One slammed phone was nowhere near enough to deter Hannibal (although the comment about rabid pigeons was a new one on him) and so he picked up the receiver and dialed again.

"Hello?"

"Rabid pigeons?" Hannibal said again.

"Hannibal?" Emotions were still running high in Tawnia's voice. "Now isn't a good time. Where are you?"

"On the phone to you." Hannibal wasn't about to reveal his location over the telephone, even to Tawnia. "Are you okay?"

Tawnia swallowed. "Not really, but why're you calling me?"

"I need you to find out about someone for me. Believe me, I wouldn't ask you if I wasn't desperate."

In spite of herself, Tawnia managed a grin. "Thanks Hannibal. You really know how to flatter a girl."

Hannibal chuckled. "Alright, let me rephrase that. You're my last hope, if you can't do it no one can, either of those sound better? I need your contacts at the paper."

Tawnia bit her lip, an unpleasant roiling in the pit of her stomach.

"Hannibal...I, uh, I don't work at the paper anymore."

"You don't?" Hannibal sounded astonished. "What happened?"

"I...quit."

"You quit," Hannibal repeated, glancing at Murdock, who tried very hard to look as though this was news to him. "Tawnia, if I ask what happened, are you going to shout at me about rabid pigeons and slam the phone down again?"

"We had a disagreement on the honeymoon. He didn't think I should have married him."

This statement wasn't too surprising to Hannibal, who had seen too many marriages between beautiful young women and men old enough to be their father end in divorce, although not, he admitted to himself, on the honeymoon.

"Did he say why?"

"Because—" even on the other end of the phone, Hannibal could hear Tawnia swallow— "I, um, well, we had a little too much to drink, and I blurted out something that I shouldn't have."

"What was that?" Hannibal kept half an eye on Murdock as he said this, noticing that the pilot suddenly seemed very interested in his coffee.

"I told him I was already married. To someone else."

For a moment, Hannibal was sure he must have misheard, or failing that, misunderstood.

"You told him what?"

"I thought he was a nice guy! I thought he would understand! And like I said, I was drunk."

"Tawnia, telling your new husband that he isn't really your husband because you're already married to another man...that's one hell of a bombshell to drop on the poor guy. Particularly on the honeymoon."

"That doesn't explain what he was doing with his research assistant in her tent the next night! What is it with you men and blonds? And couldn't he at least have waited until his wife was asleep!"

Hannibal puffed on his cigar. "Except technically speaking, you weren't his wife."

The line went dead for the second time and Hannibal replaced the phone, grinning. It was good to know that the old Tawnia was still in there.

"Alright, Murdock. Talk. Tell me what you should have told me before letting me pick up that phone."

Murdock, who had finished his share of the gingerbread men, opened the top cupboard and pulled out a large bag of chocolate covered peanuts.

"Tawnia caught her husband sleepin' with his research assistant. Well...not actually sleepin', they were—"

"Yeah, I think I can guess what they were doing, Murdock."

"I got ten bucks says ya can't, Colonel. Turns out this guy's kinda adventurous when it comes ta bouncin' on the bedsprings."

"Murdock..."

"Well, anyway, Tawnia left him. Actually...well, I say she left him, Hannibal, but it was more a case a him bootin' her off the research team. Said he wasn't gonna be no bigamist an' that Tawnia should crawl on back ta her husband. She did, only he refused ta give her a divorce, so six months down the line she finds herself in some crummy little apartment with five hundred dollars."

"Where'd she get the five hundred dollars?" Face asked curiously.

"Faceman, believe me when I say you really would not believe me if I toldja. An' that goes double for you, Colonel. I only know about it 'cause she called me at the VA 'bout a month before the whole Sacheton thing went down. I snuck out ta check on her. An' man, Hannibal, you thought the place we found Faceman in was a dump, you shoulda seen Tawnia's. Y'know, the guy who owned it shoulda paid her ta live there. Anyway, I helped her escape an' set her up at a nicer apartment."

Face raised his eyebrows. "You're all heart, Murdock."

"I am?" Murdock looked comically dismayed. "Oh no. What happened ta my lungs? An'...an' my kidneys? An' my stomach?"

That got a smile out of Face. "C'mon, give it up. We both know you're completely sane."

Hannibal shot the younger man a sudden sharp look. "What did you say, kid?"

The smile faded off the lieutenant's face and he looked away. "Never mind."

There was a short pause.

"Well, Tawnia can't help us with this one," Hannibal said at the end of it, with a sigh. He'd never liked having auxiliary members of the Team – especially civilian ones – but even he had to admit that having a top reporter on their side had been damn useful. "Alright. I'll stop by the library, see if I can dig anything out of the archives."

"Hannibal, this Chrissy Allen, or Jolene Hanson, or whoever she is, is probably long gone. This is like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of Connecticut."

The colonel glanced over his shoulder. "You said it yourself, Face. We have two confirmed IDs for this girl and no idea which one is the right one. Two sets of alleged parents looking for her. I don't know about you, but I'm sure curious." And since you still won't talk to me, kid, I might as well do something useful, he added in the privacy of his own mind.


It was sheer bad luck that brought Decker into Hannibal's path on the drive to the library; both men pulled up on opposite sides of a four-way intersection, saw each other at the exact same moment and reacted simultaneously; Decker hit the gas and the siren and barely waited before screeching out into the flow of traffic milliseconds after Hannibal had joined it and headed off to the right.

Spinning the wheel, Hannibal accelerated the wrong way down a one-way street, mind racing. He wasn't worried about meeting anything coming the other way – the blaring sirens of the MP cars behind him would clear out the street nicely – but he was worried about shaking them. Speed for speed, there wasn't much in it; the MP engines were specially tuned, but so was the van' escape plans were a whole lot easier to come up with when you didn't have to concentrate on navigating an unfamiliar city at close on seventy.

Note to self: have BA install remote control AR-15s in the sunroof. Hannibal skidded around the corner into the high street on two wheels, jumped a red light and tore around the next intersection. He misjudged the sharpness of the turn and ended up fishtailing across somebody's newly finished cement driveway and plowing through it, sending globs of wet cement flying in all directions, although he did find time to spare a silent apology for the poor guy who had probably spent hours smoothing it out to a loving finish.

Any other MP would probably have radioed for backup at this point, but Hannibal knew Decker better than that. This had become primeval, hunter chasing after prey, and the colonel wouldn't want to risk sharing his glory with anyone.

Well, let's see just how fast Decker can go.

He spun the wheel, accelerated around the corner and almost plowed right into a family sedan at the very end of a long queue caused by roadworks, a development neither he nor Decker had foreseen.

Oh, that is just plain unfair.

Hannibal watched in the wing mirrors as Decker and Crane emerged from their car and moved up on either side of the van.

Sloppy, Decker. Really sloppy. They were still too far back to see him, and so Hannibal slid into the back, waited until he heard them pass and then quietly clicked open the rear door and snuck out toward the MP car.

The guy even left the motor running. Hannibal shook his head as he clambered into the MP's car. It was no fun outwitting an idiot.

"SMITH!" Decker's yell tailed off a little at the end, as he discovered Hannibal's escape route, then he spun around.

Seated snugly behind the wheel, Hannibal offered him a friendly smile and a wave before throwing Decker's car into reverse and screeching out of there.

Seconds later, the A-Team van followed him out. Decker was not too proud to learn by example.

Great. Now we have the A-Team chasing the MPs. Where the hell did Decker learn to hotwire a car, anyway?

He'd have to do something about that. Glancing around for a weapon he could fire while still driving the car, Hannibal's gaze fell on the radio unit and a slow grin spread across his face. He was feeling more like himself than he had since Sacheton.

Oh, BA is going to kill me for this...

Hannibal picked up the radio and deepened his voice. "Attention all units. This is Colonel Decker. Smith and his A-Team have ambushed me; request immediate backup. Repeat, request immediate backup! Stop that van at all costs! Do whatever it takes, just run it off the road! Over."

Chuckling, he replaced the radio unit and turned the siren on. He wouldn't trade the van for anything (and not just because BA would rip out his lungs if he so much as suggested it) but still...traveling in an MP car did have its perks. Not many drivers ever got out of the way this quickly when he was in the van.

It took just ten minutes for half a dozen MP cars to converge on their location, and, with the advantage of surprise on their sides, about as many seconds to run the A-Team van off the road. By the time a fuming Decker had emerged from the van and explained the situation at the top of his lungs, Hannibal and the stolen MP car were out of Chicago and hurtling along at just over ninety miles per hour, siren blaring. With a bit of luck, Decker would remember the road he'd seen Hannibal drive down and assume he and the Team were headed out of the city.

A little exploratory driving combined with a newly acquired road map brought Hannibal back into Chicago, and a late return to the apartment got his tires blown out by BA, who'd either arrived a few minutes earlier or, more likely, set himself up as the first line of defence.

Winding down his window, but not quite daring to stick his head out of it, Hannibal yelled, "BA!"

"Hannibal?" BA stood up from his cover point behind his rental car. "What you doin' in there? Where's my van?"

"Didn't anybody ever tell you to check your target before opening fire?" Hannibal demanded.

"Drivin' up in that car like that, I thought you were Decker! Where's my van?"

Hannibal drew himself up. "I didn't hear that, Sergeant."

"I said I THOUGHT YOU WERE DECKER, NOW WHERE'S MY VAN?"

Dignified denials really were wasted on some people, Hannibal thought as he headed back toward their apartment, closely followed by a suspicious BA.

"Where's my van, Hannibal?"

The colonel put on his best officer's voice. "BA, I'm surprised at you! Face is down, we're doing all we can to get him back on his feet again, and are you really telling me that you're more worried about your van than another member of your team?"

BA met his stare without flinching. "Yeah! Because you already told me over the phone that Faceman gonna be okay, but you ain't told me nothin' about my van goin' missin'! So where is it?"

Hannibal smiled. BA threatening to punch his teeth down his neck was...well, not good, obviously, but at least it was normal.

"Well, BA, think of it as...a kind of compliment. You see, there was a little traffic jam in Chicago, and the van got a little boxed in—"

"Boxed in? Hannibal, you better not be tellin' me my van got smashed!"

"It didn't get smashed, BA," Hannibal answered, with perfect truth. "It was...well, think of it this way. Colonel Decker could have chosen any vehicle to try and outrun an MP car, but no, he decided he wanted—"

"You let Decker take my wheels?"

"Well...it was kinda like a trade."

"You let Decker take my wheels!" One meaty fist snarled itself in Hannibal's jacket, the other drew back to its owner's shoulder. "You better start prayin', Hannibal."

The fist started on its way, but Hannibal got there first, connecting hard with a right hook that knocked BA to the ground and very nearly broke two of his own knuckles into the bargain.

For several seconds, BA lay on the ground, stunned not by the punch so much as the puncher. Apart from being smashed over the head with a two by four whenever the Team needed to fly (which even he grudgingly accepted as a kind of occupational hazard rather than actual assault) he'd never been on the receiving end of Hannibal's fists before.

"Alright." Hannibal was breathing rapidly. "That. Is. Enough! I have Face wishing I would just drop out of existence, I have Murdock in one of his completely sane moods and that's enough to derail anybody, we have Decker and his goons sniffing around our doorstep and so excuse me if the lives of my men – including you – are more important to me than your damn van!"

The sergeant got to his feet and then turned to Hannibal. "You know, Hannibal, just 'cause you mad at yourself about what happened to Face, it don't give you the right to take it out on everyone else."

"No. But it does give me the right to put the life of someone I care about over a goddamn vehicle. Once we have Face back on his feet, then you can pound me into raw hamburger if it makes you feel better, but until then, I do not want to hear another word about that van. Is that clear?"

The only response was a growl, which Hannibal understood to be Baracian for yes, it's clear and yes, I'll do what you say, but I'd rather push rusty needles into both eyes than give you the satisfaction of hearing me admit it.

Walking into the apartment, a scowling BA following, Hannibal shut the door behind them and dragged a chair against it.

"BA!" Murdock beamed at the sergeant. "My bud! My compadre! My non-conjoined Siamese twin! I saved ya a gingerbread cookie!"

He held it out proudly. It was in the shape of the van, and Murdock had even made an attempt at decorating it to look like the van as well.

BA took it. Despite the pilot's erratic behavior when it came to most other things, Murdock's cooking was safe, and usually very good.

"Thanks, crazy man. Maybe I can force feed it to Hannibal, just in case he forgets what he done."

"We have bigger problems to worry about, BA; Decker knows we're in Chicago. I made sure he saw me heading out of the city, but I don't think that's going to buy us more than a few hours. Perhaps a day, if we're lucky. We have to make plans to get out of here."

Murdock wasn't to be put off that easily. "Whatcha do, Hannibal?"

"Nothing that matters," Hannibal said irritably. Dammit, was every member of his Team going to get in on the Let's-Beat-Up-Hannibal party?

"Sucker lost my van!" BA glared at the gingerbread van he was holding and then bit it in half with a savage expression that said he wished he could do the same thing to Hannibal. "Decker got it."

Murdock's jaw dropped. "Ya lost the van? The fifth member of the A-Team an' you let Decker kidnap her? Hannibal, how couldja?"

BA turned the glare on Hannibal. "For once, the crazy fool is makin' some sense!"

"Well, Decker was either going to get me and the van or the van by itself! And we'll get it back. We always do; remember that time I drove it into the ocean? Remember that time Murdock drove it into the ocean?" Hannibal glanced around the kitchen. "Where's Face?"

Murdock shifted his weight, serious again. "Well..."

"Well what?"

"He's in his room. Uh. He asked me to say that he wants to see you."

Hannibal felt a sudden lurch in his chest that was half hope, half apprehension. "Did he say what it was about?"

Murdock shrugged. "Kinda. He says he wants ta talk."

That was about the last thing that Hannibal had been expecting when he got back and he stared at the pilot.

"So he's gone from hating my guts to wanting a heart to heart with me in one afternoon?"

Murdock nodded. "Sure has."

Even taking into account Murdock's friendship with Face, this was fast work and Hannibal narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Murdock—"

"He ain't trickin' ya, Hannibal. I mean, I don't know what he wants ta talk to ya about, but at least it's a good sign that he wants ta."

Hannibal considered this for a minute or two, then nodded. "Alright. I'll see what he's got to say for himself. And if either of you fight, argue or even just mildly disagree with each other, you will both be running laps around the entire city until we leave. It's bad enough having Face angry; we don't need any more infighting."

"Wouldn't be no infightin' at all if you hadn't lost my van, sucker!"

"Put it on hold, Sergeant! Both of you, get over to opposite windows and keep an eye out for Decker and his goons!" Without waiting to see if his order was obeyed, Hannibal knocked on Face's door and, when there was no answer, pushed it open.

Face was asleep on his bed, a paperback novel lying on the floor where it had fallen from his hand. Picking it up, Hannibal noticed the title and smiled slightly. That had to be Murdock's work. The pilot went through fixations like an alcoholic through cheap firewater, the current one being Inspector Morse novels. Neither Face nor Hannibal were big fans of detective stories – mostly because both men tended to work out the ending before they were halfway through – but the colonel supposed that Face had decided it was better than nothing.

Should he wake him? Hannibal stared down at his lieutenant for a minute or two, then dismissed the idea. Face didn't seem to be having too bad a dream just then; his expression was tense, but there was none of the panicked thrashing around that accompanied his usual nightmares.

Exactly. Poor kid needs some rest. I'll just stay here until he wakes up.

Placing the book on the nightstand, Hannibal sat down opposite Face, and waited.


Next up...dark secrets. In the meantime, hope you liked this and if you read, please review!