"Oh, you have got to be kidding," Hannibal said.

"What are you doing?" Kate struggled with the man holding her.

"Take her below," Stockwell ordered.

"No!" Kate yelled, lunging away from the sailor. But another one grabbed her arm and the two of them lifted her off her feet and took her below. Her yells faded as a door closed behind them.

"What about your precious word, Stockwell? That you said you never broke."

"I never did," Stockwell said.

"Until now."

"I never did." Stockwell repeated it. Hannibal frowned at him, at the steady gaze. He started to speak again, but Stockwell gestured with the gun. "Back on the ladder now."

Hannibal glanced up. BA and Murdock were on the ladder, Face must still be up on deck, Hannibal couldn't see him. Floodlights shone up on deck now. Security had arrived. Stockwell wasn't the only one with a gun, Hannibal noticed - several sailors stood around with rifles. Some pointed them up at BA and Murdock.

"Supposing I don't climb the ladder?"

"I don't have time for games, Colonel. Start climbing or go overboard. I hope the Meirion will pick you up in time. There are sharks in these waters."

"There sure are."

How had he gotten it so wrong? He'd believed Stockwell's word still held. So rarely given, but it used to mean something. Perhaps his apparent frailty since they rescued him from North Korea had deluded Hannibal. Made him forget what this man could do. Perhaps the grief he'd seen in Stockwell for Philip had made him think Stockwell actually had a soul.

Okay. If he stayed here, they'd toss him overboard. If the others came storming down that ladder to rescue him, Stockwell's men would shoot them. Stay alive. Fight another day. He put a hand on the rope ladder, but turned to Stockwell one last time before he started to climb.

"Be seeing you, Stockwell." He meant it as a promise.

Hannibal climbed the ladder.

Above him, BA and Murdock climbed back over the rail. Figures appeared at the rail with guns, and bullets zipped past Hannibal in both directions. He ignored them. They weren't meant for him.

Hannibal climbed.

The rope ladder swung and twisted now, no longer held secure at the bottom as Stockwell's boat roared away. His shoulders and back burned with the effort. His hands were going to be blistered. But he barely noticed any of that. His rage powered him upwards, as if he weighed nothing. Climb. Then surrender. For now. Stay alive. And then - find Stockwell.

He reached the top of the rope ladder. Last time he'd climbed onto a boat this way, he'd found a dead man waiting for him. Not this time. He found the rest of the team pinned in the lights, hands on heads, surrounded by rifle-toting security men, far too heavily outnumbered to even think of fighting. Two security men grabbed Hannibal and dragged him roughly over the rail, making him stagger when his feet touched the deck.

The stagger brought him close to a man he'd seen around, but hadn't been introduced to. Hannibal grinned at the man with the four gold stripes on his sleeve.

"Hello, Captain. My name's Colonel John Smith. We're the A-Team." When the Captain raised his eyebrows, Hannibal nodded in sympathy with his bafflement. "I'm afraid, this is going to be a very long story."

~~~~

Stockwell paused outside the door of the room where his men had imprisoned Kate. The man guarding the door didn't look at him, just kept his eyes straight ahead. Through the thin wooden door, Stockwell heard Kate's voice, talking to that bird she'd brought with her.

"Poor, Sammy. It's okay now. Safe and warm again. Poor little boy."

Stockwell opened the door and stepped inside. He found Kate sitting at a table, fussing over the birdcage. She jumped to her feet when he walked in, her face twisted with rage.

"You treacherous, double-crossing, son of a bitch!"

"Treacherous and double-crossing seems rather redundant."

"You can't leave those men there!"

"That's none of your concern."

"What? You sent them for me, and you say it's not my concern that you've dumped them in that floating mad house?"

"Doctor, I have to ask you about your radio."

Her anger turned to shock then and she sat down. "How do you know about that?"

"Colonel Smith and his men found it in your cabin."

"Colonel Smith?" she said, frowning. Of course, she'd been on the Meirion a long time. Though the patients there had some heavily filtered access to news from the outside world, the A-Team story must have passed her by.

"Smith and his men are the ones who rescued you." He had no inclination to explain further. It didn't matter. "The radio," he said again. "Who were you in contact with?" He wasn't certain that mattered either. There was only one piece of information he wanted from her - the location of her husband's notes about Zephyr.

"Never mind about the radio!" Her anger returned. "What about those men? You can't leave them there!"

"The radio. Who were you in contact with?"

"Nobody! Nobody you'd care about. Just radio hams around the world."

"Really? You couldn't find another hobby?"

"I never got the hang of crocheting."

The radio didn't matter, he decided. As long as she hadn't been talking to anyone about Zephyr, he didn't care. He forestalled another demand to get the team off the ship by speaking first.

"Kate, the reason I've taken you off the Meirion is that I need you to take me to some information that your late husband concealed."

"What? What information?"

"Please don't try to deny it. I know he concealed information about a project he was working on, and I believe you know where it is. All I want you to do is take me there."

"And for that, you've condemned four sane men to an asylum for the rest of their lives?"

He didn't answer, just watched her. She turned away and tapped on the bars of the birdcage. The canary fluffed up its feathers against the chill.

"I remember you from back then, Hunt Stockwell. There was something about you that told me you'd go all the way to the top." She studied him for a while. "You look like shit, did you know that? You're younger than me but you look ten years older."

Stockwell knew that. His hair was all white now and he couldn't regain enough weight to make his doctor happy. The torture he'd suffered as a prisoner had destroyed his physical health, but it was a matter of pride to him that his mind remained as clear as ever.

"How strong a pill do you have to take to sleep at night?"

Stockwell winced. He did take a pill, not that he would tell her and not that it was for guilt. Seeing she was getting no reaction from him, she turned back to the birdcage.

"Lewis did tell me about some notes he'd hidden," she said. "He never told me what the project was about. He never told me anything he wasn't allowed to tell me. But I remember that something about that particular project disturbed him."

Stockwell remembered that too. Several of the Zephyr team had harboured misgivings. They'd been flying to Washington in a chartered plane to talk to a politician when the accident happened. A necessary evil. At least Kate didn't know Stockwell had ordered the so-called accident. That would end any hope he had of cooperation from her.

"Do you know where the notes are?"

"Yes, I know where they are. What do you do now? Torture me to make me tell you?"

"I'm sure that isn't necessary. You served your country loyally, Kate. Those notes are classified material that I must secure to keep them out of enemy hands. It's your duty to tell me."

She snorted. "My duty? To my country that locked me up in an asylum and threw away the key?"

"You were ill." Stockwell kept his voice matter of fact. "You needed protection. You needed to be somewhere safe, where nobody could take advantage of your illness."

"I got better," she said, softly. "You know that? It took a few years, but I recovered. And then I was a sane person in an asylum. Can you imagine what that's like?"

Recalling the times he'd visited the Langley house while the A-Team lived there, Stockwell thought he had an inkling.

"I'm sorry you went through that. But it's over now. If you lead me to your husband's information, I'll set you free. You'll never have to go back to the Meirion."

A small smile played around Kate's mouth. A devious expression came into her eyes. Stockwell resisted smiling. Was she going to suggest it herself? That suited him fine.

"I'll take you to the notes. But I have one condition."

"Go on," he said, pretending he didn't know what she was going to say.

"In exchange, you get those men off the Meirion."

Stockwell scowled, and very nicely done, he congratulated himself. A thoroughly convincing scowl instead of the smirk trying to wrestle its way onto his face.

"I don't have the authority to do that."

"Then you'd better figure something out. Because that's the only way I'll cooperate."

He scowled more and she met his glare defiantly. After what he judged to be the right amount of time, he sighed and shook his head, feigning impatience with her stubbornness.

"Very well. If that's your price, I'll find a way to pay it. I have certain favours I can call in."

"Good. Then you're going to have to take me back home. Boston. And no, I can't just tell you where it is. I have to be there to get it. You'll understand why when we get there."

Stockwell sighed and nodded, with faked resignation. But deep inside he was entirely satisfied. As Smith would say, he felt an enormous amount of gratification when a scheme reached a successful conclusion.

Or words to that effect anyway.