CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

April 20, 1985

"We should kill 'im," Murdock hissed, turning with snakelike contortion until he was sitting backwards on the passenger side of the rental car. In the back seat, handcuffed and genuinely concerned by the inhuman behavior of the creature that only superficially resembled his younger brother, Alan squirmed.

"The bounty said dead or alive, right?" Murdock grinned.

While Alan tried to determine the nature of the threat underlying that statement, Face merely sighed. "Alive would be preferable," he said lightly, as if he didn't have a particularly strong opinion either way.

Half-falling into the space between the two front seats, Murdock leaned into the backseat, flipping open a pocketknife. Alan leaned back as the cool blade scratched along his unshaven cheek. "Hey, watch it!" Alan glared, jerking his head away when Murdock leaned in further. The bumps on the road would not consider the sharp blade, and he didn't entirely trust the steadiness of Murdock's hand even if the road had been smooth as glass.

Murdock smiled wickedly, moving the blade to Alan's jaw again and letting the psychotic, wide-eyed facade drop for just a moment into something more genuine. "Bet you wish you were nicer to me when we were kids, right about now, huh?" he taunted.

For just an instant, Alan felt a flicker of real fear. Threats instantly and instinctively came to mind, but he was in no position to make good on them. As if fueled by the victory, Murdock's maniacal smile returned in full force. In the driver's seat of the rental car, Face glanced into the rearview mirror, briefly locking stares with Alan.

"Save it, Murdock," he advised as he fixed his attention on the road again, unconcerned by the level of crazy in the seat beside him. "It's not like we have that far to go."

"All the more reason why I should work fast," Murdock whispered in a voice that sounded more like a demon than a human being. Alan swallowed hard, tipping away from the blade again. His brother had always been a little nuts, but this was the kind of character acting he'd never wanted to see.

The car pulled to a stop at the gate, and Face rolled down the window. "Hi."

"Can I help you?" the guard asked in hesitant English, guessing at the blond driver's first language.

Before Face had a chance to answer, Murdock was across his lap, winding his way out the car window to meet the guard eye to eye. "Diga a Señor Corrolini que Joseph Linus esta aquí," he growled.

Alan knew very little Spanish, but the threatening tone followed by maniacal laughter was enough to make his skin crawl. Apparently, it had the same effect on the other man because he slid the window of the guard shack closed before reaching for the phone.

"Murdock, will you get off of me?" Face muttered, giving him a shove towards the passenger seat. He shot a brief glare in his direction as the guard poked his head back out.

"Vaya," the guard ordered as the gate swung open. "Él esperando por ti."

Murdock, unable to sit still, jumped up into the open window on his own side of the car. "Forward ho!" he yelled, holding the top of the car as he leaned back and swung his arm forward.

As they drove through the gate and down the winding road, Face reached over and grabbed his pant leg to get his attention. With an ungraceful thump, he slid back down into the seat. "When I said the guy was nuts," Face started. "I didn't mean this nuts."

"Maybe." Murdock grinned, wild eyes dancing as he flicked open his knife again and caressed it with intense interest. "But Corrolini won't know that..."

*X*X*X*

Hannibal had gone ahead by fifteen minutes. Hopefully, it would be enough time to get settled in. As they pulled up in front of the house, Face cast a quick glance to the garage. The doors were closed and it appeared empty. Stage one of the insane plan seemed to be working out, as long as Hannibal wasn't being held at gunpoint by suspicious guards or possibly Chris Jackson's brother, who knew full well what he was supposed to look like. Two simultaneous impersonations of two people they couldn't be sure Corrolini hadn't seen struck Face as a hell of a risk.

The man who stepped out of the mansion, closing the door behind him, was built like a tank. He wobbled from side to side as he clunked down the steps, at least two hundred pounds of pure muscle. Likely, the man could snap Face in half and still have plenty of energy to do the same to Murdock. Making a mental note, Face hoped the more-than-slightly crazed pilot would have the same insightful realization.

"Sr. Linus?" the grumbling giant asked Face.

Murdock grabbed the roof of the vehicle, pulled himself up into the open window, and declared, "I am Joseph Linus!" before Face had a chance to respond.

The man blinked in surprise, not sure how to respond. He stood still and stared as Murdock crawled out of the car window, dropped to the ground, and opened the back door. Alan stumbled, nearly falling forward on his face, as Murdock dragged him none-too-gently out of the vehicle. Without giving him a chance to fully regain his balance, Murdock shoved him against the front of the car.

"Your prisoner, señor," Murdock smiled wickedly.

Calmly, Face stepped out of the driver's seat. Murdock wasn't showing due deference to the walking tank, but to be fair, it appeared Corrolini's man was a bit wary of the psychotic look in "Sr. Linus'" eyes.

"Should we bring him inside?" Face smiled, interrupting the moment of awkward silence as the two sized each other up. "Or just stand here staring at each other all afternoon?"

As a matter of protocol - or so said their escort - Face and Murdock were frisked and relieved of their weapons before stepping through the heavy wooden front door. Their pistols were handed off to two men in a small, dark room filled with TV monitors. The two security guards hardly paused their conversation, reclining in comfortable office chairs, facing each other as they chatted. Although he didn't have enough time to get a good look at the monitors, Face was immediately scanning for the cameras. But he didn't see any. He hadn't noticed any earlier, either, when they'd planted the bugs. They were all outside, it seemed - a first line of defense. Clearly, they didn't expect any intruders to actually make it through the doors.

A few steps behind Face, Murdock pushed and shoved Alan down the hall and into the study, murmuring threats of feeding him his feet - one toe at a time - if he didn't move faster. Their chaperone glanced uneasily over his shoulder, then leaned in a little closer to Face.

"Is he always like this?" he asked.

"Ah, well." Face shrugged, and gave the man a smile. "He got a little uh... traumatized in the war. You understand."

It was the last thing either of them said before reaching the door to the study. The man knocked, waited for the answer, then stepped inside, ahead of Face. "Mr. Corrolini? Mr. Linus is here to -"

Murdock shoved past, throwing the door open in an extravagant display that nearly knocked all three of them off their feet. "To present your prisoner!"

Still holding Alan by the shirt collar, Murdock jerked him into the room and shoved. Unable to catch his balance, the larger man stumbled and fell. Face watched him hit the carpet, cast a quick glance at Murdock - who clearly enjoyed the opportunity to take his performance a little over the top - then looked at the surprised faces of the others in the room. There was one well-dressed and neatly groomed man behind the desk - Corrolini, he could assume - and two bulky bodyguards standing with guns drawn in surprise at the interruption. Seated comfortably in a chair reserved for guests, Hannibal turned and observed the scene with apparent amusement, unlit cigar in hand.

"Friends of yours?" Hannibal asked casually, glancing back at Corrolini.

"More of an acquaintance," Corrolini answered icily, rising from his chair. His eyes were locked on Alan, without so much as an acknowledgment of the crazy man bouncing on the balls of his feet with unspent energy.

"Get him up!" Corrolini ordered loudly and Murdock immediately sprang forward, beating the guards who circled around the desk. With one hand in his hair and the other gripping his bunched shirt, Murdock yanked Alan upward, then stepped back with a smile as the two men wrenched his arms back and held him fast.

Face inconspicuously closed the distance, standing just behind Murdock and speaking too quietly for anyone else in the room to hear. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were almost enjoying this."

Murdock answered through the teeth of his smile, equally inconspicuous. "You have no idea."

"Mr. Parker," Corrolini said quietly, circling the desk and encroaching on his captive's personal space. "Nice of you to come by."

"Where is my daughter?" Alan demanded. "Is she alive?"

Corrolini snorted with laughter, and Face held his breath in anticipation of the answer they didn't want to hear. "I'm a businessman, Mr. Parker," he replied with a smile that looked almost polite. "Not a barbarian."

The flash of anger Corrolini hadn't managed to control a moment before had now been suppressed beneath a calm blanket of control. But Alan's fury grew hotter. "You killed my wife."

"I am sorry about that," Corrolini conceded with a nod. "It wasn't my first choice but she was less-than-cooperative."

Alan struggled suddenly. The two men on either side of him tightened their grip on his arms, forcing him to his knees before Corrolini's towering authority.

"Take him downstairs," Corrolini ordered, never taking his eyes from Alan's. "I'll deal with him later."

Face did his best to show no reaction to the mention of a "downstairs", but the glimmer of hope made him stand straighter. Maybe, just maybe, they had a chance of pulling this off, particularly since the largest of the guards he'd seen thus far was disappearing with his instructions.

As Alan was paraded through the room and out the door, Corrolini's gaze turned to Murdock for the first time. "Mr. Linus?"

Murdock stood straighter, and grunted an acknowledgment.

Extending a hand, Corrolini studied him curiously. "Pleasure to meet you," he offered, shrinking back slightly as Murdock's wild eyes flashed. He grabbed the proffered hand and shook it so quick and hard, Corrolini's whole arm vibrated.

Pausing for a moment to withdraw his hand, Corrolini regarded Murdock with an even more wary glance. Then, with a scrutinizing look, he turned to Face. "And you are?"

Face opened his mouth to respond, but didn't have a chance before Murdock cut him off. "Where's my money?"

Distracted by the forceful demand, Corrolini turned his full attention back to Murdock. He stared for a moment, taken aback by the abrasiveness.

"Ah, why don't I wait outside?" Face suggested, gesturing over his shoulder. "Since this is a... business matter between the two of you."

"Actually, I should get going, too," Hannibal added, rising to his feet. "Perhaps you could have someone show us both to the door?"

Shaking off his surprise at being so rudely interrupted and regaining his composure, Corrolini nodded to his guest with a smile. "Of course."

Murdock immediately took Hannibal's seat, leaning back and putting his feet up on the desk. Regarding them all out of the corner of his eye, he inspected his fingernails. Face suspected "Sr. Linus" would have no trouble at all keeping Corrolini busy for a few minutes.

"Jose, if you will show these gentlemen out." Corrolini gestured to the man still standing near the door, then turned to shake Hannibal's hand. "Pleasure doing business with you. We'll be in touch."

"Of course," Hannibal smiled back.

Corrolini extended a hand to Face as well, though he still hadn't gotten a name. "Pleasure," he offered with a smile.

Face shook the hand before turning and following Jose, matching Hannibal step for step back through the hallway to the security room near the front door. The two guards they were deposited in front of were smaller than the one who'd come to greet Face at the car, but not by much. With a cordial smile and a nod, Jose departed without the exchange of a single word, disappearing down one of the hallways as the taller of the two guards reached into the closet behind him. The other stayed seated in front of the monitors, glancing only briefly at them before returning to his newspaper.

"Here are your weapons."

"Ah, thank you," Face smiled, strapping the holster around his shoulders. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Hannibal did the same. Once he was situated, Face casually withdrew the pistol from the holster and, with a smile, pointed it at the slightly taller man's chest. At the same time, Hannibal leveled a gun at the seated man's forehead.

It took a moment for the reality of the situation to sink in for their two hostages. But when it did, their eyes went wide - whether with fear or simply disbelief that anyone would try something so foolhardy, Face couldn't tell.

"Now," Hannibal started cordially as Face reached across and disarmed the guard standing in front of him. "They took Alan Parker 'downstairs.' If you would be so kind as to show us the way, we'd be much obliged."

December 2, 1971

Tucked into a quiet room in a corner of the Da Nang Air Base, Murdock had not been surrounded by such comfort as solid walls and permanent construction in far too long. Although it didn't seem to affect the others, it made him feel very much out of his element. Receiving orders from Hannibal while seated in plastic chairs around a clean, pre-fabricated table simply felt wrong. But there were so many things wrong about everything Murdock was seeing and hearing and feeling right now, he couldn't quite contain them all.

Cipher was gone - back to the States with injuries that wouldn't heal anytime soon. Face had long been swinging between slightly melodramatic and altogether vicious in his treatment of anyone who suffered the pretense of actually giving a damn about him - a trait which Murdock, as one of those people who genuinely did care, had grown uncomfortably familiar with over the past few days, weeks, months... Time was altogether blurred, as was Murdock's own memory and coherent understanding of events that transpired on a day-to-day basis. Living in something of a haze, never quite distinguishing between the reality of the hell he lived in and the hallucinations that quite often felt more real, he was disconnected.

Murdock had injuries. He was reminded of the cracked ribs every time he breathed and the concerned looks from Hannibal had not escaped unnoticed. Since he'd obtained these injuries, Face was being surprisingly nice and BA rarely let Murdock out of his sight for the past... oh, who-knew-how-long. Murdock's own memory of the beating his body had suffered involved red-eyed monsters with baseball bats - neither of which were a traditional side dish to the danger of Vietnam. A few months ago, it would have concerned him to truly not know what had happened to him and how and why. Now he couldn't care less. Out of his goddamn mind and too far gone to even care, he concerned himself with each task as it came. He could still fly; that was the important part.

Hannibal now ran a three-man team on the ground, with Murdock in the air and no backup to speak of. Maybe it was sabotage from the higher ups, not replacing Boston, or Bulldog, or Cipher. But frankly, Murdock wasn't even sure who would make that call. Maybe it was Hannibal who chose not to replace them, out of fear that their successors would only share their fate and rattle the core of the team that remained. Besides, it didn't matter whether they had four on the team or ten. Murdock could feel in his bones that things were coming to a close. Not the war - that didn't look like it would be over anytime soon. In fact, there was no particular reason for this sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he listened to Hannibal's brief of their latest assignment. It was simply there, without reason, but overwhelming in its reality.

"He wants us to what?" Face laughed tensely as Hannibal paused to give them a moment to respond to the briefing.

"Hannibal, that don't sound good," BA added in a worried tone.

"Good?" Face cried. "It doesn't even sound possible!"

Murdock watched silently, eyes shifting back and forth as the startled reactions resonated with his own unspoken first thoughts. One would think he would've gotten used to this by now. Nearly every mission they were assigned sounded downright impossible on first consideration. But remarkably, they successfully completed nearly every mission they were handed.

"What brilliant mind thought this one up?" Face demanded.

"Colonel Morrison," Hannibal answered offhandedly, studying the paperwork with more intensity than he normally afforded. Most of the time, he was already jazzed up by the time he briefed the team. He seemed quite contemplative about the prospect of robbing a bank deep in enemy territory.

"And Westman wants us to do this?" Face asked with a shake of his head.

"Actually," Hannibal admitted, "I don't think Morrison ever fully explained the details to him. At least, if he did, he didn't relay them to me."

"I don't know, Hannibal." BA sounded more deeply concerned about this assignment than any other he'd ever been briefed on. "Robbing the Bank of Hanoi..."

Murdock's gaze lowered. "That could be misconstrued as violating the terms of warfare in so many ways," he added, under his breath.

"Uh, yeah, and - bigger problem - we're Americans, remember?" Face glanced back and forth. "You think we can just walk around on the streets of Hanoi and not be noticed?"

"Yeah, man," BA agreed. "Won't we stand out?"

"It's the Tet New Year," Hannibal reminded, heaving a deep, refreshing sigh before looking up and locking eyes with Face first, and then BA. "The streets will be crowded."

"With Vietnamese," Face pointed out. "North Vietnamese. The dangerous kind."

"Oh, come on, guys!" Hannibal chuckled, surprised by the hesitation in his do-or-die unit. "What have we really got to lose here?"

"Our lives?" Face offered cynically.

"Our military careers?" Murdock added.

"And how is that any different from any other assignment?" Alan challenged, reclining in a chair against the wall with one leg comfortably up on the other. Murdock cast him a glare and vaguely wondered why he wasn't dead yet.

"Look, Sam Morrison may not be everyone's favorite officer," Hannibal continued, undeterred. "But he's still a damn good one. Our orders are to follow his orders. And besides, it'll be fun!"

Murdock sighed. Robbing a bank so far into enemy territory that it would take miraculous precision timing to extract them without running out of fuel was Hannibal's kind of fun alright. Standing on the streets of Hanoi and hoping not to get shot was a riot. Committing what might be construed as a war crime on the orders of a colonel none of them particularly liked or trusted - a man with connections to the Agency and a reputation to boot - now that was pure entertainment.

"There's no way," Face concluded, hung up on all the practicalities. "No way in hell."

"It's got nothin' to do with what we think'a Morrison," BA added. "It can't be done."

Face stood, pacing anxiously and rubbing a hand through his hair. Murdock noticed his other hand was bandaged, and a vague memory of wrapping it sprang unexpectedly to mind.

"What the hell did you do?" Murdock cried, sitting beside Face on the front step of the hootch and staring in horrified shock as Face rinsed blood and glass from the gash across his palm. Catching sight of the bruising and blood on the other side, Murdock's eyes widened. "You broke your fucking hand!"

"Hey!" Alan yelled suddenly, snapping Murdock out of the hazy memory and bringing the briefing room back into focus. "Pay attention, dumb shit!"

For once, Murdock was glad for the bullying; he should really be listening to this. Unable to place the memory, he filed it under "shit I don't remember" and focused his attention on the mission briefing.

"Might I remind you," Face pointed out with a long look at Hannibal, "that you're the only one here - besides Murdock - who even has a working knowledge of Vietnamese? And Morrison wants this to be a strictly American operation? Is he trying to sabotage us?"

"Or maybe he just doesn't care if we all get killed over there," BA suggested.

"Which makes me think Westman probably doesn't know all the details," Face added.

"I put a call in to Westman," Hannibal informed. "But right now, he's back in the States. And if we want the advantage of the crowded streets, we have to move tomorrow. First thing in the morning."

Murdock cleared his throat. "Okay, one question." All eyes turned to him. "One very important question: What kind of chopper did you request for this?"

"Does it matter?" Hannibal asked, reaching into his pocket for the orders.

Murdock laughed, without humor. "Fly a Huey over North Vietnam and I promise you we're going to get shot down. Fly anything else and there's no way in hell we'll have enough fuel to make it there and back."

Hannibal looked at the orders. "Kingbee," he answered, handing them to Murdock.

Murdock took the papers, but didn't consult them. "And just how are we planning to refuel said Kingbee?"

With a casual shrug, Hannibal came up with an answer as if the question didn't deserve any real consideration. "Well, I guess we'll have to find a way to take fuel with us."

Murdock stared, eyes wide. "You're going to carry JP4 in the cargo bay?"

"Only on the way there," Hannibal smiled.

Murdock stared at him incredulously. "Okay..." Shaking his head to clear it, he tried to focus on the positive. "Well, at least if we explode, we'll never know what hit us."

"Think of it as a challenge, guys," Hannibal grinned, turning to rest a hand on Murdock's shoulder. As he looked back, he cast the same smile in the direction of both Face and BA. They did not smile back. "Our last big hurrah."

"Last?" Face challenged.

The two officers exchanged glances, and Murdock sat up a little straighter as an entire conversation passed through that look. Face didn't like this. Murdock didn't blame him. Hannibal knew more than he was letting on.

And Alan seemed to think it was hilarious.

"According to Morrison," Hannibal continued lightly, "this could help end the war. And I know everyone's in favor of that."

Face frowned deeply, cutting his gaze to the floor. "Given the way the war is currently going," he grumbled as he stood and headed for the exit, "I'm not so sure that's a good thing. For us, at least."

Shutting out the laughter that echoed in his mind, Murdock closed his eyes and tried very hard to focus on how this could potentially work out for good in the end. But after a long pause, receiving no encouragement from Alan's mockery and no profound thoughts of hope and welfare, he simply resigned himself to the inevitable and wished for the days not so long past when the adrenaline itself would have been worth the risk.