"Mackie! Last call!"

Mackie was really, really glad to hear that. He knew how to shoot a gun, but he was no marksman. All he could do was try to generally put shots towards the rear door and hope that it was enough to keep the incoming guards pinned down. And he was also down to two heat sinks left, so this situation wasn't going to stay stable for long. He could see a few heads peeking around the edge of the door. When he was out of shots, they were coming in.

When he heard John's shout, Mackie turned and ran for the stage. He saw John take aim and put a few more bullets towards the door. Prasad was just standing there and looking around wildly. He pointed past John at the far door. "How are we getting out of here? That's the only exit."

"Relax, my man," replied Mackie. "Oh, and you're welcome by the way." He opened his omni-tool and sent the last command. This time the resulting tremor was a lot more obvious. He crouched and winced as a couple of bullets smacked into the wall next to him. He yelled "DUCK!"

Both John and Prasad obeyed. The bricks along the wall at the far right side of the stage bulged and then blew apart. Fragments of brick sprayed into the room, and Mackie wished that was all there was. Unfortunately, what followed the shrapnel was a flood of dark and malodorous water. The flood gushed out over the stage and onto the floor beyond. It filled up the first few tiers before stopping.

"Go, Mackie," John's face was set in concentration as he kept firing at the door.

Mackie grabbed Prasad's arm. "Time to get dirty!" The Alliance man allowed himself to be towed to the new hole. Prasad hesitated a little bit when he reached the nastiness still oozing out into the room. Mackie couldn't really blame him. He didn't have shoes, after all.

"It's this, or stay here!" he shouted over the gunfire. Prasad nodded and almost ran through the hole. Mackie followed, and felt the 'water' squelch up over his shoes. And he had just bought these. Oh well, with what he was making on this he could get a whole closet's worth of footwear.

He glanced behind and saw John backpedaling through the hole. He had never stopped shooting. The three of them began splashing at a running speed through the sewer.

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Benton turned off the shield and wheezed as he levered himself out of his booth. His reinforcements now filled the room. He glared at the bodies that littered the floor, as well as at the small pond's worth of sewage that now filled its forward half. "Get after 'em!" he yelled.

One of his men actually tried to speak up. "Through that?"

Benton pulled his knife out and pressed it point-first against the man's neck. "Did I fucking stutter? That fucker is getting away with my property!" A little trickle of blood ran down the guard's neck.

The guard said nothing further as he headed for the hole on the stage. Ten others followed. Benton ground his teeth together as he surveyed the room again, looking for a particular body. If Miss Herndon was dead, then he was going to tear Barcelona apart looking for those two bastards.

"Sir?" The voice made him whip his head around. He relaxed a little bit to see that it was his assistant. Miss Herndon still looked as imperturbable as ever, although her suit coat and skirt were streaked with blood.

"Good, you ain't dead. Get the word out. Especially to the Organization. Let 'em know somebody's pretending to be one of their operatives, and get 'em the pictures."

"Yes, sir. I should tell you that all of the fleeing brokers and waitstaff caused a bit of a panic upstairs."

That gave Benton pause. Miss Herndon had no detectable accent, but she had been raised in Great Britain and had retained the habit of British understatement. If she said it was 'a bit of a panic' then it was probably more like a full-scale riot.

"Shit. So much for keeping this quiet. Okay, call Captain Bestok and make sure he's the first one in here. He better keep a lid on this, I pay him enough."

Miss Herndon nodded, then paused as if not sure she should speak. "Those men you sent will not be enough."

"They'll keep 'em running, though. I got an idea where they're headed. I'm gonna call Stefan and make sure he's there to meet 'em."

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John found the sealed bag that they had stashed earlier. He unzipped it and took out his pistol and holstered it. Then he removed the rifle which unfolded itself in his hands. He felt a little surge of perverse happiness when holding it. Pistols were nice and all, but now he had a proper weapon. Mackie then pulled out the shotgun he'd chosen as his backup weapon. The fixer had wanted something that didn't need quite as much precision.

Prasad leaned against the sewer wall and was already breathing heavily. He was definitely not used to running. "Do I get a gun?"

"Do you know how to use one?" asked John.

"Well, I sort of do. I shot one a few years ago."

He tried to let Prasad down easy. "Shooting is a perishable skill. Sorry, but I've already got one amateur to deal with." John saw Mackie's face go taut with anger and he slipped the young man a wink.

Mackie gave a little laugh. "Amateur, huh? Tell me, who was it who put down that Leng creep?"

John nodded. "That was a good ploy. Hell, I thought you were drunk myself."

Prasad edged a little further down the wall away from them. "Gentlemen, I appreciate your aid. But I need to know who you're working for before I go any further."

Mackie's brow wrinkled. "Dude, do you wanna go back? You didn't look like you were having a good time."

The Alliance man looked at them both. "And what kind of 'good time' am I heading for? Maybe I'll be just as...tortured if I go with you." Prasad gave a little shudder, and touched a fresh cut on his cheek.

"We don't have time for this," John grated. He half considered just knocking Prasad out. It would be a pain to lug the man around, but if Prasad was looking to bolt it might make matters simpler.

Mackie held up his hand that wasn't holding the shotgun. "It's okay, John. Let me handle this." He turned and put his hand on Prasad's shoulder. The man fliched a little at the touch, and Mackie gave him a comforting smile that seemed to relax him. "I'm not gonna let you get hurt. Because I know about getting kicked around. You need to understand, I'm not with him." Mackie nodded towards John. "He's the one hired to get you. I'm just working for him. I don't have the backup available that he does. And seeing as how I've just painted a huge target on my ass for both Benton and Cerberus, I think that means I get a say in what happens to you. Wouldn't you agree, John?" He looked back over his shoulder and gave John a searching look.

John scanned back the way they had come. He thought he heard distant voices calling. They really didn't have time to hash this out right now. "Our intel was bad. We were told you were the one running the auction and selling your knowledge. But you weren't, which changes things...look, let's fucking get out of here first and then we'll figure out our next steps. And yes, Mackie, that will include your input as well as Nathan's."

Prasad still didn't look entirely convinced, but he straightened up and nodded. The manic look in his eyes faded a bit. "You are correct, of course. I'm sorry for my behavior. The most logical course of action would be to accept your protection until we are out of immediate danger. It was just...I can't have that happen again." He touched his wounded cheek again.

Mackie gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Don't worry, dude. We're getting out of here."

John sloshed past them both. "Let's get going. Did you let the driver know where to meet?"

The young man nodded. "And I got confirmation. Don't worry, Cammy will be there."

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The man bent and pulled at the sewer grate, but there was no give to it. "Shit. We need a prybar or something-"

A hand the size of a catcher's mitt slammed down and grabbed the grate. There was a brief protesting shriek of rusted metal giving way as the hand pulled it up without any apparent effort.

The man looked up at the huge form of Stefan, who tossed the grate aside like a wad of aluminum foil. The giant turned to look at the men surrounding him. His shaved head gleamed in the streelights. "All of you, get down there. Now."

They didn't waste any time in complying. There were rumors about Stefan. He was ex-military, that much was certain. But he had been dishonorably discharged. The stories as to why started with beating a superior officer to a literal bloody pulp, and went all the way up to atrocities committed against prisoners of war.

Either way, when Stefan said to go into the sewer you went into the sewer.

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Mackie was bringing up the rear of their trio, and he could hear the sounds of their pursuers getting louder. He wondered briefly how the hell they were tracking them through the maze of tunnels. Maybe they had thermal imaging? However they were managing the feat, they were getting to be a little too close. But, at least the three of them would soon reach the exit.

He was looking behind him, and so didn't see that Prasad had stopped. Mackie collided with the man's back and they both nearly fell over into the muck.

"Sorry," murmured Prasad. "John's seen something, I think."

"Great," replied Mackie. He looked over Prasad's shoulder and saw that John was peeking around the next bend in the tunnel. The noxious air was getting a little fresher, although that might have been Mackie's hopes.

John backed up to them. "I think there's an interception team ahead of us. They must have figured out our exit point. You were right, Mackie. The waterfront was too obvious."

"Ah, don't sweat it. But I think our fan club behind us is getting closer as well. We can't stay here."

"No, but we can hold out for a bit. Or at least you two can."

Prasad paled a little bit. "What?"

John pointed behind Mackie. "Station yourself at that bend back there. I remember there's an archway of sorts beyond it. That archway should make a decent choke point. Just do it like you did at the club, right?"

Mackie didn't feel like pointing out that they'd had the element of surprise in the club. "Um, right. Where are you gonna be, John?"

"I'm going ahead to clear out any resistance. I'll comm you when it's safe, and you fall back to the exit. Okay?"

Mackie nodded, and gently slapped Prasad on the shoulder. "Come on, my man. Let's do this."

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A man peeked around the corner only to get shot in the forehead by John. Before the body even hit the sewage, John had his rifle aimed around the corner and was firing at any light he could see. Three of them went down in the first volley as the rest dove for cover and returned fire. He ducked back as fragments of brick spalled past his face. They were all shooting at the height of his head, which was good for him.

John took a step back and then did a diving roll out into the tunnel. He rolled up onto one knee and took down the rest of the lights. The rattle of gunfire died away as he waded forward, rifle still at the ready. Their exit grate should be around the next corner-

An arm slammed into his rifle and knocked it to one side, followed by a knife-hand chop to his throat. John felt rather than saw the second incoming attack and managed to tuck his chin in before the edge of the hand connected. The hand impacted his jaw instead of his throat, but he still saw stars as he reeled against the wall. John felt a rush of incoming air and knew his attacker was trying to tackle him. He kicked out at where a knee should be and felt a gratifying crunch of impact followed by a grunt of pain. His attacker still managed to hit one shoulder into him and bang him into the wall. John got his rifle free and hammered the butt of its stock down into the man's back. He followed it up with a knee into the man's face. The man fell onto his back as John got his rifle into firing position. He put two shots into the man's head before the body could hit the sewage.

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John shook his head to try to clear it and kept moving. He cautiously rounded the corner and saw the streetlights shining down through the now-open sewer grate. He stepped under it and did a careful scan of what he could see, which admittedly wasn't much.

He fumbled a bit in getting his omni-tool activated. "Mackie? Fall back to the grate, it's clear-"

John was interrupted by a huge hand clamping onto his shirt front. He was then jerked up into the open air like a hooked grouper.

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Mackie slipped his purloined gun out of his waistband and handed it down to Prasad. "Hey, take this."

"Are you sure that's wise? I'm not a good shot at all." The man was crouched down beneath Mackie and was peeking around the corner, just like he was.

"You don't have to be good, just shoot that way and make 'em keep their heads down." Mackie pointed towards the archway. "Just be careful, there's not too many shots left in that one." Just as he finished speaking, Mackie saw a head poke around the archway and let fly with the shotgun. He was gratified to see a spray of blood and hear a hoarse shout of alarm and pain.

Prasad also began shooting. Mackie was glad to see that the man didn't just keep firing blindly. He seemed to at least pick and choose where to shoot, even if his actual aim wasn't the best.

What happened next was a repetitive little two-step dance where they would hang themselves out around the corner and shoot anything that moved near the archway, then duck back to avoid the counter-fire from their pursuers. It seemed to work okay, and once Mackie was even able to catch one of them as the man tried to make a rush towards them. His shotgun caught the bastard full in the chest, and the man just dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Mackie's omni-tool buzzed. "Mackie? Fall back to the grate, it's clear."

"That's our cue, my man." Mackie put a few more shotgun blasts into the archway, then spun and began sprinting for the exit. He heard Prasad panting with exertion behind him, but the man seemed to be keeping up in spite of his lack of fitness and lack of shoes.

Mackie grinned back over his shoulder at Prasad. "No worries, it's smooth sailing from here on."

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John gasped in surprise from the sudden yank and was confronted with a huge face that looked like a shaved slab of ham with eyes.

"Where is Prasad?" asked Ham-Face. He didn't bother to wait for a reply before smashing his other huge fist into John's chest. The air was driven from his lungs and John felt himself fly through the air before colliding with something hard and metallic. He heard his rifle go clattering away as the huge man walked carefully towards him.

John glanced around in a panic. He was fetched up against a lamppost, one of many stretching along a pedestrian pathway near the southern Barcelona waterfront. It was an industrial area, so there was little foot traffic at this late hour. John had chosen this particular exit area because of that, and because it was close to a variety of possible escape routes.

There was nobody else around, and the sun had long ago gone down. All in all, it was a very pleasant Mediterranean spring evening. Apart from the gigantic man bearing down on him.

"Where is Prasad?" Ham-Face asked again. "Tell me, and I'll finish you quickly."

John wheezed in pain and tried to leverage himself up. Ham-Face reached down and grabbed both of John's lapels, then lifted him into the air and banged him hard against the lamppost again. John felt another flare of pain along his back, and hoped that the enhancement he'd been given had finished its work. Otherwise he was going to wind up with a fractured spine at this rate.

"Where?" Ham-Face certainly didn't seem to have a varied vocabulary. In reply, John was able to get his hand down and get his pistol unholstered. He couldn't bring it up due to the bulk of the man pressing against him, but he was able to get a shot off into the man's knee.

Ham-Face bellowed like a wounded bull and dropped John. He grabbed at John's gun arm and got it in a viselike hold. Before he could do anything else, John kicked hard into his wounded knee, which folded the wrong way. Ham-Face keeled over like a battleship hulled below the waterline. His grip on John's arm weakened but he still didn't let go. John was able to twist his wrist enough to get around to one side of the downed behemoth, then snaked himself up onto the man's back and managed to get his other arm around Ham-Face's neck.

It was like trying to strangle a concrete pillar. The man's other hand came up and began to easily pry John's arm away. John twisted his gun-hand back down and fired off a few shots, hoping to hit something. He didn't seem to hit much, so he decided to go with Ham-Face's pull instead of resisting. The sudden lack of resistance seemed to flummox the huge man, and John was able to get his non-gun hand free. John folded his free arm back and hammered his elbow into the back of the man's neck three times before Ham-Face apparently had enough and just threw John over his head.

John landed hard on his belly and had the air driven from him for the second time in less than a minute. He groaned and tried to push himself up. He could see his pistol a few feet away, between himself and his foe. Ham-Face, for his part, was trying to get to his feet but his ruined knee didn't seem to be capable of supporting his bulk. He also had his eyes fixed on John's gun.

John was just able to push himself up onto his hands and knees. He began crawling forward, and glanced up. He had a sinking feeling when he saw that Ham-Face was also hobbling on one leg and knee towards the weapon.

The clack of a shotgun being cocked was suddenly very loud in the still evening air. Mackie held his shotgun braced against his shoulder, and to his credit the muzzle wasn't wavering too much. Ham-Face stared back at Mackie with an annoyed placidity that reminded John of a Cape Buffalo getting ready to trample some annoyance.

Mackie stepped closer. "Enough, you fucker. Move and I put one right through your big stupid head-"

The fixer was getting too close to Ham-Face. John tried to call out a warning but all he could manage was a hoarse croak. Just as he tried to call again, Ham-Face's hand lashed out with surprising speed and grabbed the barrel of Mackie's shotgun. The young man stood in stunned shock as he was suddenly facing the muzzle of his own weapon.

As Ham-Face made his move, John was already making his. He launched himself towards the pistol and managed to get one hand on it. He now lay completely prone on the ground as he pointed the gun with two slightly shaking hands right at Ham-Face's head. The huge man had, in turn, the shotgun held in one hand and pointed right at Mackie's head. They all looked at each other for a very long moment, wondering who was going to make the first move that would break up their little tableau.

There was a nearby blaring horn and a loud crash. Ham-Face glanced behind Mackie and his eyes widened in surprise. Mackie took advantage of the distraction and dove flat onto the ground. The shining scarab shape of an aircar came crashing through one of the storefront shops with its headlights blazing. It spun like a top as it came barreling forward and flew right over Mackie's prone form. It then slammed its rear right corner into Ham-Face's chest. The huge man actually went airborne before fetching up against another lamppost. The metal post folded and bent over like cheap tin. From the way Ham-Face's head lolled, he was either out cold or hopefully dead.

John got shakily to his feet and hobbled towards the vehicle. The canopy of the aircar hinged upward and a cheerful reverberating voice called out, "Somebody order a ride?"

The driver was similar to the armor-plated aliens that John had seen in the streets of Prague. This was a turian, a member of the race that had first made contact with humans and then had promptly started a war with them. Depending on whom you asked, it had either been an act of overconfident aggression or a matter of stopping a naive newcomer race from triggering some horrible Armageddon.

This particular turian didn't have the long bird-like crest that he'd seen on the turians in Prague. The alien seemed a little smaller, and its features weren't quite as sharp and angular. It also had different facial markings. Instead of the blue paint the others had worn, this turian wore a striking red mask that looked almost like a stylized skull. The painted mask was a little disconcerting, but the alien appeared to be smiling. At least John hoped that expression was a smile; there were a lot of fangs and mandibles involved.

"That would be me," said John. Speaking was an effort; his midsection felt like an elephant had been tap-dancing on his lungs. "Are you Camicia Mellus?"

The turian nodded. "And you're either my customer or, judging by your smell, an evil spirit from the noxious depths."

John nodded towards the downed bulk of Ham-Face. "That was nice aim, by the way."

Cammy shrugged. "I try. Hey, where's my Mackie-boy?"

"I think he's under your car," replied John.

"Yeah, and I'm just fine, thank you for asking," huffed Mackie as he levered himself from under the car. "Jesus, that fucker was fast." He stood upright. Mackie's nice suit was now...no longer so nice. It was torn and streaked with materials that didn't warrant close inspection. John figured that his own appearance was just as dire.

"Spirits, Mackie. You've had a bad night, eh?" The turian winked at the fixer.

John suddenly realized they were minus one very important person. "Where's Prasad?"

"Oh, I told him to lay low on the ladder just below the exit. I heard you tussling with The Cathedral That Walks over there and figured Nathan should stay out of it."

"Um, gentlemen?" called Prasad's voice from the sewer exit. "I think I hear some people approaching down here. Is it safe to come out?"

"Yeah, you'd better move it, Nathan," called Mackie in reply. "Now, let's see, which one was it..." He called up his omni-tool and began paging through options. "Oh yeah, that one."

Prasad pushed himself up out of the exit and began limping towards the aircar. "I fear I may have injured myself on something when I was running up to the ladder. I believe it was a broken bottle." John looked and winced at the nasty-looking and bloody cut on the side of one of Prasad's bare feet.

Just as Prasad reached the aircar, Mackie touched a control. There was a loud bang and a gust of debris from the sewer entrance, followed by quite a few screams. Mackie smiled smugly to himself.

Cammy looked past John. "Er, I don't think your playmate is quite out of the fight." The turian pointed a talon, and Mackie cursed. Ham-Face had rolled over and was slowly trying to get to his knees.

"Fuck," muttered John, and looked around. "Where did that rifle get to? Oh good, I see it. Mackie, you take care of Nathan and get him into the car. I'll be right back." He limped off to where his weapon had wound up. Fortunately, whatever ultra-tech materials it was made of seemed to have held up under the abuse. He nodded in satisfaction, turned, and put two precise rounds through Ham-Face's head. John stalked forward until he was a few feet from the body and gave it two more just for good luck. He then retrieved the shotgun from near the corpse.

"All aboard, then?" asked Cammy in a carefree tone.

John gave the turian a weary nod.

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Mackie peeked around John's shoulder. The assassin was in the front passenger seat while he and Nathan were in the back. There were a couple of aircars skimming towards them as Cammy flew their car towards the harbor exit. Benton had apparently sent more reinforcements to back up the elephant in the suit that John had just shot.

"Do we have weapons on this thing?" asked John.

The turian gave a snort. "Are you implying that I need them for this petty problem?"

"Well, I just meant-"

John was cut off as Cammy gave a little twitch of the controls. They were now aimed directly at one of the oncoming enemy. There was a brief game of chicken before the enemy decided to swerve. The second oncoming car tried to veer into their side as it passed, but Cammy made a graceful little swerve and avoided the collision completely. There was nobody ahead of them, and they flew over the harbor mouth and into the Mediterranean.

"Amateurs," said Cammy. She sounded almost disappointed. "So where are we heading to?"

"Go north along the coast for now," replied John. "I need to check a couple of things before I can give you a more specific address."

The turian brought their aircar around in a gentle arc and they began flying along the coast. Mackie took a few deep breaths and felt himself relax. They were almost home free. Unfortunately, that breathing also brought in the truly amazing funk that now filled the interior of the aircar.

Cammy cleared her throat. "So, do you mind if I turn up the ventilation a little? I'm guessing even with your limited sense of smell you must know how bad it is."

"Do it," replied John in a distracted voice. He was apparently checking several messages on his omni-tool.

Another holographic display popped up next to Cammy. She looked at it and gave a little disgusted grunt. "We may have a problem. Spanish air traffic has just gotten an alert from Barcelona, and they're getting ready to ground all air traffic in the area. I can spoof our transponder to look like the Barcelona police. That will work for a while. But if anybody double-checks with the police we'll be found out."

"Do you have a standard police channel scanner?" asked Prasad. His voice was no longer hesitant, and Mackie was struck by how alert and intense his eyes had become. "Also, can you give me control of your communications system?"

The turian gave a suspicious glance into the back seat. "Why?"

"I can get access to several vehicle databases, including law enforcement agencies. I'll put us in as an official vehicle performing government business. It will be more thorough than just changing our transponder codes."

"I don't know," said the turian. "If you mess up, we may as well put a big blinking arrow right on us."

"I won't fail," replied Prasad. He looked to John. "I've trusted you this far. I ask you for the same courtesy. I have no desire to go back to Barcelona, even in police custody. Benton has too many people in the department."

John thought about it a bit, and then nodded. "Okay, Nathan. What cover identity are you going to give us?"

Prasad shrugged. "That depends on our destination. If you have one picked out, that is."

"I was thinking of Naples. It's a straight shot east from here, and there's a safe house in the area. It's just south of the city in a little town called Portici." John turned to Cammy. "Go ahead, let the man try it."

The turian set her shoulders, and Mackie knew she wasn't happy. But she went ahead and touched a few controls on the dash. "It's all yours. Just don't mess up. Or I'll have to do some really creative driving."

Prasad pulled up a display next to his seat and nodded. "I do indeed have control. Thank you, madam."

Mackie caught a little flicker of surprise on John's face, and realized that John had thought that Cammy was a male. Now that he thought about it, John seemed to be out of touch about a lot of things that someone in his line of work shouldn't be. Before Mackie could follow that particular train of thought, he was distracted by Prasad's sudden burst of action.

The man might be an intel weenie, but he was faster than anybody Mackie had ever seen. Within about two minutes, he had apparently entered and modified at least six different databases. His movements were quick and precise, and he never made a typo that Mackie could see. Within another minute, Prasad nodded in satisfaction and leaned back.

"We should be in the clear," he said. "I now have us as an Interpol courier carrying time-sensitive materials to their office in Naples. We are exempt from any air traffic grounding that may occur. You should be able to fly directly there with no problem."

"That was bloody brilliant!" exclaimed Mackie.

Prasad gave him a little sheepish smile that Mackie found adorable. "I have to confess, it was a little easier for me. The Alliance has built back doors into several Terran databases. They're meant to be used for emergency purposes only."

John turned his head and looked a little askance at Prasad. "Aren't you going to get in trouble for doing that?"

The Alliance agent gave a bitter laugh. "I'm already in trouble. Not for treason, but for other things. Database misuse is minor compared to what I've got to answer for." He glanced towards Cammy's back. "But that discussion can wait until we're at our destination. No need to mention it here."

If the turian took any offense at the lack of trust, she didn't show it. "Fine by me. I'm just a taxi driver at this point. We've got a couple of hours before we get there. Assuming I don't pass out from the stench, of course."