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Where did this suit come from? Face doesn’t recall packing it. He doesn’t recall packing much of anything beyond weapons and ammunition, as a matter of fact. They lit out of LA pretty quick, what with Decker on their heels yet again. He’s getting tired of those sorts of seat-of-your-pants escapes. Which returns him to the question of where the heck he got this suit. It’s a nice suit. Well made. Fits him beautifully. You’d think he’d remember buying it at least, but no.
The martini glass that completes the outfit of a drunken socialite who’s fallen off a yacht doesn’t even bear examination. He decides to pretend it came with the suit. It makes as much sense as anything else.
Getting locked up in the same place as Dr. Fallone is one of those lucky coincidences he can rationalize—if he ignores that he was actually dumped in a random corridor of the fortress and finds his way to Fallone easily on his own. That’s a bit more good fortune than even he can explain away.
What’s puzzling is the woman, Kalani, who claims to be Fallone’s assistant and yet doesn’t seem sharp enough to slice a peeled banana. Oddly, she’s not hitting any of Face’s buttons despite being objectively attractive: warm brown skin, long black hair, big brown eyes, round cheeks, perfect teeth. But Face feels literally nothing for her. He’d wonder if he’s coming down with something, but he feels fine—if you ignore the fact he’s slowly beginning to suspect this is some sort of fantasy. But if he’s imagining all this, why would he imagine a beautiful woman who does literally nothing for him?
And why in hell would he imagine having to swallow that homing device B.A. made?
He doesn’t want to think about how the thing’s going to come out. He chokes down rising bile and wishes that was the answer. Then, after the hour of battery life runs out, he could just vomit the thing up. He suspects by that time regurgitation won’t be an option anymore, sadly. How long does food stay in your stomach anyway? He should’ve paid better attention in his high school biology class, but that ship sailed a long time ago.
How he and the team landed in this bizarre unreality is a question he’ll have to take up with the guys once he, Fallone, and Kalani escape the fortress.
An explosion provides that opportunity—as expected. So at least one thing makes sense.
*
Hannibal doesn’t question how the villagers get gasoline for the truck. It’s just one in a long line of questions that are better left alone if he doesn’t want to poke holes in his sanity. Besides, the more urgent issue is getting Fallone medical treatment on the mainland and finding a way to defeat these frankly cartoonish (Don’t think about that. Just get the job done.) yet still somehow dangerous villains.
The WWII tank and the baby crocodile are really just par for the course on this wacky carnival ride. So when he sends Murdock off with the injured Doc Fallone and tells him to come back with tank ammo, he assumes it will somehow magically happen. Which it does through some sort of origami on the part of time and space that he also doesn’t question because see above re: his sanity.
His disguise as one of the villagers nets him a further disguise as one of the bad guys—and an additional gun for their arsenal, so that’s nice—and that allows him to find out what the heck these wackos want with the island in the first place.
They’re using the fortress as a heroine-processing plant? Sure, why not? Makes as much sense as forcing the locals to plant poppies and busting up the food supply in the village. These guys are really bad at what they do.
Telling Vescari, the leader of the dangerous idiots, that he’s coming back to cream their whole operation is the psychological part of his plan. Get inside the guy’s head so he’s always on alert so he’s always nervous so he ends up getting paranoid and making sloppy mistakes. Although frankly the guy doesn’t seem smart enough not to make mistakes all on his own, but Hannibal might as well stack the deck in their favor.
Time to get back and tell the others the plan so that cardboard cutout of an assistant to Fallone can rat them out to Vescari so they can regain the element of surprise Hannibal gave away.
He’s forced to admit to himself that it’s not one of his better plans as he makes his way back to where the guys are working on restoring the tank.
Maybe it’s too late and his sanity has already suffered irreparable holes.
*
B.A. is far too accustomed to not remembering leaving a place before finding himself in another place, but this is next level. He knows the others put him on a plane. How else could they get to this island so quick? But where’s the plane? And where is this island anyway? No one’s ever explained, and the weather and foliage aren’t giving away any secrets. That baby crocodile Murdock found would probably give him an idea if he knew where crocodiles were usually found other than Florida. Or were those alligators in Florida? Doesn’t matter. He’s supposed to get this old WWII tank working so when Murdock gets back from taking Doc Fallone to LA for medical treatment (See? He knew there had to be a plane somewhere.), they can attack the fortress where the bad guys are making drugs.
Wait, what? How are they making drugs from poppies that ain’t been planted yet? And why that ugly dude with the evil-looking eyes got that heavy club thing for a hand? And why’s there a fortress on this island anyway? The locals are fishers and farmers. Aren’t they? Yeah, they are. There were fruit stands and fresh fish in the village. Of course there’s fish. It’s an island. And where else all that fruit come from if not farms around the village? It ain’t like these folks are on a regular supply chain route or something.
Where the heck are they anyway? Like, maybe that fortress is leftover from some colonizer or something, but who and when? It’s really getting under his skin not having more facts. He doesn’t even know where the tools he’s using came from. They’re not his. His are in his van in LA. When did they leave LA?
Ugh! It’s worse than one of Murdock’s ridiculous, circular fantasy stories where nothing makes sense so you feel like if you keep listening to the end—assuming it ever does end—you’ll wind up as crazy as he is.
B.A. shudders right down to his toes at the idea and refocuses his efforts on getting the tank functional. It might be irrational that it exists here in the first place, but it’s better than considering the possibility that he’s gone as nutty as Murdock.
*
Murdock has hallucinated plenty in his life, with and without chemical assistance some of which has even been prescription. (Side effects, man. He’s seen some things.) But this is weird even to him.
He believes they flew to the island, but there is no sign of a plane and he can’t remember piloting one.
The requisite pretty girl doesn’t even turn Face’s head—a big clue to the unreality of the situation. She’s so one-dimensional, though, that Murdock gets why his buddy isn’t into her. Even Face needs a girl to be more than simply pretty; that’s just the starting point to draw his eye. She’s gotta have something to back it up, and this lady doesn’t.
And what about the head bad guy? He’s completely over the top—and the team has seen a lot of outrageous baddies over the years they’ve been freelancing. I mean, what’s with that studded glove-hand-thing that guy’s got? It’s obviously too heavy to be a useful weapon despite those nasty looking metal studs. So what is even the point? He’s like the guy in Doctor Strangelove who has to use one arm to move his other arm. It’s seriously inefficient.
Then there’s the way they all supposedly got hired to come here in the first place. How plausible is it, really, that ol’ Doc Fallone, who they knew in ’Nam, sent a kid from a tiny sovereign island nation to LA to put a notice in the paper in order to find them? How did the kid get to LA in the first place? How did Murdock fly the injured Fallone back to LA and pick up ammunition to fight the baddies when he still can’t see any sign of a plane? It’s all completely nonsensical. And this is coming from a man who’s turned “nonsensical” into an art form.
The least unlikely part of this ridiculous scenario is the baby crocodile he found in the gun of the WWII tank. He was reading up on crocodylus niloticus in the VA’s old set of Encyclopedia Britannica before Face showed up to break him out. So even though the species is in no way native to the area, Murdock gets why he’d hallucinate finding one. He takes some comfort in that.
The tank itself is patently absurd, and yet here he is, pulling up in an inflatable boat with the tank ammo Hannibal asked for. Where the heck did that come from? The boat or the ammo? He’s so confused, but the only way off this psychedelic sleighride is to keep riding and see where it goes. So that’s what he does, hauling the boat onto the beach and unloading it.
Actually, looked at in the grand scheme of this delusion, the tank itself is one of the less problematic points.
Murdock’s not sure what caused this particular visit to La-La Island, but he hopes to find out so he can never, ever let it happen again.
*
Of course Hannibal’s plan works. This isn’t real, so even the most poorly laid plans can turn out well for the people controlling the illusion. Although which of them is in control actually? None of them can be certain because none of them knows how they got here. But the baddies are defeated and Fallone’s all better and the kid who hired them is safe and the villagers are already rebuilding the stuff Vescari and his stooges damaged and there’s a fishing boat heading out for the day and it’s nice when a plan comes together. Now, how are they getting home when there is. No. Plane?
*
It’s not until they’re all sprawled on dry, patchy grass underneath a cloud-studded blue sky inhaling fresh, clean air next to a shed that’s been run through by B.A.’s van that the mental fog begins to clear.
Whether due to his prescribed regimen of antipsychotics or simply general familiarity with altered states of mind, Murdock shakes off the hallucination quicker than the others now that he can breathe properly. Still, he’s momentarily suspicious, convinced he’s still seriously doped up when he sees Amy standing over him with a worried look on her face. He hasn’t seen her since she took that job in Jakarta a year ago, and he knows she’s been all over the place since then. But she hasn’t been back to LA. At least not when the team’s been there. Otherwise, she’d’ve visited him at the VA. She’d promised.
He squints at her as he shoves himself up onto his elbows. “Amy?”
“Murdock, thank God!” She kneels next to him and pulls him into a hug. “I was so worried when I heard what happened to you guys.” She releases him from the embrace, but continues to hold him at arm’s length, staring into his face like she’s looking for something. Lost treasure? Lost sanity? He could’ve told her neither one is to be found in his head no matter how deeply she peers into his eyes.
Finally, she lets him go.
“What—uh…what did happen?” He looks around and spots his baseball cap not far away. He half-falls over as he reaches for it, but eventually gets it on his head and relaxes a little as it shades his eyes against the too-bright sunshine. He crosses his legs so it’s easier to keep the rest of him upright. He’s still a little woozy, and his head’s pounding like bunch of flamenco dancers are practicing on his pate.
Amy checks on the others who are moaning and groaning their way to wakefulness. “I’ll explain, but first we need to get out of here. Local authorities are busy rounding up Royce’s goons, and EMTs are dealing with his drugged disciples, but military police won’t be far behind. I’ll drive. Come on.”
It’s a testament to how far out of it they’ve all been that not even B.A. objects as they pile into his van and Amy takes the wheel. She peels out, tires kicking up dirt and gravel as she turns them around and races out of the compound, the sight of which is starting to ring vague bells of memory in the guys’ aching heads.
“Royce?” asks Murdock once they’re well on their way.
“Guru Krishna Lotus Peace,” she gives the name the fraudulent, self-proclaimed spiritual leader used to ensnare gullible and wealthy devotees in his web of false promises of love, harmony, and karmic ascension—all for the small price of renunciation of all their worldly goods but mostly just their money, thanks. It was the son of one of these folks who’d hired them to get his mother out, which they’d done successfully only to be caught when they came back to wrap things up. They’d been tossed in the shyster’s “mystical hut of visions” with a cocktail of drugs shot into their systems and exacerbated by whatever mind-altering agents were burning in the poorly ventilated structure’s firepit.
If Murdock’s head didn’t already hurt, the explanation would’ve made it. But it’s all starting to come back to him. That doesn’t explain Amy’s presence, though.
“It’s great to see you, kid,” says Hannibal, rubbing his forehead with one hand while the other digs for a cigar that isn’t there. “Face?”
Face just groans inarticulately from where he’s lying on the bed of the van. Either he’s not coming out of the delusion as quick as the others, or he’s just that much queasier from whatever they’ve been given. Murdock reaches into the pocket of Face’s jacket—checking his buddy’s pulse and temperature with practiced fingers along the way; both slightly elevated but nothing alarming—and pulls out a cigar that he passes to Hannibal in the front passenger seat. He pats Face on the leg as Hannibal lights up and cracks the window. “You’ll be okay, Faceman. Just try to breathe through it.”
“Okay,” Face whines miserably. He buries his face in the arm he’s using for a pillow, wraps the other around his stomach, and curls into a sad little ball.
“He better not throw up in my van,” B.A. growls. He’s extra cranky from so many unpleasant circumstances colliding that there’s no point even trying to pick one over the others as the primary source of his ire.
“He won’t, B.A.” Murdock tries hard to make it sound believable. “Um, Amy?”
“Yeah, Murdock?” She glances at him in the rearview mirror.
“Maybe find a place to pull over soon?”
“We’re almost there.”
He eyeballs Face worriedly. “Good.”
“There” turns out to be Tawnia and Brian’s new condo, although Brian’s out of town at the moment. Unlike her old apartment in a highrise downtown, this is a rambling complex of lovely stucco structures with a secure gate, a landscaped cactus garden, a patio, and a small pool. Murdock thinks Face would like it if he were in any condition to appreciate the architecture and design.
They naturally draw attention as Tawnia buzzes them through the gate, what with B.A. and Murdock supporting the ailing Face from either side. But as always was the case in the past, Amy’s presence with them lowers their suspicious factor significantly. People are inclined to give the team the benefit of the doubt when they see a respectable-looking woman with them. So when she gives a passing couple a chagrined smile and says, “My husband has a bad case of the flu. We’re putting him straight to bed as soon as we get home,” the couple simply nod sympathetically and go on their way.
By the time they all pile into Tawnia’s well-appointed condo, Face is a little better. Enough so that Murdock’s no longer worried he’s going to puke, but he asks for a big glass of water for him anyway because anything they can do to flush the drugs from his system is a good thing. Such a good thing, in fact, that Tawnia brings water for all four of them.
Finally settled on seats around the living room, Amy and Tawnia fill in the blanks and refresh the guys’ memories as best they can. The fake guru. The theft from the devotees. The drugs used to control them. The whole big, ugly scam.
“It’s guys like that who give guys like me a bad reputation,” Face complains, his expression still pained but his color better than it was in the van.
Tawnia fetches a bottle of Tylenol from the bathroom, and it gets passed around to a sorry sounding chorus of genuine thanks.
“That doesn’t explain how you found us.” Hannibal’s eyes finally manage to focus on Amy’s face. “Been a while. You look good, kid.”
“Thanks. And it’s been too long,” Amy agrees. “It’s really good to see you guys. I just wish the circumstances were better.”
“I was investigating Guru Lotus Peace for the paper,” Tawnia explains. “My photographer and I had his compound staked out. So we saw when you guys were captured. Got it on film and everything.”
Hannibal’s cigar has gone out at some point. Rather than relight it, he takes it from his mouth and pockets it. “Do us favor and don’t publish those. The whole Decker issue aside, people knowing we got hoodwinked like amateurs on this one won’t help us get jobs down the road.”
“I won’t, I promise. And you don’t need to worry about my photographer. He’s a big fan of you guys. In fact, he voluntarily gave me the film to hand over to you. Remind me to get it before you go.”
“It’s just lucky coincidence I’m in town,” Amy takes up the tale. “I’m only here for a couple of days before I fly out to Thailand on a new assignment. I went to visit Murdock like I do whenever I’m here only to find he wasn’t there. So I knew you guys must be on a job. I called Tawnia to see if she knew anything and, well, after that it was just a matter of finding B.A.’s van, alerting the authorities to the fraud—”
“I have so much evidence against Royce even without the photos of you guys,” Tawnia interjects.
“—and rescuing you.”
Hannibal smiles knowingly. “Simple as that, huh?”
“Simple as that,” Amy echoes with a matching grin.
“I hope you didn’t bust up my van too much,” B.A. says.
She turns her smile on him, knowing his complaints are secretly his way of expressing affection. “It wasn’t much of a structure that I plowed into, but if I did any damage to your van, I promise I’ll chip in for repairs.”
“All right then.” He allows a smile to creep into the corner of his mouth. “It’s good to see you again, Amy.”
“Thanks, B.A. I’ve missed you guys.”
Murdock’s taking it all in, letting the others talk while he processes everything they say. His mind latches onto the most important thing he’s heard. “You came to see me?”
“Of course.” Amy meets his questioning gaze with a kind and open expression on her face. “I promised I would. Just, I haven’t been back more than a few times in the past year, and each time I’ve tried, you’ve been gone. Just rotten timing, I guess. But it worked out this time.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it sure did.” His uncertain smile grows more sure of itself. “Not a minute too soon, either. That hallucination was out there. Like, waaaaay out there.” He gestures with an arm to illustrate the great distance between reality and recent psychedelia. “And believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”
“We know you do, crazy man,” B.A. says at the same time Tawnia says, “Oh?”
“Oh yeah. Like, I can’t speak for the rest of you guys, but I was on an island with weird, big, ugly dudes terrorizing the locals. And Doc Fallone was there, and he’d been hurt. Remember him?”
“I ain’t ever gonna forget him. He saved my life once. But how d’you know what I was dreaming?”
“Huh?” Murdock cocks his head quizzically. “What d’you mean, what you were dreaming? I’m talking about my dream. With Doc Fallone and a tank and a baby crocodile. Man, I wish that bit was real. Billy needs a playmate for when I have to leave him behind.”
“I don’t think a baby crocodile would be a good companion for Billy, Captain,” Hannibal says. “They grow up into adult crocodiles eventually.”
Murdock nods pensively. “Good point, Colonel. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“You said tank.” Face looks up. He’s been sitting with his head in his hands, hiding from direct light and willing the painkillers he took to work faster. “Old World War Two thing, right?”
“Right! How’d you know that?” asks Murdock.
“I remember the tank. And the pretty girl who was weirdly not attractive.”
“That’s how you know it wasn’t real,” Amy says with a smirk. “Face didn’t go for the girl.”
“I remember the girl,” B.A. puts in. “She ratted us out. And I remember the tank, too. We got it working and rolled in and took out the bad guys.”
“This is fascinating.” Tawnia looks among the four men. “It’s like you all had a group hallucination. I’ve heard of such things, but it never seemed plausible before.”
Amy looks over at Hannibal. “Do you remember any of this stuff the guys are talking about, Hannibal?”
All eyes turn to the colonel, questioning, waiting, wondering what his answer will be. He returns their stares, and there’s a twinkle of the jazz in his blue eyes. “Do you guys remember it all working out in our favor in the end?”
“We beat the bad guys,” says Face.
“Doctor Fallone got home okay and the villagers were safe,” adds B.A.
“No one got eaten when little Wally Gator’s much bigger mama showed up,” Murdock confirms.
Hannibal grins. “Then I guess whatever drugs they gave us put us all on the same crazy train, all right.”
“Okay, but you all are off the train now, right?” Murdock’s worried brown eyes dart from one teammate to the next. “Because I don’t think it’s a ride any of you want to take long term.”
“You right about that,” B.A. says firmly.
“No worries on that count, Murdock.” Hannibal reaches out and claps him on the shoulder. “We all got off at the last stop.”
Murdock glances in concern at Face who still isn’t looking like his usual bright-eyed self. “Faceman?”
“Yeah, Murdock?” he asks tiredly.
“You’re gonna be okay, right? I mean, I’d share my room at the VA with you if you need it, but I kinda hope you don’t. For your sake.”
“Pretty sure there’s no permanent damage done, Murdock. Thanks for the offer, though. You’re a pal.”
“Okay. You’re welcome.”
“Oh no,” Face says suddenly, or whimpers more like, taking them all by surprise.
Tawnia is on alert. The sofa is new and so’s the carpet. “What’s wrong, Face? Are you going to be sick?”
“Not like that,” he assures her, his tone a mix of pathetic and indignant. “I just remembered—we haven’t gotten paid for the gig yet. We got Lydia Winston out, then we went back in to take out the fake guru, and that’s when they nabbed us.” Face’s head drops into his hands again. “I’ll call Matt Winston in the morning. When the dust and my stomach have both settled—I hope.”
“Buck up, Lieutenant. I’ll call the client for you,” Hannibal says.
“And I’ll go collect if we ain’t been paid yet,” B.A. adds.
“There’s no point. I haven’t had a chance to total up the bill.” Face sounds and looks more pathetic by the moment. Whatever they were given is hitting him harder than the rest. He’s having a tough time shaking it off.
Hannibal glances from his ailing lieutenant to their hostess. “Tawnia, is there a place Face can lie down for a bit?”
“Sure. There’s a guest room down the hall.” She rises and points the way. “Last door on the right, just past the bathroom.”
“C’mon, B.A. Gimme a hand with him.”
Face protests half-heartedly as they ease him up from the sofa and onto his feet. But he’s glad of the support and relies on it more than he’ll ever admit when this is over.
“I’ll fix you up something for your belly,” Murdock offers. “Tawnia, you got any ginger around here?”
“I have ginger tea. Is that okay?”
“Perfect. Thanks. Some of them psychotropics can be real rough on the tummy.”
While the others get Face settled, Murdock fixes up a hot cup of ginger tea for him and adds in a little honey because it’s nice that way. He delivers it to the guest room where someone’s drawn the curtains against the afternoon sun, and Face is lying curled up on the bed under a blanket. His coat is draped over a chair in the corner and someone’s placed his shoes with it.
“Hey, Faceman,” he says softly. “I got your ginger tea here. It’ll help your stomach. Honest. Probably should’ve drank some before you took those painkillers, but better late than never.” He sets the mug carefully on the nightstand.
Face squints up at him. “I never want to do this again.”
“Me either. You need help sitting up or anything?”
“Nah, I can manage.” He levers himself upright and adjusts so he’s sitting with a pillow at his back, leaning against the headboard. He reaches for the mug.
“Careful. It’s still real hot,” Murdock cautions.
“Thanks, buddy. I’ll be okay.”
Murdock nods a little manically. “I know you will. Just drink that tea and get some rest.”
“I will. Promise.”
“Holler if you need anything. I’ll just be in the other room.”
“Thanks,” Face says again. He blows on the tea to cool it a little, then pauses before taking a sip. “I wonder why we all thought of Dr. Fallone. I kind of understand the whole group hallucination that had something for each of us. Drug makers for Hannibal to defeat. A tank for B.A. to fix. A baby crocodile for you. A pretty girl for me.” Although he still doesn’t get why the pretty girl, who was obviously created by his imagination, wasn't more interesting. “But what made us all hallucinate the doc?”
“I don’t know. But you know what I think? I think maybe we should find out what he’s up to. Make sure he’s okay. Just in case.”
“In case what? You don’t think we all, what? Picked up on some psychic vibration that he’s in trouble? Get real.” Face scoffs and finally sips the tea. It’s hot and zingy and a little sweet. It’s nice. He takes another sip.
Murdock shrugs, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Maybe, maybe not.” He adopts a soft, dreamy manner and a British dialect to quote Shakespeare. “There’s more things in heaven and earth, Faceman, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“I really don’t want to think about that.”
He drops the funny voice. “Sorry. I’ll leave you be.” He skip-steps to the door and slips out, leaving Face to his private misery.
Passing the bathroom, he stops to use the facilities and clean himself up a bit, giving the shower a longing look. The stink of whatever was in that smoke is clinging to him like tree sap. But there’s no time for showering now, and he doesn’t have clean clothes with him anyway. Still, he feels better for splashing hot water on his face and running a wet hand through his hair before putting his ballcap back on.
He rejoins the others in the living room where they’re lounging and chatting and catching up. Tawnia smiles at his return. “We thought we’d order Chinese food. You guys must be hungry, and there’s a great place nearby that delivers.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Any requests?”
“Nah. I like it all. But make sure you get moo shu pork. That’s Face’s favorite.” If anything will entice Face to come eat, that will be it. He flops his lanky form into an empty armchair while Tawnia goes to the kitchen where there’s a phone and a takeout menu to place the order. “Hey, Hannibal?”
“What is it, Murdock?” He’s gotten a second glass of water, and Murdock notices the other glasses have been topped up as well. He reaches for his and takes a swallow before answering.
“Do you know what Dr. Fallone got up to after he left the army?” Since Face brought it up, it bears asking. And when the left-field questions come from Murdock, they attract less attention than they otherwise might.
“He planned to retire to a quiet tropical island. Last I heard anything, that was what he’d done.”
“Think there’s any way we can find out for sure? I’m feeling kinda uneasy and wanna make sure he’s okay, you know?”
“Sure. We’ll figure something out.”
“I can do it,” says Amy. “When Tawnia’s done on the phone, I’ll call a journalist friend of mine who has some undisclosed government connections that might serve us here.”
“Sounds sketchy to me,” B.A. says.
“Oh totally sketchy,” she cheerfully confirms. “But extremely useful, too. I’m sure she’ll be able to track down your friend.” She turns to Murdock, reaching across the gap between them to pat his knee. “I’m also sure we’ll find out he’s just fine.”
“I’m sure we will,” Murdock echoes, hoping it’s true.
Once Tawnia rejoins them, Amy makes the call, and before their food is even delivered, her friend with the sketchy government connections calls back.
“Yeah?” Amy says into the receiver. “That’s great. … Thanks, Lois. I really appreciate it. … Yep. Totally on for dinner next time I’m in DC. … Okay. Bye.”
She returns to the living room, a smile on her face that immediately makes Murdock feel better. “What’s the word, hummingbird?” he asks her.
“Doctor James Fallone is retired and living comfortably in Tasmania where he spends part of his time volunteering at the free clinic in the small coastal town where he resides and the rest of his time—get this—surfing.”
“Surfing?” B.A.’s doubtful tone speaks for all of them. His skeptical expression is just shy of complete incredulity.
“That’s what my friend said. Apparently he’s won multiple competitions in the Silver Kahuna category. That’s men 55-and-up,” she explains.
“Surfing,” Hannibal repeats, brows drawn in befuddlement. They’re all having trouble believing their ears.
Murdock barks a laugh then covers his mouth with both hands, but giggles escape through his fingers. Eyes wide with delight, he lowers his hands just enough to speak. “Oh, let me be the one to tell Face when he wakes up. Please, Hannibal? Please, please, please, please, please?” he begs.
Hannibal cocks his head at his exuberant pleading. “He won’t believe you.”
“That’s half the fun!” Now they know the doc is okay, he’s feeling much more chipper. When the phone rings and Tawnia buzzes in the delivery guy with dinner, his mood lifts even more. “I’ll go see if Face is awake and ready for some food.” He leaps to his feet and is halfway to the hall when Hannibal’s voice stops him briefly.
“Murdock?”
“Yeah, Colonel?”
“Don’t tell him about Fallone yet. Wait until we’re all together.”
“Sure. But why?”
A smirk spreads across Hannibal’s face. “So we can all see his reaction. I’m hoping for a spit-take myself.”
Murdock puts on a woolly Russian accent just for the hell of it. “I’ll do my best to time my announcement accordingly.”
“Excellent, Captain. Now, off you go.” Hannibal shoos him away as the doorbell sounds.
Murdock hears the others bantering as Tawnia answers it, but the words are lost as he knocks softly on the guest room door and opens it far enough to poke his head through the crack. He whispers, “Faceman, you awake?”
Face lets out a soft, disgruntled sound and mutters, “Unfortunately. Damn doorbell. This is worse than the worst hangover I’ve ever had.”
Murdock steps into the room holding onto the door behind him, long fingers unconsciously fiddling with the knob. “You hungry? There’s moo shu. Your favorite.” He can’t see from there if Face finished the ginger tea or not. He hopes so.
“I don’t think I can eat yet.”
“Might feel better if you do.”
“Might humiliate myself in front of everyone even worse if I do,” Face counters. He rolls over so he faces Murdock.
“No one thinks that, muchacho. You’re just sensitive to something they gave us back at the compound. Coulda happened to anyone.”
“Murdock, I appreciate the pep talk, I really do. But I just want to sleep.”
He’s pathetic and petulant like he always is on the rare occasions when he gets sick, and Murdock’s not going to get anywhere with him until he feels better. “Can I bring you more tea at least?”
“Sure, buddy. That’d be great.”
Murdock tries to keep his energy calm as he takes the empty mug from the nightstand. He knows his usual bounciness will only make Face feel worse. “Oh, um, Doc Fallone’s just fine. Amy found out for us. Thought you’d wanna know.”
“How did she—?”
“Give you the whole scoop later. Okay?” It wouldn’t be any fun passing along all the news right now even if he hadn’t promised to wait until there were witnesses.
“Okay. Thanks. I’m glad the doc’s okay.”
“Me, too. I’ll bring you tea. You try to sleep.”
“Thanks,” Face says again. His eyes close, and Murdock slips silently from the room.
The delectable aroma of fresh Chinese food tickles his nostrils, and he follows it to the kitchen where everyone is dishing up.
“How’s the patient?” asks Amy.
“Sorry for himself,” Murdock says, because he knows Face would rather be seen as sulky than weak. He turns on the burner under the teakettle and drops a fresh teabag into Face’s mug.
“He’s not hungry?”
“Not yet. But I’m starved, so save me some. And save some for him, too, for when he’s feeling better.”
Hannibal loads a helping of beef chow mein onto his plate. “Don’t worry, Murdock. Tawnia ordered enough to feed a whole platoon. Grab yourself a plate.”
“I will. Just gotta get Face some more tea first.”
Amy glances up at him, her observant reporter’s eyes taking in his facial expression and body language. She knows the team are closer than family, and she knows they look out for each other. But there’s always been a deeper connection between Murdock and Face. She noticed it early on, and she sees it manifesting now.
She waits until Murdock’s stepped out to deliver the tea before turning to Hannibal and asking a question she never felt quite in a position to ask before. She keeps her voice a little below conversational volume so it doesn’t carry. “What is it between those two, Hannibal? Murdock’s like a mother hen with Face.”
Hannibal and B.A. exchange a look that speaks volumes in a language neither Amy nor Tawnia can understand. After a moment, B.A. gives Hannibal a tiny nod, which Hannibal returns before answering her question.
“We all took care of each other in ’Nam. But Face is the one who kept Murdock alive in the POW camp. Kept him from giving up and checking out more than just mentally.”
“So it’s a debt?” asks Tawnia.
“Not at all. Nothing’s owed. It’s a connection. It’s love. Unconditionally.”
B.A. pipes up, his gruff tone uncharacteristically soft. “We all have it. Just they have it extra ’cause of what happened back then.”
Tawnia opens her mouth, clearly about to ask something she probably shouldn’t. Amy empathizes with the instinct, but she lays a hand on Tawnia’s arm and gives the tiniest shake of her head. The other woman takes the hint and remains silent.
Well timed, too, as Murdock bounds cheerily into the kitchen where they’re all seated around the table. “My ears were burning. Were you talking about me?” He grins and goes for a plate, begins loading it up with food.
“Talkin’ ’bout how you’re crazy,” B.A. says.
“Aw, love you, too, big guy.” He shoots that grin at B.A. It’s a game they play, incite and insult. Their own special way of showing their mutual affection that’s just for the two of them.
“Shut up and eat, fool.” But there’s a fond smirk hiding under the epithet whenever Murdock’s not looking. Amy can see it now clear as day.
Murdock slides into a chair, grabs a pair of chopsticks, and digs in.
Friendly chatter continues over the meal. Amy smiles at the banter, the teasing, the camaraderie. In the back of her mind, the analytical part of her is putting together things she observed in the past but didn’t have the perspective then to understand.
It’s like Hannibal said. It’s love. Unconditionally.
Even when she was a part of the team, she could never have been a part of what is in front of her. No one could. She can see that now, and she doesn’t resent it. She loves these guys, loves the time she spent with them and all the things she learned. But as much as they took her in, she was always a little on the outside. She glances at Tawnia and wonders if she’ll ever have the same epiphany. Realizes it doesn’t matter; it’s not Amy’s question to ask. A tough admission for an investigative journalist.
Then Murdock makes an airplane out of an extra napkin, derailing her thoughts with his antics. She laughs at the others’ reactions, feels a little sad for Face that he’s missing out, but knows he gets plenty of Murdock’s special brand of crazy, plus maybe a little more of his deeply buried sanity than anyone else.
“I am so glad I managed to connect with you guys this time,” she announces, drawing all eyes to her.
“Us too or we might still be trippin’ on that imaginary island,” B.A. replies.
“You know what?” Murdock says, a lost thought returning abruptly. “I flew that plane in that delusion three times, but for the life of me I can’t remember ever seeing it.”
“You’re losing it, Murdock,” Hannibal quips.
“Man, he lost it years ago,” B.A. counters.
And they’re off again, insult and incite. Unconditional love.
Amy smiles into her sweet-and-sour chicken and soaks up the vibe. Saving it for a day when she needs a good laugh and memories of good friends.