The cloth was drawn from his face suddenly at the sound of his name, fresh and cold air suddenly upon his face and Face squinted as the sudden light of the room hit him with force. It was too bright for a moment, and he wanted to shield his eyes but for the handcuffs preventing him.

As a scammer and con-man, his eyes were well trained into taking note of things very quickly; to check for dangers or exits or guards, taking in the details that mattered on a glance of the surroundings. It was a skill that came in handy now. From first glance, Face noted four guards in the room; two holding him- that he could see only out of the corner of his eye-, one standing to the right behind Hannibal , and Moraneu, the one who had spoken, standing nearby to Face. That guard, who looked of higher rank than the other three, his green uniform decorated with more braided red strips of rank on the side of his arm, appeared exactly like Face would have imagined. Mean, his smile upturned in a cruel and callous way that suggested he liked toying with people before he killed them. He stood tall, his eyes greedy to see Hannibal's reaction at the display of his prize, and his expression was arrogant, that of a man who always got what he wanted no matter how long it took.

The room itself was exactly what Face had come to expect from clichéd interrogation rooms, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes, wondering why kidnappers and terrorists never seemed to add their own touches to the interior decoration of the cells. The layout was that of a square room, the walls and floors grey concrete like the rest of the building, with the only illumination that of a harsh white light bulb in the centre that shone light down on a chair placed directly in the centre. Air ventilation shafts upon the ceiling crossed to the right of it to let recycled air into the room so that the inhabitants could at least breathe. Small mercies were obviously allowed.

What attracted Face's attention most though, was the familiar looking man tied down to the chair in the centre, his arms and legs fastened tight with thick rope to prevent him from escaping. His iron grey hair looked slightly tussled, but Hannibal Smith looked well, considering the circumstances, and compared to the horrors that Face had imagined the Colonel going through. He'd been been beaten, from what Face could see, his lip burst and cheek bruised and probably more bruises on his torso that were hidden under his grubby shirt. The darkness around his left eye suggested a growing shiner and there was a red stain by his nose from where he'd bled. The wellness of his look however, came not from what injuries Face could see but from how Hannibal appeared . Obviously, the bruises weren't something to just pass off, and Face was sure they had hurt like a bitch at the time, but the spark of life was still in Hannibal's pale blue eyes, a solid gaze of strength in the raise of his head that told Face that Hannibal hadn't been broken, hadn't allowed himself to even doubt the possibility he'd get out.

"Face?" Hannibal frowned, his familiar brogue making Face suddenly want to grin, because now Hannibal was here, everything felt as if it would be ok - although he supposed that, as Hannibal would probably have been considering an escape plan ( when did Hannibal ever not plan ahead?), Face's appearance would have screwed it up royally. It didn't seem to matter to the colonel however, as he looked his lieutenant over, as though trying to assess the damage. His eyes saw the blossoming bruise on Face's jaw . It wasn't as bad as finding Face trapped in a case of burning tyres, in the process of being hung in some General's Mexican backyard, but it wasn't much of an improvement. Given the choice, Face was sure Hannibal wouldn't want either of them to be here, but Fate had played them both a bad hand, and , although Face's hidden cards were good, he had to hope he'd be able to hide his tell for long enough to be able to show his hand."Well, nice of you to drop by" Hannibal sounded as though they'd both simply met on a stroll through the park, but one look in his eyes gave Face the chance to read Hannibal's unspoken question; What the hell are you doing here?

"Well I said I'd come back, didn't I?" Face gave his Colonel a cocky grin, answering both the spoken and unspoken question. "You know me. I don't like missing the parties that are going on. Messes up my plans, you know?"

Hannibal looked up slightly at Face's choice of phrase, and a bemused expression came upon his features as he saw the slight nod of Face's head, telling him what he needed to hear. They locked eyes for a moment; brown against blue.

I hope you know what you're doing, Hannibal's eyes said and Face grinned back, smirking slightly on the outside despite his reply being unspoken.

When have I not? Face hoped to God he was telling the truth about that one.

"So," Face put on his most winning smile, and grinned at the room's occupants. The guard at the back shifted uneasily as Face smiled, as though he wasn't sure how to react to a man who was grinning like he'd just walked into a party full of old friends, instead of a man who was captured with no obvious means of escape. It was the way Face reacted to most bad situations, laying on the charm and making a few tasteless jokes- General Tuco certainly hadn't approved of his humour, due to the fact he'd tried to hang him, but Face supposed that having sex with his wife and baiting him about it was also probably one of the reasons he had wanted to kill him. "What have I missed?" He schooled his face into something resembling mild concern "I hope I'm not too late for canapés."

"We were discussing Colonel Smith's rescue party" Moraneu said , taking in Face with a shark-like grin, obviously pleased to have a joker in the room. "But if you are all it entails then I must admit, I am a little disappointed."

At that moment, with timing dictated it seemed by the gods, Moraneu's comm link beeped tinnily , signalling an incoming call. Pausing for a moment, he pressed a finger to his ear to take it, listening to the Nigerian voice on the other end. Even though Face knew what he hoped it was going to say, he still felt again some irritation borne of helplessness because he couldn't understand what the voice was saying. Call it American arrogance, but Face liked it when people spoke English around him. It improved communication no end. Of all the languages Face could speak (it was a running joke within the team that if either Face or Murdock couldn't speak one language, the other would be able to), and they numbered a few when he took them into account (although being able to say 'One wine please' in Welsh didn't count), when he actually needed to understand one it was fate that he couldn't and Murdock could. But then Murdock, in his extroverted geeky way, could manage quite well in Klingon- by most people's standards, a fictional language (although it had been a help no end when they'd been hired to break up a counterfeit ring working out of a Star Trek convention). Still, Face liked languages he knew, and he resolved to ask Hannibal to take this into consideration when they took their next case (if this plan went accordingly). Somewhere in the South of France,, that would be a nice place to save pro bono locals from evil corporate mooks, get to know the ladies and have a chance to tan. The prospect didn't sound bad at all, but he had more pressing matters on his mind right now.

As Face watched Moraneu, over-analysing every movement the man made, every twitch of his jaw, every expression upon his face, he saw a frown spread across his forehead as Moraneu took in what the call was telling him. As he discussed the subject in what seemed to be Yoruba, the tone of his voice the sound of a man who was trying hard to stay calm and collected, Face held back the temptation to smile at the satisfaction the man's reaction was giving him . He had to remain focused about this, and grinning like he knew exactly what was happening despite the man and the caller talking in a foreign tongue, might arouse suspicions that Face couldn't afford. They had one shot at this and he couldn't afford to screw it up with hotheaded stupidity, rushing into things because he thought it was a good idea. That had been the old Face, the Face who had once tried to take on General Tuco alone simply because he wanted to save a girl he probably wouldn't remember the name of in a week. The new Face was the one who had changed from ten years of plans and tactics, learning from Hannibal enough to understand that thinking ahead of the enemy was always a good plan, and that thinking three steps ahead was even better.

Moraneu cut off the link with a push against his ear, his expression showing a hint of irritation before he regained his composure. Then, as Face watched and waited and hoped, he seemed to come to a decision internally, gesturing to the guard at the back of the room and one of the guards holding Face, giving them snap orders in a babble of language. Face didn't have to listen to know what they were going to do, and he could almost hear Hannibal's voice in his head. There's a plan in everything, kid. The new Face might seem like the old on the outside; womanising and cocky, but the new Face thought things through, learned patience when before he had had none. He'd once told the Colonel that he'd never read the 'Hannibal Smith How To Manual', a sarcastic remark from a time long past and mostly forgotten, but he must have retained some of the knowledge within it's pages .On escaping with the newly met BA and newly acquired Murdock from the 'Hospital San Vicente de Paulo', Hannibal had said something, something which Face recalled now in a dingy cell in Nigeria. What's the most important part of a well oiled plan Face? To be one step ahead of the enemy. And for once Face had taken that advice to heart.

The two guards Moraneu had spoken to nodded briskly, and in view of a watching Hannibal and Face, walked out of the small cell, leaving only Moraneu and the other guard holding Face. Again, Face resisted the urge to grin. One step ahead of the enemy, boss, he thought, and winked to Hannibal, who had looked at him as the men left as if he knew that it was his doing. It wasn't exactly direct interference, but Face and Murdock had been studying Moraneu's character as they had planned through every facet of the rescue operation, knowing full well that if Face was caught it would be Moraneu he was taken to. The man was arrogant, thought that he knew all the tricks his prisoners could play to outwit him. He was smart and cruel and thought to a certain extent that he was invincible, that nothing could touch him, and it was this that the two of them had focused and played on. He liked a challenge, but always one that he could win. And while he had sent away two guards when none were strictly necessary, he still considered two guards against two prisoners sufficient, especially when both were restrained in some fashion. Despite the levelling of the ratios he still believed that nothing could hurt him. And that would be his downfall.

Moraneu looked at Hannibal and said, as though playing the host at an important dinner party;

"Apologises, but it seems that I was mistaken about the rest of your team. They seem to be making some trouble for us, over on the west side of the building. Obesandjo has brought this to my attention, and I have deemed that some backup should be sent. I hope you don't mind, but I am well aware of your team's history for getting out of seemingly unwinnable situations."

To Face, he said, expression dark and threatening: "I should worry about your friends, American, if this is part of some little game you're playing with me. Believe me when I say they will not be spared" A small smirk flitted across his face, as though he had thought of some way to goad his prisoner. "Maybe we kill your sergeant first, hm?" His face moved closer, whispering the words into Face's ear, every word making his skin crawl, his body automatically wanting to shy away "I've heard him and your pilot are quite close." Moraneu went on, "Maybe we can make the Capitan watch, make him beg for the Sergeants life before we put a bullet in his brain anyway." His voice lowered, twisted depths revealed as he imagined the scenario, and Face tried not to think about what he was saying, small unspoken prayers fluttering in his head to the omnibenevolent god that the priests of his childhood believed in, wanting the threats of this man to never come true because it would be his fault, the flaw in his plan and he'd never be able to forgive himself. "If he lives, it should make for quite interesting sport." Moraneu smiled, shark-like "I've never broken a mad-man before"

Face made an effort to ignore him, staring unseeing past Moraneu's smile and Hannibal's' concerned frown, blanking everything as he ran over the plan in his mind to calm his raging thoughts down. He knew well that Murdock could look after himself, but his mind tried not to imagine all the same what would happen if they failed. What would happen if the other two of them were caught. We've always made it out alive, the four of us, because of the old man. He shook his doubts out of his head, telling himself that when the time came to really worry about something, he'd know . He felt silently pleased when Moraneu seemed put out by his lack of reaction, turning away from the second-in-command as though he had expected clichéd threats about all sorts of interesting ways he'd suffer if he dared lay a hand on the pilot. But Face held himself back. So-far the plan was going well, compared to how badly it could have gone wrong. It was all down to Murdock now. Putting his trust in certifiably insane pilot might not have seemed the best idea to any outside, but up till now the man had played his parts well ,and in the ten years Face had known him, Murdock had never let them down. He wondered whether part of the man's luck was due to the fact that he was seen as a weak-link being a functioning lunatic, and not worth worrying too much about, but Face knew better than to underestimate a man who had broken out of four mental institutes to date- the last break-out being the time Face and Murdock had met (using what seemed to only be various disguises or accents or even just objects he'd found lying around and had used to concoct some mechanism by binding them together with tape), and who possessed a photographic memory that could put Good Will Hunting to shame ( admittedly, his memory was a little... 'selective', focusing more on obscure pop culture references than anything that could actually be deemed as useful, but it had never let them down yet)

Moraneu looked over at Hannibal, who had been silently studying Face since first the call for Moraneu came through. By now Hannibal had probably figured out about the cuffs- because he knew (or hoped) that Face wasn't impulsive enough to allow himself to be captured without some sort of escape plan- and from Face's lack of reaction regarding BA and Murdock against half a Nigerian army, was possibly considering the idea that the two weren't really in danger. Hannibal knew Face, knew that any threat upon another member of the team would induce some sort of reaction, especially with Moraneu's comments regarding Murdock- Hannibal was well aware how close to the pilot Face was, and he knew that if the other was in trouble, Face would not have hesitated to react by now.

"Now before all that," Moraneu spoke finally again to Hannibal, and Face came out of his reverie to turn his attention back to the interrogator. He needed to focus now, because for the moment, he was on his own. The window of time between one stage of the plan and the next was the one area Face had been concerned about, and now it was here, he knew he had good reason. "I have some questions for you, and unless you want to be on the top layer of the same morgue drawer as your friends will be , I suggest you answer"

"I don't know how I can help you, I'm afraid" Hannibal looked up at Moraneu, meeting his gaze unafraid. "I'm just here for the sightseeing"

Moraneu smirked, although there was no humour in his expression "I shouldn't have expected any less," he said thoughtfully, walking in front of Hannibal as if they were just two conversing acquaintances instead of prisoner and guard "You probably wont give me any of my answers." He paused, before a dangerous look tinted the smile spreading across his face "But your Lieutenant Peck might"