CHAPTER TWENTY

November 30, 1968

Hannibal was waiting outside the door to General Westman's office when Face re-emerged. Not terribly surprised to see him there, Face acknowledged him only with a brief glance as he started down the hall.

"You got something you want to say to me, kid?" Hannibal demanded, keeping pace with him.

"Not unless you need someone to clarify the situation for you." Face looked him up and down blatantly. "But you're pretty smart; I think you can figure it out."

"Figure what out?" Hannibal demanded, refusing to be baited.

Face stopped mid-step and turned toward him. "You wanna know where I stand, Colonel? Is that it? A dozen years of Catholic school; I can recite the ten commandments for you if you want. There's a real nice one about coveting."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed. "You've got a hell of a lot of nerve."

"I've got nerve?" Face laughed, and leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. "You're the one fucking your commanding officer's wife."

Hannibal grabbed his arm, opened the door to the empty office behind him, and shoved Face none-too-gently inside before stepping in behind him. Through gritted teeth and with eyes blazing, Hannibal spat, "What the hell are you playing at, Sergeant?"

Face's expression remained emotionless, unintimidated by the colonel's looming presence in the dark room. "I'm not playing," he answered flatly, eyes black and cold.

"So this is some sick and twisted attempt at blackmail?" Hannibal growled.

With a laugh, Face shook his head. "If I wanted to blackmail you, I would've done it a long time ago. This isn't exactly your first fuck up. It's just the first one I've got photographs of."

Hannibal studied him intently. Face allowed it for a moment before smiling broadly. "You think I'm bluffing," he challenged, although he was fairly certain Hannibal only hoped he was bluffing. "I've known a lot longer than I've had the photos. I knew something was going on way back when I first joined up with this unit. You'd disappear; no one could find you. I figured you had to have a girlfriend - maybe even a wife. Didn't figure it'd be Elaine Westman."

"What is it you want?" Hannibal said flatly.

"Leverage," Face answered with a glare.

Growling in frustration, Hannibal took a step back. "Are you out of your mind?" he snapped.

Face gave a quick bark of laughter. "Are you?" Shaking his head, he leaned sideways on the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "She must be one hell of a ride, because I always thought you and the general were pretty close."

"That is enough!"

Hannibal's voice echoed off the bare walls of the room. Face, unmoved and still expressionless, stared back at him, waiting for him to continue. It took Hannibal several seconds to speak again. "Is this your way of asking for a transfer, Sergeant? Back to the States, maybe?"

"No." Face pushed off of the wall and stood straight, lowering his voice until the threat in his tone was clear. "This is my way of telling you to be careful."

"Of what, exactly?" Hannibal returned, glaring hard.

Face's eyes narrowed. "From the day that I joined this unit, you've had me over a barrel. I don't mind being expendable, but this isn't just about me anymore. There are very few things that I can think of that are stupider, and more detrimental to this team, than having an affair with General Westman's wife."

Hannibal growled. "If you have a problem with-"

"If you go down, Hannibal," Face interrupted, stepping up, "you take every last one of us down with you. And my reputation is too damned important to me to just sit back and watch while you play with fire like a fucking pyromaniac!"

Hannibal glared back at him, well aware of the threat in his advancement. "You want to take a swing at me, Sergeant?" he challenged. "Is that where this is headed?"

"Would it help get my point across?" Face challenged.

Jaw tightened hard, Hannibal took a slow, calming breath. "My relationship with Elaine has no bearing on your reputation, such as it is. It doesn't concern you - or the rest of the team - in the least."

Face laughed again. "Are you kidding? Do you seriously think that Westman wouldn't burn every one of us in a heartbeat if he found out you were doing his wife?"

"Do what you're going to do, Face," Hannibal growled back. "If you're going to tell him, go for it."

"Yeah." Face reached for the doorknob, and pulled the door open with one final glare in Hannibal's direction. "Maybe I will."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, slamming the door behind him.

August 30, 1978

Gene was fidgeting so nervously, Hannibal was almost certain he had even greater concerns about sitting in a room with undercover cops than the rest of them. Perhaps he had a record, or would when the police got their hands on him. In any case, he looked as though he might jump out of his skin every time Hannibal cast a glance his way.

"What do you wanna do with them, Roy?" he asked, his voice as tight as a rubber band ready to snap. "They could be cops."

Hannibal grinned. "We could be," he replied noncommittally.

Roy debated for a long moment, eyeing his two prisoners carefully. Disarmed and kneeling with their hands behind their backs, Roy probably thought them harmless. He couldn't have been more wrong. The leg of the table was within BA's reach, and the table itself was light and flimsy enough that he could easily have thrown it at them - even kneeling. The few seconds that they would be caught off guard would be more than enough to gain control of the situation. Hannibal and BA both knew it. But neither of them moved.

"They're not cops," Roy declared, confidently. "They'd have badges."

Hannibal almost laughed. "And you're the brains of this outfit?" he mocked.

"Shut up!" Roy snapped, kicking in Hannibal's general direction.

"What if they were undercover?" Gene said. "Or they could be private investigators."

The third player - Scott - hadn't said much at all up to this point. Now, he finally offered his two cents. "Who would've hired them?" he challenged.

"How should I know!" Gene cried, finally retrieving his pack of cigarettes and lighting one with slightly shaky hands. "Probably that dumb bitch of Paulie's."

"You're getting warmer," Hannibal taunted. "Keep fishing."

"Man, I said you shouldn't have hired those guys." Gene was definitely nervous. "They blew up a fucking house! You know the kind of heat that -"

"Shut the hell up, Gene!" Roy ordered with a glare. "Just shut up, okay?"

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "Whoever they are, they don't need to know anything more than they already do."

"Not that it's gonna matter," Roy said firmly, shooting a deadly glare in Hannibal's direction. "I'll take care of them when I take care of Paulie.

Though he was careful not to let it show, that was just the answer Hannibal had been hoping for. It was not, however, what Gene wanted to hear.

"What're you gonna do, man?" Gene asked tensely.

"Don't worry about it," Roy growled back.

Practically vibrating with fear, Gene shook his head and took a few steps back, toward the door. "Oh, no, I don't want anything to do with that!"

"Bring them!" Roy ordered, ignoring the terrified protest.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hannibal saw the guard from the door - who hadn't said a single word yet - shove his pistol into the back of BA's neck. BA stood, but immediately turned to face his antagonist. "Hey, man," he snapped, roughly. "Take it easy with that thing, 'fore you make me mad. You don't wanna see me mad."

Hannibal regarded him with mild interest. BA's demeanor was normally enough to intimidate any man - even an armed one. But this time, his opponent had no reaction whatsoever. It was just as well. Hannibal had no intention of using the opportunity to get away.

He had no difficulty remaining calm and collected as he was led through the bar with a gun in his ribs. A friendly smile and wave to the bartender, and he blinked at the bright sunlight outside. He didn't have to look around to see the van; it was in his peripheral vision, off to the left. He knew it would follow, at a safe distance.

He had full confidence in his team.

November 30, 1968

There was something very wrong about the atmosphere in the team room. Cipher had picked up on it from the moment he'd opened his eyes. Hannibal's normal insistent-but-encouraging morning rouse was instead abrasive, almost harsh. And Face, who should've been reluctantly stumbling out of bed still half-drunk from the night before, was up and out the door before any of them.

Cipher caught up with him in the mess hall, halfway through a cup of the sludge that passed for coffee. Still bleary-eyed, Cipher grabbed a cup of his own and lit a cigarette as he sat down across from Face. "Aren't we energetic this morning?"

Face rested his elbows on the table, coffee cup held loosely in front of his mouth as he stared at Cipher over the top of it. "No," he replied curtly. "Hence the coffee."

"Uh huh." Cipher took a sip of the motor oil sludge in the tin cup and winced. "And what's the logical explanation for why you bounced outta bed like it was the first day of summer vacation?"

Face didn't speak. He merely waved the coffee cup in Cipher's direction. Cipher raised a brow at the dismissive gesture. What had started as mild curiosity could now safely be called a nagging interest. Face being cryptic and guarded was nothing new. Face being cryptic and guarded over what should've been a quick and meaningless explanation to the effect of "I was already awake"... now that was concerning. Ordinarily, he couldn't have cared less about the kid's private affairs and emotional dramas, but after the hostage stunt and given the tension between the team's two play-callers, Cipher was exceptionally uneasy about shipping out today.

Face's eyes darted to the door, and Cipher glanced up as Hannibal entered the mess hall. He shot a lingering gaze at Face on his way to the coffee, but didn't say anything. Cipher raised a brow as he glanced at Face. The brief stare-down said volumes.

Fuck this beating around the bush bullshit. "What the hell's going on between you and Hannibal?" Cipher demanded.

Face shook his head, looking away. "Tactical disagreement," he said simply

Cipher studied him carefully. "Tactical disagreement?" He repeated the words like they left a bad taste in his mouth. "Gee, I never saw that one coming."

Face glared at him briefly, but didn't answer.

Cipher sipped his coffee again, curiously studying Face. "What the hell are you disagreeing about when we don't even know where the hell we're going yet?"

Face put the cup down, doing nothing to hide his irritation at the prying. "It's a generalized statement, Cipher. It doesn't concern you."

There was a warning in his voice that screamed "mind your own business". Cipher's eyes flashed briefly at the sudden aggression - an instinctive response. But he pushed the reaction back down as he watched Face, buying himself a few seconds with a long drag from his cigarette.

"Okay," he finally shrugged.

Face glanced up at Hannibal, and watched him exit the mess hall without so much as a word to either of them. Cipher didn't take his eyes off of Face.

"Though if you're planning on bringing it with you out of this camp, it kind of does concern me," Cipher continued intently. "Last thing I want is to be on the ground with you two bickering over who's boss."

Face shut his eyes, and drew in a deep breath. The exaggeration was intentional on Cipher's part. Face and Hannibal hashed and rehashed the chain of command when it came to battlefield tactics and the best plan of action. But on the ground, there was never any question. Ambiguity about who was in charge when two hundred million loaded guns were pointed straight at them was not only stupid, it was suicidal. Cipher's concern was legitimate, if unnecessary.

"It's an in-camp deal," Face swore, looking up again and meeting Cipher's eyes. "Nothing that will affect anybody in the field."

"You're sure?"

Face nodded, sincerely.

Cipher studied him for a long moment, and finally looked away, taking another drag off his cigarette. There was no reason for Cipher not to believe him. And in fact, he didn't challenge the simple response. But the lingering silence made it clear that he was still waiting for more. Face stalled, finding his lighter and inspecting the scratches on it before he lit his cigarette, put the lighter back, and leaned forward on the table again, staring down at his coffee pensively.

"Do you trust Westman?" he finally asked.

Cipher blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I hardly know Westman." He paused briefly. "But I trust Hannibal."

Now it was Face's turn to be caught off guard. "You trust Hannibal so much that you trust Westman by default?" he asked.

Cipher shrugged. "I trust Hannibal implicitly. Westman holds an office - he's at the top of the chain of command. I don't have to trust him to obey his orders." He paused to consider that and his brow furrowed slightly. "The fact that they come through Hannibal just makes them easier to choke down."

Face stared. "Why?" he challenged, watching carefully for the response. "Why do you trust him?"

"Hannibal? Because he's proved I can."

Face paused, holding Cipher's gaze as he let those words sink in. Cipher watched him steadily, realizing he was waiting for more. "Oh, come on, Face." He laughed quietly. "He's proved it so many times, I can't keep count. For cryin' out loud, we're all living proof of that. None of us should still be alive this long. All that crazy shit he pulls out there and we're still alive."

"I'm not talking about on the ground," Face said dryly. "You and I both know he's damn good on the ground."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"Do you trust him?"

Cipher stared at him, not sure what he was asking. "I don't know how to trust somebody more than to put my life in their hands."

Face sighed, and looked away as he dragged on his cigarette.

"But that's not what you're asking," Cipher guessed. "So what the hell is this really about?"

Growling in frustration, Face shook his head again. "This is me trying to understand why you, of all people, will sit across from me and profess unquestioning trust in a man who - by all indications - does not have your safety, welfare, and best interest in mind."

"Says who?" Cipher challenged.

"Even in the field, Hannibal's stunts are dangerous. The fact that they usually succeed -for whatever reason - is besides the point. You might be able to write it off on account of his track record, but I can't do that. I need more."

Cipher frowned. "What for? You gonna pussy out?"

Face sighed, dropping his head forward into his hands. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath.

After a long silence, he sat up again and looked Cipher straight in the eye. "Would you back him up?" he demanded. "No matter what?"

"Probably," Cipher said with some hesitation. He didn't like all-encompassing statements like that.

"Say he killed a man right in front of you - shot him, point blank. An American. Would you lie to Westman for him? Would you trust that he had a damn good reason for doing it, even if you didn't understand what it was?"

Cipher frowned deeply. He didn't like that scenario. It challenged everything he knew and believed about his commanding officer, and it made him consider Face's words carefully.

"I'd want to know why," Cipher finally answered.

"What if he wouldn't tell you?"

A slight smirk crossed Cipher's lips. "If you think he wouldn't tell you, you don't know him very well."

Face was caught off guard for a moment before shaking his head. "What if he didn't feel it was necessary to explain himself to you?"

"That's another way of asking the same question," Cipher pointed out. "And my answer's still the same."

Cipher leaned forward and put his cigarette out in the ashtray on the table. Face took one last drag, and did the same.

"That's really your problem, Face," Cipher declared. "You don't know him. Makes all these questions moot, because you can't really trust someone you don't know. Not the way you're talking about."

"But you do."

Cipher leaned forward on the table, arms crossed, and nodded decisively. "Yeah. I do."

"You'd lie for him."

Cipher smiled. "Lie, kill, steal... None of which is a foreign concept to you, by the way. You would - and have - done the same thing."

"But for a different reason," Face clarified. "Never just out of blind trust."

"Trust is never blind," Cipher said firmly.

Face frowned as he considered that carefully.

Cipher sighed. "Look, war fucks things up. Everything we think about, every single scenario we come up with, it's always extreme. We all know what it feels like to kill, to die. And doing it for someone you don't even know, hell, that's no big deal."

"That's very deep," Face said dryly.

"Yeah, well, think about it this way." Cipher stood, grabbing his coffee cup and leaning on the table. "Would you follow him to hell and back even if he wasn't your commanding officer? If he was just your friend?"

"No," Face said without thought.

"I would."

Face looked up and met Cipher's eyes. But Cipher was dead serious, and Face was shocked.

Cipher smiled. "And that's the difference between you and me," he said lightly. "Like I said, you don't know him."

Clacking the tin cup on the table, Cipher turned away and headed for the team room, both glad to be out of the conversation and hoping Face could take the moral of the story to heart.