Sierra pulls up in Vice-Admiral Victor Banks' driveway, dialing a number from memory as Alpha and the other two men slip into the back to suit up.

"Turner."

"We're at Banks' house, about to clean up." He motions sharply with two fingers and the other men move stealthily around the back of the house. "I'll keep you updated."

"Fine." The phone clicks. Drawing his own pistol with its long fitted silencer he glances around, checking for bystanders before he gets out of the van. The street is empty. When he reaches the back door one of the men has already put his hand though the broken windowpane and opened the kitchen door quietly. They spread out, their backs pressed against the walls as they steal down the corridor. At the first door Alpha breaks in.

"He's in here."

His voice is muffled and low. They secure the rest of the house carefully before they return to the first bedroom where Alpha is waiting. Inside, Victor Banks is lying on his side on the bed, the right side of his face completely covered in blood. His hands and feet are tied tightly. Studying him expressionlessly Sierra approaches, but when he reaches out his hand to the pulse point in the man's neck, Banks opens one gray blood-encrusted eye and peers up at him warily. Even the normally calm Alpha almost steps back before he composes himself. Clearing his throat arduously Banks speaks, his voice gravelly.

"You took your time."

"Vice-Admiral Banks." Sierra nods before he turns to Alpha and speaks to him in a low voice. Then he takes the phone from his pocket and steps into the hallway, hitting the redial button. When the man on the other side answers he speaks curtly.

"Banks is still alive…. No. Just blunt force trauma to the head… Done."

He steps up to the tall man in black at the doorway. "Tango. Sweep the study." Then he returns to the bedroom where Banks is lying. The Vice-Admiral is frowning, repeating his request that Alpha untie him in a perturbed tone of voice, when Sierra draws his pistol and shoots him in the head.

------ About two hours later the men are on their way to Great Falls. Alpha is driving and Sierra takes the moment to slip the small flat device out of the pouch at his waist and switch it on. He studies the movement on the screen without expression before he hits redial on his mobile phone.

"Turner."

"She's off-course on 89 just past Belt, going south."

"Hmm." The General ponders for a moment. Interesting. Banks gave her something other than what they had anticipated him to. "Stay on course to Helena. She'll be there soon - you be there first."

"Isn't there one of your guys in Neihart or White Sulphur?"

"Anthony Chavez." Colonel Turner has never liked him much. "It's not important. By the time you get there she's on her way to Helena and then you're behind. Move your ass, Mahoney."

"Fine."

"And Mahoney, don't keep flipping that fucking thing on and off. If she's driving it could cause a problem, and I don't want her to go anywhere just yet. Understood?"

"Understood." Sierra kills the call. In silent disapproval of Turner's attitude he leaves the signal on for a little longer than necessary, and when he finally flicks the level off he is smiling. Or at least, he is on the inside.

The drive takes them over three hours - Alpha is a meticulous driver and does not rush, considering that they are already ahead of the prey. In Helena they fuel up and hang around, frustrated by the lack of activity and their inability to relax. When the sun begins to set they book into a grubby motel on the outskirts of the city. Tango, easily bored, suggests that they go to the bar for a game of pool. It is still early and they make their way to the dark dusky room, perching on the uncomfortable red vinyl seats as Tango checks out cues and racks the balls. The barman eyes them sullenly. He imagined it to be his lucky day, four big men who look like they can each put away a barrel of beer coming in, and then they order soft drinks. Soft drinks. For god's sake. He spits on the floor and wonders if they're gay.

While Alpha breaks forcefully and Tango looks on with interest, Sierra keeps an eye on the device that he has since placed on the counter. In the course of two hours he switches it on seven times, his eyes focused, and just before half past ten he stands up and beckons the other three men. He does not speak within hearing distance of the barman who is glaring at them for reasons beyond his comprehension or interest, but starts walking towards their rooms, knowing they will all be beside him without prompting.

"We're leaving for White Sulphur Springs."

"All right." It's Alpha, the tractable one. "Didn't Turner tell us to stay in Helena?"

"Yes. The target hasn't moved for six hours, maybe more. Either there's a problem, in which case we need to be there now, or she's staying the night, in which case I want to be tight on her tail when she leaves. I'm not sure Turner has as much of a handle on this situation as he thinks he does."

"If she's coming to Helena eventually why don't we just wait for her here?" When Bravo speaks it always takes them by surprise.

"Because I don't lay bets on eventually. She's not stupid. Something's happening and we're not in on it. Yet." Sierra shoots Bravo a sarcastic glance. "What's the problem? Missing your beauty sleep?"

"No."

"Good, because you're driving. Alpha goes like an old lady. Let's pack it up and get on the road."

------ It is dark when Ryan wakes up abruptly and inexplicably. Something has caught her attention, and she is not sure what - and that is her least favorite scenario. She lies perfectly still and listens, alert to the sounds around her, from the irritating muffled dripping in the bathroom to the slight hitch in Claire's breath as she shifts in her sleep. There is something just beyond her awareness, niggling at her.

Carefully she rolls over, annoyed to find remnants of her headache still hanging around, and slips from under the blanket, putting her feet softly on the carpet. Keeping still she closes her eyes and holds her breath for a few seconds, and then exhales slowly. The threat is not immediate, but she is not about to take any chances. She rises, stretching her spine gracefully in the process, before she edges around the bed, placing her feet carefully and precisely. At the foot of it she stands still, turning her head towards the bathroom door. Nothing. She turns her head to her right, towards where she knows the window and the chair are. Moving to the window she slides a finger between the curtains and peers out. It is a dark night, pitch black with no moon, and she can barely make out anything in the alley below. No movement there. When she turns back she stops in front of the chair and frowns. Reaching out, she rifles through the clothing by touch alone, singling out her cargo pants and sliding her fingers into the pockets. She scowls as she pulls out the sticky DEX chip, hot to the touch, and lifts it up to her left ear. It is not her imagination at all - the electronic device appears to be humming at a low frequency.

And then it stops.

------
Claire is in the middle of a dream when a hand touches her shoulder.

"Claire…"

"No!" She sits bolt upright, her breath catching in her throat, and finds Ryan crouched at the side of the bed, her eyes alert.

"Shh. I'm sorry. You wouldn't wake up." The soldier rises, and Claire notes that she's fully clothed. "You have to get dressed."

"What?" Involuntarily she yawns and wipes her eyes. "What's the time?"

"About a quarter to one." Ryan tosses her clothes onto the bed. "Now, Claire."

Still slightly drowsy the doctor gets out of bed before realizing that she is completely naked. Flushing hotly she shoots a quick glance towards the soldier, but Ryan is shoving things into the black bag, her back towards the blonde. Hastily Claire begins to dress.

"What's happening, Ryan?"

The soldier surveys the floor for any forgotten articles before she answers. "The thing… DEX… I think it's been sending out signals throughout the night. We're being tracked. We need to get out of here."

Sitting down Claire slips her feet into the trainers and ties the laces. "If you think they've been tracking you all this time, then what's the difference now?"

"It's the middle of the night and it's gone off twice in an hour. Something feels wrong."

"Where is it now? DEX, I mean."

Ryan pats her pocket.

"Why don't you just dispose of it?"

"I want them to think I still have it." Ryan is impatient. "We have to go."

She opens the hotel door and steps up to the glass window across the hall, glancing down almost cursorily at the parking lot before her posture stiffens. Turning around she motions Claire, who has just come out of the room, back inside. The blonde frowns as she stops in the middle of the room.

"What… ?"

Pressing the bag into her hands Ryan opens the curtains at the window and glances outside before she finds the latch and slides open the window with difficulty, her hands burning with the strain. Striding to the door she closes and locks it before she steps up to Claire and sticks her hand into the bag, pulling out the pistol.

"Fire escape." Her other hand propels the blonde forward. Claire is beginning to feel a slight sensation of dread rising in her throat. Grasping the bag tightly she climbs out of the window onto the metal grid and looks down. It is so dark outside that she has trouble seeing the steps that lead to the level below. Behind her the metal rings out as Ryan swivels her legs out and puts her feet down.

"Get to the ground floor, Claire."

Numbly the doctor begins to climb the stairs down, placing her feet carefully on the narrow metal rungs. She is already on the first floor when she realizes that Ryan is not behind her. Glancing upwards she tries to make out the soldier's form on the platform above her.

"Don't stop moving. Go!"

The command is hissed, and as she is about to comply all hell breaks loose. A gunshot sounds from above, and is echoed by another. The crash of breaking glass rings out, and after that the uncanny stillness of the night hangs in the air eerie and thick.

Continued...