He'd been back in the States three weeks. Nothing from Stockwell, but then he hadn't expected anything yet. He knew the general was looking for him. But it was preliminary - Stockwell wouldn't make any kind of move until he had things all laid out. His quarry, however, had other plans.
LAX again. Straight flight to Denver. Next flight back. Courier. That's what he was today. Delivering a package. Sort of.
At Denver, he hailed a cab and headed downtown. Gave the cabbie an address, and then left him several blocks before his stop. Walked. First west, then north, then west again. Double-backed. East.
Caught another cab and went to a branch post office. Mailed his package. Different address this time. Another one Stockwell thought no one knew about. The general had a lot of those.
'But I know them all, buddy.'
Stockwell was getting a model airplane this time.
He slept on the flight back to LA, peacefully.
"So how do we find Stockwell? He's not exactly listed in the white pages."
"We won't have to find Stockwell. We find Carla. She'll bring him to us." Hannibal grinned.
"How do you know he'll come? He wasn't exactly shedding tears when we left. And I don't think he's gonna want to help us find Face."
"Actually, Captain, I think he'll definitely want to help us out there. Just not for the same reasons. If I know Face - 'and maybe I don't anymore' - he's already been baiting Stockwell. And Stockwell is not someone who's going to let a challenge go unanswered. Personal as well as professional pride won't let him. We'll have a little talk with our dear general, see what we can find out from him. Even if he doesn't want to help, we need to be close by. Very close."
Murdock didn't need it spelled out for him. If Face got within shooting distance of Stockwell, it was all over. And he didn't want to think about what could happen after that. Stockwell would have shadows like he'd never dreamed about.
"So, we need to get back to Langley. The sooner the better. BA..."
"I ain't flying, Hannibal."
"No, you're going to stay right here." Hannibal had to deal with a difficult situation now. He really needed BA's brawn in Langley, in case of trouble with Stockwell's people. And Murdock would be much more comfortable than BA handling things in LA. But he was well aware that Murdock's control was at low ebb. He wanted someone close at hand in case the pilot ran into real difficulties. "We need someone here to go back and talk to the hotel clerk again, get a better description of 'Mr. Carlton'. Check rental cars, apartment agents, the works. I've got an appointment this afternoon with our lawyer's CPA friend, too. Face's money was tied in with ours, so we have a little hope of him finding a paper trail. I want you working with him on that. I'm also going to plant some ads in the personals. In Langley."
"Face isn't going to answer any of our ads, Hannibal."
"No, but he might answer one of Stockwell's..."
A tiny string of glue trailed from the green plastic and then snapped, leaving a minuscule ball at the joint. A breath of air hit it, solidifying it. With a sigh of satisfaction, Stockwell carefully lifted the completed model airplane and lay it to rest on the glass shelf, next to a little stone elephant. He smiled.
A knock at his door interrupted his reverie. Carla strode through.
"General post office in downtown Denver, General. Packaging material common stock, no distinguishing serial numbers or other markings on the model itself."
"Very well, Carla, we didn't really expect any."
"He's getting closer, General."
"I know, Carla, I know. And he wants us to know that. It's part of his strategy. Just like finding those addresses."
"What do you want to do about that?"
"The usual. Find out who gave out that information and get rid of them. He's not going to tell anyone else about them. And once he gets here, it'll be a moot point."
Carla wished she could be as calm about this as Stockwell. 
Peck could cause serious damage to the organization if he knew as much as she thought he did. Leave it to this con man to find loopholes in their security system. He never should have been given the amount of access he had while over there. Who knew what other information he had gleaned from their collaborators.
"Don't worry so much, Carla. I know Peck, and I knew if he survived over there that he would be coming for me. You don't think I planned for that contingency?"
"Of course, General. Everything will work out."
"Yes, it will." Stockwell nodded to his assistant, dismissing her. Closing the door behind her, Carla noted that Stockwell thought her concern was for him. Conceited jerk.
He stared at the model airplane, the elephant.
"I'm waiting, Lieutenant." He wasn't smiling.
He wandered down the beach, watching the gulls wheeling above him, the waves rolling in, soaking the cuffs of his trousers, occasionally reaching up to his knees. He loved the beach, the ocean. If things had been different, long ago, he could've ended up a beach bum, surfing around the world, living off pretty girls and rich sponsors. Yeah, right. Didn't matter now anyway. It would be nice, though, to just live on the beach. No more scams, no more missions, no more...just let life go by until it drifted away completely...
In a few days, he needed to make another trip. He'd liked to have taken care of it already, but he didn't want to rush things. The timing was important.
Did Stockwell know what he was trying to do? Probably. The man wasn't stupid. Was he getting nervous? Probably. He would be staying cool, though, acting as if everything were under his control. That's what Stockwell did. That was his persona. It was going to be interesting to see his face when the bullet first hit. What would happen to the control then?
Idly, he wondered about Stockwell's associates in that whole affair. He figured they were basically his counterparts from other countries. Scary thought, that there might be other Stockwell's scattered around the world. Or maybe they were government types. That would be more likely, considering they let Stockwell take over and run the game. Let him do their dirty work. No, let him find the guy to do their dirty work.
His right hand was itching. Sweating inside the glove. He shoved it further into his pocket. No you don't, bud. You're staying right where you belong...I'm in control now.
