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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Prison was the one place you could not run from your thoughts. You were stuck with four walls, a monotonous routine, and little to no access to the outside world. For the globetrotting thief, the hardest part hadn’t been adjusting to being in prison , it was coping with the knowledge that his entire family was gone and it was his fault. 

He’d had time to grieve in recovery, his entire sense of self collapsing inward when they reported that no one had been recovered from the house. He had expected to be the one to die or be captured, but to learn that his baby girl had perished in the freak fire…he had shed most of his weight in the first year of imprisonment, hardly able to stir from his bed for anything that wasn’t physical therapy, and his grief had been such that even the guards had tried to cheer him up. 

“I am sorry,” the Interpol agent was young, determined, and ruthless, but she wasn’t too cruel. He’d appreciated that she had apologized for shooting him, and he couldn’t help but hold her a little bit responsible for Isabella’s death. 

“You got a new suit,” he observed the woman carefully. Their once-a-year meetings gave him a brief snapshot of the outside world and of her career progression. “New job?” Five years since his capture and the worst period of his life, he could hardly stand the sight of her. 

“The warden tells me that you’re not eating.”  She said. 

“I am not particularly hungry,” he answered, and he wasn’t.

“You’ve refused to see a doctor.” 

“I am not crazy,” Dexter told the young woman, “I am grieving.” 

“I know,” she tilted her head to the side. “What would cheer you up?” 

“You want to cheer me up?” He tried not to laugh, hours and hours of relentless interrogation after his recovery, all pushed by the woman in front of him, compounded with the fact that she hadn’t rescued Isabella only made him dislike her intently. The fact that her trigger discipline was severely lacking was a side note. “I hope your agency has given you proper gun training, Agent Twitch.” Her jaw clenched. 

“I am being serious.”  She was being serious, and Dexter considered her. 

“Matryoshka,” he said, “with a primary red design.” 

“Nesting dolls?” 

“You asked,” he paused, “and I want to see a priest.” 

“A priest,” she asked, and he shrugged. “You’re Catholic?” 

“Yes.” He knew it would go down in the scant file she kept on him, but it didn’t matter.  Priests were bound to secrecy, and many doctors weren’t. Annoyance filtered into her eyes, and Dexter smiled for the first time in months. 

“I’ll see what can be arranged.” 

“Much obliged.” 

Sometimes he wondered what the Faculty was up to, if they had discovered what he had been up to or if they would have sent one of the operatives to kill him only to find the charred remains of his home and dreams, crawling with investigators and crime scene analysts. Who would replace him? 

Lady Dokuso? She was good, but poisons had their own realm, and she wasn’t what he’d called a Big Picture thief. VILE faculty took focus, dedication, and skill. It also required foresight and a sense of business, and a thumb on the pulse of world events and technology.  

It could be Roundabout, but he was a younger agent, and maybe….hmm. Cookie Booker could do it, but she was focused a little too much on accounting. 

They wouldn't be stupid enough to recruit a first-year operative to VILE Faculty. 

The priest came within a week, and he received the nesting dolls as a Christmas present.  The first one in five long years, and the last for the next nineteen. 

When he really wanted to torment himself, he would try and catalog the different ways he could have acted. What he could have done differently to evade capture, to save his daughter…what he should have done. He wished the nanny had taken her home, that someone had swooped in at the last moment to save his daughter

 It wasn’t until he had grayed significantly and the lines on his face had become more pronounced, did Chief’s once-a-year visits turn into something else.  

He glanced up at the woman as she entered, face grim with satisfaction. 

“Chief Twitch,” he said, “what brings you by?”

“There’s been an awful lot of noise from your sector, Mr. Wolfe.” 

“My sector?” He asked, curious. “I haven’t done anything noteworthy since the Christmas carols.”

“No?” She set a thing people called a tablet on the table, and in the sketch of a twenty-years-aged Coach Brunt sneered out at him. She looked the same, a little older, and just as dangerous. She’d nearly broken his spine once, and if she weren’t so good at what she did, he wouldn’t have elected her to VILE faculty. 

What the fuck was she doing on an Interpol agent's tablet? They had protocol! They had rules and regulations, and the fact that Faculty had been seen and documented was… huge .  “This woman assaulted an agent of mine, and she’s currently at large. And him too,” she swiped up, and it took Dexter a moment to recognize Shadowsan . Also twenty years older, and more grim than ever, but it was Dexter’s best student.  The young man had been reserved, calm, clearly well-disciplined by the Yakuza, and eager to learn. Easier to teach because he listened , and he knew how to use that stolen blade. 

What were they doing together? He had to take a moment to breathe through the insane urge to leap across the iron table and grave the keys from the woman. He wanted an escape, he needed an escape. 

“This man was also spotted at the scene, and they have not been seen since. However, they are presumed to be working with one Carmen Sandiego . 

Who, Dexter thought, was Carmen Sandiego? 

“What do you want, Chief?” He leaned back, “you have agents, catch them.” 

“These thieves…this VILE.” only decades of practice kept Dexter from jolting in shock. Was law enforcement closing in on them? “Is responsible for major crimes across the glove and we know you were affiliated with them.” 

“And?” If law enforcement was closing in on VILE, then something must have gone wrong. Something might have happened, and if he started giving VILE secrets away now…they might track him down. He would lose what was left of his life. 

“You have already spent twenty years in prison, Dexter Wolfe. You could walk out of here a free man if you give us some direction and assistance.” 

“Into what,” he laughed painfully, “a world I don’t recognize and into the arms of my killers?”

“The end is coming for VILE,” Chief growled, “and if you help us then.” 

Dexter laughed, bitter and cold. “VILE will outlast you, Chief. “ 

She straightened, eyes narrowing. “You really think that.” 

“I know that,” he licked his lips, shaking his head. 

“You’re afraid that VILE will find you,” she tilted her head to the side and remained silent. “Very well.” She left, and Dexter wondered what the hell was going on outside the walls of his prison. 

Chapter Text

“If my father is alive,” she said to Shadowsan, pacing a hole in the carpet in front of him. “Then my mother could still be alive…and I could.” She paused and made a fierce gesture at one of the windows. “But that’s if Player was right.”

“I was!” Player crowed, appearing on the computer. She dropped onto the seat next to Shadowsan, and the bleary-eyed Canadian beamed. “I was right!  “Dexter Wolfe, he’s been moved around from prison to prison. I guess pretty regularly, he’s pinged around North America and even in Europe. Because he’s an Interpol prisoner, they’ve moved him around a lot.” 

“Do you know where he is now?” Carmen interrupted, and Player nodded. 

“Yes, he’s in the British Columbia Correctional Facility, a maximum-security prison in Vancouver, and he’s scheduled to be moved in two weeks, his name isn’t under Dexter Wolfe though, it’s under as Juan Valdez, which…I guess is the name he gave Interpol.” 

“Okay, are you sure he’s the right man?” 

“I cross-referenced all of the data…well…my computer did. I did some facial recognition, aging up, and I was checking dates on surgeries and recoveries, not to mention…he gets a visitor once a year no matter where he is….one Tamara Fraser.” 

“Chief,” Shadows said plainly, “must still be attempting to get information from him.” 

“Where are they moving him to?” 

“It looks like….oh…wow, ACME is getting its own facility. They’re moving him there. It’s in Norway.

“An ACME facility.” Shadowsan considered them, “If VILE is unaware of his existence, then breaking him out would only alert them.” 

“Do you think we could make him disappear?” Player asked, “I mean, I can scrub his records, but we’d need the physical copies too, but if we can make him disappear quietly, then I don’t see why we can’t grab him. I mean.”

“Wolfe will naturally suspect any jailbreak,” Shadowsan said. “He knows VILE will have him killed, and he may have no reason to trust anyone who breaks him out.” 

“How do we convince him to let us take him?” Carmen stood, beginning to pace. 

“It is,” Shadowsan paused, “you will not be able to convince him. I will speak with him.” 

“What?” Carmen whirled on him, “ why ?” 

“You are young, and if he suspects that VILE intends to break him out, then he will anticipate any form of a lie, including the lie that his daughter has come to rescue him.” 

“What?”

Shadowsan stared down the pair of incredulous children. “Carmen, when he was shot, the house was already ablaze. When he recovered, doubtless he would have asked, even tangentially about you.” 

She stared at her mentor and adopted father for a long moment. “He thinks I’m dead.” 

“Yes.” 

Carmen sat down heavily, letting out a breathy, miserable sigh. “My father thinks I’m dead.”  The pair remained quiet for a moment, and she shook her head wryly, “There’s a lot of that going around.” 

“We can get him out mid-transport,” Zack suggested, and the two master thieves lookup. “All we need to do is get the truck.” Carmen was too consumed in her worry to see the considering glance Shadowsan aimed at the getaway driver. Player noted it and resolved to ask about it later.  “If I get in the truck, we can drive it pretty much anywhere. It shouldn’t be too hard. We just need uniforms.” 

“That could work,” Carmen paused, “we’d need to get close and we’d need.” 

“It would not be wise for you to be directly involved in this caper.” The ninja said, and silence resounded between them. 

“Dexter Wolfe is my father,” Carmen growled at her mentor, fists clenched and eyes narrowed. 

“You have every right to him,” Sahdowsan conceded. “However, I fear.” 

“My emotions may cloud my judgment?” 

“Such emotions resulted in his capture and imprisonment. It would be best for you to be far away, acting as a red herring.” 

“Shadowsans right,” Ivy added, “come on. That’s what got us in trouble in Dubai, and they can't pin the break-out on you if you’re halfway across the country.” 

“He’s my father!” 

“And ACME will suspect that he will join your forces if you are spotted near the crime scene,” Shadowsan stressed. “To grant him further cover and protection, the job must look.” 

“As if VILE did it.” Kicking one of the armchairs, she sat down heavily. “But….he’s my father!” 

“And we will steal him,” the ninja assured her, a warm hand on her shoulder. With a pitiful glance up, she nodded. “We will bring him home, Carmen, but it must be done correctly.” 

“I know,” burying her face in her hands, she took a moment to settle her thoughts. “Player, is there anything I can hit?” 

“Plenty,” he said, “but we’ll need to get the timing right so there aren’t any crossed wires. I’ll have to start pulling up information on the transfer before I can do much else. Not to mention ACME uniforms….Shadowsan, did you keep any of those funny gas guns that they use?” 

“Two.” Picking pockets was second nature, and he didn’t mind relieving ACME of their nearly useless weapons. 

“We’ll need those for the disguise since we can’t make any of those cards,” the hacker exchanged a look with Shadowsan, who nodded. “We can brainstorm later…I’ll call you guys when I have more information.” He hung up, and they were quiet for a moment. 

“We’ll need to set up a room,” Ivy said, and Carmen looked over. “I mean, he’ll need some space, right?” 

“That’s a good idea!” Zach crowed, “Oh! I’ve got some ideas! I was shopping and I saw this great bedroom set.” When Shadowsan raised an eyebrow, the man shrugged. “What? It’s not like I was doing anything else. I was shopping for my things anyway.” 

“I’ll….we should get the basics,” Carmen agreed slowly. “What does he like? Does he…what do.” The ninja considered her questions. The knowledge granted to children raised by their parents were far beyond and away from her. She could probably name what Coach Brunt would enjoy, but certainly not her own father’s. She could make a cup of tea for herself but have no idea how her father might enjoy his coffee. Even Shadowsan didn’t know, his teacher had been private, capable and willing to lie about the slightest things for any number of reasons. Whatever the truth was with Dexter Wolfe, they would have to discover it together.  

#$#$# 

Something had changed, not simply inside the prison, but outside. Chief had changed, and instead of being escorted by his usual guards there were…three people in business suits, sunglasses, and carrying….not guns. 

It looked and felt very Men in Black , and Wolfe wondered what sort of weapons they were carrying. Not guns, unless guns had changed over the years.

“Where are you taking me?” He wondered as they moved down the halls. The only thing he was allowed to keep between his moves from prison to prison was his nesting dolls, which he currently cradled close. The woman to his left, a tall, thin figure in her severe uniform and platinum blond hair pulled back into a bun, shifted just enough to glare. “Certainly not Interpol. I have not met an Interpol agent who was not a burgeoning alcoholic.” 

“That is classified,” the woman snapped.  

“Of course, of course,” He nodded agreeably, squinting at the sun as they stepped out of the building. It was a lovely day, and he could smell freshly cut grass and water. “It will not matter when I get there, of course.”  

“Hush.” She ordered, bringing her file to bear on the agent standing near the back of a nondescript van. The mans red hair was probably the brightest thing in the prison, and Wolfe admired it, even as he noted a peculiar demeanor. 

Nervous. The man was nervous, and the pale eyes met Wolfe’s only to widen as he noticed the nesting dolls. 

“Nesting dolls!” He laughed, a painfully bland midwestern accent slathered over a Boston one, skulking around his vowels. “I’ve got a friend who’s just nuts for them!” 

Wolfe raised his eyes, and it wasn’t just the nesting dolls this guard was… scrutinizing him. 

Why? 

“They are nice,” he conceded, wondering what was wrong with this man. Guards, wardens, and law enforcement ceased to see a man once he put on a prison jumpsuit. He was relegated to a number, a crime, a less-than-human thing that needed water and food. They didn’t converse with him. 

“Enough,” the woman interrupted, gesturing at the van. “In.”

“We’ll talk later,” the driver promised and helped Wolfe into the van. He bent to secure the cuff to the floor, but when he stepped away, it was clear he had only bothered to rattle the chains around.  Wolfe…could get free. 

From the chains, but he was still locked in the van. The door shut, and he held the nesting dolls close as the man winked. In the relative darkness of the van, he wondered what the man meant. 

He didn’t seem like VILE. It had been a while since he’d seen a VILE operative, but they weren’t usually cheerful. The man had been…he had recognized him to some degree. Perhaps VILE, or perhaps related to one of the many young men Wolfe had mentored in his years in prison. 

He swayed as the Van moved forward, and absently kept track of what was happening as he pondered what remained of his future. Half-dozing, he noted the moment when the van rose steeply and slowly, taking some sort of ramp, and then stopping with the engine being shut off. The faint noise of chains could be heard, and eventually, the van moved again….no longer under its own power. 

Something was happening . 

The door opened slowly, and just past the figure at the entrance, he noticed the double doors of an 18-wheeler.

A caper…and he was the target. 

Shifting his attention, he blinked as the aged figure of Suhara climbed into the smaller van and sat opposite him. 

“Dexter Wolfe,” his former student said with a regal nod, “it has been a long time.” 

VILE, he had been captured by VILE. 

Chapter Text

 Suhara didn’t move or speak, his eyes focused on Dexter and then on the nesting dolls in his hands, and if Dexter was reading him correctly, he didn’t know how to speak or was reluctant to. 

“Twenty years is a long time to find someone, even a traitor.” He would have leaned back, but he didn’t have the space. 

“I am no longer affiliated with VILE,” Suhara said, and it was then that Dexter noticed the lack of a sword. The sword had been carefully protected and maintained by the young man, and it had been a status symbol. Suhara had been an accomplished criminal before VILE, and everyone could tell. 

“No longer affiliated with VILE?”  Was it possible someone else had tried to leave? Was it possible that someone had succeeded? He’d gotten a bullet in his chest for his efforts, he couldn’t imagine what it had cost the younger man. “Leaving is impossible.”

Something flashed over the stony face. “It is possible.” He hesitated. “You are presumed dead by VILE faculty. They are no longer your concern unless you wish to be theirs .”

“To be theirs?” 

Suhara blinked and nodded. 

“You have allied yourself with Interpol then?” He could think of no other explanation for how he could have been found after so long. 

“I would not go through the effort of arranging a prison break if I worked with Interpol.” Suhara tilted his head to the side. “The nesting dolls were for your daughter.” He said, and Dexter froze before glancing down at the doll in his hand. 

“My daughter?” Something strangled up his throat, and he sucked in a shallow breath. “My daughter.” Words died as Suhara produced a familiar set of dolls, the right side partially charred. 

“They were the last things you handed her before you left,” the words echoed oddly in his ears, which were filled with a high-pitched ringing.

“Suhara.”  

 “When you asked her to be quiet.” 

“You were there?” 

“I was dispatched to kill you,” the man admitted freely. 

“ Where is my daughter? Is she alive? ” Dexter clutched his doll closer, twenty years of grief clawing at the faintest hope now presented. 

“We are on our way to see her.”

“To see her? Where is she? She’s alive?” Heedless of his reputation, he slumped forward, eyes flooding with tears. “You saved her?” 

“I…took her from the house.” 

“And…burned it down.” 

“I thought you had been killed,” the man continued, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional display. “And scrubbed the site of traces of VILE.” 

“You took my daughter to the island! What did they do to her?” He surged upward, and the man remained sitting. “What happened to my daughter?” 

“She was raised to be the greatest thief in the world…and she escaped VILE two years ago and has begun a campaign to eradicate the entire organization.” 

A sentence, succinct and straightforward, and it prompted him to sit back down. Unsure what to focus on first. The fact that his daughter was alive? That VILE had raised her? That she had left ? 

“Taking down VILE…it is impossible!” 

“Because of her direct actions, VILE has not made a penny in the last year,” Suhara told him confidently…with pride. “Her actions have resulted in a floundering VILE, and law enforcement has begun to take notice.”   Dexter stared, and the only thing keeping him from discounting his daughter’s life…was the charred nesting doll. 

It was true, there was no other way for the man to have gotten it. 

“We will be arriving at the airport soon,” Suhara interrupted his churning thoughts. “If you do not believe me, there is a change of clothes and enough money to last you some time.” 

“And if I do?”

“Then there is a change of clothes, money, and a ride to our base of operations.”

“And my daughter?” 

“She will arrive a few hours after us…she is currently.” 

“On a caper.” He laughed wetly, painfully. “The very life I did not want for my daughter…” 

“She escaped, Wolfe,” Suhara said with vehemence he hasn’t expected. “She escaped and has forged a path of honor and courage and you have every reason to be proud of her.” 

Nodding, still reeling from the shock and rollercoaster of emotions, he slumped in his seat and very carefully, Suhara placed the old doll in his hand. It was faded somewhat, clearly worn, and well-loved. 

His daughter….his daughter was alive . It wasn’t until his hands were wet did he notice he was crying. 

When the doors opened a while later, the red-headed was changed out of his uniform and into civilian clothes. 

“Well?” His Boston accent came out in full force. “Are you coming?”

“I am.” He had gotten out of the cuffs, and he was ready to be out of the jumpsuit. 

“Great! Come on, the plane is ready to take off!” He stood back, and Wolfe stepped out of the prison van and then jumped from the back of the 18-wheeler. It wasn’t until he was halfway across the tarmac did he realize that this was his first taste of freedom in 20 years.  

The plane was….nice. Much nicer than private jets had been 20 years ago. More chairs, fancy electronic devices, and what was clearly a snack bar. And hanging from a hook was a garment bag. 

“The room in the back should be big enough,” the redhead dropped onto the chair with a brilliant smile as Suhara went to speak with the pilot. “We pulled your sizes from the database, so they should fit.” 

“Thank you.” While he changed, admiring the aircraft and still unsure of everything that was happening, he felt more confident than he had in two decades as he saw himself in the mirror. Older now, with more white than brown his hair, grief lines etched deep into his face…but still handsome.  When he emerged, he took one of the spare seats across from the red-head. Suhara took a seat, and they sat in near-relative silence as the plane taxied down the runway and took off. It wasn’t until they were level did anyone say anything. 

“So,” the redhead spoke up, “we’ll be in San Diego pretty soon.” 

“San Diego?” 

“It’s where Carm got our headquarters.” 

“Carm?” Headquarters or not, VILE or Interpol, his interest was on his daughter. The ghost of an infant haunting his for decades, now a living breathing person. 

“Carmen,’ he said, and that was not the name he’d given his daughter. “She’s the boss of this operation Taking down VILE one caper at a time!” 

“Carmen.” The name tasted strange in his mouth. 

“Carmen SanDiego!” 

“Carmen Sandiego is my daughter?” He demanded, startling both men. 

“Yeah?” 

“You have heard of her?” Suhara tilted his head to the side as Dexter began to laugh.  

“I have!” He laughed, stunned and terrified all in one. “She was mentioned by the Chief, and the other….inmates have mentioned her!”  Struggling to regain some control, he continued to laugh. “Do not tell me that Coach Brunt has also defected.”

“The green-haired lady?” the driver scoffed, stuffing chips into his mouth. “Nah, only Shadowsan defected. Brunt has tried to kill us though.”

“Zack,” Suhara warned, but he nodded. “The incident ACME is aware of is the evening Carmen narrowly escaped re-capture.” 

“She’s nuts ,” Zack added, and opening the bar, handed Wolfe a cold ginger ale. “Good for planes…or so people say.” 

Carmen, his daughter’s name was Carmen. It wasn’t what he and his wife had chosen, but it was a good name. He had so many questions . Looking to Suhara, he asked. “Who chose Carmen?” 

The man blinked, “she did.” 

“She did?” He straightened. “Did you give my daughter a name?” 

Suhara hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “She went by Black Sheep, which was the name gifted by Coach Brunt until choosing Carmen Sandiego For herself.” 

“Black Sheep,” he settled against his chair, “what a cruel name.”  Suhara nodded once, turning his attention out the window. 

“Carm,” Zack said loyally, “is the greatest, and you’re going to love your room!” 

“My room?” He wondered at what his daughter was doing, and how she had managed to secure him a room. 

Several hours later, he was climbing out of a shiny red car he wanted to steal. It reminded him of the many sports cars he had stolen, and the urge to get behind the wheel and go for a spin was nearly overwhelming. “Carmen brand outerwear? Does she run the company?” 

“Ah, the company shut down a while back and sold the building. We kept the sign.” 

Dexter exchanged a look with Shadowsan, who gave a faint shrug. Indicating that this was a battle already fought and lost. 

“Hiding in plain sight,” the man told him, “and with flair.” 

“Flair?” Nodding, he stepped through the front door and found himself amazed. Warm, comfortable, and with personal touches all over. Along a shelf on the opposite wall were the rest of the nesting dolls. Gulping, Wolfe ignored everything until he was in front of the shelf and replacing the largest doll in its the rightful spot. 

They stood there in a need descending line, missing only the smallest doll…which his wife had carried with her. A promise she made each time she traveled, to return and complete the set each time.  He did not know where his wife was, or if she was still alive, but his daughter was…and for the first time in twenty years, the tightness in his chest loosened. 

“Your room is down the hall,” Zack said a bit awkwardly. “Uh…if you want to see it.” 

“When will Carmen return?” He turned, and Suhara checked his watch.

“Her flight is due to land in four hours.” 

“Four hours.” He could wait four hours. He had already waited her entire lifetime. 

Following Zack’s instructions, he ventured through a heavy oak door and into a brilliantly sunny room. Old-fashioned warehouse windows had been replaced with wide, glittering windows. The bed was…nice, a full-sized bed with a handsome duvet and a spread of pillows. A desk was set up against a wall, upon which two sealed boxes sat. A phone, modern, sleek, and gorgeous, as well as a computer. 

It was…luxurious. A beautifully comfortable room, a little bare, but someone had helpfully left a few furniture catalogs….as well as a book called “Beyond the Bars” and “The 21st Century: The Future is Here.” and “Adjusting After Prison.”   

“Twenty years is a long time,” Suhara said from the door.

“These are thoughtful,” Dexter picked up the first book. “They recommend this to many who are released. Who’s idea was it?” 

The man was hiding the answer, but he said. “It was a team effort.” 

He surveyed the room again, smiling. 

“Do you want a drink?’

“God, yes.” 

#$#$ 

“Does he like his room?” Carmen demanded, slipping under the fence and across the field unseen. Behind her, Countess Cleo’s mansion of stolen goods was being raided by an enthusiastic ACME and USPS. Why Cleo bothered with stealing checks and artifacts out of the mail and parcel delivery services, she would never guess. 

“Shadowsan said he liked the books,” Player said, “and don’t get caught. Ivy is waiting at the jeep.” 

“Alright.” She angled through the underbrush and scrambled down a hill. “But does he like it?” 

Player let out a breath, “yes, he seems to like it. Zack said they’re sharing a drink right now.” 

“A drink?” She kicked a rock aside. “Alcohol?” 

“Yeah, I guess. Twenty years is a long time to go without some beer.” 

“I didn’t even know he drank beer.”  She waved at Ivy, who started the engine and began to roll forward. “There’s so much that I don’t know about my own father.” 

“The same can be said for him about you,” Player pointed out, and Carmen slid into the passenger seat, and yanked off her hat and coat. In a few minutes, she was out of her thieving get-up and was dressed like every other girl in the midwest. 

“What a pretty drive,” Ivy waved at the passing cornfields and pulled over as three police cars came racing past them with their sirens screaming and lights wailing. “Oh, ACME.” A fourth vehicle, tinted and driving like a maniac. 

“That has to be Chase.” 

“It is. I’m picking up ACME chatter. Nothing about the break-out yet.” 

“Great,” she leaned back in her seat, jittery and nervous. It was only because she was on a job that she didn’t freak out half as much as she wanted to. “Great. Okay.” 

She drummed her fingers against her thigh, trying to count down the minutes to her arrival, and taking steadying breath after steadying breath. 

Chapter Text

“Does he like his room?” Carmen demanded, slipping under the fence and across the field unseen. Behind her, Countess Cleo’s mansion of stolen goods was being raided by an enthusiastic ACME and USPS. Why Cleo bothered with stealing checks and artifacts out of the mail and parcel delivery services, she would never guess. 

“Shadowsan said he liked the books,” Player said, “and don’t get caught. Ivy is waiting at the jeep.” 

“Alright.” She angled through the underbrush and scrambled down a hill. “But does he like it?” 

Player let out a breath, “yes, he seems to like it. Zack said they’re sharing a drink right now.” 

“A drink?” She kicked a rock aside. “Alcohol?” 

“Yeah, I guess. Twenty years is a long time to go without some beer.” 

“I didn’t even know he drank beer.”  She waved at Ivy, who started the engine and began to roll forward. “There’s so much that I don’t know about my own father.” 

“The same can be said for him about you,” Player pointed out, and Carmen slid into the passenger seat, and yanked off her hat and coat. In a few minutes, she was out of her thieving get-up and was dressed like every other girl in the midwest. 

“What a pretty drive,” Ivy waved at the passing cornfields and pulled over as three police cars came racing past them with their sirens screaming and lights wailing. “Oh, ACME.” A fourth vehicle, tinted and driving like a maniac. 

“That has to be Chase.” 

“It is. I’m picking up ACME chatter. Nothing about the break-out yet.” 

“Great,” she leaned back in her seat, jittery and nervous. It was only because she was on a job that she didn’t freak out half as much as she wanted to. “Great. Okay.” 

She drummed her fingers against her thigh, trying to count down the minutes to her arrival, and taking steadying breath after steadying breath. 

#$#$#$#$#

By the time Zack had left for the airport, Wolfe felt nearly comfortable in the warehouse. Poking around the kitchen he admired the mix of international foods stored there. Spices from around the world, a dozen of things he almost recognized from Argentina. Their labels had been changed over the last two decades, but he could identify the sweets he used to take home for his wife.  Framed pictures from skylines he no longer recognized, a video game device that looked nothing like the Play Station he’d seen in stores, and apparently Nintendo had moved on from the Game Cube…not that super thieves played video games, but they were a good market value object that could be reliably sold at a higher price. 

“Is this New York?” He asked, hearing the shadow of his former student approach. The skyline was at a nearly impossible angle, and he wondered who had taken it. It was a wonderful picture, and camera technology had improved, finally surpassing VILE’s capabilities at the time of his capture. 

“It is,” Suhara said. “Carmen took the picture.” 

“Did she take all of these?” 

“Most of them…she takes them to remember her travels.” 

“Her travels?”  He surveyed the rest of the pictures, amazed. Rio was easy to identify, the French Riviera, Sydney, and D.C. “Good….to see the world.” 

There were touches of Japan as well, from the drinks in the fridge to the slippers sitting by the door. Clearly, Suahra had made himself at home here too. 

“Who replaced me?” He asked suddenly. The man blinked a few times and turned away. 

“I did.” 

“You!” Wolfe was torn between laughing and horror. “You were a first-year operative!” 

“I was deemed sufficiently capable.” He straightened, eyes narrowing. “I served as the instructor of Stealth 101 for twenty years.” 

Twenty years? Twenty years was a long time, something he had done, but it had been Carmen’s arrival that had cautioned him against further work in VILE. How did one change after a lifetime of crime? The longer he considered it, the more he wondered which man he was considering. Himself or Suhara. 

Why had he left? 

“For Carmen,” Suhara answered the silent question. 

“Carmen.” She had inspired two instructors to defect, one had succeeded and the other hadn’t. “What was she like as a child?” 

“She was an unruly prankster,” he said with no small amount of pride. 

Surging jealousy swamped through his stomach, the ugly reminder that he hadn’t raised his daughter coming to the forefront. She had been raised by enemies and thieves…and he didn’t even know her. 

“I will need to speak to a priest.” He blurted, and the ninja paused. 

“A priest?” 

Father Rivera had guided him through the mourning of his daughter, and now he could mourn her in an entirely new way. Not that she hadn’t lived, but that he hadn’t been there. “Yes.” He looked away from the picture. “What was the Caper in New York?” 

“Preserving several Native American artifacts. VILE was intending the sell them to the highest bidder, and Carmen returned them to their homes.” 

“Artifacts is big business.” 

“We intercepted a shipment of artifacts stolen from the Baghdad museum several months ago.” Suhara frowned. “They were difficult to return to their original owners, but we have done our best.” 

Opening his mouth to comment further, Wolfe realized that his daughter was not normal. She had been well-trained, well-taught, and her vendetta against VILE was… strange . He would have to ask her about it. Knowing he could get his information from Suhara was one thing…he wanted to ask his daughter. 

“Has the faculty changed?” 

“No.” 

“Even Dr. Bellum is still serving?” 

“Should she not be?” 

“I assumed that she would have died in a laboratory explosion by this point,” He admitted. “It is how she did away with her predecessor.” 

“She…did.” 

“You do not become faculty by being nice,” Wolfe reminded him. “Inheritance through…murder is common, but it's not something they talk about.. They would like to avoid being murdered…but you were a first-year operative.” At Suhara’s horrified expression, he explained. “First-year operatives probably couldn’t have succeeded…other first-year operatives couldn’t have.” 

“You killed.”

“No, no, no.” For all of his crimes, he didn’t murder . He was too good of a thief, always had been. “Stealth 101…is usually handed down through thieves. Real thieves, masterminds, and such. Er…gentleman thieves. My predecessor was the legendary Nightfox. I broke into his Villa for his greatest score to usurp him.” 

“Ah.” Slightly mollified, the ninja turned away. “Did it not concern you…that your colleagues were being replaced by murderers?” 

Wolfe paused, he wished he could say that he cared. That he had such delicate concerns, but he had been VILE for so long…and he had been in prison for so long. Whatever faint-heartedness he’d clung to was long gone.  “I was not…attached to my colleagues, as you may be. They were…dangerous and powerful and with that, they decided to make VILE bigger and badder.” He’d had years to think it over. “Consider it trimming a tree about to hit a powerline. If VILE’s schemes were too noticeable or too VILE, then it would have alerted the world.”

“Would that have been such a bad thing?” 

“And without the world being capable of fighting back? It was considered necessary for new growth. Dr. Emery was…a far more dangerous man.” 

“Dr. Bellum attempted to engineer a rice famine in South East Asia to sell VILE produced imitation rice.” 

“A far more dangerous man, and more meticulous. He would have done something to keep anyone from helping. If a rice blight were to happen, the rest of the world would do something .” Prison had taught him that. He was allowed to read the papers.  “Emery would have…done something to prevent it. Blights around the globe, shattered supply chains…Bellum is better.” 

“Bellum deserves to die in prison,” the hard eyes focused again on Wolfe. “The lesser of two evil is still evil and vile . If you wish impress Carmen.” Wolfe jerked back. “Then remember her crusade is not of revenge, but justice. She is principled and careful, and you would do well to remember that.” 

“I will not be lectured on principles by you , Shadowsan.” Wolfe retorted. “I knew your criminal record long before you came to VILE, and how can you sit at the table and stand here and lecture me about what is.” 

“You were not the only member of VILE capable of change .”  

Whatever Wolfe was going to say next died in the startling realization that Suhara was just as guilty and unhappy about the last twenty years as he had been. Nothing particularly advertised the fact, but the gut feeling only tightened as he surveyed the man. 

“I should not have lost my temper,” Wolfe said. 

“I should apologize.” Suhara refused to look at him. Noticeably, neither man apologized. 

 It wasn’t until a car pulled into the garage was the silence broken. Heart in his throat, he stood to face the door as it opened and a tall figure in a red coat stepped through. She had long, thick waves of auburn hair, soft gray eyes that focused instantly on him and looked so much like Carlotta that there was no mistaking her identity. 

“ Mi hija .” 

Chapter Text

Her father was… unassuming . Standing in their living room with Shadowsan. Smaller than she’d thought, grayer than his pictures, with lines etched into his face. He wasn’t as old as Hideo, but he wasn’t younger anymore. 

But he looked like her. 

Or, she looked like him. 

“Mi hija ,” he breathed in awe and his face lit up. Her breathe came to a stuttering halt as he took a haltering step forward. 

“ Papa ,” the shivering croak dragged him forward, and Carmen was surrounded by the heat and smell of a ghost. Trembling arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her against the shoulder and pressing her face against the smooth jacket. Her arms came up, seizing his waist until she was sure she was cutting him in two. 

“ Mi hija ,” a hand settled against the back of her head. “You’re alive and you’re here, my little child. You’re here and.” 

Wolfe was solid in her arms, chest rising and falling rapidly but just as sturdy as ever. A warm masculine scent filled her mind and so familiar to her that she burst into tears. Carmen knew him. The smell was just as familiar to her as her own. 

It was her father and he was home. 

With tears choking her words, Carmen leaned back just enough to look him in the eye. “You…um…” she rubbed at an eye. “Do you like your room?” 

“It is wonderful,” his face was equally wet and his eyes were red. “Carmen, my…my Carmen. You are here! You are alive!” 

“I am,” she nodded frantically. “I am!” Laughter bubbled over the tears. “I am! You’re here and.” 

“You saved me!” He laughed, “how did you find me? How….what happened? How?” He rested a hand against his head. “I cannot believe it! You’re here and you’re…it’s amazing.” 

“I,” she didn’t want to let go, but she had to compose herself. “We were…ACME files. We found a few that looked suspicious and we just…um, tracked you down.” 

“You are so clever to have found out, Carmen.” he squeezed her shoulder.  “I….I, Please, Suhara has told me the basics, but I want to hear it from you. I want to know.” They fell onto the couch, and he still. 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Everything,” he swore, “I want to know everything.” 

#$#$# 

San Diego was not a beautiful city from this angle, there was smog, dirt, and disgusting odors that drifted from the industrial district. Still, they had done their best to make their roof comfortable, and it was on the little weather-proof couch that Shadowsan found Ivy, curled up into herself and with her arms wrapped around her knees. 

He frozen, but a faint sob made the decision for him. 

“Ivy.” He cleared his throat, and she jerked around. 

“Shadowsan?” She scrubbed at her eyes. What are you doing here?” 

“I imagine for the same reasons you are here,” he replied, noting the redness of her eyes and her running nose. Carefully, he passed her a handkerchief. “Perhaps to avoid the happy reunion.” 

“I…” she sucked her cheeks inward. “I should be happy! I shouldn’t be so jealous and angry! Carm is my friend! I’m supposed to be happy and I just wanna puke !” Ashamed or angry, or both, she turned away. “I hate it. I hate feeling this lousy and it’s not fair!” 

 They were battling similar feelings, and both felt cruel for doing so. He struggled not to loath Dexter Wolfe and settled beside the weepy mechanic. For several minutes there were only the sounds of a few sniffles and a hastily blown nose. 

“I should be happy for my friends, but all I can think about is how my own Dad was just shit, and now.” Ivy stopped, blowing her nose again. When she was calmer, Shadowsan sighed.

“Your sentiments are understandable, and you cannot be faulted for them.” 

“I’m not going to take it out on Carm,” Ivy muttered bitterly. “I’m not stupid.” 

“No, you are not.”  He considered his hands and tried not to think about the reunion taking place beneath them. “You are far wiser than most, Ivy.” 

“Thanks,” she sniffled again. “I…I wish it was my dad sometimes. That he’d come and find us…that he’d take on something to show he cared, but he just…he never did and Wolfe is here and all he wanted was for Carmen to be safe.”  

“Jealousy is natural, but emotions are signposts and mile-markers, not maps to follow.” 

Still curled up around one of the cushions, Ivy laughed bitterly. “I got it, Shadowsan….but.”

“There is an alternate route to take from the roof,” he reminded her. “And a coffeeshop that Player recommends.” 

“Then let’s go,” Ivy stood, scrubbing at her face. “Let’s give them some space.” 

“Of course.” He followed behind, leaving the reunion and doing his best to take his own advice.

Chapter Text

“Tell me…tell me e verything .” Wolfe breathed, rubbing a thumb over her cheek, admiring the bright color within. “Please.” 

“I’m not sure where to begin,” Isabella confessed, and he shook his head. “What?” 

“Carmen,” he said, “They call you Carmen. I was told it was a name you picked for yourself.” 

“Oh,” she blinked, “what’s my real name.” 

“Carmen is just as real as the name that we gave you,” he responded. “It doesn’t.” 

“What was the name you gave me?” She demanded, a hungry, desperate gleam in her eye.

Silence dragged between them, heavy with worry. “Isabella,” Wolfe confessed. Her expression went slack. “We chose Isabella, a beautiful name for our wonderful child.” 

“Isabella,” she tried it out, tasting it against habit and history. “Isabella.” 

“But you are also Carmen Sandiego! The legendary thief! I have heard the reputation of yours,” he shook his head. “You are known, even to me.”

“You knew me?” 

“I knew of you. I heard whispers from newer prisoners. You are a whisper and a legend.” 

Tilting her head, she asked. “You’re not happy?” 

Wolfe patted her hand. “I never wanted you to be a thief. I never wanted VILE to know you…to teach you. We were going to go away, to hide, and make our lives and future somewhere else.” 

“Wofle,” she tried, he waved her protest down. 

“I never wanted you to be a thief. I…I failed.” 

“You got shot!” She exclaimed, a hand coming up to her torso. Shot and arrested. “That’s not…I mean. The point is we…we can’t change the past, Wolfe.” Hesitating, she squeezed his hand. “I…whatever was the idea or the plan is…over.” Something heavy sank in his heart.  “I hate VILE. I know VILE, but I don’t steal for VILE. I steal to stop them, to keep them from accomplishing their goals. I am a thief,” her words failed momentarily. “But I’m not a thief .” 

“Then how do you?” He gestured around the warehouse. “Pay for any of this?” 

“VILE makes regular contributions,” she admitted. “We have an…alternate revenue stream.” 

“I…see.” He wondered exactly how she was getting her money. 

“Shadowsan,” she continued and he looked back quickly. “Brought me to VILE Island…and that’s where I was raised. I managed to escape almost two years ago…and now I’m working to bring them down.” 

“Bring them down?” He repeated. The very thought had never occurred. Escape had barely seemed impossible and had failed miserably. He’d lost his wife, his daughter, and nearly his life. Twenty years within various prisons, surgeries, and physical therapy, and his daughter was staring at him with the promise and intent to destroy VILE. “Oh.” 

She seemed sure she could do it. That they could do it. That this plan was not only possible but achievable, and they had been working on it. 

“You said you were raised by the Faculty?” 

“Yes…no.” She shrugged. “I was raised by a lot of nannies. The Faculty was there , well. Except for Shadowsan, he wasn’t really there all the time.” 

“He was not?” 

“I think he withdrew after a while to try and protect me…or.” She heaved a sigh. Wolfe squeezed her hand again. “He wasn’t always the best person. I know he…made choices.” 

“We both made choices,” her name paused on his tongue. What could he call her? 

“I know,” her long hair bounced as she nodded. “I understand. I am…what’s happened? We managed to find that you were recovered, but.” 

“Prison is prison…it’s hardly worth talking about.” 

“Oh…I…Isabella? Is it after someone? Was it?” 

“We both like it. We thought it would be so beautiful; we would see…things.” His throat closed up, and after a moment of pursed lips, he continued. “Flowers, beautiful things, a sunset and we would say…that is our Isabella. Already beautiful, already….” Scrubbing at stinging eyes, he turned away. “Our little Isabella.” 

“Oh,” her voice cracked. “I…Isabella?” Her shoulders hunched inward. 

“Carmen,” she blinked fat tears from her eyes, which widened. “You have been Carmen much longer than Isabella.” 

“But Isabella is my name! I’ve never known my name. I was Black Sheep for years and years…I didn’t know people had real names for so long, and now I have one. I have a name and you’re alive! I didn’t!” She burst into tears again, and Wolfe did what he hadn’t done since the fateful night; he held her. 

When she regained some semblance of calm, she shook her head. “I know…it’s going to be an adjustment after prison. We got the books, and we can accommodate anything. If you want to stay or go or. “

“I am not going anywhere,” he said firmly. “You are my daughter, and ACME will have to shoot to kill this time to separate us.” 

A faint laugh escaped. “Then we’ll be glad to have you. Did you see the books? Or the catalogs, we can order anything. I.” 

“Mija,” he took her hands. “I am fine…anything is fine so long as I get to see you…be with you.” 

Tears trickled down her face, and he could feel them on his own. 

“HEY!” They jerked around as the redhead came through the door with a bag of donuts and a drink. “IVY! Has” he paused, gaping at the pair. “Oh…sorry. I thought. Uh…” 

“Wolfe..this is Zach.” The man waved. ‘He’s my getaway driver. Zach…you’ve met Dexter Wolfe.” 

“I knew he was a thief, but he was too kind to be VILE.” Wolfe held out a hand.

“Thanks!” He grinned as he passed Carmen the bag. “Carm says you’re a great thief…don’t touch my baby.” 

“Baby?” 

“His car,” she whispered. “He’s very attached.” 

“I saw you eyeballin’ her!” The Bostonian exclaimed. “Keep your hands off the keys.” 

“I.” He offered a faint smile. “I’ll try.” 

“Hmmm.” The suspicious frown faded into a grin. 

“Wonderful!” He grabbed Wolfe into a hug, reeling Carmen in. “A family back together! This is just great! Say, who’s starting dinner?” 

“I”m…I don’t know? How can you think about food at a time like this?” 

“I’m always hungry, Carm.” He patted her shoulder, moving into the kitchen. “We should order Pizza!” 

“I will cook!” Wolfe exclaimed. “I will! Mija ! I will cook. Ah! So much has changed; surely cooking has not.” Following Zach into the kitchen, the recipes unfurled from the corner of his mind, and old habits settled into place. “I will cook what I used to.” 

“Score!” Zach exclaimed. “What are you making?” 

“Provoleta.” Wolfe found an apron, admiring the sleek black shape before pulling it on over his head. 

“What’s that?” Carmen laughed wetly at his confusion. 

“You will see,” Wolfe promised. “And you will enjoy.” 

“Alright,” Zach shrugged as his phone dinged. “Ivy wants your coffee orders! She and Shadowsan are at the coffee shop.” 

“My usual, please.” Carmen settled into a chair at the work table. 

“An espresso,” Wolfe told him after a long moment of consideration. 

“Great!” Turning his back on the pair, Zach tapped away at his phone. “Call me when food is ready.”  When he was gone, the former VILE faculty raised an eyebrow. 

“He would not have been a good fit for VILE.” 

“Too loud?” 

“Too kind.”  

“He’s a good driver,” Carmen said. “And there’s nothing with an engine he can’t drive.”  Wolfe smiled as his daughter launched into a detailed explanation of their caper in Boston and how she met the pair of siblings. 

$#$#$ 

“Carm wants her usual,” Ivy read the text, “and I guess….Wolfe wants an espresso.” 

Shadowsan nodded, turning to the barista. As they waited for the new drinks, he eyed her cautiously. “Will you be able to face them?”

“Will you?”  

Raising an eyebrow, he turned to watch the progression of the drinks. 

“We’ll have to do our best.” 

“I suppose.” 

“Well, everything seems to be going fine,” Player said through their earpieces. “As far as I can tell, they’re talking and he’s making dinner.” 

Sometimes, Ivy reflected, wearing a mic was a little intrusive. “Really?”

“That’s good, right?” The Canadian asked, “I mean.” 

“Yes, Player. It is good.” Shadowsan interjected. “Do you still wish to remain anonymous?”

“For now. I think the all-seeing hacker might be a bit too much for him. I mean, phones weren’t really a thing when he went away, and now…it’s just going to be too much.” 

“That’s probably a good idea,” Ivy remarked. “I never really thought about how quickly tech moved in the last two decades.  I mean, I remember when they started adjusting it all in school.” 

“And so much stuff is done online,” Player added. “It’s a whole new language of technology he needs to learn and about people. It’s just a whole lot, and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.” 

“A wise decision,” Shadowsan remarked as they turned up the drive to the warehouse. 

“Adjusting to the outside world is not as easy as it may seem.” 

“Speaking from experience?” Ivy asked, and he gave a sharp nod. “Oh…right.” 

“Well,” Player coughed into his hand. “I’m going to work on decrypting this next entry. Call me if you need anything.” 

“If he needs any help with his next computer,” Ivy laughed. “We’ll tell him to call tech support.” 

“That is not a bad idea.” Player mused. “That way, I can introduce myself slowly.” 

“We’ll let him know.” She promised as she opened the door. Her heart steeled against the warm sight in the kitchen. Wolfe and Carmen were talking, words rapid and overlapping as their stories unfurled before the other. Setting the drinks down, she retreated to her room, hoping that Shadowsan would be okay and that the sting would eventually fade. 

Chapter Text

“His name is Savio Cruz,” Chief gestured at the presentation. A hopeless man stared from the projection, face rippling as a draft brushed the edges of the fabric presentation. Dark hair which was edged with gray; soft eyes which were equally empty pools. Something about his face was familiar to Chase. “He was the first member of VILE to be captured twenty years ago in Argentina. He is currently missing.” 

“Missing, Chief?” Zari grabbed the file before Chase could. 

“He was en route to a new ACME facility in Norway when he mysteriously vanished.” The screen shifted again to surveillance footage outside of the prison. 

“I watched him be loaded into the van myself,” Zari said flatly, brushing away Chase’s reaching hands. 

“He escaped,” Chief assured her with a frustrated shake of her head. “Our ACME vehicle was recovered at an impound lot. I feel he may be dead or on his way back to VILE.” 

“Dead?” Chas gave up on the file. “Chief? Would they not break him out to take him back?” 

“Or silence him.” She paced at the head of the table for a long moment, images playing over her head and shoulders. “Mr. Cruz indicated that VILE was an unstoppable force. He feared it greatly, and having been in custody for twenty years he might have spilled secrets and want him dead.” 

“He was a prisoner for twenty years ,” the Frenchman protested. “Whatever he knows would have been acted upon, and we would be much further with the arrest of Carmen Sandiego and her compatriots!” Both women stared at him. He wondered if, for all of his many failures, they had forgotten that he was an excellent detective otherwise. 

“Or they could get revenge.” Zari flipped through the pages, pictures, and reports spilling onto the table. “Hmmmmm.” 

“We need to find where Mr. Cruz is, who has him, and what he knows,” Chief stated firmly. “He was in custody for twenty years and moved regularly.” 

“Why was he not stolen before now?” The words fell from his mouth before he could stop them. Chief’s eyes narrowed. “If he was a prisoner, why not rescue him before? Hmm? Why leave him in prison so long?” 

“That is a question I would like you to answer.” Chief eventually continued. “I’ve left details of Mr. Cruz’s previous suspected crimes in the file.” 

Part of the file was passed over. Chase eagerly flipped through the pages. “ He was shot?” Chief’s face tightened into an expression that Chase might have guessed to be guilt . 

“Yes.” 

“Oh dear.” More details jumped out at him, visits from a priest, physical therapy, grief, a few fights in some of the rougher prisons. “He recovered.”

“Eventually.” 

“Why not send his photos to law enforcement or the FBI’s most wanted list?”  A brief scuffle over the photo ended when Chase held it out of reach. 

“Mr. Cruz is a delicate matter,” Chief ignored them. “Any wrong move might tip off VILE. If he dies then,” she paused briefly. “We have lost our potential connection and information.” 

“We will find him,” Zari promised. Chase was less sure the longer he stared at the photos. Something tickled at the back of his mind.  Experience taught him to let it fester, half-formed thoughts would come to his attention when he needed them. Forcing it would break the egg for anything had the opportunity to hatch. 

Only once they were in Zari’s office, did Chase speak again. “This is very strange, no? All of these villains must be handsome.”  The American stared blankly.

“Something you’d like to share with the class?” 

“Do you not have eyes?” Chase demanded. “Americans have no taste.” Her shoulders loosened with humor. “It does not matter! We will find him! Ah, a dastardly thief.” 

“I’ll have our team run facial recognition,” Zari left Chase with the feeling that both were missing something. He thumbed through the rest of the papers.

Mr. Cruz had given nothing away, only an endless fear of VILE reaching into the gaps of society for its lost thief kept him silent. How strange, Chase thought, to fear something with an endless encompassing fear that you kept silent for two decades. To live every moment with that terror. The twinge in his chest almost felt like pity. 

They would not catch him with facial recognition. The same way they’d never caught Carmen Sandiego. It would be nearly impossible, not when the kidnappers had clear skill, motivation, and money. 

He was either already dead…or recovering. Twenty years in prison…he’d need to adapt to the new technology, get his body back into shape, and learn how to work and living the world. Chase could rule out any immediate crimes.  

Even when he closed his eyes, the gray eyes of Savio Cruz haunted him; a familiarity that kept Chase Devneaux up all night.