A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the wait, I've been pretty busy figuring out how to balance my schoolwork for the semester. I've made this chapter longer to try and make up for the delay. So! Thank you for the reviews! I greatly appreciate them :) Bing Translator is cited once again for the foreign languages used in here. Also, the hotels I named are real today, so I'm just pretending they also existed back in the '80s. I won't delay you any longer: enjoy!
Face frowned as they boarded the commercial flight. He was having one of those what-am-I-doing-here moments. What was he doing here, what were they doing here, going to Switzerland to work for the CIA? There was no guarantee they were getting paid for it. They weren't even blackmailed into the job, told to do-this-or-else-we'll-execute-you. There wasn't a promise of getting their names cleared. No, all they were told is that an ex-CIA agent was going to sell state secrets and they had to stop him some time in the next two weeks.
Why had Hannibal agreed to this? He practically jumped at the opportunity. He discounted it as a ploy to land in the good graces of the government; the entire incident was incredibly hush-hush. After all, none of this ever happened, officially.
Getting to New York had been fun. Since that part of their operation was under their own power they "rented" a plane and flew on their own with their gear. For this flight overseas, Mr. Blue Gordon had assured them that their gear would pass through security. Some kind of clearance, apparently.
Face sat down next to B.A. It was a miracle that the man had even boarded the airplane under his own power. He gripped the armrests hard enough to leave dents, though.
He pulled out a water bottle and handed it to the burly man. "You might want to drink this before we get started," he suggested.
B.A. glanced at the bottle. "Does that got any knock-out pills in there?"
"Yes," Face said plainly. "But which would you rather have? You can sit through an 8-hour flight feeling every minute crawl by, or you can take these, sleep peacefully, and never know what happened."
B.A. eyed the bottle and glanced across the aisle. Murdock leaned forward in his spot by the window and grinned happily around Hannibal. "Just wait till we take off, Big Guy!"
Growling, B.A. snatched the bottle and promptly drained it.
Face leaned back in his chair and contentedly straightened his tie. He caught Hannibal watching him amusedly. "What?"
"Going for the direct approach?" Hannibal nodded towards B.A.
"Have to use it sometimes," Face replied. Someone walked down the aisle, momentarily obstructing their conversation.
"Hannibal, I've got to ask you: what are we doing here? You've never given me a straight answer."
Hannibal glanced around. "Too crowded here."
"Aw, geez," Face cringed. "Really? You wouldn't tell me on the plane we took to New York, either, and that was just the four of us!"
"Wait till we take off, Face," Hannibal grinned.
Face didn't know how that would make any difference, but he was cut off from his reply by a heavy weight landing on his left shoulder. Mildly disgruntled, he carefully maneuvered B.A. so that he was slumped against the window instead of his suit. He grabbed the empty water bottle before it slid onto the floor.
The pilot went through the usual announcements and the flight attendants demonstrated the safety procedures. Moments later, the plane was taxiing to the runway, and the engines throbbed to take off.
To Hannibal's right, Murdock was pressed against the window, giddily watching for the moment they would leave the ground. They sped up, and lifted. Hannibal gripped Murdock's arm to keep him from howling out loud; they didn't need a repeat of that incident.
Still swiftly gaining altitude, everyone settled in. Hannibal turned to Face, leaving Murdock still excitedly distracted at the window. It occurred to the conman that perhaps Murdock was the reason why Hannibal never said anything earlier; he was always present and listening.
"So?" Face pressed. "Why are we doing this?"
Hannibal uncharacteristically sighed. Then, with a slight jerk of his head, indicated Murdock. "You think the Company was going to let him turn it down? Not with this much at stake. I see no reason why one of my men should have to do this alone."
Face nodded, understanding dawning. "I see. So, the next time a girl wants me to meet her parents, you won't let me take on that assignment by myself, would you?"
Hannibal grinned. "Face, would you really want all three of us backing you up for that occasion?"
Face thought about it and then winced. "You're right. Never mind."
Even though they took off at 4 P.M. and only had an eight-hour flight, it was 6 A.M. when they landed in Zürich. Of course, back in New York it was midnight. And in L.A. it was 9 P.M. yesterday. Jet lag was going to be murder.
Murdock bounced off the airplane like a little kid. "Welcome to Switzerland!" he crowed. Face grimaced at the noise; he was too tired for such exuberance.
"Eyes open, fellas, we've still got a train ride before we reach Engelberg," Hannibal said. He prodded B.A., who was still groaning from the sedative's effects.
Face was hoping to catch a few Zzz's on the train, but Murdock insisted on keeping up a commentary on the countryside. It didn't help that he was actually doing it in English- if it'd been an unfamiliar language Face could've tuned it out. As it was, he was forced to listen.
They finally pulled into the city and checked into the Hotel Edelweiss. In the suite, their bags awaited them. Hannibal opened them up to reveal their gear.
"Looks like Gordon kept his word," he mused.
"Blue's good like that," Murdock dropped casually. "He's an honest man who specializes in dishonesty."
"Like Face?" Hannibal grinned.
"Thanks," Face said sarcastically.
"Alright, guys, I know the clock is ticking, but we're in no shape to begin investigating. Let's get some couple hours of sleep, and then start investigating his aliases."
"I've got the master room," Face called, shouldering his bag and ambling through the door. It was for the best; considering how long Face spent getting ready in the morning they were more than happy to let him have his own bathroom so he wouldn't take up theirs.
B.A. made it two feet and crashed onto the sofa. The drugs still in his system, he was out cold instantly.
Hannibal and Murdock left him and went to the double-bedded room. Murdock bunked near the window while Hannibal took the bed closest to the door. He mulled over the list of names they'd been supplied with as known aliases Henderson used, and thought about the long, tedious trek to find him in this city.
Before he knew it, he drifted off.
Hannibal snapped awake, instantly knowing that something was off. First, he checked his watch. Calibrated to their new time zone, it read 1:35 P.M. He hadn't meant to sleep in so late. Why had no one awakened him?
Come to think of it, they were probably still asleep, too.
A quick turn to his left revealed this not to be so. Murdock's bed was cleanly made and quite empty. And, upon closer tactile inspection, cold.
He'd been up for some time.
Hannibal walked into the kitchen area and found the pilot sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee. He must have been very quiet, for B.A. still snored on the couch further down. Papers were scattered all over the table, and he seemed to calmly be studying them. Hannibal watched for a moment as he lifted the cup to his lips and sipped, turning over a page in file.
"Ready to get started?" he commented.
Murdock noticed him, and Hannibal frowned at the slightly bloodshot look of his eyes. "Already finished," he replied. He reached across the table and dropped a folder on the place where Hannibal sat down.
"He's checked in at the Ristorante Al Monestero as an Italian businessman surveying potential locations for a restaurant. He's using an Italian passport and operating under the name of Marco Veneziale. He booked two rooms on the 4th floor, both on opposite sides of the hallway. Couldn't get any closer after that; if he's got two rooms then you can bet he's got pretty strong surveillance."
Hannibal blinked, trying to process the tide of information pouring forth. "Murdock," he began. "Have you been up this whole time?"
Murdock shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."
"And so you decided to go ahead and start tracking this guy on your ow- how did you find all this out so quickly?"
Murdock winked at him over his coffee mug. "We've's gots tricks at the Company," he said in a sneaky-sounding accent. Swallowing, he reverted back to normal. "If there's one thing the Agency knows how to do it's tracking somebody down."
"They couldn't have told us this sooner?" Hannibal pointed out.
"Now, Colonel, that would take all the fun out of it. Besides, they couldn't use any of their agents, remember? A lot of their intel supplies were suddenly cut because Henderson would recognize them."
"Did you see him?" Hannibal asked. "Did he see you?"
Murdock frowned. "Negative. He was out when I dropped by."
"But the front desk may alert him as to somebody snooping around."
Murdock grinned. "Nope. I didn't ask the front desk. Pulled one of Face's scams to sneak behind and check the register. That's how I know what rooms he bought. The staff there are none the wiser."
"Yet how did you track him to that name and that hotel?" Hannibal pressed, still not quite believing his ears.
Murdock smiled and spoke in a strong British accent. "Elementary, my dear Watson."
Hannibal grinned. "Okay. Trade secret. But it's great news for us." He rose. "I better wake the others." He glanced back at Murdock. "When are you going to sleep?"
"Probably tonight," Murdock answered.
"By then you'll have been up for nearly two days," he pointed out.
"Yep," Murdock agreed. "But no biggie."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive," he answered. "It's conditioned, anyway. I've had to stay up this long on assignment before."
Hannibal lingered, debating whether to pursue that, but let the loaded gun lie. "As long you're functioning for now. I'll rouse Face; you get B.A."
"Roger."
Granted, it took a moment for the others to swallow the sudden appearance of the information they were looking for, but they quickly shook it off. For Face and B.A., it simply meant that they were spared a long and tedious search.
"Okay, so we've got a pretty solid five hours before sundown. That should be enough time to plant what we need," Hannibal instructed. "We need to monitor his two rooms, so that we're alerted when he's coming and going. B.A., we're going to need a camera."
"Got it, Hannibal."
"Henderson's good, Colonel," Murdock broke in tiredly. "You can bet that for whatever move we make he's already got a half-dozen countermoves planned out. The camera absolutely cannot be obvious."
Hannibal took the fresh cigar out of his mouth. "Or it can," he said, with the grin signaling he was on the jazz.
"Wait, what?" Face frowned.
"Think about it," Hannibal said. "When you're a spy, especially a turncoat one, you're going to be paranoid. A camera or microphone could be hiding in the hotel room, the lobby plant, the doors, the windows, any possible exit, the hallway, the elevator, on your own clothes, on the cleaning lady, etc. You're going to check every location to make sure it's clear."
"Right," Murdock nodded.
"So you're going to miss the obvious right in front of you," Hannibal grinned, putting the cigar back between his teeth. "B.A., I want a really big camera."
"Are you going to let the rest of us know what you have in mind?" Face asked.
"Oh, it's brilliant," Hannibal said, swinging an arm around his shoulders and gesturing the upward space in front of them with his cigar. "It's going to be the next big hit. It's called, Amoureuse de mes Ennemis."*
One had to feel sympathy for the clerk at the front desk of the Ristorante Al Monestero. The poor man didn't know what to do with loud people barging through the door and grandly hauling equipment towards the elevator, talking animatedly. Stressed, he tried to stop them, but they kept returning with crates of technical equipment including lights, cords, tripods, kits, and two large TV cameras.
He fluttered from one man with slicked-back brown hair, trying to get him to stop. The man either didn't hear him, or didn't understand him; he kept muttering in French under his breath.
Distressed, the clerk flew to the next person, going to tap him on the shoulder, but thought better of it when the big man turned around and glared at him.
"Oh, no, no, che cosa sei tu- per favore!"** The man whirled when someone tapped him on his shoulder. The person smiled, flashing pearly white teeth that went strikingly well with his dark blue suit.
"Hi," the man greeted. "Do you speak English?"
"Sì, I do," he said frantically.
The man swiftly pulled out a card and handed it to the clerk. "I'm Arthur Dancroft, Hollywood agent and amateur director, and let me tell you, your location is fantastic," as he spoke he slipped an arm around the clerk and started walking with him. "It's just what we need for this little picture we're making for Monsieur Corteau back in Paris. You see, we've been looking everywhere for some kind of hotel or lodge that will fit the scenes we need for the dramatic confrontation between father and son, and this," he stopped and breathed a sigh of awe. "This is it."
"Well, I am glad that you like our building," the man stammered. "But what are all the-"
"Rozerro, relax," the man said, probably spotting his name tag. "We're going to need equipment to film the scenes, you know. Though I tell ya," his tone changed to one of stressed chagrin. "If we have any more problems with this picture, I'm gonna lose it."
"I'm sorry," the clerk blurted.
"Hm? Oh, not you, it's not you," 'Dancroft' assured. "No, it's our producer, Monsieur Corteau. I mean, the man is sitting on a pile of money and he wants to make a movie. Now, there's nothing wrong with that, but then he keeps cutting our budget!" He whirled and gestured the three men unloading the crates. "See that? That's all I have to make the hotel scene. Two actors and a tech guy! And one of the actors- the Frenchie with the brown hair over there, see him? That's Monsieur Corteau's son. And don't get me started on the problems caused by that family dynamic. Boy, it'll be a miracle if this picture turns out at all."
"But what has this got to do with the hotel?" the clerk exclaimed.
The Hollywood agent paused. "I told you. The location. Now, we'll be sure we won't be disruptive to your guests, so we'll take the floor with the least amount of people on it- that'd be the fourth floor. Nobody likes staying on the fourth floor."
"What is wrong with the fourth floor?" he asked, confused.
"Are you kidding? Oh, Rozerro, Rozerro," the man mourned. "You're fairly new in hotels, aren't you? Well, never mind that. We'll just set up our equipment and try to get a few scenes done before the day ends, it'll be no trouble at all." He moved off towards the elevator. Rozerro stood there for a moment, blinking, before crying out and running after them just as the doors closed. He turned back around, facing the lobby, bewildered.
"401 and 409, right Murdock?" Hannibal murmured discreetly in the elevator.
"Oui," Murdock replied.
The doors slid open and Face clapped his hands. "Okay, let's get 'er set up, I want to roll through Act 5, Scene 1 before sundown; Big Guy I want the lights set up over there and the camera with them-"
"Gotcha."
"-Mr. Danube, I want you positioned here, by the camera. Aw, it's a shame the producer wouldn't spring for a real stage microphone."
Hannibal straightened his suit and did as instructed. Murdock paced the hall with an exaggerated frown, viewing the work over and nodding his head critically.
Face grabbed the hotel phone on the wall and dialed a number. He started the "call" smiling, but quickly slipped into irritation.
"Whaddaya mean, 'no'? We got the location! We're all set-up and ready to go! What's the issue?"
At that time the door to 401 opened and a man stepped out. It looked just like Henderson- with a slight makeup job. Hannibal, the expert on such disguises, saw through it instantly.
"Cosa sta succedendo qui?"*** he barked, walking out into the middle of everything. He angrily tapped Face's shoulder, but Face brushed him off exasperatedly, still talking on the phone.
"Cosa sta succedendo qui?" he demanded again.
Murdock strode forward, looking down his nose at the man. "Nous faisons un film magnifique qui va révolutionner l'industrie tout entière au nom de la France !"**** he spouted in thick French.
Henderson looked at him like he was crazy. Hannibal tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around. "Hi. Do you speak English?"
"Some," came an accented answer. Bull, Hannibal thought to himself. "What is happening?"
"Well, it's simple," Hannibal explained, still smiling. "We're making a movie."
He briefly wondered if they could jump Henderson now, but he didn't want to blow their cover and he could see .45 automatic stashed in his jacket.
"A movie? What?"
"Hold up!" Face called. He pressed his ear closer to the phone. "Well how am I supposed to know? It's not like I can mail you a picture of the place instantaneously! Are you serious? Look, do you want it to happen or not?" Pause. "Aw, geez, you gotta be kidding me. Alright, I'll tell them. They could use a night off." He hung up.
"Bad news, guys, Monsieur Corteau's not sure if he wants us to film here. He's on the fence about it, so I'll keep talking to him overnight. In the meantime, we can't film anything without his say-so."
B.A. and Hannibal groaned while Murdock sniffed. Face checked his watch. "Look, it's almost dinner time, why don't we leave our stuff here, grab something to eat, settle down, and come back to film in the morning, huh? I'm sure I'll have swayed him by that time."
Grumbling, B.A. started hauling the rest of the equipment over by the lights. "Hey, Big Guy, make sure you don't leave anything on this time, heh?" Hannibal called.
"Man, that was one time!" B.A. retorted.
Henderson stood bewildered as they kept working, stockpiling everything over at the end of the hall. "What? What?"
"Okay, guys, let's go. Dinner's on me- I'm craving Italian," Face said. The others agreed and milled back into the elevator. Henderson stared after them, still posing as a confused businessman. Shaking his head after the doors closed, and glaring at the haphazard equipment, he walked back into his room and shut the door.
Meanwhile, in the left-behind movie camera, the film was rolling.
*Love with my Enemies; French
**Oh, no, no, what are you- please!; Italian
***What is going on here?; Italian
****We are making a glorious film that will revolutionize the entire industry in the name of France!; French