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"I can't believe this," Rafe muttered, as he paced back-and-forth in the jail cell.  One minute he was questioning Anna DiMera, about to get the goods on her connections to DiMera.  The next, she was face down in a piece of cake and getting rushed to the hospital.  And, now, he was locked up in this godforsaken third-world hellhole.

"You can't keep me here!" he yelled.  "I'm with the FBI!"

One of the guards sitting on a chair near the cell yawned.

"I saw that," Rafe said.  "When I get out of here and get in touch with my superiors, there's gonna be hell to pay."

The guard stood up and walked slowly to the bars of the door.  "Shut up, Señor Hernandez."  With his nightstick, he rapped the bar right above Rafe's hand. 

The shockwave ricocheted along his forearm and he jumped back from the bars with a yelp.

"You see what we think of your FBI," the guard said, laughing.

Rafe shook his arm, trying to get rid of the stinging sensation, but walked away from the bars in disgust.  This whole situation was ridiculous.  He did not poison Anna.  He had just kidnapped her, locked her in a hotel room, and browbeat her to drag a confession out of her.  But he had never tried to kill her.  Rafe just needed a chance to explain that to a judge.  If they understood that Rafe needed Anna alive to give him vital information about Sydney's kidnapping, they would also realize that he had no intention of killing her.

He just needed a chance.  Maybe if he could get a lawyer.  "Hey, where's my lawyer?" Rafe yelled at the guard, who had returned to his seat.

Without getting up, the guard laughed.  "Your lawyer?  Why would you need a lawyer?"

"For the trial," Rafe said.

The guard sat up and laughed again.  "This is Costa Blanca, señor, not los Estados Unidos.  You may get a trial.  You may not.  It all depends."

"On what?"

"On whether anyone wants to keep you here," the guard replied.

The thought actually gave Rafe some comfort.  After all, nobody really knew him here.  And Anna DiMera was just some rich American woman who came to Costa Blanca to drink Mai Tais and Piña Coladas in a villa overlooking the beach.  Rafe doubted she had managed to grease a lot of palms during her brief time in the country.

Now if the DiMeras knew he was here and what he was looking for, then he might be in trouble.  But they were completely clueless.  Rafe had slipped out of Salem quietly and had made sure that he had covered his tracks with Sami.

Still, the thought that he might one day get a trial hardly mollified him as he stared around the cell.  It could still take a long time.  He looked at the guard, who appeared on the cusp of falling asleep, and thought for a minute.

"Look, man," Rafe said.  "Help me get out of here and I'll make it worth your while."

The guard opened one eye, then looked around, as if checking to make sure nobody was listening.  Then he stood and meandered over to the bars.  "And how, señor, will you do that?  You have only the clothes you were wearing when you were brought in.  The policía searched the hotel room and the hospital room."

"That's what you think," Rafe lied.  "That wasn't my hotel room.  I was just interrogating a prisoner there.  In my real hotel room, I've got mucho dinero stashed away."

"And where is this 'real' hotel room, señor?"

"Now, I can't just tell you," Rafe said.  He had the guard interested.  This might even work.  "Let me out . . . help me escape, and I'll make it worth your while."

The guard let loose a loud laugh.  "You may think me stupido, señor, but you would be wrong."

"That's very good, Gomez," said another voice.  Rafe looked away from the guard toward a corridor leading from the cell and saw a man in a khaki uniform with epaulets on the shoulder.  The man also was wearing a military cap with a gold braid around the brim.

"Comandante," said the guard, giving a bow of his head.

"Señor Hernandez," the officer said.  "You surprise me.  Is this how your American FBI operates?  Poisoning innocent women--"

"Anna DiMera was no innocent, and I didn't poison her."  Rafe glared at the man.  "I was questioning a suspect and your police should be looking for the man who did poison her."

"Of course.  And we should just let you go, as well?"

Rafe nodded.  "Yes.  I'm not guilty of anything.  If you would just call my superiors at the FBI, they would vouch for me."

"It is my understanding, Señor Hernandez, that the FBI has limited jurisdiction.  I believe it is supposed to operate entirely within the United States, except under special circumstances."  He smiled placidly at Rafe.  "I have a BA in Political Science from Iowa State University."

Rafe gave a weak smile.  "Go Cyclones."

"Very good, Señor Hernandez," the officer said.  "Now you should understand something.  This is my prison, and I answer to only one man -- Presidente Vasquez.  So you will stop making demands and attempting to bribe my guards.  And you will be a good prisoner.  Otherwise, I will make your life extremely difficult during your extended stay with us."

The way he said the last words made Rafe wonder.  "'Extended stay'?" he asked.

"Yes.  Some of Presidente Vasquez's friends are quite interested in your unauthorized investigation in Costa Blanca.  Trust me, mi amigo, you're not going anywhere soon."  He chuckled to himself, and Rafe suspected it was due to the sickly look on his own face.  "Oh, but don't worry.  It appears you will be getting a cellmate soon.  Indeed, as soon as I get word from El Presidente, he should be arriving.  I'm sure you will become very good friends."