CHAPTER THREE

September 11, 1968

Hannibal's interruption in the heavy, humid silence should have been startling. "What're you reading, Face?"

But Face didn't look up, didn't flinch. Leaning back on the wall at the head of his bunk, feet out in front of him, he had a cigarette in one hand and a short stack of papers in the other. The cigarette looked like it had gone out some time ago. He didn't seem to notice. "Prisoner report," he mumbled, not pausing.

Vaguely interested, Hannibal raised a brow. "From where?"

"Hannibal, listen to this." He tried to take a drag on the cigarette, realized it was out, and dropped it in the bucket on the floor beside him as he read steadily. "The prison was a one-room building sixty feet long and twenty feet wide. Its floor was of bamboo and about two or three feet above the ground. The walls and ceiling were made of poles fastened together with vines. It had an 'A' shaped grass roof. The door, four feet high and two and a half feet wide, was locked with a pole placed horizontally across its center and through two wooded keepers."

"Fascinating, Face," Hannibal said, quickly losing what curiosity he'd had. "Sounds like any other prisoner report. Where do you get those reports, anyways?"

"They're Agency files. I have a friend," Face replied offhandedly before he continued reading. "There were 94 prisoners. About ten of them were Pathet Lao soldiers, so on and so forth..." He skimmed, realizing he was losing Hannibal's interest. "... and four Americans."

He looked up and caught Hannibal's eye. For a moment, they stared at each other. "Where are they?" Hannibal finally asked.

"Muong Phine," Face answered quickly. "We got the information from a Thai escapee. He had to be taken to a hospital before they could get the details on his escape so they don't have it yet."

Hannibal blinked in surprise. "How long has it been?"

"Three hours."

The startled look turned to one of sheer amazement. "You got classified Agency files within three hours of the initial debriefing?"

"I told you, I have a friend, Hannibal, look." Face didn't pause to give the colonel a chance to get distracted. As he sat up and put his feet on the floor, he stared him down. "We could do this. Quick, too, before they even think to move them. It only took this guy three days to get back into friendly hands. Three days isn't long enough to relocate those prisoners. If we moved now, we could -"

"Have you forgotten that we're already on assignment, Sergeant?" Hannibal interrupted, brows raised.

Face shifted. "Well, no, but... I mean, we could do this in one fucking day. Give me a chopper and I'll go scout it myself!"

"We could," Hannibal agreed. "And once we finish carrying out our current mission, maybe we will."

Jaw tightening, Face pulled himself up ramrod straight. "Our mission is a recon sweep of an intel area that's been there for months," he said icily. "It's not time sensitive; this is!"

Hannibal sighed. "Look, Face, if you got that report, so did Westman. If he changes his mind and sends us out there, I will be more than happy to go."

"There are four Americans in a prison camp that we could walk right up and take," Face snapped back. "You've gone out without Westman's permission before!"

"Not when we're already on the clock," Hannibal answered firmly. With a deep sigh, he took a few steps closer and sat down on the bunk across from Face. "Look, kid. I know the way you operated before you signed on with this team. I talked to your commanding officer about those raids you used to pull to get our guys out. But on this team, you cannot just go running off to do your own thing every time you get a report that piques your interest. You shouldn't even have that information, Face. Your orders come from Westman now, remember?"

Face glared at him. "And before, they came from Captain Marshall. I understand the chain of command, Hannibal. I'm not disputing it."

"Is your friend from the Agency along your chain of command?" Hannibal challenged.

"No, but -"

"Then in order to request your help in this, he needs to come to me or - preferably - to Westman."

"I'm coming to you," Face said firmly. He held up the papers. "I want this, Hannibal. I want to actually accomplish something for a change instead of these stupid recon sweeps in search of old information and once in a while we get to blow up a fucking bridge or do some goddamn, pointless BDA. I've been injured twice in the past month and haven't got a damn thing to show for it!"

Hannibal smiled tightly as he stood. "I understand, Sergeant, and you're more than welcome to take it up with Westman. But frankly?" He clapped a hand on Face's shoulder as he passed. "I don't think he'll really give a damn what you want. And neither do I. Now gear up, we're briefing in five minutes."

Face watched him go, jaw tight, and finally turned to drop the papers on his bunk before he stood and turned to his locker.

August 26, 1978

Face couldn't believe how much money he'd spent tonight just to wind up eating lukewarm pizza on the hood of the Pontiac. Looking out at the empty beach as the sun set, he wasn't disappointed with the view, only with the heat of the summer night, a little too warm for his liking. He'd taken off the jacket and removed the tie from the tuxedo, but he was still roasting.

"So did you ever marry?" Jessica asked, taking a swig of beer from the bottle resting between her fingers.

Face hid his laughter at the ludicrous thought. "No. You?"

"I hardly have time for friends," she answered wistfully, "much less a real relationship."

He glanced sideways at her. With one foot on the bumper and the other on the ground, he leaned carefully on the car so as not to scratch the paint. He would've preferred the benches that had been set up for just such an occasion, but she hadn't asked before sitting on his hood.

"What keeps you so busy?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Work. And I just finished school this year. Finally." She sighed and took another bite of pizza before tossing the crust to a few seagulls who had gathered in the parking lot. "Now I get to work even more so that I can start paying off school loans."

He studied her curiously. She was infinitely more relaxed now, but he still couldn't decide whether he believed she was a perfectly sane doctor at the VA or whether it was more likely she was an escaped patient from the psych ward. If the latter was true, she definitely hid it a lot better when she had control of her surroundings.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon and the beach in front of them was pretty much empty except for a few stragglers and the seagulls. Face was really wishing for that two hundred dollar bottle of wine he'd left on the table, only half finished. It might make the five dollar pizza easier to choke down. He glanced once more at the box, decided he was done, and tossed the rest of what was in his hand to the begging seagulls.

"You want to walk?" he offered. After all that grease, he could stand a short trip down the boardwalk.

She smiled and slid off the car. He almost winced before reminding himself that there were no clasps, zippers, or anything else sharp on that dress to scratch the car's paint. He tossed the pizza box and the few remaining slices in the garbage and offered her an arm, which she slipped her hand through without hesitation.

"You should've heard my mother," she started quietly as they walked slowly down the paved path. "When I told her I was going out tonight."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, feigning interest.

Jessica sighed. "I'll be honest, I wasn't sure about this," she admitted. "But she's been trying so hard to get me to date again and I just... I couldn't disappoint her. Even if I'm not ready."

Face raised a curious brow. "Again, since...?"

She shrugged, and didn't answer. It was a few more steps before she spoke again. "I'm not really good at dating," she admitted. "I just haven't done a lot of it. I went to Vietnam when I was still young and when I came back..."

She shook her head as she shrugged again, a bit uneasy at the vulnerable honesty. Face studied her curiously. Maybe it wasn't psychosis, but complete lack of socialization that made her so difficult to read. She didn't know how to give cues any better than she knew how to read them. She'd been that way in Vietnam, but it was to be expected; she was just a kid. Hell, his social skills were nothing back then compared to what they were now. But how could she have been so secluded for the past ten years? University or not, she was pretty. She must have caught the attention of dozens of men since she'd returned.

"I've tried telling her that I'm happy alone," she said quietly. "But... Well, you know." She looked away, staring at the colorful sunset. "I shouldn't be this old and alone."

Face frowned. "A lot of women are getting married later."

"Yeah, but tell her that." She shook her head. "She's just worried that I'll end up old and lonely."

Face studied her for a long moment as they walked. "Are you worried?"

She smiled faintly, and shook her head. "Not at all. I'm not ready. Simple as that."

Watching the way she lowered her eyes, Face wasn't sure whether she realized she was lying or if she really believed the words coming out of her mouth.

"I still feel like I need time to figure out who I am," she continued quietly. "I don't want to complicate that even more by throwing a guy in there."

He glanced at her curiously. It seemed as good an excuse as any, but she didn't sound convinced. "Why?" he prodded. "Did you forget who you are?"

She laughed. "Oh, you're one to talk."

With a knowing smile, he shrugged in lieu of an answer.

"I don't know," she finally answered after a long hesitation. "There's something inside of me that doesn't feel like... who I am. If that makes sense."

Face considered it for a moment, careful not to let her see just how much sense it really did make to him. "Something you want there?" he asked, suddenly realizing with the words pouring out of his mouth just how comfortable he'd gotten in this conversation. "Or something you don't?"

She looked at him and frowned, not answering for a long moment. "I don't know," she admitted. "I guess I'll have to see what it is first. If it's really me, I'll have to accept it one way or another."

"You could change it," he reminded her.

She sighed deeply, a tired and resigned sound. "Yeah, I guess."

Face let his smile fall as he studied her for a long moment. Then he looked away, out over the water. Her words were honest - a bit too honest, really. She didn't know how to guard the secrets that could be used to hurt her, even with a man she clearly didn't trust. Taking advantage of her would be as wrong as it would be easy, and he couldn't bring himself to even entertain the thought, no matter how cold his bed would be tonight and how easy it would be to fill it.

"You show me a person who knows everything there is to know about himself," he said quietly, finding an ice cold shower readily available inside of his own memories, "and I'll show you a person who doesn't go a single day without thinking about putting a bullet in his brain."

September 12, 1968

"We're going to COSVN."

Hannibal's entire team stared at him as if he'd just grown another head. It was no wonder. He'd just told them that they were going to hit the enemy's central headquarters - on the other side of a border they weren't supposed to cross - as if he was giving an update on the current weather.

Cipher was the first to find his voice. "Are you serious?" he asked, staring incredulously as if sincerely waiting for the punch line.

Hannibal smiled around his cigar and waggled his eyebrows a few times. "Neat idea, huh?"

Everyone who'd actually understood the details of the assignment stared with jaws dropped - including the translator, who'd not yet managed to find words in the Yards' native language to explain the insanity he'd just heard. When he did, the unintelligible words were immediately followed by cries of surprise. Hannibal had not been gifted with either the time or patience to learn even the basics of their language, but he was sure that the string of fast-spoken words included such things as "suicidal", "out of their minds", and probably a few expletives to boot.

"So are we supposed to just walk right up to the front gate of COSVN and knock?" Face asked, brows raised.

"Pretty much, yeah," Hannibal affirmed with a nod.

SOG units had long ago determined that the Viet Cong's overall headquarters, the Central Office for South Vietnam (COSVN), was actually in Cambodia - in an area near Loc Ninh called the Fishhook. The area was so named because it protruded ten miles into South Vietnam - a perfect place for them to set up shop since diplomatic bullshit had strictly forbidden any venture into Cambodia. Any and all recon missions there had to be "sterile" - no insignia, no dog tags, and no American-made clothes or cigarettes. It was just the sort of thing Hannibal's team specialized in, but what they were supposed to accomplish by visiting the enemy's well-fortified base of operations was a mystery of cosmic proportions.

"What are they expecting us to do?" Cipher finally managed.

"They're expecting us to take pictures," Hannibal explained. "Maps, mission plans, debriefing reports." He grinned again. "They were non-specific as to how they want us to get all of it."

"Sounds like a suicide mission, Colonel," Boston said flatly, seriously. "Even if it wasn't in Cambodia."

"Where we're not even supposed to be," Face finished with dramatic flair.

"Well, I guess that's why we were chosen," Hannibal smiled. "Don't you think?"

The entire team exchanged glances. The horrified look on every single one of the Yards' faces was even greater than the Green Berets'. Cipher was the first to pull it together. "So," he started with an exaggerated smile. "I take it you have a plan?"

"Yeah, and not just for how we're going to get in," Face added, not matching the smile. "We need an escape plan, too."

"Of course I do," Hannibal said confidently. "And you're gonna love it."