Manipulation - Chapter Eight

[indigo_angels]

Face walked out into the sunshine and squinted, pushing his shades on against the mid-morning sun. One interview down, two to go. He took a sideways glance at Samantha as they walked to the car and noticed that she was looking kind of shifty again, nervously glancing around them, almost as if she was expecting something. He caught her eye and she smiled at him, the same brilliant smile she always used but this time he noticed it didn’t reach her eyes which remained worried, suspicious even. He had a pretty good sense for danger, living a life like his it came in handy, and right now it was screaming at him, making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

 

The day was getting hotter by the minute and Face knew he was sweating inside his suit. He thought longingly of the air conditioned car and wondered why the driver had to park so damn far from the studios. He’d passed Liam Neeson inside, obviously on his way to an interview of his own and looking very cool and collected, he’d smiled and nodded at him as they crossed, obviously thinking that Face was someone famous and Face couldn’t help betting that he hadn’t had to walk over a block from his car in the heat of the day.

 

At last they were there and he collapsed into the cool of the back seats, letting his eyes fall closed as he slumped into the leather. The car started up and as he felt Samantha’s eyes on him he forced his own to open up, “What?” he asked, probably snappier than it needed to be.

 

The look she gave him surprised him, there was genuine concern there and it made his stomach coil in guilt, “Are you alright?” she asked, actually sounding like she meant it.

 

“I’m fine,” he replied, making the effort to be a bit more civil, “just tired.”

 

She nodded, the concern still there. “You got that PDA on you?”

 

Face frowned, “Yeah, you want it?”

 

And now the fake smile was back, “No, it’s fine, just wanted to make sure you had it on you.”

 

Face let his eyes slide shut once more, taking the opportunity for some rest.

 

__________________

 

Murdock climbed back into the van outside Face’s new apartment block and shook his head at the others. “Not there,” he clarified even as BA pulled away from the kerb, “and nothing to say where he’s gone. You tried his mobile again?”

 

Hannibal nodded, “I don’t think it’s switched on, I’ve left another message.”

 

Murdock frowned as he settled into his seat. Why would Face have his mobile switched off? Surely he wasn’t still pissed at them over the other night? He must know it is the only way the team had of keeping in touch with him...

 

 But then Murdock remembered what Face had said about Decker, and how he had threatened to use Face to get to the rest of the team. Maybe that’s what Face was doing? Trying to protect them all by keeping them away from him? Well, if that was the case then it was going to have to change, there were more dangerous sharks out there than Decker just now, and it seemed that Face himself was on their menu...

 

The radio was on, playing some dreadful country and western track and eventually Hannibal had had enough of it. He reached forward and started turning the knob, tuning in and out of station after station until he froze and every set of eyes in the van turned to the speakers as a very familiar voice came out. Murdock smiled. Got him.

 

_________________

 

An hour later, the van was parked in a side street opposite the studios of FM Talk and the occupants were rewarded for their perseverance by the sight of Face and Samantha coming out into the heat of the afternoon and walking south along the crowded sidewalk.

 

“Plan, colonel?” BA asked, his fingers itching to start the engine.

 

Hannibal  thought for a moment, “We follow them,” he said at last, “I’d rather talk to Face without his pretty minder there. Let’s see where they go, hopefully we’ll get a better chance then.”

 

“Okay, boss,” BA replied, turning over the engine and letting the van nose out into the stream of crawling traffic.

 

________________

 

Face sat with his head in his hands in the relative quiet of the now empty makeup room. He’d sent Samantha on ahead to the car that was parked almost two blocks away, telling her he would follow, just needed some time to get his head together. If he’d thought he was fed up of interviews this morning, he was damn certain of it now, Big Clucker the chicken had certainly made sure of that.

He still couldn’t believe that Samantha had booked him for a lame kid’s show hosted by an alcoholic in a giant chicken suit, never mind ‘Big Clucker’, Face could think of much better name for him than that. She’d looked a little shame faced when he’d confronted her about it, just after he had been confronted by Big Clucker himself, but then she’d shrugged and said it was exposure, he needed exposure and any publicity was good publicity. And this was just one of the parts that Face was struggling with at the moment, he’d spent a goodly proportion of his life keeping a low profile, be it from the enemy, MPs or sometimes just senior officers, but either way, he knew how to keep his head down, and this, well this just felt like he was sticking it up over the parapets.

And why did he even need this exposure? He just wanted a normal life, to be able to sit in a cafe and read the paper without looking over his shoulder, to be able to run on the beach without a sidearm jammed down his shorts, to share a life with someone and know you could plan a future that didn’t involve prison. That’s all he really wanted, so why did he need all this exposure?

He rubbed his hands over his face and sat up, his mind decided. He needed a little chat with Samantha about the way this was all going, they needed to get a few things straight, things like this stupid screenplay for one. He took the PDA out of his pocket and threw it onto the dresser, he could certainly do without that.

____________________

“Can’t see him anywhere Colonel,” Murdock reported as they met up again in the corridor leading to the soundstage.

Hannibal glanced at BA who shook his own head in confirmation. “Well, he’s got to be here somewhere, boys, we saw that Poison Ivy leave without him and he certainly hasn’t come past me.” The three of them exchanged anxious glances, their visit from the suits had really shaken them up and Hannibal especially was getting more and more concerned for Face’s safety by the second. He let out a long breath, “Okay, one more sweep. BA you stay on the door this time, Murdock you take-” and he stopped, as all eyes in the corridor turned to the door at the end which opened slowly, creaking ominously, before Face stepped out and turned to them.

“What the hell-” he started but before he got chance to finish, Murdock had barrelled into him, knocking him flat against the wall, the air leaving his lungs with an audible whoosh as six foot of relieved pilot grabbed him in a bear hug.

“Oh, Facey! Are we glad to see you, man! We been looking for you everywhere!” A slight exaggeration, but that was how it felt to Murdock right then.

For just a second Face allowed himself to hug back, to feel the presence of a friend, someone who knew him and accepted him and he didn’t have to pretend around... but then he remembered Decker and his threats and realised that even that crumb of comfort was denied to him now. He pushed Murdock away, ignoring the wounded look in his friend’s eyes and leaned against the wall trying to get his breath back. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he gasped, one hand clasped across his chest, his eyes automatically going to Hannibal for an answer.

“Face...” It was Murdock’s voice that rang out in the silence though, in that hurt tone that always cut Face to the bone. “You still mad at us, buddy, for laughin’ at that stupid screenplay? You know we were only jokin’...”

Hannibal stepped forward, “Leave it Murdock, the lieutenant isn’t interested in that right now, we have more important things to discuss.”

Face’s eyes narrowed as Murdock fell silent with a look of pure tragedy etched into his face, but Hannibal didn’t notice either of them. “You’re in trouble, Face, you need to come with us. Now.”He stepped forward as if to grab Face’s arm but the lieutenant took a step back, holding his hands, palms out, towards Hannibal as he moved away. “Hang on a minute there, I don't need to do anything. What the hell is going on?”

 

Hannibal shifted uncomfortably, “We don’t have the time to explain it all here, you need to trust me and just come on!” he took a step towards the door and froze when it became obvious that Face hadn’t moved. Everyone stopped, it almost felt like even their hearts had paused for a second and the temperature in the air-conditioned corridor seemed to drop a few more degrees. “Face?” Hannibal asked, a whole world of meaning in that one, single word.

 

“Tell me what’s going on, boss,” Face’s voice was calm and carefully controlled as he looked at Hannibal.

 

Hannibal held his stare. “You don’t trust me enough to come anyway.” It wasn’t a question.

 

“John,” Face’s eyes were pleading, “this is my chance here, to finally make something of my life,” Hannibal rolled his eyes at that, thinking how ridiculous it was that Face couldn’t see the brilliant something he’d made of his life anyway. Face caught the eye roll but couldn’t help but attribute a different meaning to it... “Yeah, well,” his voice now had a distinctly defensive edge to it, “it might not mean much to you, but it means a hell of a lot to me.”

 

Hannibal took a step in, “Face – ”

 

But Face had made up his mind, “No, colonel, I got this okay?” Hannibal stopped, “So, I’m in danger? Well, what’s new there? I’ve slept every night in danger for the last twenty or so years, what the hell difference does it make now?”

 

“’Cause you on your own, fool!” BA chipped in, “And we should be there to watch your back!”

 

There was an awkward silence as Face looked at the three faces staring at him. “But you can’t  though can you? Because I’ve got this damn pardon and you guys haven’t.”

 

No one spoke.

 

“Look,” Face stood up from the wall, “it’s not like I don’t appreciate this, but, well, I’m a big boy now, and I can look after myself. It’s dangerous for you to be hanging around me like this.”

 

“It’s dangerous for you if we don’t,” Murdock countered. 

 

“I need to do this on my own,” Face ascertained, “and I know there is something a little off about Samantha, but don’t you worry about her, she won’t get the drop on me, I’m watching her.”

 

There was silence again, Murdock and BA looked at Hannibal, waiting for him to do something, to say something that would make Face go with them, but instead he just crossed his arms and looked at Face, his expression unreadable.

 

Face nodded, “Okay then,” his head was bowed in defeat even though he was getting just what he’d said he wanted, “I’ll see you,” and he headed for the door.

 

Murdock looked over at Hannibal who watched impassively as Face walked away from them, “Hannibal!” he hissed, but the sound of the door opening and closing filled the silence after his word and when he looked up Face was gone.

 

“Hannibal!” he hissed again, stalking right up to his CO now and almost spitting in his face, “Why didn’t you stop him colonel? Why didn’t you make him come with us?”

 

Hannibal just shook his head, “What could I have said that would have made any difference to him? He’s made up his mind already. I’m not going to order him to stay.”

 

Shaking his own head in frustration, Murdock glared up at Hannibal, “You don’t need to order him! You just need to let him know that this elusive thing he’s looking for is already here, with us! With you!”

 

“What thin’, fool?” BA’s voice burst in on them, saving Hannibal from giving an answer, “Face aint lookin’ for no treasure!”

 

Murdock rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to answer when the sounds of automatic gunfire filled the corridor.

 

“Face!” Hannibal exclaimed, and without further thought his men turned as one and ran for the parking lot.

_________________ 

 

Face had walked out of the studios, hands stuffed in his pockets, deep in thought. He didn’t know why that whole conversation had upset him so much. He’d asked the guys to leave him to it, to let him sort this all out his way, and that’s what they had agreed to do. Well, that’s what Hannibal had agreed to do, BA had stayed very quiet about the whole thing and Face got the distinct impression that the last thing Murdock wanted was for him to leave, but... well, no one said anything, not really, so what was he supposed to do?

 

And this danger that Hannibal had mentioned, he supposed it might have been smarter to ask a bit more about that, what exactly had happened to make then so concerned for him. Surely Samantha could not be anywhere near that dangerous? He would have to make sure he was watching her a much more carefully from now on...

 

He’d almost made it to the far side of the parking lot when he sensed rather than saw someone coming up on his left side. He unconsciously moved over, making room for them to pass, and the danger signs all started flashing in his head when he realised that the person had moved over with him, tracking him so to speak.

 

He glanced up, and the man at his side smiled at him. He was about five foot ten, not huge, and smartly dressed in a dark grey suit. His hair and beard were black, almost as dark as his sunglasses, and his skin was a warm coffee colour, bronzed by endless days in a hot, shining sun. But it was the handgun in his belt, displayed as he lifted his jacket back to show it to Face, that had Face instantly sliding over the bonnet of the car parked next to him, determined to put something solid and bullet proof between him and the guy with the gun.

 

Face’s evasive move had the guy stumped for a second, he’d obviously expected almost instant surrender, but he was only a moment behind Face as the lieutenant drew his own gun. “Haasel kard^n o!” {Get him!} the guy in the suit shouted out in Dari and suddenly the parking lot was swarming with men dressed just like him, with their beards and their automatic pistols, and Face, currently scrambling between the rows of parked cars in his attempt to get back to the studio and the rest of team, found himself belatedly wishing that he had listened to Hannibal’s warnings.

 

They were hunting him down, creeping between the rows of cars themselves, getting closer and closer to him with each turn, and shouting to each other in a language he hadn’t heard in a long while. He stayed close to the ground and kept going, his eye always on that entrance and the relative safety he would find in there; he never doubted for a second that Hannibal would be able to get him out of this mess if he could only reach his CO.

 

He could see the entrance now, and damnit, there were two of the guys in suits blocking his route. He swore softly and sat down on the ground to think, resting against a tyre so that anyone looking under the cars wouldn’t be able to see him. He was trapped. And minute now, the men looking for him would come past the end of his row of cars and would see him crouched here, a sitting duck. He needed to get out, and if it was no longer possible to get to the studio, then anywhere that wasn’t here was fine by him.

 

There was a wall around the edge of the lot, about six feet high, and he knew if he could get to that and over it, then maybe, just maybe, there would be something on the other side to help him out a bit. There was only one thing for it. The men in suits were expecting him to try and get closer to the studio; maybe, if he took a run in the other direction no one would see him; maybe he could get close enough to make it a possibility... Maybe...

 

There was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, Face looked quickly to his left and right, and seeing the way clear, stayed low and made a break for it, between two rows of cars, heading straight for the fence at the back.

 

He was almost half way there when the shout went up, but he just tucked his head down and kept on running. A barrage of shots came his way, the first that had been fired so far, but Face forced himself to ignore them, knew if they wanted him dead, he would be laid on the ground in a pool of his own blood right now, and instead pushed on.

 

He could see the wall dead ahead of him now and quickened his pace even further, determined to reach it and haul himself over before the men caught him up, but then, at the very last second a man stepped out of the cover of the car next to his and kicked up, hard, catching Face’s forearm and knocking the gun from his hand.

 

Swearing loudly, Face made a grab for it, but the man in the suit was faster. He muttered a word that Face had heard many times before during his years in Afghanistan, “Haramzadeh!” {Bastard!} and swung a fist aiming for the side of Face’s head. Face was faster, however, and ducked out of the way, losing his chance to get his gun back at the same time, however, as the Afghan kicked it away under a nearby van, there was nothing else for it now, but hand to hand combat.

 

Face straightened up, adjusting his weight as he did so and kicked out, catching his adversary in the stomach, doubling him up in pain instantly, and then he was ready to take instant advantage, bringing his knee up into the man’s face then his elbow down onto his neck and within seconds the guy was unconscious on the ground. As he glanced down to check the guy was incapacitated and was startled by a sudden and almost deafening noise from above as a helicopter abruptly dropped from the sky to hover above him. Face resisted the temptation to throw himself to the ground as he felt the vicious back draft on his head; between the presence of the chopper, the renewed gunshots and the shouting in Dari he was having the strangest feeling of being back in Afghanistan, rather than in downtown Los Angeles.

 

It was probably the noise from chopper that masked the sounds of the man coming up behind him, but just as Face was about the leap and grab onto the top of the wall to haul himself over, the butt of a sub machine gun came crashing down on the back of his head and the world instantly went black.

 

He didn’t feel himself crash, face first, into the rough brick of the wall, or the thump as he landed, hard, on the concrete ground beneath him. He wasn’t aware of the guy behind him roughly hauling him up off the ground and throwing him over his shoulder, or being manhandled into the open door of the chopper as it hovered on its skids in the parking lot. He didn’t hear the burst of gunfire that accompanied the team as they exploded out of the door from the studio in time to see him almost thrown into the helicopter, or Hannibal’s shouts as the chopper lifted up and away.   

 

He was out cold, oblivious to everything around him, and would stay that way for the next few hours. In fact, once he woke up, he would be very quickly wishing he was unconscious once more.

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