Encounters

written by Tiffany May Harrsch

Day Four (cont')

            The Green Men

He felt like he was flying. Which was ridiculous, of course, because he could still feel the concrete pressing firmly at his back. That's what floors did, push against you, constantly remind you of being grounded. Though the reminder was usually foot felt. But he was laying, not standing, and definitely not flying.

The circuitous thought made Murdock's head spin. Or would have made it spin if it hadn't been attached to his body. But if it wasn't attached….

'Stop it!' Murdock winced at the loud thought. With some drugs it was just better not to think. This must be one of them. Trouble was, there was nothing else to do in his black cell. So, Murdock supposed, he was just going to have to think very, very quietly…. "Becwas I'm huntin' that wascally wabbit," Elmer Fud whispered back at him.

Murdock snorted, then groaned. How was he supposed to think this out if he wasn't thinking straight. Would thinking crooked help?

What did they give him? Nothing fatal, it seemed; unless tangent-itis was fatal. In which case he was dead and didn't know it yet.

Nah, he definitely wasn't dead. He was pretty sure ghosts didn't feel hunger. How long has it been since he ate last? Could have been an hour ago, could have been a day. Either way, the sandwich hadn't been filling, and the slightly salty water only left him thirstier. That was probably how he got drugged. Murdock wished he knew why he'd been drugged.

Light fell on him. 'Shouldn't that hurt?' he wondered, when only his eyes were affected. Murdock cocked his head to a side and looked through watering eyes at the source.

"Hey, big green guy," Murdock greeted the bulky figure framed by the doorway. "What're we doin'?"

The figure didn't answer. It regarded him for a moment, the silence punctuated only by Darth Vader-esque breathing. Murdock began to wonder if he'd been cast in some bad Star Wars remake, with him as… who? Luke Skywalker? Han Solo?

"You know," he started, squinting up at the figure, "you got the breathing down just right. But the color…" Murdock clucked his tongue a couple of times. "The color is all wrong. You should be black. The bad-guys always wear black. Well, they do if the film maker's making things easy," Murdock rambled.

The green man stepped further inside, moving over to let more light in from the hall.

"Get up," he demanded. It was a male sounding voice. Familiar somehow.

"Not menacing enough," Murdock mumbled. He struggled to push himself to a seated position. For a change, the floor didn't want to push back. "It should be deeper," Murdock went on, hoping the talk would hide the disconnectedness of his limbs. "Like this." Murdock lowered his voice in his best BA imitation, "Get up."

Now sitting, Murdock put his arms on his head, willing it to stay attached. It wouldn't do him any good to lose it now. He groaned at the image the thought produced. Not pretty.

"Get up!" the green man said again, sounding much more impatient.

"Yeah, that's more like it," Murdock said encouragingly, smiling up from between his elbows.

The green man made an inarticulate noise. He tried again, managing to sound meaner. "Stand up!" He pushed one gloved hand forward, pointedly.

"Okay. You just had to say so." Murdock slowly climbed to his feet. The care he took in his movements wasn't for fear of the gun pointed at him, nor to show he was essentially harmless. He was unsettlingly uncertain about his limbs; he wasn't sure if they were going to decide to part company with him or not. He also feared if he pushed too hard, he'd launch himself into the air. Murdock loved to fly, but he didn't know how to without his precious machines. He tried focusing on other things - like drawing parallels with a familiar fantasy.

"What kind of light-saber is that?" Murdock frowned at the gun.

His question was answered by a click of the safety release.

Murdock shrugged carefully; too fast and his shoulders might keep going. "Guess one for the dark side, huh?"

"Move," the figure demanded once Murdock was safely on his feet.

"But I already am," Murdock said, confused. And confused about being confused. "See?" He pointed to his chest and took an extra deep breath. "I'm breathing, and my eyes are blinking, and my lips are moving, and…"

"Shut up!" the figure growled in a tone not unlike BA's when Murdock pushed him too far.

Murdock snapped his mouth closed.

Very slowly and deliberately, the green man told Murdock exactly what he wanted him to do. "Walk out the door, turn left, and keep walking."

"Okay." Murdock did just as he was told. Slowly. If he moved too fast, he might push himself into the ceiling. The green man followed noisily behind him.

Murdock wished he knew why he was following orders so complacently. He should turn around and try to overpower the green man. He'd have surprise on his side - if he didn't fall apart at the seams first. The more Murdock thought about it, the harder it was to make himself do anything. So he did as he was told and walked.

The hall had the familiar institution feel, all concrete and fluorescent lights. Not a hospital, he was sure. It took more than years of dust to cover up the lingering odors of antiseptics and - shudder at the thought - ammonia. But the hall could have belonged to some long disused military building, or a big school. It was obvious the place hadn't been inhabited until recently. The walls were grey coated, punctuated here and there with patches of living green. Some of the lights flickered, or were dim where one of the pair of bulbs had gone out. Murdock could see tracks through the dust on the floor.

They came to a t-crossing. One side wasn't lit. On a whim, Murdock turned that way. A gloved hand took hold of his upper arm and pulled him down the lit section of the hall.

"Choose the light side of the force," Murdock intoned softly, shrugging off the grip.

They went through two sets of double doors, and were outside. It was dark, pleasant compared to the heat of the last few days, and very quiet. Glowing softly off to one side was another green man. And a shadow.

"Is he ready?" A feminine voice asked. It wasn't muffled, like the green man's, so Murdock assumed it came from the shadow.

Murdock's green man grunted. "Not the easiest to control," he said sourly.

The second green man stirred. "Fighting it?" His voice was familiar, even muffled under the helmet.

"If you consider crazy talk fighting," Murdock's man groused. "Thinks this is a movie."

The second green man moved away from the wall and the shadow. "Hhmm," he said, sounding much like a mad scientist confronted with an interesting problem.

"Did you give him the right stuff?" the female voice asked.

"Doesn't work the same on everyone," the second green man said, head bobbing. Murdock felt a bug under glass. "It's in my notes."

"Which I don't have," the female sneered. A faint click was all the warning Murdock had to the activation of a flashlight. He blinked into the ghostly light and saw Sylvie.

"The waitress?" Murdock asked aloud. Well, why not a waitress? Except she didn't exactly fit his image of this film. "What's your part?"

"This had better hold till we're out of here," Sylvie said, ignoring Murdock except to give him a very unamused looked.

"We have all night," the second green man, with the annoyingly familiar voice, said. Then added, "Besides, we have more if we need a second dose."

"We don't have all night," Sylvie snapped. "We only have until his friends decide to do something."

Sylvie turned the flashlight up into Murdock's face. "And I'll remember them," she threatened.

"And you." The flashlight over to illuminate the second green man. "You had better get your notes back. Or don't bother coming in."

"We need him," Murdock's green man said unhappily. "Even without his notes, he has all that information in his head."

Sylvie sighed heavily. "Fine. You explain that to the big guns when you get back. Along with why we didn't leave at the first sign of trouble. I prefer to keep my skin.

"You," Sylvie tapped the second green man with the flashlight, "go clean up your mess. You," now she gestured to Murdock's man, "make sure he does it. After that, I don't care what you do." With that, she turned the flashlight toward the ground, and walked off into the night.

The second green man compensated for the lack of light by turning on his own flashlight. "She's not happy," he muttered.

"You lost your notes and we have a mess. What did you expect?"

"They're not lost," the second green man muttered. "I just didn't expect things to move so fast."

"Right. Whatever." Murdock's green man finally let go of him. He snatched the flashlight from the second green man. "Where're the samples?"

A green arm gestured toward the wall. "Over there."

Murdock's green man retreived what looked like a cooler. "You take him," he said, pushing Murdock toward the second green man. "I'm tired of his nonsense."

"Fine." The second green man sounded miffed. He held out a thick, glowing hand. Murdock's green man, hands full, didn't move. He gave a noise that sounded lie a growl, gave the second green man the gun, then stalked away.

"Howard," the second green man called. Was that the first green man's name?

The green man sighed heavily. Louder, he said, "Howard Miller Murdock."

Murdock's brows went up at the mention of his name at the end of the list. Were there others here, too? People named…. Oh. Murdock groaned at his sluggishness. Howard Miller was the name he'd given the doctor earlier- whenever, when Wentworth questioned Murdock's name.

So Dr. Wentworth either talked to the second green man, or he was the second green man. That might explain why his voice sounded familiar. Murdock mentally slapped his forehead. Of course. Drugs should be administered by a doctor, and a doctor would easily be believed if he said someone hadn't been drugged when they really were. And Wentworth's files had all the clues. Why hadn't they been watching this guy?

"What's your name?" This time the second green man, or rather, Dr. Wentworth posing as a green man, was clearly addressing Murdock.

"Murdock."

"Right," Wentworth sighed. "Murdock, follow me."

Murdock did. They went a little ways along paved ground. It was too dark for Murdock to tell if it was a road or parking lot or what. It didn't really matter, but it gave Murdock something to think about while walking between two glowing green men.

Before long, they came to an area lit by camping lamps. The lamps surrounded a giant… something.

"What is it?"

"Our UFO," the first green man said in all seriousness.

Murdock snorted. He couldn't help himself. It wasn't a UFO, that was for sure. It looked more like a trash bag. A full trash bag. Draped over something. Finally Murdock's eyes took in the rest, the pilots bubble sticking out of the bag on one side, the tail rotor hiding in the shadows form the other side. It was only the middle that was so gaudily clad. How the heck did they do that?

The first green man took Murdock by the arm and pulled him closer to the chopper.

"What're we doing?"

"Leaving." He waved the flashlight at the chopper. "You're going to fly us."

"I don't fly trash bags." The statement sounded idiotic. Moreover, it wasn't true. Murdock would go up in anything, if it allowed him to touch the sky. He just didn't want to go up in that thing. It was ugly. And besides, they wanted him to.

            Close Encounters

The night was, thankfully, cool. The inside of the moving van, however, was not. Face wished for wind. The outside comfort refused to penetrate, despite the many breathing holes drilled in strategic spots around the body. Too many holes. Lucy wasn't going to be happy.

Face pressed his eyes close to one. It was dark and quiet. Nothing happening. Nothing had been happening for what felt like a long time. He was beginning to worry they weren't going to show. If they didn't show, then he was wearing this embarrassing outfit for nothing. And they would be a day further behind in finding Murdock. And Face would have to deal with an already grumpy BA without the help of their crazy pressure valve.

While putting together Hannibal's plan, BA had done the more physically demanding parts in growling silence and with more force than was necessary. The plan was tame, as far as Hannibal's plans went. Aside from Wentworth, they didn't know who their opponent was, how many they were, and what forces they possessed. Otherwise, the plan would no doubt have been much more intricate and definitely more destructive. Face just hoped it worked, one way or another, or BA would likely provide the destruction part himself. And Face might just join him.

"Anything yet?" Hannibal asked, startling Face out of his reverie on tension release.

Face moved in the direction of the sound. It was darker inside than out. They didn't have flashlights because they didn't want to alert anyone to their presence before it was time to spring the surprise. All that saved Face and BA from blindness was the silly pink costumes they wore. Costumes Hannibal avoided wearing by placing himself indoors. He and Terry were to ambush whoever showed in the house.

"Face," Hannibal said again.

Face found where he had set the radio down. It was a dark shadow in the vague pink light of his costume. He found the appropriate button by touch, and spoke into it. "Not yet. Are you sure they're going to come?"

"They'll come," Hannibal assured him. "They aren't going to leave these papers behind."

"They might have copies."

"Incriminatingly handwritten?"

True, Face thought. If you were going to destroy any important documents, first go for the ones with your signature on it, then for the ones with your own writing. Everything else could conceivably be defensible as forgeries. Assuming you were ever caught in whatever it was those documents were about.

On the other side of the van, Face saw a large pink shape stir. That was another reason BA wasn't in a good mood. It was a dreadful color, and neither of them looked good in it.

"What's that?" BA asked.

"What?"

"That noise. Shhh."

They concentrated on the noises outside the moving van. Face didn't hear anything and said so.

"It's coming from this side," BA said. He had the doors open a crack. Face poked his head, minus the mask, outside. He saw a very clear night sky, an oblong shadow belonging to the tilted tree, another shadow that was the house, and an expanse of nothingness in-between. He heard nothing more than crickets.

He pulled his head back in. "BA, I think you're hearing things." No sooner were the words out of his mouth, did he hear something too.

"I ain't hearing…"

Face put a hand up. "Shhh."

The something was getting louder. "You have good hearing," Face admitted a moment later. "But what is it?"

"Company."

Face peered out again. He didn't see anything coming up the road. And there wasn't a road through the backyard, which was the direction the noise seemed to be coming from. It was a familiar noise, like a helicopter, only with a rattle he'd never heard on a helicopter before.

His eyes went sky ward. If it was a chopper, he should be able to see it anytime now. He didn't think anyone would be stupid enough to fly in the dark without lights. As the noise became louder - that rattle couldn't be healthy - he could pick it out in the distance. A spot of white light sweeping the ground below it.

It came in low, and it came in fast. The spot of light grew into a bright flash, nearly blinding Face as it swept over them. The light switched during the sweep, leaving a…. Face rubbed his eyes. He wasn't just seeing spots. The ugliest thing he'd ever seen did a lazy circle over them. It looked like a great big, giant, glowing… garbage bag. A blown up, rippling, glowing, giant garbage bag.

So that's what a homemade UFO looked like.

Face watched, open mouthed, as it settled gently to the ground at the far end of the tilted tree.

"Uh, Colonel," Face belatedly told the radio, "Company's coming." Just in case they hadn't already heard the noise.

The noise from the garbage bag was tremendous, even inside the moving van. A disturbance in the rippling bag preceded the emergence of a familiar green tinged figure, possibly even the same one Face had failed to fight off the previous night. It approached the house, slowed near the van, then hurried on its way again.

"Hannibal, you have a bogie coming in."

Hannibal acknowledge. "Do you have a count?"

"Negative." It annoyed Face that he couldn't see through the bag and into the chopper. He really wanted to know how many, if anybody, was in there. And one in particular. "And no sign of Murdock yet."

A second green-suited figure exited the bag as the first rounded the corner to the front of the house. The second one paused for the longest moment, waiting for who knew what. Part of the green disappeared into the fluttering bag, pulled out another person. The third person, not clad in anything bright, bulky or glowing, was a mere silhouette against the lit bag. The green man moved away from the garbage bag. The silhouette seemed reluctant to follow. The green man pulled at it, gestured with his free hand, and pulled again. Silhouette followed the green man, though at a slower pace, as they, too, headed toward the house.

They finally came close enough to see who the silhouette was. Murdock. Face glanced at BA, who nodded in silent agreement. They put on the ridiculous masks - Face with a self conscious grimace - and jumped out of the truck.

The green man froze in surprise. Murdock bumped into him before stopping too. Murdock looked at the luminescent green with the firm grip on his arm, to the two flowing pinks doing a good job out-luminescing the green. And giggled. He knew this was a serious matter. Everybody had guns except him, and one of those ones was very unfriendly. But he just couldn't help himself; he giggled again.

Loudly, to be heard over the chopper, he voiced the first association to come to mind. "What is this, a Star Wars pajama party?"

"Let him go," an appropriately mean sounding BA voice shouted at him. Now that was a commanding voice. Only one trouble.

"I'm not holding him."

Face and BA exchanged puzzled looks at Murdock's querulous reply.

The green man tightened his grip on Murdock's arm, and pulled back two steps. The gun wavered uncertainly, first pointing at Murdock's middle, then at Face and BA. Face put a restraining hand on BA's shoulder to prevent him from advancing on their opponent. The person was obviously indecisive, and Face didn't want to scare him (her?) into doing something they would all regret. Face thought he'd try reason, first.

"You're outnumbered and outgunned." It sounded preposterous even to his own ears.

Murdock nodded vigorously.

The green man stepped back further, pulling Murdock along. It said something Face didn't catch, then pushed Murdock forward. With a strange look on his face, Murdock plowed into BA, nearly knocking the bigger man off balance.

Face spared them a confused glance before using the opportunity to go after the green man. The green man seemed surprised by the idea; it jumped without moving. The gun, now more aimed at the ground than any particular person, came up. Face grabbed the wrist with both hands, pushed it out and up. He tried to wrestle the gun from the gloved hand while still keeping hold of his own. Not an easy task. It was made even less easy when the figure kicked him in the shin. Reflexively, Face pulled the injured leg out of harm's way, over balanced forward, leaned against the arm he was holding. The gun went off, puncturing through the noise of the still running chopper.

The green man twisted and punched Face in the side, just below the ribs. Despite the gloved padding, it hurt. So did the second one in the same vicinity. Face tried twisting away without giving up his hold on the gun hand. He unintentionally leaned further into the arm. Face thought he felt something pop. The green man howled. The gun fell to the ground. Unfortunately, Face lost hold of his own, as well.

With a force born of pain and fury, the green man landed a punch on the solar-plexus. Face fell to his knees, gasping. The green man retrieved one of the guns. Awkwardly, but effectively, he clubbed the back of Face's head with it. Face hit the dusty ground face first, and didn't get up.

BA, meanwhile, had been contending with Murdock. Once they had regained their balance, Murdock pulled the gun from BA's startled grasp. Murdock dropped the gun. He didn't bother to throw it. He just needed his hands free and couldn't think of anything else to do with it at the time. Murdock grabbed one of BA's arm and proceeded to pull on it with all his might, while at the same time trying to step on BA's feet.

BA was stunned by these untoward actions. He couldn't figure out what to make of this behavior, weird even by Murdock's standards. He moved back a few steps in an attempt to save his feet from Murdock's stamping.

"Murdock, what are ya doing?" BA yanked his arm back in an attempt to repossess it. Murdock didn't let go. He stumbled forward with the jerk, gathered his balance, and started the strange dance on BA's feet while pulling his arm.

Murdock's face was twisted up in a strange grimace. Breathing heavily, Murdock said, "He said 'Jump on the big guy and disarm him'," as if that provided all the explanation needed.

"I don't care what he said!" BA bellowed, utterly confused and mad at being confused. "Stop it!" BA shook his arm. As unnerved as he was by Murdock's behavior, BA was unwilling to take any extreme measures. "Let go a me!"

Miraculously, Murdock did. However, he'd been leaning far back at the moment BA gave the order, and so fell on his back. Murdock scrambled to his feet, went back to dancing on BA's.

Gun fire rang through the clattering rumble of the chopper. BA saw Face struggling with the green figure. BA firmly took Murdock by the shoulders and pushed him out of the way. He would go help Face and worry about Murdock's excessive weirdness later. Except the excessive weirdness wouldn't let him wait till later. Murdock danced around him and started stepping on BA's feet again.

"Murdock," BA growled in warning. He none too gently pushed Murdock to the side again. Again Murdock sprang back to assault his feet. "What's gotten into you, fool?" BA shouted, not so much to be heard as to let off steam.

"Drugs, I think," Murdock answered.

"What?" BA stepped back in shock, remembering the papers Hannibal and Terry had found. Something that appeared to be experiment logs.

Murdock followed his backward step doggedly.

"Would you quit steppin' on my feet?"

"I'm not stepping," Murdock said carefully, his face twisted with some internal effort. "I'm jumping on them."

"Well quit jumpin' on me!"

Murdock stepped back. "That's all you had to say," he said with a noise that sounded like a cross between a chuckle and a cry. He bent over, his hands resting on his thighs, tried to catch his breath. "Please don't ask me to do anything."

BA didn't have a chance to ponder the puzzling plea. He noticed Face had lost the struggle with the green man. "Wait here," he told Murdock and went off to deal with their opponent.

Murdock nodded.

The green man, despite being the only one with a weapon in hand, panicked. "Murdock, help me!"

"I don't want to," Murdock groaned, but started toward them anyway.

BA noticed the movement, stopped. "Wait where you're at, Murdock."

Murdock, gratefully, stopped.

The green man didn't like that. "Come here, Murdock."

Murdock grimaced, started forward again.

"Murdock, stop!" BA ordered.

Murdock froze in place. "Would you make up your minds?" he shouted in frustration.

"I need your help," the green man said, backing away from BA. "Come to me and help, Murdock."

Murdock groaned but did as he was told.

BA grabbed Murdock's arm, stopping the forward motion. "What's wrong with you, Murdock?" Murdock still tried to keep going.

"I can't help it," Murdock said.

"Be quiet, Murdock," the green man ordered.

Murdock lowered his voice almost too far for BA to hear. "I have to do everything he says. I can't…"

The green man shouted, "Shut up!"

Murdock's jaw snapped closed on anything else he was about to say. He gave BA a helpless look even as he tried to pull from BA's grip.

"Stay here," BA said sternly. He let go of Murdock, who stayed put.

BA turned to the green man. "You shut up!"

The green man blindly backed away. "Murdock…"

"Cover your ears," BA hollered over whatever the green man was about to say. Murdock's hands flew to his ears, a look of amazed gratitude on his face.

"And you," BA stalked toward the retreating green man, "leave Murdock alone."

"Murdock, help me!" The green man screeched.

Murdock, hands over his ears and his eyes screwed closed, remained motionless.

"Stay away from me," the green man told BA. His backpedaling turned him so he was now heading away from them. He suddenly remembered the gun.

The gun shook miserably. Luckily for BA, it was ill-aimed. The shot missed.

"Don't come any closer!" The green man cried. He corrected his aim. Just as he was about to fire again, the flood lamps came on. The entire yard lit up, drowning out the light from the chopper. It hurt BA's eyes, and he had his back to them. As if the light were a tangible force, the green man stumbled backwards. His good arm covered the tinted face plate of his helmet.

BA surged forward and knocked the gun from the green man's gloved hand. The green man brought his arm down, blindly hit at BA. BA directed his own toward the green man's middle, causing him to double over. He aimed a blow toward the green man's head with the intention of knocking him out. The green man moved to push himself up, and BA's hand instead connected with the shoulder Face had already injured. The green man let out a squeak that was somehow heard over the background racket, then passed out.

BA returned to Face and Murdock. Face was sitting up, mask off, rubbing his neck. "Almost forgot about the remote," he said apologetically when BA came within hearing distance.

BA went to Murdock's side. He pulled one of Murdock's hands down. "It's okay now. You can listen now."

Murdock opened one eye, looked around. His hands fell away from his head as he opened both eyes and nodded.

"You can talk now," BA said. Then, remembering the earlier altercations, added, "If you want to."

Murdock nodded again. "Thanks, BA." A pause, then, "Pink is not your color, big guy."

BA irritably pulled the pink painted mask from his face.

"Why am I always the one getting knocked out?" Face complained to the world at large. This was the third time in as many days, and definitely the most painful of them. He gingerly rubbed the back of his head, then his ears.

Murdock and BA knelt next to him.

"You alright, Faceman?" BA asked.

"Yeah," Face groaned. "Except my ears are ringing." He raised his voice so he could hear it over the ringing. "Loudly."

"Not your ears, Face," Murdock said. "The old whirlybird's still going."

Face frowned. Oh, the ugly glowing garbage bag. "Well, turn it off." Murdock got up to do just that. Face muttered to BA, "What a headache."

"Wish you hadn't done that," BA said, watching Murdock rush toward the chopper.

"What?" Face asked, confused.

"Told Murdock what to do."

"I didn't tell him what to do," Face protested. "I asked. Sort of." Face shook his head, wondering why he was arguing this. "He knew what I meant."

"I don't know."

"Huh?"

The thunder and clatter of the chopper finally died away.

A * A * A * A  

The windows rattled in sympathy with the rumble of the chopper. They left it running; the slimebags must not intend to be here long. One of them came in the front door even as the thought crossed Hannibal's mind. And the slimebag, for a change, looked like a bag the color of slime - slime that happened to glow. Ugly, man shaped, and without even the common courtesy to shut the door.

The green man maneuvered his way through the front room in the dark. Hannibal inched out from behind the door. He watched the green man move unerringly to the study and open that door without hesitation. Terry must've been in the proper place; there was no uproar when the green man turned on the light.

Hannibal quietly approached the study, avoiding by experience the one board with the penchant for squeaking. He heard a drawer being opened and closed, then another. The third drawer was slammed. Loud cursing. Hannibal made it to the door in time to see the helmet skitter across the desk and fall to the floor.

The body belonging to the balding head wore a bulky suit of the hazardous material sort. It had been painted an uneven glow-in-the-dark neon green. And a shoddy paint job, at that. Bits of the original material peeked through here and there, and the paint was peeling around the joints. It looked like something from the set of one of the movies Hannibal liked to play in. No doubt the silly get-up did its job of confusing, if not scaring, already drug disoriented people.

The green man had his back to the door. Hannibal leaned against the door frame, waiting for a good moment to announce his presence. He was pleased by the annoyed noises the man made. The green man pulled the largest bottom drawer out of the desk and up ended its contents onto the floor. Hannibal and Terry had stuffed it full of clipping and books. As he sorted impatiently through the paper clutter, the green man directed his curses toward Wentworth in particular.

"Looking for these?" Hannibal asked, holding up the notebook in one black-gloved hand, and his gun in the other.

The man jumped and spun around. He, too, had a hand gun.

"Interesting reading material," Hannibal said.

The man looked at the notebook and narrowed his eyes. He looked familiar. Hannibal was sure he'd seen the man before, at the diner, wearing a completely different and only slightly less conspicuous suit.

Terry stepped out from behind the door. These people really needed to look in the obvious places, Hannibal thought, but didn't say so. "Billy Joe?" Terry asked incredulously.

"Who'd you expect?" Billy Joe asked facetiously. "Little green men?" He stood slowly, mindful of the two-to-one odds.

"What are you doing?"

Billy Joe eyed the notebook. "Retrieving that."

"Why?"

"So we don't get caught," Billy Joe said, giving Terry a withering glance.

"Too late," Hannibal said, returning the withering look. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

Billy Joe smiled at Hannibal. "Maybe not."

"Why are you doing this?" Terry expanded on his original question. "What's in it for you?"

"Money. In a few years I'm going to be a very rich man." He regarded Hannibal and Terry for a moment. "My employers pay very handsomely," he said suggestively.

Terry stiffened. "I don't need the money. And even if I did, I'm picky about where it comes from."

"Suit yourself." Billy Joe looked expectantly at Hannibal.

Hannibal regarded him with cold eyes. "I'd like to meet your employers."

Billy Joe smiled. "Easily arranged. As soon as we fly out of here."

"You're just forgetting one thing."

"Your friend," Billy Joe said. "We need him right now. You can have him back after we leave."

"Then I keep this," Hannibal jiggled the notebook, "till he comes back."

"Then…" Billy Joe looked nervous. Then smug. "Give me the notebook and you come with us. Get your man back and meet your new employers at the same time."

Hannibal was silent for a long moment. Without a word, he tossed the notebook to Billy Joe.

"Are you out of your mind?" Terry hollered.

"I can use the money," Hannibal said, imitating Terry's shrug. He moved to one side, leaving the door exposed. Eyes on Billy Joe, Hannibal used his gun to gesture toward the door.

"But the man's performing illegal testing," Terry protested. "Maybe even murder."

As if to emphasize the point, there was the sound of a gun shot.

Billy Joe, suddenly suspicious, narrowed his eyes at Hannibal while backing away from the two of them. "What is this?"

Hannibal grinned. "Making my own bargain."

"This is a set up," Billy Joe said, his tone a combination of surprise and disgust.

"Smart, isn't he?" Hannibal said to Terry.

"Not really."

Billy Joe, panicked, ran for the doorway. He collided with Terry and they both went down just outside the study. The notebook went flying, as did one of the guns. Terry and Billy Joe grappled for the remaining gun. They rolled, random legs colliding with the door frame. Billy Joe achieved possession, attempted to bring it to bear on Terry. Terry shoved his arm back with all his strength. The gun went off.

The bullet grazed the door frame, just inches from Hannibal, showering him with wood chips. The struggling men rolled again, one of them kicking Hannibal. Between the assaults, he was forced to move back.

Billy Joe lost the gun to Terry. Before Terry could use the advantage, Billy Joe caught him in the jaw with a solid punch. Billy Joe scrambled to his feet, stumbled into the front room.

Hannibal peered around the door frame. It was easy to follow Billy Joe's progress from the green suit and the light spilling out from the study. He fired a few shots over Billy Joe's head. Billy Joe ducked lower and lower, but still kept moving. Hannibal fired another as he stepped over Terry. Billy Joe ducked so far he fell to his knees. He used the opportunity to reach for the object of his interest. Hannibal shot the notebook, spinning it out of his grasp. Billy Joe snatched his hand back, lost his balance, fell on his side. He looked up, wide-eyed, at Hannibal.

"You won't need that where you're going," Hannibal said.

"Won't need this either." Terry was getting to his feet, pocketing Billy Joe's gun.

"Alright?"

"Bruised jaw, bruised ego." Terry touched his mouth tenderly. "That's the most excitement I've ever had. I don't think it's my cup of tea."

Hannibal chuckled.

Terry turned on the light. Billy Joe was working up the courage to sit up. Terry toed the notebook open. "Good thing we didn't need this," he commented. All of the blank pages had an off center hole, browned around the edges.

Billy Joe stared at it, glared up at Hannibal. "You just lost your friend," he said angrily. "They'll repeat the experiments on him, see just how many doses it takes before it becomes fatal."

"He's just trying to make you mad," Terry said hastily, stepping forward.

"Yeah." Hannibal put his gun back in its holster. "It worked." He pulled Billy Joe up by the collar of his suit, pulled back, let his fist fly. He felt a satisfying pain in his knuckles, let Billy Joe drop. "I don't make deals with slimebags."

            Blame it on the UFOs

Face poked through the giant, now dark, garbage bag. It really was plastic of some sort, but not nearly as thin as a garbage bag would be. The rotors and flight would have torn up any regular bag. He gingerly stepped through the overlap, into the open side door of the helicopter. He wondered if the bag could smother anyone in the chopper. Certainly it wasn't a safe set up.

"Murdock?" Face called, the thought putting more urgency in his voice than he intended. "Murdock, answer me."

"Yeah, Face?" Murdock sighed.

Face found Murdock up front in - where else? - the pilot's seat. He was slouched in the seat, head back, eyes closed. In the light of the flood lamps, Murdock's face was drawn and not a little pale.

"All right?"

"Tired." He sounded tired.

"Well, you can have your pick of seats and sleep all you want in the van," Face said cheerfully.

Murdock just said, "Hm." A moment later, he asked, "How about you?"

"How about me what?"

"You okay?"

Face's hand automatically went to the tender spot on the back of his head. "Yeah, just a headache."

Murdock nodded. He showed no inclination to get up. Face shifted uncomfortably.

"We were getting worried when you shut this thing off but didn't come back out," he admitted, hoping to draw Murdock out.

"Just wanted some time alone," Murdock said. "Quiet."

"Yeah." Face now understood why Murdock was hiding out. "BA told me about the do-as-I-say drug."

Murdock groaned.

"You know, this could be fun," Face said suggestively. "We could, say, make you our personal masseuse for the night."

Murdock opened his eyes. "What?"

"Yeah," Face squinted at the ceiling, considering. "We could have you do back rubs, then foot rubs, then maybe…."

"Face!"

"Lots of possibilities." Face pretended to not hear Murdock's protest. "And it wouldn't really matter how embarrassing it was for you, because you wouldn't remember a thing."

Murdock glared at him. "You wouldn't dare."

Face grinned. "Moi? To you? I wouldn't dream of it."

Murdock finally smiled. He playfully slapped Face's arm.

"We're getting ready to go." Face carefully worded his next suggestion so that Murdock wouldn't feel he was taking advantage of the drug induced commands. "If you want to come, we better get out of here."

"Now?" Murdock asked hopefully.

Face chuckled. "We want to get out of here before anything else happens."

"Amen," Murdock said fervently.

On the way out, Face nearly got caught in the plastic. "Ack." He impatiently pushed it aside. "Ugly," he added. "How'd anybody think it was a UFO?"

"Would you admit to seeing a flying trash bag?" Murdock asked.

Face eyed the mock UFO distastefully. "Good point."

"But can you imagine," Murdock started with the familiar Murdock gleam in his eye, "trash bag air balloons?"

Face's brows wrinkled at the image the idea produced.

"Where is everybody?" Murdock asked.

Face nodded toward the moving van. "They're helping the sheriff put the…"

"What?" Murdock interrupted, startled. "The sheriff?"

Face forgot Murdock hadn't been there. "Yeah. He's the mechanic, Terry."

"Terry?" Face nodded. Murdock rubbed his addled head. "I think I'm getting a headache."

They joined the others at the moving van as BA finished his handiwork with the left over wiring.

"I love it when we tie things up." Hannibal grinned at the very well trussed up green men. He pulled out a fresh cigar just for the occasion.

Terry smiled, then frowned. "Not completely tied up. We're still missing someone."

"Who're we missing?" Murdock asked Face while looking inside.

Face frowned. "You, Sylvie, and Wentworth, so we thought. Got you, Wentworth's involved, and we found Billy Joe." Face explained. "That leaves Sylvie."

"Oh. But she's not missing," Murdock said loud enough to be heard by the others, as well. Everyone looked at Murdock.

"What do you mean, she's not missing?" Terry demanded.

"She's the green…"

"Shut up," Billy Joe shouted over Murdock's words. Murdock went quiet with a flinch.

"Shut up," BA growled at Billy Joe. BA wished he'd gagged them while he was tying them up. "One more word and you get this," he threatened, waving a beringed fist at Billy Joe. He slammed the doors closed.

BA turned his back to the moving van and its green clad contents. "You can tell us whatever you want to, Murdock."

Murdock smiled. "Thanks, BA." Usually he'd tease the big guy about showing he cared, but Murdock wasn't in the mood. Right now, all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

"Before you were so rudely interrupted, you were telling us about Sylvie," Face prompted.

"She's their boss. I think she went to tell her boss we messed things up. She said she'd remember us," Murdock said with an apologetic look for Hannibal. Hannibal shrugged. What was one more enemy to add to their growing collection?

"Sylvie works with them?" Terry shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"Yes, but what a set up," Face said appreciatively. "Sylvie was the perfect look out. She got to see who was coming and going while working the diner."

"Diners," Terry corrected softly. "She worked both of them."

"Even better," Face said.

"And the doc had access to drugs and records," Murdock said, seeing where Face was going.

"And Billy Joe supplied them," Face finished. "With everything, unless I miss my guess."

"An old biker." Terry looked at his feet, feeling a little ashamed. "He came and went so often, it never even occurred to me."

"He's probably the one who relayed the orders from his boss," Hannibal said. An unpleasant thought came to him. "I wouldn't be surprised if there are other places where this drug is being tested."

"But who's their boss?" Terry asked.

"I have no idea," Hannibal answered truthfully. "But when you hand them over to the State Troopers, I'm sure they'll figure it out. Maybe use their own medicine on them." Hannibal smiled at the thought.

"There's plenty of it in there." Murdock gestured over his shoulder toward the chopper.

Hannibal's grin widened even further. "Samples, notes, incriminating files. I think our green slimebags will turn state's evidence in no time." Hannibal chuckled at the pleasant thought. "Congratulations, you just put Merlott on the map."

Terry frowned apprehensively. "What?"

"Bringing down an operation like this is bound to stir up the media," Hannibal explained.

"You'll get your face in the papers across the country," Face offered brightly.

Hannibal cautioned, "Just don't mention us and you, and Merlott, will be famous."

Terry looked ill. "I can't take the credit for this. I mean, they wouldn't have been caught at all if it weren't for all of you."

"Uh uhn," Hannibal shook his head. "We're wanted men. Believe me, they don't take kindly to wanted men capturing felons." Hannibal pointed his cigar at Terry. "You're the sheriff, Sheriff. If you don't want the credit, fine. Tell them-" Hannibal stopped. He put the cigar back in his mouth and grinned around it. "Use their own trick. Blame it on the UFOs."

A * A * A * A  

They were ten minutes past the second Marge's Diner. If Terry's directions were correct, they were fifteen minutes from a major highway. Then they would finally be on their way back to civilization and the more familiar weirdness of Los Angeles.

They drove in easy silence. Murdock, asleep in his chair behind BA, was the only one to break it, with an occasional snore. Face tried to get comfortable in his seat, rubbing absently at the ache in his side. Hannibal contemplated the glowing end of his dying cigar, and debated whether or not to light another. BA watched the road for signs of a turn off. He wasn't watching for lights flashing across the road.

BA hit the brakes, throwing everyone forward as the van skidded to a halt. There was a half second of shocked stillness. Murdock, annoyed, put himself back in his seat, muttering something about stop meaning still, not fast.

A little ways in front of the van was a light, bright and almost colorless.

"Did we hit it?" Hannibal asked. He couldn't make out anything in the darkness beyond the light.

"No," BA said. "It moved too fast."

"There's plenty of road," Face said. "What's he waiting for?"

"Maybe to see if we're okay?" Hannibal suggested.

BA eased the van forward. The light backed away. Then, incredibly, it rose. BA hit the brakes again.

The light floated, backed away, waited.

"What is it?" Face asked. He leaned on the back of Hannibal's chair to get a better look.

Murdock bestirred himself enough to groggily ask, "What's what, Faceman?"

"That!" Face pointed out the windshield.

Murdock opened his eyes with some effort, leaned forward to look under Face's arm. "Oh. Them."

"Them?" Another light had joined the first while Face wasn't looking. As he watched, a third streaked in from the right. "Whoa."

A fourth one joined the trio. Three drifted back to let the first one shine a little brighter.

"What do they want?"

"Probably to thank us, BA." Murdock yawned. "Told you they wanted to hire us," he murmured, his eyes sliding closed again.

Outside, the lead hovering light flared, settled into police siren red. It held the color for half a beat, flared into a white that was too bright to look at. A pause, then it flared into a police car blue. The colors were clean, without any bleed through of pink or pale blue between changes. It flared once more, changing back to its original shimmering, almost colorlessness.

It dipped noiselessly, then streaked up and backwards, leaving a check mark streak behind blinking eyes. The other three fanned out before joining the first. BA, Hannibal and Face crowded in on the windshield to watch the lights playfully perform aerial maneuvers that would have put the best of even the Thunderbirds to shame, before all four disappeared into the impossibly high distance.

~fin~

Notes: Yeah, yeah, I know, the old helicopter-posing-as-UFO trick. Couldn't help myself. Saw an old Scooby Doo cartoon using it, remembered an episode of The Fall Guy, and poof! UFO's. *g* I know there's still a loose end - I have plans for Sylvie's return. *eg* Hope you all enjoyed the ride.

Thank you to my beta readers. Alison for catching catching of the non-explanation of something I had taken for granted, and Sherry for the wonderful editing. Also a special thanks to the VA list, and Rita in particular, for their patience with all my time period questions.

© 2001  * I do not own The A-Team or any of the characters, the van, the scams, or the 'vette.  They belong to Stephen J. Cannell.  I am merely borrowing the universe for fun.  I am not making any money off of these stories or this site.  * All original characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.  * Please do not archive or copy the story without permission from the author.  * This is a work of fiction.  Any similarity to persons, places, and incidents (past, present, or future) is purely coincidental.

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