He'd been played.

Stockwell stared down the barrel of the pistol Kate pointed at him and knew what it meant. From aboard the ship, using that radio she built, she'd set this whole thing up by what he could only call remote control.

"You have a gun in a shoulder holster," she said. "Take it out carefully, using your fingertips, and slide it over here."

Stockwell did as she ordered. She put her hand on his gun without taking her gaze from him and pulled it to her side of the table.

"There isn't any information, is there?" he asked.

"Of course not. I planted a message in the intelligence chatter, knowing the word Zephyr would raise a flag and the message would land on your desk eventually."

"And I'd send someone to get you off the Meirion, and you'd lead me here."

She smiled. "Quite a neat plan, I thought."

"Yes, a very neat plan. There's only one thing wrong with it. I'm not the one who put you on that ship. So your revenge is... misdirected."

Her face changed from smug to furious in an instant.

"This isn't about me, you bastard! You killed my husband!"

Ah. He made no attempt to answer or deny her allegation - that would only make her angrier. So she did know. All of those people she'd been living with on the Meirion. People with secrets. Someone must have let something slip. Exactly the reason they sent people there of course, so the only people they could reveal information to were fellow permanent residents, who could do nothing about it.

Sitting in a bank in Boston held at gunpoint by a no-longer permanent resident, Stockwell began to see some flaws in that theory.

"Lewis was the finest man I ever knew," she said, her voice hoarse. "The cleverest, the kindest… The best... and you killed him. After his death, I took a bottle of pills and I closed my eyes and hoped we'd be together forever. But I opened my eyes in hell, not heaven."

"I wouldn't call the Meirion hell."

"You've never lived there. For a couple of years, it didn't matter. None of it mattered. I wanted to die anyway."

"The authorities had to put you beyond the reach of anyone who could take advantage of your breakdown. You needed protection."

"I had a breakdown because the authorities - you - murdered the man I loved! Am I supposed to be grateful that they put me on the SS Bedlam for my protection because of a breakdown they - you - caused?"

"Did Lewis..." He trailed off as she took the safety catch off the gun.

"You will not use his name as if you were his friend."

"I'm sorry. Did Doctor Miller tell you anything about Zephyr?" He had to focus. What did she know? She knew the name of the project. What else?

"I told you before - he never told me anything he wasn't allowed to talk about. I know it must be some kind of bio-weapon - genetics was his field. But I know nothing about it, and I don't care, Stockwell. All I care about is making you pay for killing a man whose boots you are not worthy to lick."

This had taken her years to plan and execute, a decade at least. Which meant he wouldn't be able to simply talk her out of it. But did she really intend to shoot him, right here in a bank? With a gun with no silencer on it? Did she think she could just walk out? Did she even care about escape? If she'd spent so long focused on this act of revenge would anything else matter to her? Capture, prison - meaningless.

What now? The table was too wide for him to lunge for the gun without being shot. He could start to yell for help, but by the time it came, he'd have a bullet in his head. He had to play for time.

"Of course, you almost screwed up my plan," Kate said. "Double-crossing the A-Team. I can't believe I didn't anticipate that you'd pull a stunt like that."

The A-Team... He had to use them somehow. She cared enough about them being stuck on the ship that she'd "forced" him, so she thought, to give the order to free them.

"But now you've given the order to -"

"They've escaped," Stockwell cut her off, knowing what she was working up to now - finishing her mission. She stared and he took the opportunity to press on. "They got off the Meirion in one of the lifeboats."

"I don't believe you."

"Can you take that chance? They're at sea, somewhere in the Pacific in a small boat. If someone doesn't pick them up, they'll certainly die."

A look of anguish and frustration crossed her face and he knew he had her. She wouldn't let those men simply die. She'd done well, an excellent plan, one that he still had many questions about - he was never too old to learn. But in the end, she was an amateur, lacking the professional ruthlessness that would allow her to pursue her goal at all costs.

"I can organise a search and rescue operation. If you let me live." She didn't answer, still wearing that anguished look. "It's your choice. I suggest you decide quickly." He paused, then spoke softly. "What's more important, Kate? Your need for revenge, or the lives of four innocent men?"

~~~~

Stifling! Hannibal woke with something smothering him and the air too hot to breathe. He struggled with the suffocating mass covering him. A second later it was whipped away and he realised it was a blanket. BA frowned down at him.

"You okay?" BA asked.

Hannibal groaned, unable to speak, throat too raw. The sun beat down from the cloudless sky, splitting his head with light. BA pressed something into his hands. Water bottle. He drank, easing his throat. Only then could he speak.

"What time is it?" he croaked.

"Lunchtime," BA said.

"It's always lunchtime with you. How's the radio?"

"I think it's transmitting."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I think. I'm sending an SOS every fifteen minutes. No answer yet."

Hannibal didn't press. BA knew his business. He looked around the boat to see Face and Murdock lying sleeping in what looked like horribly uncomfortable positions. They had blankets over their heads too, protecting them from the sun. BA had found a big square of white cloth from somewhere, probably the first aid kit, and made himself a headdress.

"We should have brought hats," Hannibal said.

"We shoulda brought a lot of things," BA said, in a dark tone. "I checked the food and water. We'd better be picked up inside of two days, three at the outside, or we're dead."

From his reading of military history, Hannibal knew of some stirring tales of long survival at sea, but he decided not to regale BA with them now. He liked his nose the shape it was.

"If it comes to that, we'll activate the beacon to bring the Meirion to us. We won't die out here, I promise. Now, let's wake those two sleeping beauties and get some food."

After they ate, they lay there, four men in a boat. The bobbing motion was quite soothing.

"Are we going to row again?" Murdock asked.

"Not in this heat," Hannibal said. "We'll wait for dark. And the more we row the more water we use."

"How long do we wait before we give up and activate the beacon?" Face asked.

"Thirty six hours more," Hannibal said, thinking of BA's estimate of their food and water supplies. "It won't come to that. You know BA's got the radio working right. Nobody around right now, but we'll find someone."

"So," Murdock said. "Unless rescue comes sooner, then we're all stuck together on this tiny boat for at least two days. All of us. Me and the big guy." He sighed and shook his head. "In that case, I think we're gonna need a -"

"Don't say it!" Face snapped.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Oh yeah? Bet you a hundred bucks that I do."

"Money isn't much use to you here," Murdock pointed out.

"Then I'll bet my right arm that I do."

"I already called your right arm," Hannibal said. Face looked at him, questioningly. "Didn't I mention it? While you were asleep earlier we decided to eat you first."

BA giggled, but Face just shot Hannibal a dirty look. Meanwhile, Murdock was tapping his foot and frowning.

"Look, Face, I can either say this, or my head can explode. Your choice."

"Okay, say it. I guess if BA kills you that means more water for the rest of us."

Murdock sat up straight, took a huge breath and declaimed, "We're gonna need a bigger boat."

None of the team spoke. Some distance off a couple of splashes sounded. Eventually Face broke the silence.

"You done?"

"Yes."

They lapsed back into depressed silence. BA made another SOS transmission. Still no reply.

Hannibal lay with his eyes shaded, looking up into the sky. High above he saw a dark shape. A bird. Was that...?

"Hey, take a look," he said. "I think that's an albatross." Murdock perked up at once, and looked up, shading his eyes.

"I love those guys," he enthused. "They fly for thousands of miles. They circumnavigate the globe!"

"An albatross, huh?" Face looked at Hannibal. "Maybe you should shoot it."

"What?" Hannibal glared at him. "That's supposed to be very bad luck."

"Especially for the bird," Murdock said.

"Quite," Hannibal agreed.

"Yeah," Face said. "But some standard, ordinary bad luck would be such a step up for us."

Sounded about right. Hannibal didn't shoot the albatross of course. For one thing, he'd neglected to pack his crossbow. He just watched it glide and soar on the thermals, wings almost still most of the time.

"It is an ancient mariner," Murdock began, in that declaiming tone again. "And he stoppeth one of three."

"Oh, don't start, please," Face groaned. BA started scowling as Murdock went on, cherry picking lines from the poem. "Day after day, day after day, We stuck, no breath nor motion. As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean."

"We really do need a bigger boat," Hannibal said.

"Yeah," BA agreed. "One with bilges, so I can clap the fool in irons and toss him into them. Quit talking about painted boats, or you going over the side!"

"That's enough, BA," Hannibal said quietly. BA at once dropped his gaze to the bottom of the boat.

"Water, water everywhere," Murdock began, but Hannibal just looked at him. Murdock shut up at once.

The team waited in their much too small boat.