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Manipulation - Chapter Eleven
Aug. 21st, 2011 11:27 pm“There must be something in here we can use!” Hannibal repeated for at least the tenth time that morning as they were all sat around Taylor’s huge glass dining table. “Go over again the possible locations you had for Yousafzai to hole up while he was in the US.”
Taylor sighed and poured himself more coffee, “I told you Smith, none of those locations checked out, that’s why we needed your boy. Once we had the co-ordinates, we could steam in there and haul him out.”
“Liar,” that was Samantha, staring straight at Taylor across the table, her eyes like daggers.
“What?” more than one person replied.
“I said liar!” she got to her feet. “You had no real intention of getting Temp out of there, that’s why I came over here in the first place, because I saw that memo you sent!”
Taylor’s eyes flicked nervously around the table, “Err, Samantha,” he admonished, “that’s enough.”
“No it aint!” BA told him, “Let the lady speak!” He turned to Samantha, “What memo?”
“The memo he sent around yesterday morning,” he continued, her eyes still locked onto Taylor, “The one that said that Temp was, what was it Bryce? ‘The cheese in the trap’?” Taylor lowered his head into his hands, “And what was the rest? Oh, yes, ‘And if the rat eats the cheese then that’s nothing to worry about?’ Wasn’t that how it went?”
There was the sound of scraping furniture as BA shoved his chair back, “Wait ‘til I get my hands on you, you lowlife scum!” he muttered, said hands already reaching out for Taylor’s neck.
____________________
Time holds no meaning when your entire existence is narrowed down to the experience of pain and the expectation of pain. The fact that Face couldn’t see what was going on and that he had a very poor grasp of Dari combined to make the ordeal even more tortuous. By the time his throat was sore with screaming, he was sure they’d been at him for hours, lashing his already beaten body with what felt like a variety of implements, hard canes, thin corded strips, wide leather straps. But he knew in reality it was probably less than an hour before the subtleties of the different methods were all wasted on him, and one searing, blinding agony just felt very much like the next one.
_______________________
BA stood on the balcony of Taylor’s apartment and stared unseeing at the midmorning throngs in the streets below. Hannibal had sent him out here to calm down after they had had to prise his fingers from around that vile snake Taylor’s neck. He was told he couldn’t come back in until he could conduct himself in a more appropriate manner. BA scowled and looked down at his hands, well, he was going to be out here a damn long time then, ‘cause all he really wanted to do was get that pasty white CIA neck in his fingers and squeeze real, real, hard for what he had done to Face.
But, BA would make an effort, for Hannibal who was obviously stressed to high heaven here and for Murdock who seemed to be finding it harder with every passing minute not to just let go of himself. Yes, he would make an effort, and then, when they got Face back he would see how he felt then. And if they didn't get Face back... BA felt his fingers squeeze again, well, he wouldn’t be promising anything to Hannibal at all.
_______________________
He must have passed out again, although he had no recollection of doing so, because one minute he was chained to that damn wall being beaten to within an inch of his life, the next he had been thrown into a dark, damp, room, no bigger than two meters across, not even tall enough to stand in, and the door was slammed and locked behind him. He lay for a minute, too exhausted and full of pain to move, before he managed to scramble into a sitting position and rest his back against the wall. He could tell from the echoes his scuffles were making that he was in a confined space, and by reaching out with his fingers he could feel each and every surface around him; from the smell he guessed he must be in a coal cellar, but thinking of the inch or so of cold stagnant water on his naked flesh, it must not have been used in a good long while.
His hands and feet had been left free but his eyes were still tightly bound, and with swollen, unresponsive fingers, it took a while to eventually manage to peel the strips of linen from around his head.
At first it didn’t look good, no matter how hard he blinked or rubbed his eyes he still couldn’t see the swollen, bloody hand he held up in front of his face. He was just starting to panic, wondering if the tight binds had somehow damaged him, but then with a thunk, the door opened, flooding the tiny room in violent light, and then, before Face even had chance to worry that they had come back for him so soon, something was thrown at him and the door slammed shut once more, and he was plunged back into total darkness. Well, okay, so he knew now, sensory deprivation, he picked up a piece of dried bread from where it had fallen in his lap and started to nibble unenthusiastically on it, he had coped with that before, in fact he’d coped with this whole torture thing before and now he could do it again, no sweat.
But then he sighed, sometimes the hardest person to lie to was yourself.
___________________
Murdock wandered into the kitchen to pour himself another cup of coffee and stopped suddenly when he saw Samantha standing there, leaning against the counter, her face hidden in one hand. She looked up as he walked in and lifted her head, showing her tear stained cheeks for all the world to see. Frowning, Murdock went to go; he didn't need a coffee that much.
“Wait.”
Samantha’s voice stopped him in the doorway and he turned back, eyes narrowed at her. “What?”
“Murdock,” there was a catch in that voice that did nothing to impress him, “I know you all hate me-”
“We do, yes.”
An ironic laugh left her lips, “Yes, the way Smith keeps calling me ‘Siren’ or ‘Succubus’ kind of gave that away...”
Murdock just folded his arms, “Well, really what do you expect? Just lyin’ to Face like that woulda been bad enough, takin’ him away from what he knows like that. But settin’ him up with that psycho,” Murdock shook his head, “He trusted you and he doesn’t trust anyone much. You can kinda see why with people like you in the world.”
Samantha had the grace to look slightly shamefaced, “Look, Murdock, I never meant to hurt him, I like him, I really do, and if I’d known what Bryce had in mind for him with Yousafzai, well I never would have let him walk into that.”
“That?” Murdock frowned.
“You know!” Samantha appealed to him, “That Bryce wasn’t going to get him out in time!”
“In time?”
“Before Yousafzai killed him!”
“Aah, I see,” Murdock nodded and looked carefully at her, “So it would have been okay to use Face as bait as long as you got him out before Yousafzai killed him?”
“Of course!” Samantha looked pleased that Murdock finally understood her. “Yousafzai is a dangerous man, he needs stopping.”
“Right.” Murdock leaned against the door frame as he thought for a second, “So, it’s okay that Yousafzai is torturing Face right now is it?”
Samantha’s smile dropped right off her face.
“Because you know he is right? He hasn’t waited all this time to get his hands on him just so that they can watch movies together,” Murdock took a step in, “Right now, he’s killin’ him, slowly, painful second by painful second,” Samantha was white now. “My best friend, the kindest, bravest guy I ever met, who would give his last dime, the shirt off his back, his heart, his soul, his god damn life to help someone out!” Murdock’s eyes were flashing as his voice rose in anger. “And you sold him out, you Judas and you stand there and say it would have been alright if he was only going to get tortured instead of murdered as well!”
“Murdock, I-”
“You ever been tortured?” Samantha just stared at him, “No, I thought not. Well, he has and I’ve seen it and it’s not pretty and it haunts him every day and night of his life and you think it’s okay for him to go through that again? Even if we do save him?”
Tears were running down her cheeks for real now as she looked at Murdock, “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t realise he would be hurt... I’ll make it up to him when we get him back.”
“You will not!” Murdock yelled, “You will go nowhere near him! He doesn’t need you, he already has just what he needs, right here, you can go to hell!”
“Everything he needs?” Samantha’s eyes were as cold as Murdock’s now, “You think I can’t see he’s in love with Smith? You think I can’t see how the old man keeps him at arm’s length all the time? That’s what he needs is it?” she shook her head, “He’s worth much more than pining away for a dry old fool who doesn’t want him! Can’t you see that?”
Murdock’s lips set into a thin line and he took a step further in, “You,” he hissed pointing right in Samantha’s face, “stay right away from him, or, god help me, I will not be responsible for what I do!” And then he turned on the spot and stormed out of the room, not noticing Hannibal leaning against the wall in the corridor, eyes wide and chest heaving.
__________________
He was almost glad when they eventually came back for him. He was so cold he was sure he was starting with hypothermia, and the ambient temperature in the main part of the house was a welcome relief to the damp of the cellar.
They didn’t blindfold him, but he had to close his eyes against the unfamiliar glare. He wasn’t sure if it was real or artificial light that was tormenting him after all that darkness, he had completely and utterly lost track of time, but within minutes he had been dragged outdoors, he could feel the warm breeze on his frozen skin and could hear bird song, a happy sound, so completely innocuous with the terror that was building up inside him.
He forced his eyes open and could make out blurry shapes in the bright sunshine as his feet were dragged over the gravelled drive, and it suddenly occurred to him that he should make a break for it while he could, get away while he was out of doors, no locks and walls to hold him in. But as soon as he started struggling he knew his hopes were foolish, there was no way on earth that he was getting free, he was far too weak and probably couldn’t even stand on his own. The men held on to him easily and even managed to hit him sharply across the back of the head with something heavy enough to almost knock him out again. He had no choice but to submit and let them drag him where he was going.
He didn’t have to wait long, within a minute he’d been thrown roughly to the ground and was curled up in a ball, waiting for his tortured body to stop screaming long enough for him to try and get to his feet. While he was waiting, he cracked his eyes open and forced them to focus through all the activity around him and work out where he was and what was going on. When he finally managed, he wished he hadn’t bothered.
They were in what looked like the old stable block, and Face was currently curled on the cobbles of the central quadrangle. Men were busy around him putting the final touches to a set up he recognised at once; a waterboarding kit. His heart sank as he finally managed to struggle up into a sitting position, still squinting in the sunshine. This would be the third time this had happened to him, the first time, in training school, hadn’t gone even half way to preparing him for what it would be like when someone did it for real, someone who was actually trying to kill you. He’d had Hannibal with him that second time as well, not there, watching, but straight after, when they had thrown him soaked and shaking back into the cell. Hannibal had been there straight away, gathered him into his arms and just held him while Face had cried.
He hadn’t been there for the nightmares that came for years afterwards though, well, not all of them.
________________________
It was here, Hannibal knew it, the key that would lead them to Face was right here in this room with them hidden somewhere in all Taylor’s notes, so why the hell couldn’t he find it?
“This is pointless!” Taylor’s asinine voice poked at his thoughts and he tried to tune him out.
“What is?” BA snapped.
“This!” Taylor exploded. “We’ve been stuck in this room for over twenty four hours now, searching for a needle in a haystack when the needle doesn’t even exist! We should just face facts and give up!”
“Face facts?” BA queried, his expression frighteningly dark.
“Peck is dead and Yousafzai is gone, the whole operation has been a massive waste of my time!”
BA was out of his seat in a second, his hands already reaching for Taylor’s throat.
“Leave him!” Hannibal barked, his own eyes suddenly alight, “I’ve just thought of something!”
_________________________
He didn’t spend the night in the coal house. He wondered if they could read his mind, if the bastards knew what he was hanging onto all the time they were pouring water onto his face, letting him have a breath, a couple of breaths, half a breath, before starting again. He tried to tune their laughter out, tried to ignore the fact that he was tied here, naked, beaten and at the mercy of a bunch of sadistic Afghans, and just thought of the quiet silence of the coal house, where they would take him after this and leave him in peace. He was disappointed that they hauled him out into the middle of a field once they’d had their fun instead.
It was just starting to get dark, and Face could see the outline of some kind of scaffold in the middle of the grassy field. It was hard to see from this angle the size of the thing, and he had a moment’s panic that they were just going to hang him here and be done with it, but when he got up close he realised that the wooden cross, something like a capital T, wasn’t big enough for that. Instead, they hauled him upright and used lots of rough hemp to tie him, face first, to the cross. Wrists, ankles, under the arms and around the hips, all tied as tight as possible, digging into his flesh, abrading already torn skin, and then they left him.
Face watched them go back up to the house with a feeling of relief washing over him. He knew he had a difficult, painful night ahead of him here, knew the chances of getting out of the ropes were slim, but just the fact that they were gone, weren’t around to torment him any longer, was a comfort in itself.
He was wrong.
____________________
The tension in the van was almost stifling. Taylor was trying to look out of the window and pretend that he couldn’t feel BA staring at him with murderous thoughts in his head, while Hannibal stared fixedly at the doors of McCartney & Manners Real Estate trying to stop himself from just running in there after Murdock and Samantha. Just as he thought he was about to burst with the pressure, Taylor suddenly sat up straighter and Murdock and Samantha suddenly appeared on the sidewalk, hurrying over to where the van was parked.
“Well?” Hannibal asked them as soon as they opened the side door.
“You were right, Colonel,” Samantha told him, the edges of a smile playing around her mouth, “We checked through all of Yousafzai’s known contacts in the US and only two of them have helicopters.”
“Shareef Hamir lives in Denver and flies a pretty little black bird,” Murdock took over, “While one Adil Buf has a ranch over near Ridgecrest, sunny California and has a beautiful silver and blue Enstrom Shark...”
“That’s it!” BA exclaimed, eyes lighting up, “That was the bird, right?” At Murdock’s nod he turned the engine over, “Well what we waitin’ for then? Let’s get goin’!”
Next
Taylor sighed and poured himself more coffee, “I told you Smith, none of those locations checked out, that’s why we needed your boy. Once we had the co-ordinates, we could steam in there and haul him out.”
“Liar,” that was Samantha, staring straight at Taylor across the table, her eyes like daggers.
“What?” more than one person replied.
“I said liar!” she got to her feet. “You had no real intention of getting Temp out of there, that’s why I came over here in the first place, because I saw that memo you sent!”
Taylor’s eyes flicked nervously around the table, “Err, Samantha,” he admonished, “that’s enough.”
“No it aint!” BA told him, “Let the lady speak!” He turned to Samantha, “What memo?”
“The memo he sent around yesterday morning,” he continued, her eyes still locked onto Taylor, “The one that said that Temp was, what was it Bryce? ‘The cheese in the trap’?” Taylor lowered his head into his hands, “And what was the rest? Oh, yes, ‘And if the rat eats the cheese then that’s nothing to worry about?’ Wasn’t that how it went?”
There was the sound of scraping furniture as BA shoved his chair back, “Wait ‘til I get my hands on you, you lowlife scum!” he muttered, said hands already reaching out for Taylor’s neck.
____________________
Time holds no meaning when your entire existence is narrowed down to the experience of pain and the expectation of pain. The fact that Face couldn’t see what was going on and that he had a very poor grasp of Dari combined to make the ordeal even more tortuous. By the time his throat was sore with screaming, he was sure they’d been at him for hours, lashing his already beaten body with what felt like a variety of implements, hard canes, thin corded strips, wide leather straps. But he knew in reality it was probably less than an hour before the subtleties of the different methods were all wasted on him, and one searing, blinding agony just felt very much like the next one.
_______________________
BA stood on the balcony of Taylor’s apartment and stared unseeing at the midmorning throngs in the streets below. Hannibal had sent him out here to calm down after they had had to prise his fingers from around that vile snake Taylor’s neck. He was told he couldn’t come back in until he could conduct himself in a more appropriate manner. BA scowled and looked down at his hands, well, he was going to be out here a damn long time then, ‘cause all he really wanted to do was get that pasty white CIA neck in his fingers and squeeze real, real, hard for what he had done to Face.
But, BA would make an effort, for Hannibal who was obviously stressed to high heaven here and for Murdock who seemed to be finding it harder with every passing minute not to just let go of himself. Yes, he would make an effort, and then, when they got Face back he would see how he felt then. And if they didn't get Face back... BA felt his fingers squeeze again, well, he wouldn’t be promising anything to Hannibal at all.
_______________________
He must have passed out again, although he had no recollection of doing so, because one minute he was chained to that damn wall being beaten to within an inch of his life, the next he had been thrown into a dark, damp, room, no bigger than two meters across, not even tall enough to stand in, and the door was slammed and locked behind him. He lay for a minute, too exhausted and full of pain to move, before he managed to scramble into a sitting position and rest his back against the wall. He could tell from the echoes his scuffles were making that he was in a confined space, and by reaching out with his fingers he could feel each and every surface around him; from the smell he guessed he must be in a coal cellar, but thinking of the inch or so of cold stagnant water on his naked flesh, it must not have been used in a good long while.
His hands and feet had been left free but his eyes were still tightly bound, and with swollen, unresponsive fingers, it took a while to eventually manage to peel the strips of linen from around his head.
At first it didn’t look good, no matter how hard he blinked or rubbed his eyes he still couldn’t see the swollen, bloody hand he held up in front of his face. He was just starting to panic, wondering if the tight binds had somehow damaged him, but then with a thunk, the door opened, flooding the tiny room in violent light, and then, before Face even had chance to worry that they had come back for him so soon, something was thrown at him and the door slammed shut once more, and he was plunged back into total darkness. Well, okay, so he knew now, sensory deprivation, he picked up a piece of dried bread from where it had fallen in his lap and started to nibble unenthusiastically on it, he had coped with that before, in fact he’d coped with this whole torture thing before and now he could do it again, no sweat.
But then he sighed, sometimes the hardest person to lie to was yourself.
___________________
Murdock wandered into the kitchen to pour himself another cup of coffee and stopped suddenly when he saw Samantha standing there, leaning against the counter, her face hidden in one hand. She looked up as he walked in and lifted her head, showing her tear stained cheeks for all the world to see. Frowning, Murdock went to go; he didn't need a coffee that much.
“Wait.”
Samantha’s voice stopped him in the doorway and he turned back, eyes narrowed at her. “What?”
“Murdock,” there was a catch in that voice that did nothing to impress him, “I know you all hate me-”
“We do, yes.”
An ironic laugh left her lips, “Yes, the way Smith keeps calling me ‘Siren’ or ‘Succubus’ kind of gave that away...”
Murdock just folded his arms, “Well, really what do you expect? Just lyin’ to Face like that woulda been bad enough, takin’ him away from what he knows like that. But settin’ him up with that psycho,” Murdock shook his head, “He trusted you and he doesn’t trust anyone much. You can kinda see why with people like you in the world.”
Samantha had the grace to look slightly shamefaced, “Look, Murdock, I never meant to hurt him, I like him, I really do, and if I’d known what Bryce had in mind for him with Yousafzai, well I never would have let him walk into that.”
“That?” Murdock frowned.
“You know!” Samantha appealed to him, “That Bryce wasn’t going to get him out in time!”
“In time?”
“Before Yousafzai killed him!”
“Aah, I see,” Murdock nodded and looked carefully at her, “So it would have been okay to use Face as bait as long as you got him out before Yousafzai killed him?”
“Of course!” Samantha looked pleased that Murdock finally understood her. “Yousafzai is a dangerous man, he needs stopping.”
“Right.” Murdock leaned against the door frame as he thought for a second, “So, it’s okay that Yousafzai is torturing Face right now is it?”
Samantha’s smile dropped right off her face.
“Because you know he is right? He hasn’t waited all this time to get his hands on him just so that they can watch movies together,” Murdock took a step in, “Right now, he’s killin’ him, slowly, painful second by painful second,” Samantha was white now. “My best friend, the kindest, bravest guy I ever met, who would give his last dime, the shirt off his back, his heart, his soul, his god damn life to help someone out!” Murdock’s eyes were flashing as his voice rose in anger. “And you sold him out, you Judas and you stand there and say it would have been alright if he was only going to get tortured instead of murdered as well!”
“Murdock, I-”
“You ever been tortured?” Samantha just stared at him, “No, I thought not. Well, he has and I’ve seen it and it’s not pretty and it haunts him every day and night of his life and you think it’s okay for him to go through that again? Even if we do save him?”
Tears were running down her cheeks for real now as she looked at Murdock, “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t realise he would be hurt... I’ll make it up to him when we get him back.”
“You will not!” Murdock yelled, “You will go nowhere near him! He doesn’t need you, he already has just what he needs, right here, you can go to hell!”
“Everything he needs?” Samantha’s eyes were as cold as Murdock’s now, “You think I can’t see he’s in love with Smith? You think I can’t see how the old man keeps him at arm’s length all the time? That’s what he needs is it?” she shook her head, “He’s worth much more than pining away for a dry old fool who doesn’t want him! Can’t you see that?”
Murdock’s lips set into a thin line and he took a step further in, “You,” he hissed pointing right in Samantha’s face, “stay right away from him, or, god help me, I will not be responsible for what I do!” And then he turned on the spot and stormed out of the room, not noticing Hannibal leaning against the wall in the corridor, eyes wide and chest heaving.
__________________
He was almost glad when they eventually came back for him. He was so cold he was sure he was starting with hypothermia, and the ambient temperature in the main part of the house was a welcome relief to the damp of the cellar.
They didn’t blindfold him, but he had to close his eyes against the unfamiliar glare. He wasn’t sure if it was real or artificial light that was tormenting him after all that darkness, he had completely and utterly lost track of time, but within minutes he had been dragged outdoors, he could feel the warm breeze on his frozen skin and could hear bird song, a happy sound, so completely innocuous with the terror that was building up inside him.
He forced his eyes open and could make out blurry shapes in the bright sunshine as his feet were dragged over the gravelled drive, and it suddenly occurred to him that he should make a break for it while he could, get away while he was out of doors, no locks and walls to hold him in. But as soon as he started struggling he knew his hopes were foolish, there was no way on earth that he was getting free, he was far too weak and probably couldn’t even stand on his own. The men held on to him easily and even managed to hit him sharply across the back of the head with something heavy enough to almost knock him out again. He had no choice but to submit and let them drag him where he was going.
He didn’t have to wait long, within a minute he’d been thrown roughly to the ground and was curled up in a ball, waiting for his tortured body to stop screaming long enough for him to try and get to his feet. While he was waiting, he cracked his eyes open and forced them to focus through all the activity around him and work out where he was and what was going on. When he finally managed, he wished he hadn’t bothered.
They were in what looked like the old stable block, and Face was currently curled on the cobbles of the central quadrangle. Men were busy around him putting the final touches to a set up he recognised at once; a waterboarding kit. His heart sank as he finally managed to struggle up into a sitting position, still squinting in the sunshine. This would be the third time this had happened to him, the first time, in training school, hadn’t gone even half way to preparing him for what it would be like when someone did it for real, someone who was actually trying to kill you. He’d had Hannibal with him that second time as well, not there, watching, but straight after, when they had thrown him soaked and shaking back into the cell. Hannibal had been there straight away, gathered him into his arms and just held him while Face had cried.
He hadn’t been there for the nightmares that came for years afterwards though, well, not all of them.
________________________
It was here, Hannibal knew it, the key that would lead them to Face was right here in this room with them hidden somewhere in all Taylor’s notes, so why the hell couldn’t he find it?
“This is pointless!” Taylor’s asinine voice poked at his thoughts and he tried to tune him out.
“What is?” BA snapped.
“This!” Taylor exploded. “We’ve been stuck in this room for over twenty four hours now, searching for a needle in a haystack when the needle doesn’t even exist! We should just face facts and give up!”
“Face facts?” BA queried, his expression frighteningly dark.
“Peck is dead and Yousafzai is gone, the whole operation has been a massive waste of my time!”
BA was out of his seat in a second, his hands already reaching for Taylor’s throat.
“Leave him!” Hannibal barked, his own eyes suddenly alight, “I’ve just thought of something!”
_________________________
He didn’t spend the night in the coal house. He wondered if they could read his mind, if the bastards knew what he was hanging onto all the time they were pouring water onto his face, letting him have a breath, a couple of breaths, half a breath, before starting again. He tried to tune their laughter out, tried to ignore the fact that he was tied here, naked, beaten and at the mercy of a bunch of sadistic Afghans, and just thought of the quiet silence of the coal house, where they would take him after this and leave him in peace. He was disappointed that they hauled him out into the middle of a field once they’d had their fun instead.
It was just starting to get dark, and Face could see the outline of some kind of scaffold in the middle of the grassy field. It was hard to see from this angle the size of the thing, and he had a moment’s panic that they were just going to hang him here and be done with it, but when he got up close he realised that the wooden cross, something like a capital T, wasn’t big enough for that. Instead, they hauled him upright and used lots of rough hemp to tie him, face first, to the cross. Wrists, ankles, under the arms and around the hips, all tied as tight as possible, digging into his flesh, abrading already torn skin, and then they left him.
Face watched them go back up to the house with a feeling of relief washing over him. He knew he had a difficult, painful night ahead of him here, knew the chances of getting out of the ropes were slim, but just the fact that they were gone, weren’t around to torment him any longer, was a comfort in itself.
He was wrong.
____________________
The tension in the van was almost stifling. Taylor was trying to look out of the window and pretend that he couldn’t feel BA staring at him with murderous thoughts in his head, while Hannibal stared fixedly at the doors of McCartney & Manners Real Estate trying to stop himself from just running in there after Murdock and Samantha. Just as he thought he was about to burst with the pressure, Taylor suddenly sat up straighter and Murdock and Samantha suddenly appeared on the sidewalk, hurrying over to where the van was parked.
“Well?” Hannibal asked them as soon as they opened the side door.
“You were right, Colonel,” Samantha told him, the edges of a smile playing around her mouth, “We checked through all of Yousafzai’s known contacts in the US and only two of them have helicopters.”
“Shareef Hamir lives in Denver and flies a pretty little black bird,” Murdock took over, “While one Adil Buf has a ranch over near Ridgecrest, sunny California and has a beautiful silver and blue Enstrom Shark...”
“That’s it!” BA exclaimed, eyes lighting up, “That was the bird, right?” At Murdock’s nod he turned the engine over, “Well what we waitin’ for then? Let’s get goin’!”
Next
