Q the omnipotent night fury: Yep, you got it ;) And thanks :)

The drop turned out to be a little further than I'd expected, and even with the rutabaga costume to cushion my fall, I was lucky not to break both my legs. Hey, it's hard to judge these things from where I'd been at the time, okay?

I hit the ground, tucked, rolled in the wrong direction and crashed into the wall. Wincing, I got to my feet and looked around, hoping there was nobody around.

Nope. Good. I dusted myself off and then, for the benefit of the tape, said, "I meant to do that."

I looked around. I was in a small, well-lit room with a short corridor leading deeper into the building and – amazingly – an illuminated EXIT sign at the far end, with an arrow pointing to the left.

For a long moment all I could do was stand and stare at it. Was it really that simple? Had I somehow beaten this hell?

Nothing in life is ever that simple, kid, my Hannibal-Voice told me. I told it to shut up – something I'd never dare say to the real Hannibal – and went back to puzzling over this latest development, staring at the sign as though I could embarrass it into giving me the answer.

I couldn't, of course (although BA might have had better luck) but I did notice something. There was something pale against the wall, something small and plastic looking, like an ID or credit card. Every sense tingling on red alert, glancing around for any signs of a trap, I walked over to it, reached down and took it, then threw myself flat on the ground for good measure.

Nothing happened. There was no hidden blade, no rigged shotgun. Someone had simply dropped this, or left it.

Now I seemed to be in less danger of imminent death, I examined my find more closely. Not an ID card; instead it looked like some sort of keycard. Shrugging, I pocketed it. Who knew; maybe it would come in handy.

It didn't, however, solve the more immediate problem; namely which way was I supposed to go? Which was more stupid; to put my trust in someone who'd kidnapped and tried to kill me and blindly follow the EXIT signs they'd put up, or turn and walk in the opposite direction when there was no guarantee there would be an exit there either? Maybe they were banking on my thinking they were trying to trick me and going left, so they'd rigged up another trap down that passage? Was this just some kind of elaborate double-bluff?

I groaned. It's fun when it's Hannibal doing things like this to the bad guys, but having to suffer them myself made my head hurt. I didn't even have a coin to flip. In the end I decided to try my luck with the EXIT sign and headed off to the left.

As I got further down the corridor, I became aware of a low thrumming noise, like some kind of machinery. It was impossible to tell how far away it was; the narrow corridor distorted the sound, echoes bouncing off the walls and all around me. I was more surprised that any kind of machinery could operate here; this part of the building was so cold I could see my breath misting in front of me. Maybe I really was underground.

It was then that I rounded a corner, saw what was there and promptly lost all interest in puzzling out where I was.

I'd been right in assuming it was a machine. It was, in fact, a timber slicer, tucked away in one corner opposite a metal door with another EXIT sign directly above it.

The slicer itself was occupied. There was a kid – she couldn't have been older than her mid-teens – strapped to it. I couldn't see her face (whoever brought her here had wrapped a thick black hood around her head, blindfolding her) but I could tell from the frantic squirming that she was still alive, and aware that whatever was happening, it wasn't good.

I'd seen this kind of thing in sitcoms and cartoons. Turned out the reality wasn't quite so funny.

I examined the machine as closely as I dared, not wanting to come into contact with those blades. I also did it as silently as I could; I didn't much want this poor kid knowing I was there if it turned out I couldn't help her. There were a few buttons and levers on the machine, none of which I felt confident enough to experiment with. I might switch it off, or I might end up doubling the speed and sending my fellow captive to a rather messy end. There had to be an emergency stop button somewhere, but if there was, I couldn't see it. I guess if whoever took us possessed enough technical know-how to rig up those damn blades, they'd be able to take a big red button off a machine too.

A little more frantic searching on my part turned up a slot on the side, one that looked about the right size for the keycard. Maybe that was it. Maybe whoever did this used a keycard to start and stop the machine, only he'd dropped it on his way out or...or something.

It sounded pathetic even to me, but it had to be worth a try. I glanced quickly up at the (supposed) exit door, trying to figure out if I could kick it open or something...and saw another slot on the wall next to it.

Was that it? Had this jerk dropped it on purpose, wanting to see what choice I'd make? Two slots: one on the machine, one next to the door. Whichever one I chose, I wasn't naive enough to believe I'd get the keycard back.

The kid's blindfolded and you haven't made a sound. She doesn't know you're here. You can just leave her; save yourself.

I took two steps toward the door marked EXIT, then stopped. How could I turn my back on an escape route? How could I give up the possibility of a way out to save someone's life?

Put like that, how could I not?

Swearing mentally, using the worst words I could think of (and believe me, I had plenty to choose from, in English, Vietnamese and – thanks to Hannibal – Korean) I turned back to the machine and rammed the keycard into the slot. Sometimes I really wish I wasn't such a nice, self-sacrificing guy.

The machine juddered hard, then ground to a halt. An ominous ticking sound came from inside and I felt the blood drain from my face. What, was the damn thing rigged up to a bomb or something?

Whether it was or not, at least it had stopped moving. I reached down, yanking on the straps, trying to undo them. It wasn't easy; the leather was stiff and cracked with age and by the time I'd managed to get one ankle strap unfastened, the ends of my fingers were feeling a little tender.

I hurried around to the other side with only a slight stumble (the kid had moved her leg off the machine as soon as I'd released it, which was an understandable reaction but one that also tripped me up and very nearly sent me flat on my face) and started work there. Either this one was easier or I'd gotten the knack of undoing medieval-looking leather straps; whichever it was, I got it unfastened in about half the time of the first one.

It was at that point that the ticking stopped and the machine restarted itself.

Swearing out loud this time, I redoubled my efforts on the girl's wrist, wishing I hadn't used the keycard so soon; it might have been sturdy enough to have given me some extra leverage, and the conveyor belt for the slicer wasn't moving all that fast.

One wrist unfastened. I really was getting better at this; if the Team ever found itself in this kind of situation, I was going to be able to surprise everybody. Just as well, really, seeing this kid didn't seem much inclined to help with the last restraint. Maybe she figured her hand would just get in the way, or more likely, she was in some kind of shock.

I got the last strap unfastened just as she was getting uncomfortably close to the blades. There was no time to be elegant or gentlemanly about it; I put both hands under her armpits and yanked hard, dragging her off the machine.

Helping her to her feet, I reached out and pulled that damn hood off her. Two seconds later, I was slapped hard across the face.

This almost never happens to me. Women, even young women, tend to give off plenty of warning signs before a date degenerates into slapping, and as an officer and a gentleman (as Hannibal's so fond of saying, although I've known a few officers who were far from gentlemen) I always feel obliged to take those warnings seriously.

"Ow! What was that for? Look, kid, I'm on your side!"

She stared at me, apparently uncomprehending. Some instinct warned me and I reached out and caught hold of her, supporting her weight as she clung to me and burst into tears. Usually I like it when women do this (it lets me comfort them and opens up good opportunities for more intimate forms of comfort later on; they like sensitive, caring men) but the operative word there is women, not girls. I doubted this kid was more than fifteen years old, and that's at least ten years too young for me.

Alright...maybe five.

"Okay, honey. Okay." I waited until the sobs had dwindled into hiccups before speaking again. "What's your name?"

"Nadia Stegner."

"Uh huh. I'm Templeton Peck. You can call me Face. Did you, uh, see who did this to you?"

Nadia shook her head. "N-no. I was walking home from a nightclub when someone hit me on the back of the head. When I woke up, I was here." She glanced at the slicer, and shuddered. "It wasn't going then. I guess...someone had it hooked up to a kind of remote control."

That certainly fit with everything else I'd seen. Sneaking around behind people to slam doors shut was too risky; it was much easier to just push a button. It also made things a little nastier for us; after all the time I've spent with the rest of the Team, I'm well aware of how unpleasant a remote controlled booby trap can be. I guess it wasn't too surprising, now that I think about it. The female mind is often a mystery to me, but I was pretty sure that even the most repressed, downtrodden woman – or girl, in this case – would not allow herself to be strapped to a timber slicer without putting up some kind of a fight.

"A nightclub?" I raised my eyebrows. "You're kinda young for that, aren't you?"

Nadia bit her lip, looking even younger. "Don't tell my mom, okay? She'd kill me."

I thought this girl had her priorities a little skewed – here we were, set up for a long, tortuous death, and all she could think about was how to avoid being grounded – but I didn't say so.

"My lips are sealed, honey. Now, what do you say we get outta here?"

Nadia stared up at me. "Do you know the way out?"

I didn't have a clue, but I wasn't about to say that to her. "Well, I know it's not back that way, so I guess it must be this way."

I kept a wary eye out as we walked down the corridor, but there was no sign of any more booby traps. Instead of feeling relieved, this just put me more on edge. I couldn't help thinking of something Hannibal had once told me in Vietnam: if you're in enemy territory and there's no sign of the enemy, either the guy with the map screwed up or you're walking into the mother of all ambushes.

What was I walking into?

And now I had Nadia to watch out for. I wasn't sorry I'd saved her – how could I be – but having a fifteen year old kid to keep safe was likely to complicate matters a little. For one thing, some of my more graphic plans for the person behind all this would have to be put on hold. I guess that was a good thing, though; it would give me a little time to collect what I needed for those plans. Even for such a talented acquisitions specialist as myself, piranha fish and hammerhead sharks are not easy to come by.

Neither of us spoke as we walked along. I guess there was nothing to say. Any kind of banal chit-chat such as where do you live could wait until we got out of here...if we got out.

It was a little creepy though, being with a fifteen year old girl who didn't say anything. I mean, some of our past clients have had fifteen or sixteen year old daughters and I usually become the focus of adolescent hormones that take the form of very aggressive chatting and blatant flirting, since at that age they haven't yet learned that less is sometimes more. (For the record, I would also like to say that I have never taken up any of the offers made to me by those kids. Adult women are different; they're old enough to know what they're getting into). Then again, my usual suave appearance had probably suffered a lot since I first woke up here; high stress plus extreme vomiting can do that to a face, no pun intended.

A few minutes of this silent stroll – still no sign of booby traps – brought us to a dead end and a metal door on the right hand wall. Any hopes I may have been cherishing about it being locked (thus offering me a very reasonable excuse not to go through and face whatever was on the other side) were dashed when I turned the handle and the door swung open easily. Like the last two, the room beyond it was completely dark, although thanks to the light above our heads, I could make out something metal gleaming inside.

"What's that?" Nadia whispered.

"I don't know." I glanced over my shoulder. Don't ask me why. I knew now for a fact that we were being watched – and recorded – but I had a nasty, creeping suspicion that we were also being followed. "But I don't think we should hang around here much longer."

I stepped into the room, Nadia following a second or two later. This time I shut the door myself.

Okay, that's it for this week ;) More will be along very soon ;) In the meantime, hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you read, please review!