glanced at him before turning to Mason. "Start talking."

Mason handed him a file and exhaled, his tone shifting from casual to dead serious. "It's about Ryan."

His gut was already twisting into something cold.

Ryan.

The last time he saw Ryan was years ago—standing on an airstrip, shaking his hand, both of them sure they'd meet again.

Jamie swallowed, his voice sharp. "What happened?"

Mason didn't sugarcoat it.

"Ryan was working deep cover. Surgeon for hire. He took a job for a cartel boss who needed a heart transplant."

Jamie's brow furrowed. "The hell was he doing operating for a cartel?"

Mason glanced at him. "Taking down an organ smuggling ring."

Jamie scoffed.

Mason continued. "Intel suggested that the cartel was running a black market transplant network. Kidnapping civilians, political dissidents, rival cartel members—harvesting their organs for the highest bidder. The CIA had been after them for years, but they could never get inside."

Jamie exhaled sharply. "And Ryan got inside."

Mason nodded. "He was their in. The boss needed a transplant, and Ryan was his ticket to survival. It was the perfect opportunity to gather intel."

Jamie rubbed a hand over his face. He should've known Ryan wouldn't just retire quietly. The man had been too damn restless to ever leave the fight behind completely.

Jamie's voice dropped. "How bad is it?"

Mason's jaw tightened. "He's been compromised."

Jamie's stomach dropped.

Mason continued, his voice lower now. "The operation was a success, but after that…" He hesitated. "They wouldn't let him leave."

Jamie's grip on his knee tightened. "What do you mean 'wouldn't let him leave'?"

"They wanted to keep him. Their own personal surgeon. No questions asked."

Jamie muttered a curse under his breath. "And he tried to escape."

Mason nodded grimly. "He got a message out before they found him. He was wounded—didn't say how bad—but he explicitly said to get you."

Jamie's jaw tensed. "Me?"

Mason met his gaze. "Ryan's been in enough tight spots to know who to call when it matters. And right now?" He exhaled. "You're the only one he trusts to get him out."

Jamie stared at the file, his mind already racing.

Ryan was being held somewhere in Caracas—which meant they weren't dealing with just any cartel, but a major operation with serious protection.

Jamie let out a slow breath, his voice calm. "Where are they keeping him?"

Mason's expression darkened. "An illegal hospital. Private facility, heavily armed, tight security. No outside medical records. No official staff. Just a place to keep assets like Ryan on standby—to patch up whoever they need alive."

Jamie didn't need to ask what happened to the patients who weren't assets.

He clenched his fists, his voice like steel.

"Then let's go."

The SUV sped through the city, before pulling off the main road, slipping past a set of unmarked gates that led to a private airfield.

Not Sea-Tac. Not Boeing Field.

Something off the books.

Jamie didn't have to ask whose jurisdiction this place fell under. Military, CIA, JSOC—didn't really matter. The second you stepped onto a runway like this, you weren't on American soil anymore.

As they approached the waiting jet, Jamie took in the scene with a practiced eye.

A small strike team—six men, kitted out in full tactical gear—stood near the aircraft. No insignia, no ranks visible. Delta operators.

Behind them, a few men in suits, sharp but lethally understated. CIA.

Mason was already exchanging words with one of the suits as Jamie pulled out his phone, stepping away for a moment.

The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

"Jamie?"

He exhaled slightly. "Hey, Grandma."

"Are you alright?" she asked, always perceptive.

"Yeah," Jamie said, watching as the jet crew ran final checks. "Listen, I wanted to let you know I'll be out of town for a few days."

A brief pause. Then, a knowing sigh.

"You're working, aren't you?"

Jamie's lips quirked slightly. His grandmother always knew.

"Something like that," he admitted.

Another pause. Then, softer, "Be careful."

Jamie nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Always."

He glanced at Mason, who gestured toward the plane. Time to go.

"I gotta run," Jamie said. "The plane's waiting."

"Of course it is," she murmured, amusement tinged with worry.

Jamie smirked. "I'll check in when I'm back."

"You better."

Jamie had barely slipped his phone back into his pocket when it buzzed again.

He glanced at the screen.

Dr. Webber.

Jamie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before answering.

"Knight."

"Dr. Knight," Webber's voice came through, calm but firm. "Care to explain why I just got word that you're taking an unscheduled leave of absence?"

Jamie glanced toward the jet, where Mason and the Delta team were already boarding.

"Something came up," Jamie said vaguely, already knowing that wouldn't be enough.

Webber wasn't buying it. "Something that requires you to disappear for a few days? Without notice?"

Jamie exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't want to lie, but the truth wasn't exactly an option.

"Look, Chief," Jamie said, lowering his voice. "I can't go into details, but this is personal."

Webber didn't respond immediately. Then—

"You're not coming back in a body bag, are you?"

Jamie let out a quiet laugh. "I don't plan on it."

Webber sighed. "I'm going to assume that means you know what you're doing."

Jamie's gaze flicked to Mason, who was watching him from the plane's entrance, arms crossed but patient.

"…Yeah," Jamie said finally. "I do."

Another pause. Then, softer—

"You know, Jamie… the past has a way of dragging people under if they let it."

Jamie's voice hardened.

"This isn't about the past," he said, though even as he said it, he wasn't sure that was entirely true.

Webber didn't push.

"Take care of yourself, Dr. Knight."

Jamie nodded, even though Webber couldn't see it.

"I will."

Jamie exhaled slowly, slipping the phone back into his pocket before turning toward the jet.

Mason was already heading up the steps, the Delta operators watching Jamie closely as he approached.

The team leader—a tall, broad-shouldered man with piercing blue eyes—gave him a once-over before speaking.

"You're Major Knight?"

Jamie met his gaze without hesitation. "Yeah."

The operator nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Welcome aboard."

Jamie didn't break stride as he stepped onto the jet.

The cabin of the private jet was sleek, minimalistic—clearly meant for function over comfort. Jamie barely had time to settle into one of the leather seats before a man across from him slid a file onto the table between them.

"Dr. Knight," the man said smoothly. "I'm Agent Jack Bauer. CIA. I'll be your handler for this operation."

Jamie raised a brow, leaning back slightly as he took in the man's sharp, no-nonsense demeanor. Bauer looked seasoned, early forties, short-cropped hair, the kind of guy who had spent more years in covert ops than in a normal life.

Jamie picked up the file, flipping it open.

"Let's start from the top," Bauer continued. "I assume Mason gave you the basics, but I'll fill in the details."

Jamie scanned the first few pages—Ryan's mission parameters. His stomach tightened slightly at the sight of his mentor's picture, timestamped from just a few months ago.

"Ryan went undercover six months ago," Bauer explained. "A cartel boss, Miguel Hernandes, needed a heart transplant. We knew the cartel was tied to an organ smuggling operation, and Ryan was our way in."

Jamie narrowed his eyes, flipping to the next page—a surveillance shot of Hernandes. Late fifties, lean but well-dressed, scars visible along his knuckles, the kind of man who had killed with his own hands long before he had men to do it for him.

"He played his role well," Bauer continued. "Gained their trust. The surgery was a success, but Hernandes wasn't planning on letting Ryan leave. He wanted to keep him as his personal surgeon."

Jamie's grip tightened slightly on the file.

"He tried to escape," Bauer said, tapping another document—Ryan's last message. "We believe he was discovered. His final transmission was brief, but he was clear—he's injured. And he specifically said to get you."

Jamie exhaled sharply, his mind racing.

Bauer pulled out another folder, this one filled with gritty, low-resolution photos of underground medical facilities. Some looked like repurposed clinics, others like slaughterhouses.

"This is where things get even more interesting," Bauer said. "The Hernandes Cartel isn't just laundering money, running drugs, and trafficking weapons. They're one of the largest players in the black market organ trade. Kidneys, livers, hearts—they take what they need and sell the rest."

Jamie flipped through the photos, his stomach twisting slightly at the sheer brutality of it. Medical tables stained with dried blood, bodies lying in makeshift morgues.

Bauer continued. "They operate out of an illegal hospital in Caracas. High security. We've confirmed corrupt government officials are protecting them, which is why we need a clean entry."

Jamie looked up. "And that's where I come in."

Bauer smirked slightly, handing over another file.

"Meet your new identity," he said.

Jamie opened the folder.

James Sterling. Wealthy, eccentric. Came from wealth, running a private health venture that catered to the ultra-elite.

Jamie let out a short chuckle. "You're making me a rich guy who buys organs on the black market? How original."

Bauer shrugged. "It had to be believable. You already have the look, the money, and the arrogance when you need it. Shouldn't be too hard."

Jamie rolled his eyes but kept listening.

"The story is simple," Bauer continued. "Your grandfather needs a kidney. The Hernandes cartel is known for catering to wealthy clientele who prefer to skip the waitlist. You're eccentric—you don't trust their doctors. Your one condition for the deal is that you perform the extraction yourself. That gets you access to their operating rooms."

Jamie nodded slowly. It made sense.

"And you?" Jamie asked, glancing at Bauer.

Bauer smirked. "I'm your bodyguard."

Jamie let out a dry laugh. "You don't exactly look like the hired muscle type."

Bauer's expression didn't change. "I can be convincing."

Jamie shook his head, exhaling slowly. "Alright. Once we're inside, what's the plan?"

"First, we scout the place. Get a feel for the layout, personnel, and security. Once we confirm Ryan is there, we send a signal." Bauer leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly. "That's when the Delta boys come in."

Jamie looked out the window, watching the sky stretch endlessly as the jet cut through the air.

This was happening.

He turned back to Bauer, voice steady. "Alright."

Bauer smirked slightly, leaning back in his seat as he shut the file. He tapped the folder with two fingers before meeting Jamie's gaze.

"Get some sleep, Knight," he said, voice calm but firm. "It's a long flight. You're gonna need it."

Jamie let out a quiet breath, rolling his shoulders before tossing the folder onto the table. He wasn't tired—his mind was still running at a hundred miles an hour, processing everything—but he knew better than to argue.

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Alright."

Bauer nodded once before leaning back, already closing his own eyes, arms crossed like he had done this a hundred times before.

Jamie took one last glance at the mission file before pushing it aside.

He wasn't the same soldier he had been when he left the military. But now? Now he was right back in it.

He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as the low hum of the jet's engines filled the cabin.

Even if he didn't sleep, he could at least try to rest.

Because once they hit the ground, there wouldn't be any time for it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

15 Hours later, Caracas, Safe House

The air in Caracas was thick, humid, and carried the distant sounds of the city—car engines, street vendors calling out, the occasional bark of a stray dog. But inside the safe house, it was silent. Too silent.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to block out any prying eyes. A ceiling fan turned lazily, pushing warm air around without much effect. The space itself was minimal—an old wooden table covered in maps and intel files, a few crates of supplies stacked against the wall, and a row of weapons laid out for easy access. It was functional. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jamie sat on a worn-out couch, elbows resting on his knees, rolling his shoulders as he took in his surroundings. He had barely stepped off the plane before being rushed through a series of back alleys, shuffled between cars, and finally brought here.

It was all muscle memory at this point—controlled movement, tight security, and zero wasted time. The kind of operation that only happened when things were already bad.

Bauer was across the room, speaking quietly with one of the Delta operators, a broad-shouldered guy with a thick beard and a sharp gaze that never seemed to stop scanning the room.

Carter looked up as Jamie approached. His gaze was sharp, but there was something else in it—a flicker of recognition.

"Well, I'll be damned," Carter said, standing. "If it isn't the Ghost of JSOC."

Jamie smirked, crossing his arms. "Didn't realize I had a fan club."

Carter chuckled, shaking his head. "You don't. But your reputation precedes you." He gestured toward the table, where a map of Caracas was spread out. "Kandahar. Fallujah. Djibouti. Mindanao. Even heard whispers you were in Syria for a minute—though I'm guessing that one's still classified."

Jamie didn't confirm or deny. He just raised an eyebrow.

Carter continued, his tone even. "Look, Major Knight, I respect the hell out of what you've done. You've saved a lot of guys who wouldn't have made it otherwise. But I'll tell you right now—whatever cowboy stunt you pulled in Iraq or Colombia? Don't pull it here."

Jamie exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. "You bringing me here just to warn me, or are we actually gonna talk about Ryan?"

Carter's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "I'm just saying—you're damn good at saving lives. But this time, don't get yourself killed in the process."

Jamie huffed. "No promises."

Carter sighed, shaking his head. "That's what I was afraid of."

He turned toward the table and motioned for Bauer to take over.

"Welcome to Caracas." Bauer finally said, stepping away from the conversation and toward Jamie. "This will be our base of operations for the next 24 hours. If things go south, this is where we fall back to."

Jamie nodded, stretching his arms before standing up. "Who else is on the ground?"

Bauer motioned toward Carter. "That's Carter. He's running point for the assault team. The rest of his guys are on standby. We also have local assets feeding us intel. If Ryan's in that hospital, we'll know soon."

Jamie took a deep breath, nodding. "And my cover?"

Bauer smirked and tossed him a sleek leather wallet. "Meet Dr. James Sterling, private transplant surgeon, billionaire eccentric, and the guy with enough money to buy a kidney on the black market for his 'dying grandfather.'"

Jamie flipped open the wallet. A fake ID, a forged passport, and a few credit cards with Sterling's name. It was good work—official-looking, precise.

"You leave for the hospital tomorrow morning," Bauer continued. "We'll get you into the system today. Your appointment is set, and by the time we roll in, they'll be expecting you."

Jamie closed the wallet with a snap, slipping it into his pocket. "You sure they'll let me bring a bodyguard?"

Bauer smirked. "Rich men don't go anywhere alone. If they ask too many questions, I'll handle it."

Jamie nodded. "Alright."

Bauer clapped his hands together. "Alright, boys. Get comfortable. It's gonna be a long night."

Jamie exhaled slowly, his fingers flexing slightly before he shook out his hands. He knew this feeling—the quiet before the storm.

Tomorrow, everything would be set in motion.

And there was no turning back.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning came quickly.

The city of Caracas stretched before them, bathed in the golden hues of early sunlight. The streets were already bustling—vendors shouting, people weaving between traffic, motorcycles zipping through tight spaces. It was a city that never truly slept, and yet, beneath the surface, it thrived on shadows.

Jamie sat in the backseat of a black Mercedes, adjusting the cuff of his suit jacket as he watched the streets blur past. The air-conditioning was running, but he could still feel the heat seeping in from the outside.

Bauer was driving, looking the part of a silent, dangerous bodyguard. He wore a tailored black suit as well, but his demeanor was vastly different from Jamie's. Where Jamie exuded controlled arrogance—playing the role of a wealthy, entitled doctor who thought he was untouchable—Bauer was cold and detached.

They had gone over this a dozen times last night. Every detail of their cover, every possible point of failure, every contingency plan.

Now, it was game time.

Jamie exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He needed to be sharp. This wasn't a hospital in Seattle. If he slipped, if he second-guessed himself, if he gave them one reason to doubt him—he wouldn't be walking out of there alive.

Bauer kept his eyes on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. His voice, when he finally spoke, was even.

"You ready?"

Jamie didn't look at him. He just smirked slightly, adjusting his Rolex.

"As ready as one can be."

Bauer didn't react. He simply turned the wheel, guiding the car down a side street where a large, gated compound lay ahead.

The hospital wasn't marked. No signs, no name, nothing to indicate that it was even a medical facility. It looked more like a fortress—tall walls, reinforced security gates, armed men standing guard at the front entrance.

As they approached, Bauer slowed the car, rolling down the window slightly as they reached a security checkpoint.

A cartel enforcer, clad in tactical gear, stepped forward, resting a hand on the rifle strapped to his chest. His eyes flicked between the car and a clipboard, then to Jamie and Bauer inside.

"Name?" The guard's Spanish was clipped, professional.

Bauer didn't speak. That was Jamie's job.

Jamie leaned forward slightly, his expression somewhere between annoyed and indifferent. He looked like a man who was used to getting his way and hated being delayed.

"James Sterling," Jamie said smoothly. His Spanish was fluent, with just enough of an accent to make it believable that he'd spent time in Europe, rather than growing up in Latin America.

The guard nodded, glancing down at the clipboard. He scanned the names, then paused for a second too long. Testing him.

Jamie didn't blink. He just sighed dramatically, pulling a gold money clip from his jacket and casually slipping a few hundred-dollar bills out.

He didn't even look at the guard as he tossed them forward.

"For your time," he said flatly.

The guard caught the cash, barely reacting. But something in his posture shifted slightly. Less suspicion, more understanding.

The guard stepped back and knocked twice on the armored gate behind him. A moment later, the gates creaked open just enough for the Mercedes to roll through.

Inside the Hospital Compound

The compound was a mix of luxury and brutality.

The inner courtyard was pristine—white marble floors, glass-paneled hallways, modern lighting. It looked like an elite private clinic, designed for the ultra-rich, for people who wanted to extend their lives through means that weren't entirely legal.

But the deeper Jamie's gaze traveled, the more he noticed the cracks in the illusion.

Armed guards stood at every corridor. The security wasn't just for show—it was there to keep people inside.

And then there was the smell.

Underneath the sterile disinfectant, underneath the air-conditioning and the polished walls, there was something else. The unmistakable scent of blood.

Jamie let his gaze flicker across the halls as they were escorted deeper inside. He wasn't looking for an escape yet. He was scouting.

He needed to see where they were holding Ryan.

They were led to a lavish office.

A man in an expensive suit sat behind a mahogany desk, smoking a cigar, his dark eyes assessing Jamie like he was trying to decide whether to trust him or put a bullet in his head.

"Dr. Sterling," the man greeted in perfect English, his voice smooth but laced with something dangerous.

Jamie didn't hesitate. He exhaled, then smiled—just enough to seem disinterested. He looked like someone who had no reason to be afraid, because he had too much money to care.

"You must be Miguel Hernandez."

The cartel boss smirked. "You did your research."

Jamie shrugged. "I don't make deals with strangers."

Hernandez chuckled, taking another slow drag of his cigar before nodding toward the file on his desk.

"Your request has been approved," he said. "We'll have the kidney ready for extraction by tomorrow morning. Your operating room will be prepared as per your request."

Jamie nodded, as if he expected nothing less.

"Good."

He sat down in one of the leather chairs across from Hernandez, crossing one leg over the other, his movements measured, arrogant.

"And my other request?" Jamie asked.

Hernandez raised a brow. "You still insist on performing the extraction yourself?"

Jamie said slowly. "I don't trust your people. No offense."

The cartel boss chuckled again, shaking his head. "You are very particular, Doctor."

Jamie smirked. "I am very rich."

Hernandes studied him for a moment longer, then finally nodded. "Very well. My men will escort you to the operating suites later today. You will see everything yourself."

Jamie's heartbeat remained steady.

This was it.

A foot in the door.

Now, he just had to find Ryan.

Throughout the entire conversation, Bauer hadn't said a word.

He stood behind Jamie, perfectly still, arms folded, sunglasses on, his entire demeanor radiating lethal restraint.

But Jamie knew.

He knew Bauer was watching everything. Measuring who was a threat, which guards had the best reaction time, which ones were slacking.

Jamie might've been the surgeon, but Bauer was the one who was making sure they got out alive.

And the second Jamie confirmed Ryan's location?

This hospital would become a war zone.

Hernandez flicked the ash from his cigar and stood.

"Shall we?" he said smoothly.

Jamie forced another smirk.

He buttoned his suit jacket, standing slowly.

"Lead the way."

The hallway was eerily quiet. For a place that supposedly handled multiple patients, it felt… off.

Jamie walked a step behind Hernandez, the cartel boss leading the way. Bauer trailed close, keeping his usual unreadable expression, but Jamie knew he was mapping every detail—the guards, the exits, the security layers.

The second man beside Hernandez wasn't introduced right away, but Jamie clocked the white coat, the stiff posture, and most importantly—the heavily bandaged right hand.

Hernandez finally gestured to him.

"This is Dr. Luis Ortega, my chief surgeon." His voice carried irritation, and he barely masked the disdain as he glanced at the injured hand. "Though, due to unforeseen circumstances, he is currently… incapacitated."

Jamie tilted his head slightly, watching how Ortega subtly tensed at the words.

"Unforeseen circumstances?" Jamie asked, keeping his voice neutral.

Hernandez scoffed. "Some people don't know how to be grateful. They accept my hospitality, my protection, and yet they betray me." His jaw twitched. "Gringos. They always bring trouble."

Jamie kept his expression carefully blank, but his mind was already spinning.

Ortega's injury. Hernandez' anger. The implication of betrayal.

This wasn't just any accident. Ryan did this.

Jamie said nothing, but his eyes flickered to Ortega's bandages again. A struggle? A scalpel? A last attempt to escape? It didn't matter. If Ryan fought back, it meant he was still alive.

Hernandez kept walking, oblivious to the storm brewing in Jamie's head.

Jamie expected a bustling operation, but as they moved through the supposed "hospital", he saw very few patients and even fewer nurses.

There were three examination rooms, but only one was occupied—a young man, maybe early twenties, looking terrified while an undertrained medic struggled with an IV.

The few nurses present avoided making eye contact, moving like ghosts through the dimly lit halls.

Jamie frowned. A place this expensive, this well-hidden, should be overflowing with patients. Yet, it felt deserted.

Something wasn't right.

His eyes drifted toward a closed door at the far end of the hallway.

A guard stood in front of it. Stiff stance. Alert.

And then, the door opened.

A nurse stepped out, carrying a tray with bloodied gauze.

Jamie barely glanced at her. His attention was on the voice coming from inside.

"…I told you before, you don't need to sedate me every damn time."

Jamie froze.

Ryan.

His voice was hoarse, slightly weak—but very much alive.

The guard shut the door, but Jamie had already memorized everything. The position, the angle, the number of steps between here and there.

Hernandez kept walking, and Jamie forced himself to move, though his pulse had kicked up slightly.

They weren't leaving without him.

At the end of the tour, Hernandes finally turned, flashing a cold grin.

"Now, Dr. Sterling," he said, "let's see if you are as skilled as you claim."

Jamie already knew what was coming.

Ortega, despite his injury, smirked slightly. "A surgeon should be evaluated by another surgeon. I will observe."

Jamie's gaze flicked to Hernandez, then to Ortega.

Hernandez wasn't testing him for fun. This was about control. A show of dominance.

But Jamie had played this game before.

He gave a calm, confident smile. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't test me."

Hernandez laughed, motioning for them to move. A guard opened a door to a guest room.

"This will be your accommodation until you leave. See you later Dr. Sterling" Hernandez said.

The second the door locked behind them, Jamie turned to Bauer immediately.

"I heard him," Jamie said under his breath.

Bauer's eyes sharpened. "You're sure?"

Jamie nodded. "He's in that back room. Same hallway we passed."

Bauer's gaze tightened slightly, but his voice stayed low. "You think he can hold out?"

Jamie exhaled. "He doesn't have a choice."

They both knew the situation was worse than expected. The guards were more than they anticipated, and a full-frontal assault would be suicide.

Jamie leaned against the table, rubbing his fingers over his chin, thinking.

Bauer watched him. "I know that look. What's your angle?"

Jamie turned to him. "I need a phone."

Bauer's brow furrowed. "Why?"

Jamie smirked slightly, holding out his hand. "Because I'm going to call an old friend."

Bauer narrowed his eyes, but wordlessly handed him a burner phone.

Jamie quickly dialed a number from memory.

Bauer crossed his arms. "Who the hell are you calling?"

Jamie held up a finger, waiting.

A click. Then a voice.

"Yes."

Jamie's smirk widened. "You still in Venezuela?"

A chuckle. "I was wondering when you'd call, Knight, still running business."

Jamie leaned against the wall. "I need a favor."

The voice on the other end hummed thoughtfully.

"Let me guess," the man said. "You want my cartel to attack Hernandez."

Bauer shot Jamie a sharp look, but Jamie ignored him.

"Would that be possible?" Jamie asked.

The man exhaled. "Possible? Yes. But I need confirmation he's actually there."

Jamie nodded. "You'll have it soon."

The man laughed. "Then consider it done."

Jamie smirked. "Appreciate it."

As he hung up, Bauer ran a hand down his face.

"You really just made a deal with a rival cartel?"

Jamie shrugged. "Why waste resources when I can get them to do half the work for us? You two work for the same guy anyway."

Bauer exhaled sharply. "This is either going to be brilliant or get us all killed."

Jamie smirked, crossing his arms. "Guess we'll find out soon."

Bauer shook his head but turned away, already pulling out his own phone. "I'll start relaying intel. We need the timing to be perfect."

Jamie just leaned against the wall, rolling his shoulders.

They had a plan.

Now, they just had to execute it.

And hope to God Ryan held out long enough.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

OR

The operating room was clean but underwhelming.

Jamie frowned slightly as he took in the equipment. The room itself looked modern—sleek walls, polished floors, and new overhead lights—but the surgical tools were outdated, and the anesthesia machine looked like it belonged in a third-world clinic.

For a facility this well-funded, the OR was surprisingly lacking.

Jamie muttered under his breath, "State-of-the-art building, and this is what they give me to work with?"

There were no scrub nurses, no assistants—just Ortega standing to the side, his injured right hand resting against his chest.

Jamie exhaled through his nose. Fine.

If they were testing him, he'd make sure they had nothing to complain about.

He turned toward the patient—a man in his forties, unconscious, prepped for surgery. The anesthesia setup was basic but functional. He double-checked the vitals. Stable. Good enough.

Ortega, standing just outside the sterile field, watched him like a hawk. "Ready when you are, Dr. Sterling."

Jamie didn't answer right away. Instead, he adjusted his gloves and stepped up to the table, taking control.

"We're starting with a midline incision, extending from the xiphoid process down to the pubic symphysis."

He reached for the scalpel. No tremors. No hesitation. He made the first incision—a clean, precise cut down the midline of the abdomen. Blood welled instantly, but he was already dabbing the area with gauze, controlling the field before he continued.

"Incision through the linea alba," Jamie narrated out loud, more to himself than Ortega. "Carefully dissecting the rectus sheath."

The tissue separated smoothly under his hands. Muscle retracted. Minimal bleeding.

Ortega crossed his arms. "Not bad."

Jamie didn't acknowledge the comment.

"Next, mobilizing the colon to expose the retroperitoneum," he continued, using a retractor to lift the bowel aside, exposing the kidney. "The key here is to avoid damaging the peritoneum—one wrong move, and we risk contamination."

Ortega nodded slightly, his sharp eyes tracking every movement Jamie made.

Jamie's hands remained steady as he carefully dissected the renal fascia, exposing the kidney. The organ sat deep within the cavity, its blood supply still intact.

"Now comes the tricky part," Jamie murmured. "Ligation of the renal artery and vein."

He reached for the clamps. Arterial bleeds were the real danger here. The renal artery was a high-pressure vessel—if he cut too soon, the patient would bleed out before he could even place a clamp.

Jamie positioned the first clamp precisely, securing the renal artery before moving onto the vein.

"Double ligation, proximal and distal. Tie off the vessel. Cut between the clamps. No retraction, no back-bleeding."

The vein was trickier—venous bleeding wasn't as dramatic, but it could turn catastrophic if handled incorrectly. Jamie took an extra second to ensure there was no tension before severing the connection.

"And that's the kidney free."

He carefully lifted the organ out of the cavity, placing it into a sterile basin.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Ortega let out a slow breath, his voice neutral but tinged with approval. "Efficient."

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "You were expecting a hack job?"

Ortega smirked but didn't answer. Instead, he turned slightly, studying Jamie. "You know, for a guy who supposedly does this for rich clients, you have damn good technique. That wasn't just competent—that was surgical precision."

Jamie began suturing, his hands still steady as ever. "I like my patients alive. Bad for business if they die on the table."

Ortega let out a quiet chuckle. "Fair enough."

The rest of the procedure was textbook—meticulous suturing, layered closure, and minimal trauma to the surrounding tissue.

As Jamie finished the final stitch, he glanced at Ortega. "Satisfied?"

Ortega didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, looking at the incision site with a critical eye. No excessive bleeding. No sloppy work.

Finally, he nodded. "Better than I expected. Better than most."

Jamie simply removed his gloves and tossed them into the biohazard bin. "Told you."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The door shut behind Ortega as he stepped into Hernandez office.

Hernandez leaned back in his chair, sipping from a glass of dark liquor, watching Ortega with a measured expression. "Well?"

Ortega exhaled, rolling his injured wrist absentmindedly. "I don't know where the hell you found this guy, but he's one of the best surgeons I've ever seen."

Hernandez raised an eyebrow. "Better than you?"

Ortega scoffed. "Better than me. And better than Ryan."

Hernandez set his glass down. "That good?"

Ortega nodded. "No wasted movement. Perfect technique. No hesitation. Incredibly fast. He's not just skilled—he's trained." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "The only thing I don't get is why I've never heard of him before."

Hernandez smirked slightly. "Because it's probably not his real name."

Ortega huffed. "That much is obvious. But if he's this good, why the hell is he hiding in the black market? A guy with hands like that should be running a hospital, not cutting up people for cash."

Hernandez leaned forward, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Some people don't do this for the money."

Ortega studied him. "You think he's a rat?"

Hernandez shook his head. "No. A rat wouldn't be that good. He would've slipped up somewhere. Ortega, that man is a surgeon through and through. You saw him work—does he look like an informant to you?"

Ortega hesitated before finally sighing. "No. He's the real deal."

Hernandez nodded, satisfied. "Then we use him."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the clock ticking away on the wall.

Hours had passed.

He and Bauer had been confined to their room since the morning, waiting, keeping up the facade. Jamie played the part of an eccentric surgeon with money to burn, while Bauer maintained his role as the ever-watchful bodyguard.

But beneath the surface, tension coiled tight.

It was afternoon now, and still nothing.

Jamie exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders. "This guy better come through."

Bauer, who had been casually cleaning his sidearm at the desk, glanced up. "He will."

Jamie tapped his fingers against his knee. Every second they waited was another second Ryan could be bleeding out somewhere in this hellhole.

Just as he was about to say something else—

A distant explosion rocked the air.

The entire building shook, the windows rattling, the faint hum of alarms blaring through the facility. Gunfire erupted in the distance.

Jamie's pulse quickened.

Bauer smirked, tucking his pistol back into his holster. "Showtime."

Jamie grabbed his gear. "Let's move."

The hallways were in chaos.

Guards were already scrambling, some rushing toward the front entrance where the cartel's rivals had launched their attack, others staying behind to protect Hernandez and his "assets."

Bauer moved first, slipping his suppressed pistol from his belt. Jamie followed, keeping close, staying out of sight as they navigated toward Hernandez office.

The closer they got, the louder the shouting became.

Then—

Another explosion. Closer this time. The lights flickered.

Jamie saw two guards sprinting past, their rifles raised, focused on whatever was happening outside. They didn't even see Bauer before he put two rounds into their backs.

They dropped.

Jamie barely spared them a glance. "You're enjoying this."

Bauer grinned. "A little."

They reached Hernandez office seconds later.

Inside, the cartel boss was screaming into his phone, barking orders in rapid Spanish. His face was twisted with rage. His injured surgeon, Ortega, stood at the far end of the room, looking tense but silent.

The second Bauer stepped through the door, he shot the two bodyguards flanking Hernandez.

Silencers were a beautiful thing.

Hernandez froze. Ortega paled.

Jamie shut the door behind them, stepping over the bodies.

Bauer pointed his gun at Hernandez. "Get up."

The cartel boss hesitated, his eyes darting between them and the pistol. "You—"

Bauer shot him in the knee.

Hernandez screamed, collapsing against his desk, clutching his leg. Blood pooled beneath him.

Ortega took a step back, wisely staying out of the way.

Bauer crouched, grabbing Hernandez by his collar, yanking him up just enough so their faces were inches apart. "I'm going to ask you this once," Bauer growled. "Where is Dr. Ryan?"

Hernandez spat blood, glaring.

Bauer didn't even blink. He simply pressed his gun under the man's chin. "Wrong answer."

Hernandez gasped. "You… you don't understand what you're doing."

Bauer smirked. "I understand perfectly."

Another explosion shook the building.

Hernandez flinched. Outside, gunfire rattled through the air, shouts of dying men echoing from the perimeter.

Jamie stepped closer, his voice cold. "Ryan. Now."

Hernandez panted, pain etched into his face. He finally hissed, "Basement. End of the hall. Guarded."

Bauer grinned. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Then he pistol-whipped him hard across the face, knocking him out cold. After that he put a bullet between Ortega's eyes.

Jamie raised a brow. "Was that necessary?"

Bauer slung his pistol back into his holster. "Probably not. But he deserved it."

They moved quickly, Hernandez unconscious body slung between them, dragging him as a human shield down the hallways.

The deeper they went, the more intense the fighting became outside. Through the windows, Jamie could see cartel members scrambling, exchanging fire with their rival gang, bodies littering the courtyard.

Perfect.

It meant no one was paying attention to them.

By the time they reached the basement entrance, four guards stood outside.

They spotted Bauer and Jamie immediately, weapons raised—

But they hesitated when they saw Hernandez bleeding, barely conscious.

That was all Bauer needed.

Four shots. Four bodies down.

Jamie exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Subtle."

Bauer smirked, tossing Hernandez limp body onto the floor like trash. "Wasn't the plan."

Jamie grabbed one of the guard's keycards and scanned it.

The metal door buzzed open.

Jamie took a deep breath. "Let's get him."

And they stepped inside.

The air was stale, heavy with the stench of antiseptic and old blood.

The room was dimly lit, a small surgical table in the center, rusted IV stands in the corner, and a single metal chair where Ryan sat, slumped but alive.

Jamie exhaled sharply at the sight of him. **Ryan looked rough—**his face bruised, a split lip, one eye swollen. His shirt was stained with dried blood, sleeves torn, revealing deep gashes on his arms. The kind of wounds meant to hurt, not kill.

But despite everything, Ryan cracked a bloody smirk the second he saw Jamie.

"Took you long enough," he rasped before coughing violently, doubling over slightly.

Jamie was already moving, kneeling beside him, checking his pulse. Weak but steady.

"Yeah, traffic was a nightmare," Jamie muttered, already assessing for anything life-threatening. His hands moved automatically—checking pupils, skin temperature, responsiveness. Ryan winced but didn't complain.

Bauer scanned the room before securing the entrance, dragging one of the dead guards inside to block the door.

Ryan let out a breath, slumping slightly against the chair. "Hate to break it to you, kid… but getting me outta here isn't gonna be simple."

Jamie raised a brow. "You don't say."

Ryan tapped his chest, right over his heart. "They put a bomb in me."

Jamie froze.

Bauer's head snapped toward them. "Excuse me?"

Ryan grinned, despite the clear pain. "I'm serious." He exhaled and ran a shaky hand over his face. "A microchip, GPS-activated. If I leave this facility for more than an hour—" He made a small explosion gesture with his fingers. "Boom. No more Ryan."

Jamie's stomach twisted.

Ryan laughed—actually laughed—shaking his head. "I know, right? These guys really love their dramatics. Sadistic bastards"

Bauer's expression darkened. He grabbed his radio. "Carter, we have a situation."

Static. Then—

"Go ahead."

Bauer exhaled sharply. "They implanted Knight's guy with a proximity-triggered explosive. If he leaves the building for more than an hour, he's dead."

Silence. Then a curse.

"Shit. Can you remove it?"

Jamie's jaw clenched as he glanced at Ryan's bloodied chest. "Depends."

Bauer tapped his radio again. "Plan's changed. We can't walk him out. What are our options?"

Another pause. Then Carter spoke.

"We still have the C-4."

Jamie and Bauer exchanged a look.

Ryan groaned. "Why do I feel like I'm not gonna like this plan?"

Carter continued. "We can blow the back wall. Slip you out while the cartels are still tearing each other apart. We just need a clear signal before we drop the charges."

Bauer glanced at Jamie. "How fast can you cut him open?"

Jamie exhaled, already rolling up his sleeves. "Give me ten minutes."

Bauer nodded, speaking into his radio. "Copy that. Stand by."

Another explosion rocked the distance. The cartel war was still raging in the front of the facility. Gunfire echoed through the night.

Jamie focused in. "Alright, Ryan. We're getting that thing out of you."

Ryan smirked. "Took you long enough to get your hands on me."

Jamie shook his head. "Shut up, old man."

Jamie grabbed a scalpel from the medical pack he grabbed on the way here, already sterilizing his hands with whatever limited supplies were available. There were no monitors, no anesthesia, no imaging—just his hands and his training.

Ryan watched him carefully, a bead of sweat running down his temple. "Tell me you're at least gonna buy me dinner first," he muttered.

Jamie smirked. "Nah, you're getting the premium military hospital experience—cold metal, bad lighting, and zero bedside manners."

Bauer, who was securing the room, let out a dry chuckle. "Sounds about right."

Jamie's tone turned serious. "Where exactly did they implant it?"

Ryan exhaled. "Subcutaneous. Between my third and fourth intercostal space—probably nestled between my pec and pericardium. They wanted to keep it close to the heart."

Jamie grimaced. That was bad. If it was embedded too deep, cutting it out could rupture a major vessel.

He pressed two fingers to Ryan's chest, feeling for landmarks. No imaging. No guide. Just precision and instinct.

"You still remember how to do blind extractions, Jamie?" Ryan murmured, his voice dropping slightly.

Jamie didn't look up. "You were the one who taught me."

Ryan smirked. "Glad to know you paid attention."

Jamie inhaled sharply, setting the scalpel to Ryan's skin. "Alright, hold still."

Ryan tensed as Jamie made the first incision—a clean, precise cut along his pectoral muscle. Blood welled up instantly, but Jamie was quick to control it with gauze.

Ryan gritted his teeth. "Yeah, no anesthesia. Love this plan."

Jamie ignored him, carefully parting the muscle fibers. His fingers found something solid, something unnatural.

There.

A small, metallic cylinder about the size of a pill, embedded just under the tissue.

Jamie exhaled. "Got it."

Bauer leaned in. "How do we know it won't detonate the second you take it out?"

Jamie didn't pause. "If it was pressure-sensitive, they would've planted it deeper. This is GPS-based. The detonation is remote, not contact-triggered."

Ryan grinned weakly. "Oh, good. That means I only explode if they press the button."

Jamie grabbed a pair of forceps, carefully maneuvering the implant free.

"Ryan," he murmured, "I need you to stay completely still. If this thing is wired to your pericardium, even the smallest tear could put you into cardiac arrest."

Ryan stilled.

Jamie angled the forceps, gripping the implant firmly before pulling it free in one smooth motion.

Ryan let out a sharp exhale, blinking rapidly. "You get it?"

Jamie held up the device, bloodied but intact.

Bauer exhaled. "Well, that's one problem solved."

Jamie quickly sutured the incision, working with calm, practiced efficiency. Ryan's pulse was still weak but holding steady.

"Try not to get yourself killed before we get out of here," Jamie muttered as he tied the final suture.

Ryan smirked, his voice rasping, "No promises."

Bauer pressed his radio. "Carter, the package is secure. We're ready to move."

Static. Then—

"Copy that. Stand clear. Charges are hot. Detonation in five."

Jamie grabbed Ryan, hoisting him to his feet just as—

BOOM.

The entire back wall of the hospital exploded outward, sending debris flying. Dust and smoke filled the air, but through the chaos, Jamie saw them—

The Delta team.

Guns raised, eyes locked on their position.

Bauer hauled Hernandez forward, dragging him as a human shield. "MOVE!"

Jamie wrapped Ryan's arm over his shoulder, pulling him toward the breach. Ryan was stumbling, barely keeping up, but Jamie didn't let go.

Gunfire erupted outside—the cartel factions were still fighting. Bullets zipped past them, embedding into the walls, ricocheting off metal.

"GO, GO, GO!" Carter barked, covering them as they sprinted toward the waiting extraction vehicle.

They piled in, slamming the armored doors shut just as another explosion rocked the compound.

Bauer shoved Hernandez into the seat across from them. "You're gonna tell us everything," he growled, pressing a gun to his forehead.

Jamie barely registered it. He was already checking Ryan's vitals, pressing his fingers to his pulse.

Ryan exhaled weakly, smiling through bloody teeth. "Told you I'd still be in one piece."

Jamie rolled his eyes. "You're a goddamn pain in my ass, you know that?"

Ryan chuckled. "Yeah… but I'm your pain in the ass."

Jamie huffed a quiet laugh.

The vehicle tore through the streets, heading toward the safe house.

They were alive.

But Jamie knew—this wasn't over yet.