Manipulation - Chapter Nine
Aug. 19th, 2011 10:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
indigo_angelsHannibal paced up and down in the storage container they used to lock up some of their larger pieces of equipment. “Damnit, damnit, guys! Why didn’t I make him come with us? Why didn’t I stick closer to him, despite whatever he said?”
Murdock and BA didn’t answer. Hannibal was only asking himself the questions they wanted to ask him anyway.
“Those guys weren’t CIA,” BA offered eventually as Hannibal paced, unlit cigar in his fingers.
“I know,” Hannibal agreed, “so who the hell were they?”
“Arabs?” BA asked.
“Afghans,” Murdock supplied, “they were shouting in Dari at any rate.”
“They were?” Hannibal frowned, “How could I miss that?”
But Hannibal knew how he had missed that, and so did Murdock. Because when they had stormed outside, just in time to see Face getting knocked out and thrown over that guy’s shoulder, Hannibal had been seized by sheer terror. How had he let this happen? How had he let his own feelings for Face, his own trampled ego, dictate how he acted as commander of this unit? He shouldn’t have let Face’s refusal to trust him bug him like that, he should have just stood tall and ordered him to come with them, ordered BA to pick him up and haul him out if necessary, because as much as Face would have whinged and bleated about any of that if they’d done it then, he still would have been with them now, instead of being in that damn chopper, headed who knows where and with who knows who.
“What are we going to do, man?” this was BA again and Hannibal just shook his head slowly.
“Hey!” suddenly Murdock sat up, his forehead creased in thought, “Samantha!” he said, looking at the others, “Where’s Face’s Poison Ivy right now? Maybe we should go and pay her a little visit?”
Abruptly the look on Hannibal’s face hardened and he dropped his cigar down onto the top of a box. “You are right, Murdock, spot on. Come on, let’s take a trip to McCartney, Manners & Associates and see what she’s got to say for herself.
___________________
Reality came back to Face in stages. He stayed still and silent as he allowed life to creep back up on him bit by bit until he had enough to make out a reasonable picture. He was tied to a wooden chair in a nicely appointed living room, huge leather sofas, wide screen TV, panoramic windows with views over ranch land and grazing horses. The sunlight made his head pound and he closed his eyes, letting his head hang down; he had no real idea where he was but it was obviously in the middle of fucking nowhere, god, he was so screwed.
He knew nothing about the men who had taken him apart from the fact that they spoke Dari, a very common language in the parts of Afghanistan he’d frequented with the army; a part of the world he had absolutely no desire to go back to. So, who were they and what the hell did they want with him? And was this the danger that Hannibal had been trying to warn him about? And if it was, did that mean the boss was coming to get him out? God, he really hoped so, as he had a very, very bad feeling about all of this.
______________________
BA still had the business card in his pocket that Face had given them back in the warehouse what seemed weeks, months ago even; it was almost impossible to believe that it had been barely days. They drove over in silence, all of them wrapped up in their own thoughts, all of them worried sick in their stomachs about what could have happened to Face.
They pulled up outside the address on the card and Hannibal leaned forward in the van to look up at the tall glass skyscraper that shone in the afternoon sunshine. “Right men,” he instructed, “let’s go.”
The ride up to the seventh floor was tense and silent. Hannibal could see Murdock nervously chewing on a finger while BA clenched and unclenched his fists with alarming force. Hannibal himself just waited, grim and determined, not quite prepared to consider what would happen if they didn’t find a way to get Face back.
A quiet ding announced their arrival on the seventh floor and the three men stepped out, feeling the lack of their fourth painfully. They walked to the end of the corridor to the sign on the door that read, ‘McCartney, Manners & Associates’ and Hannibal didn’t even look through the smoked glass screen before raising his foot and kicking the flimsy panelled chip board door right through. He strode inside, flanked closely by both Murdock and BA and they all stood stock still and just stared.
“Aw, shit man...” BA mumbled as they looked around the empty room, “it was jus’ a front wasn’t it?”
Hannibal felt his own hands making a fist as his teeth ground together in frustration. Of course it was a front, how the hell could he not have seen that? Samantha McCartney was a front, just like the pardon was a front. Face had been suckered in right from the start.
“So, what do we do now?” BA’s voice had that edge to it that told Hannibal he wanted to punch someone. Hard. Soon. And that he was hoping that Hannibal could find someone for him really soon. But Hannibal had nothing, nothing but an empty office and a huge heap of regret sitting on his shoulders. Nothing.
“Hey,” this was Murdock, standing back in the door way, staring at the painted sign on the door, his eyes creased in that way that told them he was thinking hard. “You know that house those CIA dudes tried to lock us up in?” BA’s growl was a fairly good indication that he remembered. “Well, that ‘For Sale’ sign in the front yard, what was the name of the real estate agency?”
There was a silence before BA snapped, “How the hell would we know, fool! And this is no time to be lookin’ at houses!”
Murdock ignored him, “Colonel?”
“Oh, I don’t know...” Hannibal wandered over and stood next to Murdock, hoping that Murdock had some idea as to where he was going with this. “Some initials I think wasn’t it?”
Murdock was still staring at the sign. “M&M,” he told them slowly, “I remembered, ‘cause it’s like the candy isn’t it? M&M. McCartney & Manners.”
Hannibal sucked in a breath. “Of course. Samantha, those guys that took us, they’re all the same slime balls; of course they’d use the same cover. Okay, so where does that leave us?”
Fishing his iPhone out of his pocket, Murdock brought quickly brought Google up on the screen. “Hang on; maybe they have their own offices, just wait...” The team almost couldn’t breathe as Murdock tapped and waited and waited and tapped and then he sucked in his own breath. “Got it,” he whispered, already heading for the elevator, “Other side of town guys, let’s go.”
___________________________
Face must have fallen asleep as he didn’t hear the men coming into the room, didn't realise he had company until a swift slap across his face had him jerking awake with barely suppressed panic. His eyes quickly took in his visitors, six men, all dressed in suits, all with dark hair and beards, some of them wearing sunglasses and all carrying submachine guns, all except one. Quickly sussing this guy out as the leader, Face looked him over; his suit was just a little bit better quality fabric than the others, the cut just that tiny bit more elegant. His shoes were obviously expensive, high quality leather, while his watch was a genuine Hublot Caviar. Every finger held a ring apart from the index finger of his right hand which was missing, a sign that unconsciously made Face shudder.
He took in all of this information in a fraction of a second and then had his gaze up on the man’s face just as his own cold black eyes alighted on Face. He smiled at his captive, and that shudder was back.
____________________________
Hannibal let himself back into the van and yanked off his wig and false moustache. “Yeah, it’s a front all right, but an active one this time.”
A growl sounded from BA and he started taking his seat belt off, “Come on then,” he muttered, “let’s go kick some ass and make ‘em tell us where they got Face!”
But Hannibal reached out and held his arm, “Hang on big guy, just hold it there a second,” the glare he received was priceless.
“He’s right,” this was Murdock. “They’re CIA don't forget, they do have some trainin’. We go stormin’ in there, buddy, and they’ll have us on ice before you can say ‘set up’ an’ then what use we will be to Facey?”
BA sighed but sat back in his chair, “So what’s the plan then Hannibal?”
Hannibal took a cigar and lit it. “We watch and wait for one of the slimy little weasels to come out and then we grab him. And then you can kick ass and make them tell us where Face is, although I seriously doubt it’s these clowns that have got him.”
And with that sobering thought in their heads, the team settled down to wait.
_________________________
The man with the expensive tastes regarded Face steadily for a good few minutes, a half amused smirk on his lips the whole time. Eventually the smirk spread into a full blown smile as he eventually spoke, “And so, we finally meet. I have waited for this moment for fifteen years,” the smile grew wider and colder, “I have savoured the thought of meeting you.”
A strong sense of self preservation had kept Face’s mouth shut up until that point, but that was never going to last indefinitely, more than half a life time hanging around Hannibal had that effect on people. He smiled one of his best shit-eating grins at his captor and said, “Ah, I hate to appear rude - but who the hell are you sport?”
Thin lips pressed together and Face realised he was lucky not to get another slap at the very least... “My name,” his captor spoke slowly in his heavily accented English, as if he wanted Face to get every word, “is Abdul-Razaaq Yousafzai.”
Face frowned, long abandoned memories struggling to the surface, “Abdul-Razaaq?” He felt the blood drain from his face as the man in front of him nodded, “As in ‘Razaaq the Razor’?” Another nod, and a cold smile. “Oh, shit.”
“Shit indeed, Lieutenant.”
Rallying a little, Face made sure he kept up eye contact. “Well, as fascinating as this opportunity to put a face to the name really is,” he forced out a smile and hoped it looked natural, “I can’t think why you would possibly ever have wanted to meet me.”
Yousafzai’s own smile vanished, “You stole something from me, and I want it back.”
Face had that awful sinking feeling deep in his gut. He’d ‘requisitioned’ a lot of things over the years, and some people did insist on using that awful ‘stolen’ word... But take something from a crazed Afghan warlord? Err, no, he’d never been insane. Face shook his head frantically, “I think you’ve got the wrong guy, here...”
“No!” Yousafzai leaned in and Face almost swallowed his tongue in his haste to shut up. “You stole my honour, my flesh!”
He held up his mutilated hand and Face frowned, even more confused. “No, seriously, I’ve never really been into all that knife-play, I leave that to,” he swallowed, “others.”
Yousafzai glared at Face, but spoke in an ominous whisper, “You had a ‘store’ in your stinking army base, right? Kandahar Cosco?” Face cringed, well, yeah, he’d only been young, and it had sounded better at the time... “I see you remember,” Yousafzai’s voice was still a whisper, “and where did you get the goods for your immoral little enterprise?”
Face’s frown deepened, “Supply runs,” he answered, “trucks headed for the Taliban up in the mountains,” an unpleasant dawning sensation was starting up in his gut.
“And who do you think ordered those goods?”
Face looked into the cold black eyes and suddenly felt cold himself, “Oh, shit,” he repeated.
_____________________
“Here he comes.”
Murdock had gone into the building to watch the door from the inside to make sure someone didn’t sneak out past them through a back exit. Now he was coming out, walking right behind a man in a dark blue suit and sunglasses as he headed along the sidewalk at a cracking pace.
“We followin’ him boss?” BA asked, his fingers itching to turn the ignition.
Hannibal paused for just a moment, thinking, before the phone rang in his hand and he answered it immediately. “Yeah?”
“He’s headin’ to the metro. I got him, I’ll call you as soon as we get out.”
The line went dead and Hannibal sat back and sighed as BA took his fingers off his keys. They looked at each other and BA shrugged as they went back to just waiting.
_______________________
“Look, I didn’t know all that stuff was yours...” Face could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
Yousafzai just threw his arms up in the air. “Cigarettes, cheap Russian vodka... I care little about things like that. You think I would waste fifteen years of my life tracking you down for trinkets such as those?”
Face frowned, “Then...?”
_______________________
Hannibal snatched up the phone the second it buzzed in his hand, “Murdock?”
“2951, Lexington Avenue. Apartment 14. He’s just gone in by himself.”
BA already had the van in gear, “We’re on our way.”
Within five minutes the van was parked in the underground parking lot while BA and Hannibal headed for the elevator. They stood with their backs to the CCTV camera while they checked the clips on their guns and the second the doors opened, Murdock was there to meet them, serious expression etched onto his face. “He rode one stop on the Metro then stopped of the way home, bought a falafel and a four pack, then came here. He switched a sports channel on and otherwise not made a sound,” he reported.
Hannibal nodded. “Okay, guys, usual positions, let’s go for some shock and awe.”
Next
Murdock and BA didn’t answer. Hannibal was only asking himself the questions they wanted to ask him anyway.
“Those guys weren’t CIA,” BA offered eventually as Hannibal paced, unlit cigar in his fingers.
“I know,” Hannibal agreed, “so who the hell were they?”
“Arabs?” BA asked.
“Afghans,” Murdock supplied, “they were shouting in Dari at any rate.”
“They were?” Hannibal frowned, “How could I miss that?”
But Hannibal knew how he had missed that, and so did Murdock. Because when they had stormed outside, just in time to see Face getting knocked out and thrown over that guy’s shoulder, Hannibal had been seized by sheer terror. How had he let this happen? How had he let his own feelings for Face, his own trampled ego, dictate how he acted as commander of this unit? He shouldn’t have let Face’s refusal to trust him bug him like that, he should have just stood tall and ordered him to come with them, ordered BA to pick him up and haul him out if necessary, because as much as Face would have whinged and bleated about any of that if they’d done it then, he still would have been with them now, instead of being in that damn chopper, headed who knows where and with who knows who.
“What are we going to do, man?” this was BA again and Hannibal just shook his head slowly.
“Hey!” suddenly Murdock sat up, his forehead creased in thought, “Samantha!” he said, looking at the others, “Where’s Face’s Poison Ivy right now? Maybe we should go and pay her a little visit?”
Abruptly the look on Hannibal’s face hardened and he dropped his cigar down onto the top of a box. “You are right, Murdock, spot on. Come on, let’s take a trip to McCartney, Manners & Associates and see what she’s got to say for herself.
___________________
Reality came back to Face in stages. He stayed still and silent as he allowed life to creep back up on him bit by bit until he had enough to make out a reasonable picture. He was tied to a wooden chair in a nicely appointed living room, huge leather sofas, wide screen TV, panoramic windows with views over ranch land and grazing horses. The sunlight made his head pound and he closed his eyes, letting his head hang down; he had no real idea where he was but it was obviously in the middle of fucking nowhere, god, he was so screwed.
He knew nothing about the men who had taken him apart from the fact that they spoke Dari, a very common language in the parts of Afghanistan he’d frequented with the army; a part of the world he had absolutely no desire to go back to. So, who were they and what the hell did they want with him? And was this the danger that Hannibal had been trying to warn him about? And if it was, did that mean the boss was coming to get him out? God, he really hoped so, as he had a very, very bad feeling about all of this.
______________________
BA still had the business card in his pocket that Face had given them back in the warehouse what seemed weeks, months ago even; it was almost impossible to believe that it had been barely days. They drove over in silence, all of them wrapped up in their own thoughts, all of them worried sick in their stomachs about what could have happened to Face.
They pulled up outside the address on the card and Hannibal leaned forward in the van to look up at the tall glass skyscraper that shone in the afternoon sunshine. “Right men,” he instructed, “let’s go.”
The ride up to the seventh floor was tense and silent. Hannibal could see Murdock nervously chewing on a finger while BA clenched and unclenched his fists with alarming force. Hannibal himself just waited, grim and determined, not quite prepared to consider what would happen if they didn’t find a way to get Face back.
A quiet ding announced their arrival on the seventh floor and the three men stepped out, feeling the lack of their fourth painfully. They walked to the end of the corridor to the sign on the door that read, ‘McCartney, Manners & Associates’ and Hannibal didn’t even look through the smoked glass screen before raising his foot and kicking the flimsy panelled chip board door right through. He strode inside, flanked closely by both Murdock and BA and they all stood stock still and just stared.
“Aw, shit man...” BA mumbled as they looked around the empty room, “it was jus’ a front wasn’t it?”
Hannibal felt his own hands making a fist as his teeth ground together in frustration. Of course it was a front, how the hell could he not have seen that? Samantha McCartney was a front, just like the pardon was a front. Face had been suckered in right from the start.
“So, what do we do now?” BA’s voice had that edge to it that told Hannibal he wanted to punch someone. Hard. Soon. And that he was hoping that Hannibal could find someone for him really soon. But Hannibal had nothing, nothing but an empty office and a huge heap of regret sitting on his shoulders. Nothing.
“Hey,” this was Murdock, standing back in the door way, staring at the painted sign on the door, his eyes creased in that way that told them he was thinking hard. “You know that house those CIA dudes tried to lock us up in?” BA’s growl was a fairly good indication that he remembered. “Well, that ‘For Sale’ sign in the front yard, what was the name of the real estate agency?”
There was a silence before BA snapped, “How the hell would we know, fool! And this is no time to be lookin’ at houses!”
Murdock ignored him, “Colonel?”
“Oh, I don’t know...” Hannibal wandered over and stood next to Murdock, hoping that Murdock had some idea as to where he was going with this. “Some initials I think wasn’t it?”
Murdock was still staring at the sign. “M&M,” he told them slowly, “I remembered, ‘cause it’s like the candy isn’t it? M&M. McCartney & Manners.”
Hannibal sucked in a breath. “Of course. Samantha, those guys that took us, they’re all the same slime balls; of course they’d use the same cover. Okay, so where does that leave us?”
Fishing his iPhone out of his pocket, Murdock brought quickly brought Google up on the screen. “Hang on; maybe they have their own offices, just wait...” The team almost couldn’t breathe as Murdock tapped and waited and waited and tapped and then he sucked in his own breath. “Got it,” he whispered, already heading for the elevator, “Other side of town guys, let’s go.”
___________________________
Face must have fallen asleep as he didn’t hear the men coming into the room, didn't realise he had company until a swift slap across his face had him jerking awake with barely suppressed panic. His eyes quickly took in his visitors, six men, all dressed in suits, all with dark hair and beards, some of them wearing sunglasses and all carrying submachine guns, all except one. Quickly sussing this guy out as the leader, Face looked him over; his suit was just a little bit better quality fabric than the others, the cut just that tiny bit more elegant. His shoes were obviously expensive, high quality leather, while his watch was a genuine Hublot Caviar. Every finger held a ring apart from the index finger of his right hand which was missing, a sign that unconsciously made Face shudder.
He took in all of this information in a fraction of a second and then had his gaze up on the man’s face just as his own cold black eyes alighted on Face. He smiled at his captive, and that shudder was back.
____________________________
Hannibal let himself back into the van and yanked off his wig and false moustache. “Yeah, it’s a front all right, but an active one this time.”
A growl sounded from BA and he started taking his seat belt off, “Come on then,” he muttered, “let’s go kick some ass and make ‘em tell us where they got Face!”
But Hannibal reached out and held his arm, “Hang on big guy, just hold it there a second,” the glare he received was priceless.
“He’s right,” this was Murdock. “They’re CIA don't forget, they do have some trainin’. We go stormin’ in there, buddy, and they’ll have us on ice before you can say ‘set up’ an’ then what use we will be to Facey?”
BA sighed but sat back in his chair, “So what’s the plan then Hannibal?”
Hannibal took a cigar and lit it. “We watch and wait for one of the slimy little weasels to come out and then we grab him. And then you can kick ass and make them tell us where Face is, although I seriously doubt it’s these clowns that have got him.”
And with that sobering thought in their heads, the team settled down to wait.
_________________________
The man with the expensive tastes regarded Face steadily for a good few minutes, a half amused smirk on his lips the whole time. Eventually the smirk spread into a full blown smile as he eventually spoke, “And so, we finally meet. I have waited for this moment for fifteen years,” the smile grew wider and colder, “I have savoured the thought of meeting you.”
A strong sense of self preservation had kept Face’s mouth shut up until that point, but that was never going to last indefinitely, more than half a life time hanging around Hannibal had that effect on people. He smiled one of his best shit-eating grins at his captor and said, “Ah, I hate to appear rude - but who the hell are you sport?”
Thin lips pressed together and Face realised he was lucky not to get another slap at the very least... “My name,” his captor spoke slowly in his heavily accented English, as if he wanted Face to get every word, “is Abdul-Razaaq Yousafzai.”
Face frowned, long abandoned memories struggling to the surface, “Abdul-Razaaq?” He felt the blood drain from his face as the man in front of him nodded, “As in ‘Razaaq the Razor’?” Another nod, and a cold smile. “Oh, shit.”
“Shit indeed, Lieutenant.”
Rallying a little, Face made sure he kept up eye contact. “Well, as fascinating as this opportunity to put a face to the name really is,” he forced out a smile and hoped it looked natural, “I can’t think why you would possibly ever have wanted to meet me.”
Yousafzai’s own smile vanished, “You stole something from me, and I want it back.”
Face had that awful sinking feeling deep in his gut. He’d ‘requisitioned’ a lot of things over the years, and some people did insist on using that awful ‘stolen’ word... But take something from a crazed Afghan warlord? Err, no, he’d never been insane. Face shook his head frantically, “I think you’ve got the wrong guy, here...”
“No!” Yousafzai leaned in and Face almost swallowed his tongue in his haste to shut up. “You stole my honour, my flesh!”
He held up his mutilated hand and Face frowned, even more confused. “No, seriously, I’ve never really been into all that knife-play, I leave that to,” he swallowed, “others.”
Yousafzai glared at Face, but spoke in an ominous whisper, “You had a ‘store’ in your stinking army base, right? Kandahar Cosco?” Face cringed, well, yeah, he’d only been young, and it had sounded better at the time... “I see you remember,” Yousafzai’s voice was still a whisper, “and where did you get the goods for your immoral little enterprise?”
Face’s frown deepened, “Supply runs,” he answered, “trucks headed for the Taliban up in the mountains,” an unpleasant dawning sensation was starting up in his gut.
“And who do you think ordered those goods?”
Face looked into the cold black eyes and suddenly felt cold himself, “Oh, shit,” he repeated.
_____________________
“Here he comes.”
Murdock had gone into the building to watch the door from the inside to make sure someone didn’t sneak out past them through a back exit. Now he was coming out, walking right behind a man in a dark blue suit and sunglasses as he headed along the sidewalk at a cracking pace.
“We followin’ him boss?” BA asked, his fingers itching to turn the ignition.
Hannibal paused for just a moment, thinking, before the phone rang in his hand and he answered it immediately. “Yeah?”
“He’s headin’ to the metro. I got him, I’ll call you as soon as we get out.”
The line went dead and Hannibal sat back and sighed as BA took his fingers off his keys. They looked at each other and BA shrugged as they went back to just waiting.
_______________________
“Look, I didn’t know all that stuff was yours...” Face could feel his heart pounding in his chest.
Yousafzai just threw his arms up in the air. “Cigarettes, cheap Russian vodka... I care little about things like that. You think I would waste fifteen years of my life tracking you down for trinkets such as those?”
Face frowned, “Then...?”
_______________________
Hannibal snatched up the phone the second it buzzed in his hand, “Murdock?”
“2951, Lexington Avenue. Apartment 14. He’s just gone in by himself.”
BA already had the van in gear, “We’re on our way.”
Within five minutes the van was parked in the underground parking lot while BA and Hannibal headed for the elevator. They stood with their backs to the CCTV camera while they checked the clips on their guns and the second the doors opened, Murdock was there to meet them, serious expression etched onto his face. “He rode one stop on the Metro then stopped of the way home, bought a falafel and a four pack, then came here. He switched a sports channel on and otherwise not made a sound,” he reported.
Hannibal nodded. “Okay, guys, usual positions, let’s go for some shock and awe.”
Next
