CHAPTER NINETEEN

November 30, 1968

The hallways were nearly empty inside the DaNang GHQ. A few guards stood at their posts, bare bulbs lighting the long corridors of the converted city hall – or whatever they would've called it here. The soldiers paid no attention to Hannibal as he walked with purpose to the room at the end of the hall, still noticeably lit up in spite of the late hour.

"General?"

Westman looked up and forced a smile as he dropped his hands to the desk, sitting up. "Come on in, John."

Stepping quietly inside the office, Hannibal shut the door behind him before walking to the chair across from the desk. "I'm sorry about Sandgone," he offered sympathetically.

With a deep and heartfelt sigh, General Westman stood even as the much younger colonel sat down. "Sorry to have wasted your time."

Hannibal smiled tightly. "It's what we're paid for, remember?"

Westman chuckled as he walked to the table near the window and poured two glasses of scotch. "You couldn't pay me enough to do what your boys do," he admitted. "Most especially your unit."

Hannibal smiled and reached into his pocket for his cigar. "General, I'm not sure whether to be offended or flattered."

"Just the facts, Colonel." Westman turned back, crossed the few steps to where Hannibal was sitting, and handed one of the glasses to him. "That shit today? If I was that kid?"

"That was your idea," Hannibal reminded with a knowing smile.

Westman shifted uncomfortably. "Well, that wasn't quite what I had in mind."

"What did you have in mind? You could've spoke up if you had a better idea." It was an open challenge, but Hannibal said it with a smile.

"Aw, hell, I don't know." Westman glared at the floor as he tipped his drink up. Now that he was closer, Hannibal could tell it wasn't his first.

In the long silence that followed, Hannibal frowned. "You okay, Ross?"

Westman sighed deeply and took another drink. "Why? Don't I look okay?"

"Actually, no. It's one o'clock in the morning and you're in your office." And you're drunk.

Chuckling at the irony, Westman shook his head. "It's one o'clock in the morning and you're in my office, too."

Hannibal smiled. "I went to your quarters first. Only came here when you didn't show." He paused for a sip of the burning liquor. "Did you forget your wife is here?"

Westman sighed. "No, I didn't forget."

"She made you dinner," Hannibal reported. "I think she was a little pissed off when you didn't show up."

"Yeah, what else is new?"

The bitterness in his voice made Hannibal raise a brow. "If it's that bad, why'd you bring her out?"

"'Cause she wanted to come." Westman sighed again, and refilled his glass on the way back to his desk chair. "Been naggin' me about it for weeks."

Hannibal said nothing, reclining comfortably as his senior officer set the full glass on the desk before sitting down again and covering his eyes with a hand. He suddenly looked very tired. "She's having an affair, John."

Hannibal sipped his drink slowly, then held it aside as he raised his cigar again. "She tell you that?"

"Yes."

Hannibal didn't answer, just watched him quietly.

"Oh, I've known for years," Westman continued with a deep, heartfelt sigh. "It's nothing new. She's probably had four or five of them since I've been over here."

"So why is it bothering you now?"

Westman looked up again, letting his hand drop to his lap. "Because now she actually told me."

Hannibal held his gaze, puffing quietly on his cigar. "What else did she tell you?"

Laughing without humor, the general reached for his glass again. "What, is that not enough?" he challenged, taking a drink.

"She tell you who it was?"

Westman glanced up with a surprisingly pained look in his eyes. "I didn't ask."

Tipping his head with curiosity at the apparent affection Westman held for a woman he had previously seemed entirely disenchanted with, Hannibal paused briefly. "Usually that's the first question people do ask," he pointed out. "Or don't you want to know?"

Westman's eyes lowered, and he shook his head slightly. "It shouldn't matter. It's not much of a marriage anyway. Never has been."

The simplistic response was far more akin to what Hannibal had heard him chant previously - with and without the aid of whiskey - regarding his young, pretty wife. She was a trophy - one he needed to be successful in the higher ranks of the army desk jockeys but not one he particularly enjoyed seeing, let alone holding.

Hannibal hesitated for a long moment. But it was clear that the general had nothing more to say. "So what made her decide to tell you?" Hannibal asked quietly. "Does she want a divorce?"

Westman shook his head slowly, then covered his face with his hand again. "She's pregnant, John."

Hannibal stopped, stared, and took another - long - drink. "She didn't look it," he finally managed.

"She just found out."

Nodding slowly, Hannibal did the math. "She was out here about two months ago. The timing is about right."

Westman shook his head. "We didn't share a bed."

Hannibal was silenced.

"I'm sorry," Westman sighed. "I shouldn't be unloading this on you; it's my problem. Did you need something?"

Hannibal paused for a moment, then shook his head, rising to his feet. "No. Sorry. I just figured since you were up, you might tell me where we're going in the morning. But you seem to have more important things on your mind."

"You need to talk to Colonel Mark Loun here in Saigon," Westman answered, offhandedly. "Something about a wiretap, near... aw hell, I don't even remember. It's some joint Agency operation. He'll be expecting you in his office tomorrow afternoon at one." He looked up again, eyes tired. "Sorry, John, I honestly don't even remember what it was about. I'm sure he can brief you."

Hannibal smiled sympathetically. "It's alright."

"But I need to talk to your Sergeant Peck before you leave in the morning. I sent someone to go see if he was still awake but they couldn't find him. Don't let him leave without coming to see me."

Hannibal raised a brow. "What did he do this time?" he asked with some trepidation.

Westman chuckled and shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I just need his signature on the report from today."

"I'll see if I can find him." Hannibal smiled as he headed for the door. "Have a good night, Ross."

"You too."

As it turned out, Face was easy to find. He was standing just outside the open doorway, leaning on the wall. As Hannibal stepped out into the hall, they locked eyes hard. "Westman's looking for you," Hannibal said lightly, not quite sure what to expect. Had he been eavesdropping? What reason could he possibly have? Suddenly suspicious, Hannibal waited for the kid to say something.

But Face didn't speak. Instead, his stare remained fixed on Hannibal, ice cold and piercing. Briefly, Hannibal wondered if he was trying to be intimidating. That was the problem, dealing with teenagers. Between the hormones and the lack of experience, they didn't really have a clue about the world. It was an even bigger problem when they didn't realize it.

Well aware of the intensity and determination - hostility? - in Face's stare, Hannibal held it, instinctively refusing to back down. He hadn't seen the kid since the bar. He'd known something wasn't quite right, and it was more than the failure of a mission that had no hope of succeeding. It wasn't as though they'd gotten Sandgone killed; he was probably dead long before they ever even arrived. Still, Face seemed to be taking it surprisingly hard.

Hannibal was still considering that when Face pushed off the wall, stood up straight, and passed close enough to whisper and still be heard. "Tangled web, huh, Colonel?"

Hannibal blinked, confused as his thoughts derailed. "What is?"

They locked eyes again, and Face smiled angrily, matching the glare in his eyes. "You'd better hope to God that kid's not blond haired and blue eyed or your military career might've just reached an impasse."

Hannibal's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't have a chance to speak before Face entered Westman's office, closing the door behind him.

August 30, 1978

The hushed words to the man standing guard beside BA warned Hannibal that something wasn't right. But before he had a chance to ask any questions, Roy had stepped forward and withdrawn a pistol from beneath his jacket. At the table, chairs turned, every player instantly on guard against Hannibal - the man on the receiving end of the gun barrel. With a calm he knew was contradictory to what they would be expecting, Hannibal turned fully to face the man who held it.

"Something wrong?" he asked with a gesture that could've been a shrug.

A second gun emerged - this one pointed at BA by the man standing on the other side of the door. BA gave him a growl and a threatening glare, but kept his hands where they could be seen.

"Who the hell are you?" Roy demanded, eyes fixed on Hannibal as he took a slow step forward. "You a cop?"

The two other men at the table stood on cue and reached for their weapons. Hannibal wasn't surprised that they had them. He'd expected as much. Buying himself a moment to think, Hannibal only smiled. He was good at thinking on his feet, and the change in circumstances may have significantly altered the plan but they certainly didn't alter the goal. They were here to gather information on a gambling ring that operated well outside the bounds of legal limits. If anything, this show of force was a welcome shift in circumstances; it allowed Hannibal to implement a more direct approach.

"Frisk him."

BA was armed; Hannibal was not. Even if they had both had guns, they were outnumbered and in no position to start shooting. The man at the door would've taken BA's full attention and Hannibal wasn't about to take on three guys with guns in an enclosed area while unarmed. At least, not while he still needed them conscious in order to provide information. Escaping, in and of itself, would accomplish absolutely nothing.

There were other issues, too. Murdock and Face knew what was going on in here and they were more than capable of thinking on their feet as well. Having backup gave Hannibal a bit of leeway in his approach. But who knew how trigger-happy these loons were and besides, if Face and Murdock were in here, getting in on the action, it meant that they were not available to be out there, looking for Paulie. Weighing all of this in the balance in the time it took one of the armed men to jerk him to his feet, Hannibal decided to comply. BA followed his lead.

Roy found BA's gun, which wasn't a surprise. Then he found the transmitter - significantly more detrimental to any thoughts Hannibal might have had of appearing confused by the whole charade. That was fine by him, really. He liked play acting, but sometimes it felt good to poke the big, angry monster with a stick just to see it thrash around.

As Roy angrily crushed the devices under his feet, he leaned forward, glaring hard at Hannibal. "What the hell is this," he demanded, "some kind of sting operation?"

"Sting operation?" Hannibal smiled, letting his accent drop and slowly, unthreateningly peeling the mustache and putty off of his face. "You sound paranoid. Is this kind of gambling illegal around here? I forget."

"Alright smartass," Roy growled. "Game's over. You and your bodyguard are both coming with me."

August 30, 1978

Face had been listening to so many things at once, he didn't even notice when the bar receiver went dead. Between Hannibal's conversation with Gene in the card room, BA's quiet relay of information into the receiver inside his jacket, an apparently unrelated conversation in the bathroom, and the audible reactions of the doomed Paulie's distraught ex-wife, he couldn't keep it straight. Finally, he had to tell Jessica in no uncertain terms to shut up, flick off the receiver in the bathroom so that he couldn't hear it, and try to concentrate on BA while keeping Hannibal's voice in the background. Murdock's warning had come at just the right time to hear it, but he was powerless to do anything about it.

"What do you wanna do, Face?" Murdock asked tensely, crouched down in the back of the van. He had one ear up to a set of headphones, listening although he was fairly certain all three transmitters had been destroyed.

Face had been debating what to do since Murdock had come back out of the bar. On the one hand, Hannibal and BA could hold their own against four men, even if those four men were armed; he was fully confident in that. On the other, if Roy called in reinforcements or moved them somewhere, it could pose a bigger problem. And there was still another matter to consider: Paulie.

If he'd thought - even for a moment - that he was hanging his team out to dry, his choice would be clear. But he didn't think that. If Hannibal felt threatened, all he had to do was yell loudly and he knew they'd storm the place with guns blazing. But he hadn't led them to anything of the sort and he knew the score as well as they all did. It wasn't hard to figure out what he wanted - and expected - them to do.

Face set the headphones aside, leaving Murdock to monitor the situation on the inside. "Jessica?"

She sat up straight in the back bucket seat of the van. "Yeah?"

"They said they'd found your ex," he reminded her. "We need to get to him first. So I need you to think: Where would he go?"

She put her hand up to her face and ran it back through her hair. "Geez, I don't know..." She was quiet for a few minutes, and he let her think. Finally, she dropped her hand. "He had a girlfriend," she offered. "She might know where he is."

"If you two wanna go," Murdock offered, "I'll stay here with BA and Hannibal."

Face glanced at the worried expression Jessica wore. "How far away does this girlfriend live?" he asked.

"Other side of town," Jessica answered, already opening the door of the stuffy van and stumbling out into the cooler air outside.

"I'll get the number off that payphone," Face said, nodding to the phone on the telephone pole on the edge of the parking lot.

Murdock followed Face's train of thought. "If we move, I'll call back here."

"Make sure you let it ring for a while," Face advised. "People in there will recognize me. I won't be able to sit at the phone and wait."

Murdock nodded, and Face slammed the van door closed again before heading to his car a few steps behind Jessica.