Sands stood outside the small airport waiting for his driver. It was a typically hot day in Mexico, with a slight breeze that did nothing to take the edge off the heat. He stood silently by his suitcases wearing blue jeans,

sunglasses and a red shirt that read "Cereal Killer" with a picture of a spoon underneath the text.

He thought about his somewhat flawed plan… however, it could work. Sure, everything was against him, but since when did Officer Sands turn down a good challenge?

After a few minutes of waiting Sands heard a car pull up in front of him and a man get out and walk towards him.

"Mr. Wayne?" the man asked.

He had no accent, so he obviously hadn’t been raised in Mexico. Sands’ contact, Tom, had assured him that the man was trustworthy, and good at keeping things clandestine. Sands trusted his contact implicitly, having used him more times than he could count, and so he trusted this man as well. Of course, if this person aroused his suspicion in any way… that opinion could and would change in an instant.

"Yup," Sands replied as he picked up the smaller of his two bags. He heard the driver pick up his other suitcase and toss it in the back of the car. Sands settled himself in the front passenger seat and placed the black bag underneath his legs.

As the driver started up the car Sands dug in his pocket for a cigarette and lighter and quickly lit up. It took all of two seconds for the driver to notice.

"Hey, no smoking in my car."

Sands ignored him as he exhaled a large amount of smoke into the cab of the car. "Want me to roll down a window?" he asked casually as he felt the car start to move forward.

"No, I’d like you to put it out. I’ll never get…."

"I think for ten thousand dollars you can buy an air freshener once you’ve completed this assignment and still have a little fun money left over," Sands interrupted, before taking another drag and rolling down his passenger window. Sands smiled in the man’s direction as the arid heat poured into the car.

"Fuck." He heard the driver mutter under his breath, in a voice so low that most normal people wouldn’t have heard it. However, with the removal of sight from his roster of vital senses, Sands’ hearing was significantly heightened and he heard it quite clearly.

"I know you’d like to, but I’m a little too busy right now."

The driver’s head snapped around towards Sands and his eyes narrowed at the CIA officer sitting beside him. Sands went on in a light tone and with a completely serious face.

"Work first, play later, as the saying goes. I never mix business with pleasure."

The driver grumbled, but said no more about the matter, instead asking, "So, we going straight to the hotel?" He glanced briefly at Sands for confirmation.

"No. No need for me to piddle-dick around this dustbowl of a country any longer than necessary. Tom give you the list of addresses and cities that I asked him to?"

"Yeah, they’re in the glove compartment in front of you."

Sands raised his eyebrows as he took a puff, making no move to retrieve the list from the compartment. The driver didn’t know it, but he wouldn’t have been able to differentiate the directions from any other piece of paper in there, and he didn’t much feel like explaining his situation at the moment.

After about a minute he heard the man groan and reach in front of him, opening the glove compartment and retrieving the directions.

"Are you going to give me this much shit the entire time you’re here?"

"Probably," Sands replied shortly as he flicked his used cigarette out the car window and bent down to open the bag at his feet. "Head to Agent Ramirez’s lovely abode."

"I’m calling Tom and demand he double my pay," the driver continued to gripe as he glanced at the address.

Sands chuckled at the man as he unzipped the bag. "Tom should have warned you about me… and you shouldn’t have pissed him off."

The man frowned as he came to a stop at a red light and turned to face Sands. "He did warn me about you. Said you were a bad ass, murdering, psychotic with no conscience, who enjoys playing mind games." Sands laughed out loud as he dug in his bag.

‘That’s Tom for you, giving it to ‘em straight.’

"My kind and giving reputation precedes me."

The driver ignored the comment and went on, "What makes you think I pissed him off?"

"Because you’re here with me, amigo."

"So?"

"Sooo…" Sands drawled as he brought up an automatic and a couple clips, "…if you weren’t privy, Tom only sends me people that he’d like me to torment. His demented idea of punishment for small infractions." Sands smirked and snapped the clip into the gun. "Tom has such a twisted sense of humor. A man after my own heart."

A car honked from behind them and Sands jerked a thumb towards the front window, "Light’s green Kemo Sabe."

The driver stepped on the gas and Sands continued to arm himself with various implements of destruction as they neared Ramirez’s home. As luck would have it, it was only about a half hour’s drive from the airport. "So what’s your name Tonto, or do I have to keep making up names for you?" Sands asked finally.

"Jackson Hoff."

Sands snickered at the pronunciation of the last name with the combination of the first.

"Jack Hoff? Jesus, and I thought my name was bad."

Jackson looked over curiously. "Which is?"

Sands smiled as he pulled his hair up into a ponytail. "That’s dangerous territory Hoff. Best beware of the no trespassing sign." Snapping the hair tie tight he started digging in his pants pocket. He quickly popped a couple of Aspirin, feeling his recurring headache returning. "What’s our ETA?"

"About 10 minutes."

Sands reclined in his seat. He planned on persuading Ramirez that it was in his best interests to help with a little covert CIA operation, as well as adding supporting testimony to the evidence they would find during said operation. Ramirez wasn’t stupid, and Sands knew he would take some convincing, but eventually Ramirez would cave in. He always did.

A short while later Sands felt the car pull over and come to a stop.

"We’re here."

Sands sat up straighter and gave an abrupt nod. He tucked one gun in his belt and held on to another, waving it in the driver’s direction. "You’re with me."

"What? Whoa, no way! I agreed to be your escort and help with traveling; I didn’t agree to become your personal soldier. And I can’t shoot worth shit."

"Well that’s a drag. But lucky for you Tito, I can shoot, and I’m not asking you to do anything more than lead."

"Lead?!"

"Yeah, you know. Lead the way…" Sands said as he opened his car door and stepped out, "…and absorb the first wave of bullets."

"Hell no! I’m not…" Jackson’s eyes widened, silenced by Sands gun pointing towards his head.

"Get out." Sands said slowly and calmly.

Jackson complied, turning off the engine and getting out of the car. "Asshole. You don’t even need me."

Sands walked around the car, one hand gliding along the top of the hot metal surface as he did so. Coming up just beside Jackson he lowered his gun.

"No, I don’t need you," Sands replied with a shrug.

"However Jackson, you can make things easier for yours truly. Now let’s stop beating around the bush, if you’d show me the way then I’d be much obliged."

Jackson pointed to the house angrily. "See where I’m pointing? The big house on the corner over there? I think you can manage."

"No I can’t see it and it’s true that I can manage without you, but the only thing that will be accomplished by you not coming with me is time being wasted," Sands replied, growing frustrated. He pushed the other man in the shoulder. "Now let’s vamoose."

Jackson caught his balance and slowly turned, starting to walk towards the house, still a bit shocked.

‘He can’t see it?’

Jackson stuttered a bit as he asked, "So that’s why you needed a driver, you’re… blind?"

"How very astute of you."

"Tom didn’t tell me."

Sands followed the sound of Jackson’s footsteps; "The knowledge is strictly on a need to know basis Jackie, and Tom didn’t need to know. Now let’s keep it that way."

"A blind CIA officer, now I’ve seen everything. I’m definitely asking for a pay raise."

Sands smirked as they came to a stop at the front door. "Probably not a bad idea. This job can be detrimental to your health… but if it makes you feel any better, there’s only a slight chance of you being riddled with bullets." Sands nodded his head in the direction they had been walking.

"Door?"

"Yeah," Jackson said as he let Sands step in front of him and knock on the door, "but for some reason that doesn’t make me feel any better."

"Can’t imagine why not. Doesn’t seem to be any answer. Is there a car in the driveway?" Sands asked as he knocked again and Jackson finally took a good look around.

"No, as a matter of fact it looks a little deserted."

‘Oh, this is just dandy,’ Sands thought to himself with a frown as he knocked on the door one last time. If Ramirez had up and moved it was going to put a little bit of a kink in his wonderfully grand plan. Sighing Sands pulled something that looked like a small pocketknife out of his pocket and flipped out a long, slightly curved pick-like object. After finding the doorknob he inserted the pick and quickly maneuvered it until he heard a satisfying click. Grasping the doorknob, he opened the door and walked in, hearing Jackson follow closely behind him.

"I take it you’ve done that before?" he commented wryly as Sands walked around the first room, one hand trailing against the wall. He was walking on a hard floor, most likely wood he noted, as he listened to the sound of a slight echo accompanying his footsteps.

"It’s empty," Sands stated out loud to himself, and heard the emptiness reply back in that same echo.

"Yeah, looks like this Ramirez guy moved."

"Vae!" Sands took his hand off the wall, walked towards what he imagined was the center of the room, and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He was down to half a pack and would have to buy more soon.

He lit the cigarette and placed it in his mouth as he tucked the gun he was holding into his belt with the other hand. "Then he won’t mind if I smoke."

Jackson shook his head at the officer before him as he walked further into the small house and entered the empty kitchen. Sands followed him and leaned against the kitchen doorframe. He heard cabinets being opened and closed and Jackson muttered something about being starved.

Sands cocked his head. "Don’t bother looking in the cupboard Mother Hubbard, its bare," he drawled.

Other than transportation this guy wasn’t going to be much help at all, and he briefly found himself wishing that Cam had found some guts and come with him.

‘Like that’s going to happen.’

After a few more minutes of pointless searching for crumbs, Sands grew impatient.

"Could you stop with the cabinet raid and go glance into each room and see if there is anything that he might have left behind?"

"Uh, sure."

Jackson slid past Sands and hurried down what sounded like a hallway, opening doors and looking inside. Hearing the footsteps fade, Sands quickly took off his sunglasses and wiped his forehead on his shirtsleeve. It was hot as hell, and his body was already starting to protest from all the traveling and movement after so much time inactive in a hospital bed. His head was still pounding as he waited for the measly over-the-counter painkillers to kick in. Hearing footsteps approaching, Sands hastily put his sunglasses back on as he reentered the first room. He heard Jackson come to a stop beside him, and Sands took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking the stub onto the floor.

"So, find anything of interest?" he asked at Jackson’s silence.

He heard Jackson shout back, "No," from another room down the hall and immediately bristled, trying to put some distance between himself and whoever was standing beside him as he reached for one of his guns. Unfortunately the man beside him swiftly caught both of Sands’ hands and wrenched them behind his back painfully.

"Indeed, I have."

An unfamiliar male voice responded besides Sands’ ear and Sands cursed his own name.