Hannibal: Critical Calls

Having a highly secured home number means two things: you never get sales calls, and any call you do receive is usually important. On this particular afternoon, there were three calls. BA was outside tuning up the van, Frankie was in the living room trying to fix the TV so Face could get another channel, and Murdock was at work, leaving me to answer the phone.

The first call was Stockwell, trying to rope us into a mission since our "allotted time" of two weeks was up. When I protested that Face wasn't ready to be back on his feet, he said the mission was "time sensitive" and suggested we leave without him. I flatly refused and hung up. What gall! I found it hard to believe even Stockwell would suggest we leave Face now, when he needed us most, to go gallivanting through a foreign country or whatnot. Now was the time for us to stick together. The near death of one of our team had shaken every one of us to the core. Proof of this came in the second call, this one from Murdock. He sounded distracted and upset while describing an incident which could have been real or just a flashback. Once he began talking to Billy, it was hard to tell just how grounded he was. Since Murdock was released from the V.A. he had been acting like the slightly goofy but normal Captain I knew in 'Nam. I had forgotten to worry that he might have a relapse, until now. I made a mental note to have a talk with him later to figure out what was going on and try to fix any problems before they got out of control.

My priorities suddenly shifted when I got the third phone call about twenty minutes later. It was Murdock again, but this time he was speaking in code.

"Colonel, I found this package of really good cigars. They've come all the way from Jakarta."

"Jakarta?"

"Yeah. I hear they're big news in L.A. They're not Cubans, but the seller says they should taste good, like an old friend."

I started putting it together. "Does the seller know that Mr. Lee's laundry is under new ownership?"

"They know it's still in business, but they haven't heard about the new owner. These look like good quality cigars to me. Do you want me to buy them?"

I thought hard, weighing the implications, the possibilities . . . "Why not? Buy them and bring them home."

"Pizza and cigars will be delivered to your door in fifteen minutes. Don't forget to take out the trash."

"We'll get right on it."

After hanging up I called BA in from the driveway, and we joined Frankie and Face in the living room.

"All right, men, it's time to take out the trash."

The three of them shot me curious glances, but they knew better than to ask questions. Frankie retrieved the bug detectors, and he, BA, and I scoured the house for bugs. Face simply smiled and took exaggerated poses of relaxation until BA made him get up so we could check the couch. The search took a little longer than usual since Christmas decorations were still up. Face had gotten out of the hospital three days before Christmas, and we had managed to get a small tree and a few strings of lights, so although our celebration was more subdued than usual, at least we were all together.

When the house checked out, we regrouped in the living room.

"Hey Johnny, you wanna tell us what all the commotion's about?" said Frankie.

"Gentlemen," I said, pausing to relish their suspense, "I am pleased to announce that we will be having a visitor."

"A visitor?" BA exclaimed. "Who?"

"Someone Murdock ran across. He said it was an old friend, at least I think he did. He was using code since it was the house phone." Then it occurred to me: what if that whole conversation had meant something completely different than I thought? Worse yet, what if the "old friend" was just a hallucination?

"Do you have any idea who he was talking about?" asked Face.

I covered my misgivings with a secretive smile. "You'll find out in a few minutes."

"How are they gonna get through security?" said Frankie.

"I'm sure Murdock's got something worked out."

"Yeah, he always had a thing for bypassing security," Face remarked. "I remember when we had to come up with a new excuse every week to get him out of the V.A. According to his medical record, he's had about every non-terminal disease and condition on the planet." He sighed. "Those were the days."

I laughed at the nostalgic expression he was wearing. "Don't worry, Face, it's probably just the painkiller talking."

"He's here," said BA, looking out the window. "Don't see anyone with him."

Frankie, BA, and I crowded in front of the glass. There was no one visible in the car except for Murdock in the driver's seat. Things were worse than I thought. Maybe he really was having a relapse.

"Guys, what's happening? I can't see!" Face called from the couch.

"He's getting out of the car," Frankie narrated, "and he's going around to the back. He's opening the door, and . . . wow."

Frankie's exclamation echoed all of our surprise as a woman suddenly climbed out of the back seat. Her hair was just below chin-length and dark brown, but her face was unmistakable.

"It's Amy!" said BA. "Amy Allen!"

"What?" said Face. "Are you sure?"

"Hey guys, who's Amy Allen?" Frankie asked.

Murdock walked back to the passenger side and pulled out two cardboard pizza boxes plus two smaller boxes. He started carrying them toward the door, with Amy following behind.

"She's a reporter from the L.A. Courier who did stories on a few of our cases a while back," I answered Frankie.

"Come on, Hannibal, she did a lot more than that," Face argued. "For a while she was practically an extension of the team."

The doorbell rang, and I answered it. Murdock burst in, grinning from ear to ear over the stack of boxes in his arms.

"Thanks, Colonel! Did you take out the trash?"

"You bet," I replied, his enthusiasm rubbing off on me, mixed with relief that the visitor was present and accounted for.

"Man, I hoped the old blanket on the floor trick would work, and it did! We made it through security!" He tried to hand the boxes off to BA, but BA only grunted, so he passed them to Frankie instead. Then he gestured dramatically towards our guest. "Gentlemen, allow me to present Miss Amy Amanda Allen. Miss Allen returned from Jakarta and has in fact been working in DC for the past month. Miss Allen," he nodded at her and stepped back.

Amy was silent, her gaze falling on each of us in turn. "Wow," she said at last, "I can't believe it. It's been so long."

She and I made eye contact, and her gaze flickered away. Her face was thinner and more drawn than before, and the dark brunette hair was not her natural color. For a second there was a certain look in her eyes — a lost look, one that had become almost commonplace in 'Nam, one that I saw afterward reflected in the eyes of my men at different times when they were struggling to find meaning in what life brought their way. Whatever Miss Allen sought, she had not found it in Jakarta.

"It has been a long time," I said, trying my best not to sound unfriendly. It seemed to work, since she looked at me again and continued talking.

"I was still in Jakarta when I heard the news about the trial. By then, it was too late. I couldn't believe you guys were caught. I couldn't believe you were dead. And then I heard you had escaped, but I never dreamed of running into you like this. It's just so good to see you!" she finished breathlessly.

"It's good to see you too, Amy," BA spoke up. To my surprise, he came forward and wrapped her in a hug.

"Hear, hear!" Murdock said, clapping. BA shot him a glare.

I reached out and gave Amy a firm handshake. "Welcome back, kid."

"Thank you." She turned to Frankie and jumped, startled. "Oh, I thought you were Face. I mean, I didn't see you behind the boxes."

Frankie shifted the food in his arms to give Amy the full benefit of his biggest smile. "The name's Frankie. Frankie Santana."

"Pleased to meet you," she said, regaining her composure.

"The pleasure is all mine. I'm the special effects whiz in this outfit, and I'm in charge of the, uh, entertainment while Faceman's out of commission, so if you're free anytime in the next few days —"

"Don't let the 'Santana charm' fool you, Amy," Face called.

"Oh, there you are!" Amy hurried over to the couch, and Frankie's smile faded. I considered hinting to him that he had nothing to worry about, but decided not to. It would be much more interesting to sit back and watch things play out.

"Pajamas in the afternoon, hmm." Amy raised her eyebrows. "I thought you had a better sense of style, Face."

"Well, unfortunately, style is one of the lesser considerations after you've been shot in the abdomen."

"You were shot? How? I mean, what happened?"

Face shrugged. "We were trying to take down a hit squad and forgot the guy in the corner."

Amy shook her head sympathetically. "How bad is it?"

"Oh, not too bad. Just had to have part of my spleen removed and lost some blood, but nothing, uh, irreplaceable."

"You was lucky to see Christmas, man," BA corrected.

"Well, I can see you're taking full advantage of your situation." Amy gestured at the pile of books and TV remote on the coffee table. "Sudoku, Picasso Drawings—"

"I would be reading War and Peace, but the medications make it a little hard to concentrate." Face smiled. "Although, if someone were to read to me . . ."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Frankie edging towards the dining room with the pizzas. I cleared my throat. "Uh, I hate to break up this meaningful discussion, but I do believe the pizza's getting cold. If you're up to joining us, Lieutenant, we can continue this conversation over dinner."

"Sounds good to me," said Face. He rose slowly, wincing, but waved me off when he noticed I was watching.

"I'll get the drinks," Murdock offered.

"I got the pizza," said Frankie, shooting another smile at Amy. The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. One thing was clear: this was going to be an interesting meal.