CHAPTER FIFTEEN


"Carla really needs a refresher course, Hannibal. She's just not paying attention like she should."

Hannibal chuckled, nodding his head. They had been behind the assistant's car for the last 40 minutes, picking her up three blocks from her house. She had, indeed, driven in a circumspect manner for the first fifteen minutes, attempting to lose anyone who might be following her. Now, however, it was obvious she was driving directly to her destination. Hannibal hoped it was Stockwell and not her hairdresser.

She came to a stop in front of small suburban house and hurried inside. Her followers parked two blocks away, puzzled. Before Murdock could turn off the engine, Carla was on her way back out, a small package in her hand. She looked harried. She pulled out, heading for downtown DC. Finally she pulled into a parking garage beneath a nondescript office building. Hannibal and Murdock pulled in quickly behind her.

"Hi, Carla. Fancy meeting you here." Hannibal grinned like a Cheshire cat. "How about we help you with your package there and while we're at it, we'll just stop in and say a quick hi to your boss? I know we're a couple days early for our appointment, but I'm sure he won't mind."

"There are security cameras, Colonel Smith. You won't be surprising anyone."

"Not to worry, Carla. We have a few little gadgets of our own - just for protection, of course." Murdock adjusted his hand in his jacket pocket. "Shall we go?"

The trio moved toward the elevators.


*****

He had taken a bus. Several busses. He wasn't sure where he was going yet, but he needed to be moving and figured he was pretty much hidden on a bus. Eventually he found himself in the town of La Porte. At least it was closer to the ocean than Houston had been.

He found another small motel, and made sure the air was working. It was also closer to the main thoroughfare, ensuring a bit more security. He had picked up several newspapers in Houston, and also in La Porte. Only a couple quick snippets about the incident. Nothing on the local news. He decided he would stay three or four days and then make his way home again. He called the airport, canceling his return flight. He would get another flight under another name when he was ready.

He wandered out to the beach and sat. And waited.


*****

"Good morning, Smith, Captain, Carla..." His eyes held a moment longer on his assistant than the others, and she grimaced in her head. It would not be pleasant after Smith and the captain left.

Stockwell eyed the package that Murdock was holding. "I believe that belongs to me, Captain, if you don't mind."

"No problem, General. Knock yourself out." Murdock tossed the box to Stockwell. "Go ahead, General, open her right up. Don't mind us." Murdock had already carefully perused the box, noting the postmark. His heart had nearly leaped out of his chest, but he had maintained a nonchalant posture. He'd caught Hannibal's eye, mouthing the word 'Houston'. He would have liked to have opened it but he was a little apprehensive as to what Stockwell would be receiving from Face.

Friendship CollectionStockwell didn't seem inclined to open the box himself, but decided there was no point in arguing about it. So far nothing dangerous had been received. He tore the wrapping carefully, for study later. Opening the top, he carefully pulled out a small toy van, black. Without saying a word, he reached back and placed it on the shelf next to the model airplane and stone elephant.

"Quite a little collection you have there, General." Hannibal stepped closer, yet another grin hitting his face. Face hadn't lost his finesse. "Fan mail?"

"Not quite. More like a disgruntled employee."

There was a steely glint in the colonel's eye as he turned back to Stockwell. "Yeah, good help is hard to find. We thought you might have some ideas for us. We're looking for a real hot shot."

Stockwell sighed. "All right, Colonel. You told Carla you knew what Peck was up to overseas. What you think happened and what can be proven are two different things. I guarantee that you do not want to make that an issue - not now, not in the future. Not if you don't want your lieutenant to be on the receiving end of a very sharp needle."

"We haven't forgotten how to survive on the run, General. However, you might find it a little hard to live with."

"You want Peck back. I want him out of my hair. I assume you're planning on a cooperative effort. I, however, don't feel that need. I have resources at my disposal which negates any possible help you could offer."

"Those resources can keep you breathing, General?" Murdock was totally innocent. "I'll bet that's what three guys over in the desert thought, too."

"I think this meeting is over. These gentlemen will escort you out." Three very large Ables appeared in the doorway. "Good day, Colonel, Captain. Nice to see you again."

Neither man said anything on their way back to the motel. Once in the door, they stared at each other for mere seconds.

"Get packed, Captain. We're going to Houston."


*****

Acting on Hannibal's instructions, BA had gone yet again to the hotel. This time he brought a young art student with him and a copy of Face's picture. With some 'persuasion', the harassed clerk worked with the student to transform the picture from Face to the killer. The other hotel employees verified that this was Mr. Carlton. The picture would be faxed to Hannibal's hotel.

"Do you want me to come down there, Hannibal? I can be there in a couple of days."

"No, BA, you keep working with your friends. We still have no idea where in Houston he might be. There's no guarantee Face will even be there - he may already have moved on. We need to see if we can track him down through his accounts."

"Okay, Hannibal. Good luck."


*****

He wasn't happy. Forced down time. He had things he needed to be doing. Sure, he ran on the beach every day, worked out in his room. But he had to keep on top of Stockwell, and he couldn't do that from a motel room. He was also starting to worry a bit about the other men. He thought they might still be looking for him. He wasn't sure. It depended on whether or not they had connected him with...that. It was a long shot. Then again, he still didn't know what Stockwell had told them. If they knew, would they still look for him? No, they couldn't. They could forgive him almost anything but not murder.

He had called the Houston police department, claiming to be a possible relative of the man involved in the motel fiasco. He had gotten a few more details of the incident, and learned that they were not putting a great deal of effort into their search. He had reassured them that the man tended to wander back home and if he had indeed been involved, restitution would be made. The so-called partygoers had declined to press charges.

Learning the details of the brawl had not been comforting to him. He wanted to know what had happened, but the picture presented was that of a mad man. That's not me, he thought. I am in control. I have to be. Once again, he vowed to himself ever tighter vigilance over his enemies. He would not screw up because of them again.


*****

Once Hannibal and Murdock were settled in their hotel, they had BA fax Face's adjusted picture to them. They took it to the police department. Claiming to be Face's father and brother, they asked to talk to the patrolmen who had answered the call. They showed the picture to the officers, who agreed that this was the man at the motel. They were allowed to read the police report, and gave the officers their number at the hotel, in case.

"Funny, this guy seems pretty popular. We had a call yesterday from some guy, thinking it might be his brother, too."

"Really? Did he leave a name or number to call?"

"Said his name was Carlton. No phone number, though. Said he was on the road. Know him?"

"No," Murdock responded. "That guy, we don't know."


*****

Murdock was discouraged, and it showed in his face. He had hoped they would find some sort of lead at the police department; instead they had the description of a man gone wild, a Jekyll and Hyde who was totally out of control one minute, cunning and clever the next. He wasn't really sure he wanted to go to Face's motel and see the scene of the crime up front and personal. But Hannibal thought Face may have left something behind in the confusion, and inadvertently help them locate him.

They pulled in to the parking lot and stopped in front of the manager's office.

"Yessir, can I help you?"

Hannibal handed the picture of Face to the man. "Do you recognize this man?"

Without hesitation, the manager identified Face as being the man who had destroyed his room. Before he could begin a litany of how unfair life was to him, Hannibal told him that he was the man's father, and was willing to make restitution, but they wanted to see the room for themselves and collect any belongings the man had left behind.

At the thought of recompense, the manager brightened considerably.

"The cops told me to lock it up and not touch anything, but seeing's you're related, I don't see any problem. You'll want to see for yourselves anyway what it's likely to cost." He paused for a moment and added softly, "I hope you find your son, sir. He needs help, that's for sure."

Hannibal just nodded and strode out the door, followed closely by Murdock.

The first thing they saw as they approached Face's room was the boarded up picture window. Tiny bits of glass still glittered on the asphalt in front of it. Neither man really wanted to go any further, but if Face had left anything they had to find it.

The door didn't actually swing open, it was more a slow shift in position, hinges slightly bent. There was much more glass inside, and their feet crunched with each step. A broken chair sat precariously balanced on its back beneath the window; two corners sported decimated lamps; the bed was sitting akilter, mattress upended against the wall, bedding scattered. While the heavy dresser was still intact, the large mirror above it was a frame only; millions of Hannibals and Murdocks stared at its remains on the floor. The bathroom had been totally destroyed. Again, the mirrors were shattered. The entire room was totaled.

"Dear God in Heaven." Murdock paled.

Hannibal sighed, a weight so heavy on his shoulders he could hardly bear it. "Okay, Captain, let's get to work. See if there's anything here we can use. Just be careful."

Murdock started with the dresser, pulling each drawer out, checking sides and bottoms. Hannibal opened the closet. The first thing he saw was an overnight bag. Inside were a few articles of clothing, and sundry other items one might take for a short trip, but nothing that indicated ownership or destination. The police had obviously looked through it already. He shoved it aside and looked further into the closet. There, shoved back into the corner, was a black trench coat. Hannibal quickly started checking the pockets.

"Murdock - got it!"

The pilot leaped over the debris to get to Hannibal, who was triumphantly holding a rumpled airline magazine. Printed boldly on the front was the logo for the airline it had come from. And tucked inside was a boarding pass, dated four days earlier.


*****

He had to get out of Texas. He had called the Houston police department again that morning to see if there was any news about the Mad Man and learned that two men had been in the day before looking for the same man. They claimed to be his father and brother. The news shook him, badly, particularly after he asked the officer to describe them.

It had to be The Colonel and The Pilot. How had they traced him here? He knew the incident had been in the local news, but only briefly. Where had he slipped? Had it been Stockwell's people, he wouldn't have been surprised. But this meant he had made a mistake. He had not covered his tracks somewhere. It put his mission in jeopardy. He knew they would try to stop him.

He called the airline for the next flight to LA.


*****

Hannibal and Murdock were not having much luck with the airline. It was against policy to release passenger information. While they were unable to learn under what name Face was traveling, they finally were able to convince the clerk to tell them one thing - he had canceled his return flight and had not purchased another ticket as yet.

They headed back to their hotel and put a call in to BA. BA, in turn, contacted his friends.

"We need to look for any transfers between his accounts, or to another account, in the last four days, right up through today. And we need it fast."

Two hours later, he got the call. A transfer had been made that day, to the account of a Maxwell Sandler. Address of Mr. Sandler - care of First Republican Bank, Houston.

Hannibal, as 'Mr. Sandler', called the airline, apologizing profusely for his forgetfulness, and the bemused clerk informed him that his flight for LA was to leave at 7:30 that night.


*****

He didn't have much to pack. He'd had to pick up the essentials. He went over the motel room thoroughly, making sure there was nothing of him left there.

He took one last look around, closed the door, and headed for the beach. One last walk before starting his trek home.


*****

The rumpled traveler was dozing in the chair of the airport lounge. The boarding gate was close enough for him to hear the conversations of the passengers with the clerk. He opened his steel blue eyes enough to watch the janitor slowly sweeping his way around the floor, paying no attention to the people milling around him. Their eyes connected briefly. The janitor shook his head very slightly.

"Last boarding call for Flight 732 to Los Angeles. All passengers for Flight 732, Los Angeles, please come to the boarding gate."

A bearded man rushed forward, identifying himself as Maxwell Sandler. The dozing man moved with amazing speed, suddenly standing beside the late arrival, grasping his arm firmly. The janitor was immediately at the passenger's other side.

"Okay, Face, just take it easy, we're..." Hannibal stopped.

The man whose arm he had grasped looked straight at him, green eyes staring.

"Colonel Smith?" the stranger inquired.

Hannibal nodded, dumbfounded.

"My name is Maxwell Sandler. I'm not sure what's going on, but a Mr. Carlton offered to pay for my flight to LA if I would give this to a Colonel Smith." He handed over an envelope.

Hannibal stared at the man, then slowly opened the envelope. Murdock moved close to read over his shoulder.

"Stop looking. NOW."


*****

He sat back in his seat, watching the Texas scenery float past. He pulled his cap down over his eyes, preparing to sleep. He smiled. The Jazz was back.

"Leave the driving to us," he thought. And started laughing.