The christmas wrap | free straitjacket story | reporter, rubber

PROLOGUE.

A Girl’s Got To Do...

Spongy pine-needles gave underfoot, lending Amy's frantic footfalls an almost comedic bounce as she tore through the wood surrounding the establishment. Far behind her she heard dogs baying, along with hoarse cries of “This way!”-it didn't look good for her...

The young woman with the boyish, short hair staggered-on wheezing. It was bad enough being pursued like this, but in a straitjacket her capture was practically a foregone conclusion!

She'd run some track in college and kept in good shape but now couldn't pump her arms as they were bound tightly around her mid-section and fastened at the back. Amy doubted even her friends had been in such a situation, well, all but one, anyway...

The young reporter stepped-off the riverbank and waded into the stream carefully, moving slowly and methodically along it-the last thing she wanted to do was drown in the shallow water, unable to right her self! She had to throw the dogs off her scent though.

Suddenly, she staggered and dropped into a hidden chasm, the freezing cascade up to her waist. Sucking-in a gasp of the pine-scented forest air she bit her lip to avoid a noisy exclamation-the water was icy!

Her teeth began to chatter and Amy Allen cursed herself for trying to 'get the gen' on the institute so close to Christmas-why couldn't it have been summer?

Of course, she'd had no idea of the character of Doctor Harris when she'd challenged him with her findings and her intended less than favourable article, but she probably should have seen the signs.

She had no idea he'd attempt to 'lose her in the system'-though! Having said that, maybe she did? Why else would she drive up here but leave her car in the surrounding woods and mark a tear in the fence with primer spray from her trunk?

Teeth chattering so loudly she thought her pursuers might hear she struggled up, out of the water and looked-down at her soaking, muddy legs and straitjacket. She once more attempted wrestling with the thing but it was no use, she was in it until somebody got her out.

A solid-looking stub of a branch stuck-out from a tree but the calls in the night behind her forced her to run-on. Besides, escape was the main thing. Even if she did loosen some of the straps at her back, the loss of her lead would only provide her with a helpful attendant who would tighten them back up again! Knowing her luck she'd lose her footing anyway and dangle off the branch till they DID turn up!

“Not far now.” She mused, more with hope than actual knowledge, “That break in the fence is around here, somewhere!”

The barking of the dogs didn't diminish as she hurried along in a low crouch till she saw the high mesh fence and straightened-up, jogging to it.

The chain-link screen had once been nylon-coated but much of that had flaked-off in the last twenty years and now scales of rust covered most of its surface. Amy charged at it, bouncing-off and landing on her sodden behind. She almost howled in frustration, why hadn't she thought to mark the escape-hatch more clearly? In the dark she couldn't make-out the patch of red against the rust and green of it.

Amy grimaced at her discomfort and rolled to her knees, then up to her feet, where was the gap?

She tested it at intervals, then nearly fell through it and sighed with relief as she left the grounds of The Beckman Foundation finding herself in identical-looking woods but ones she knew led to the old abandoned logging-road she'd left her Le Car off.

Obviously, driving it was going to be impossible unless she'd picked-up some tips from

'Wacky Races' but she knew she had a phone in it, if she could just get a call out...

The forest began to thin and the track was suddenly in front of her, where was her Renault from here though?

Barefoot, Amy jogged along the rutted track, sneezed and froze. Had anyone heard her?

Putting her finger under her nose was a no-no in this little number! She listened carefully.

Nothing, even the dogs couldn't be heard anymore. She concentrated on finding her car.

Suddenly;

“THERE!”-It was the familiar, hump-backed shape of her Renault and she began to pick-up speed as she scampered toward it.

Amy lifted her leg and pushed her toe into the recess to flick the door-catch but missed and fell over;

“Hell! What a stupid design!” she whined and righted herself. She tried again, getting a good purchase on the catch but once again it wouldn't move. This time she didn't over-balance and instead peered at the inside of the car. There was her cell in the passenger’s side door pocket- a massive, cumbersome Motorola but beautiful to her now! What was wrong? She just knew she hadn't locked it!

“Well, well, well. Out for a midnight jog are you darlin'?”

Amy's heart sank at the sound of the swaggering Cockney as he approached from behind her.

She straightened, and turned to face him.

Statham grinned and jangled her car-keys at her;

“Who would have thought you’d be so much trouble in this little thing? He mocked, tugging her toward him by her stiff collar. He stood well over a foot taller than her and the institution's shaven-headed thug grinned down at her. She said nothing as he walked her back to the van she could now make-out in the dark. He put a companionable arm across her shoulders as he steered her toward it and she knew there was nothing she could do, she was caught again!

“You’ve been a very naughty little girl,” he admonished, “...and you'll have to be punished for what you done...”-he declared as he pulled open the side door of the Econoline and hefted her into the passenger-seat. He took care to strap her in with the belt, not taking any chances this time!

Crossing to the driver’s side, he got-in, casting a long look at her muddy legs and gave the closest a squeeze:

“Ooh theyr'e icy, they are! Don't worry. We'll soon have you nice and warm. Snug as a bug in a rug...”

Vince Statham tilted his head at the flat look she was giving him and arched an eyebrow in question.

“You don't understand,” she muttered, “...I’ve got friends. They'll find me and you'll be so, so sorry.”

Statham was intrigued;

“Oh yeah? Your boyfriend going to beat me up is he?”

“No,” she answered in the same, flat tone-there was no bravado in it, “...my boyfriend's an architect, he won't find me, but they will.”

The orderly put the Ford into reverse and made it out onto the logging track before putting his foot down to get back to the institute. He took the bends far too quickly, sliding the van around them but it wasn't having the right effect, she merely sat there, unimpressed as they approached the big, electric gates to the place.

“You know, its going to be funny. “ She said, looking at him and smiling-it wasn't a nice smile, “I hope they let me watch...”

“Hard are they?” He asked, unimpressed. She just smiled as the van moved into the grounds.

The vehicle came to a halt at the foot of the enormous place's steps.

“This place is going to be razed to the ground and you’re going to wish that you were never here. We will wipe this gothic monstrosity off the map!”

“Oh yeah? You and who's army?”

IN NINETEEN SEVENTY-TWO A CRACK COMMANDO UNIT WAS SENT TO

PRISON BY A MILITARY COURT FOR A CRIME THEY DIDN'T COMMIT. THEY

PROMPTLY ESCAPED FROM A HIGH-SECURITY STOCKADE AND HEADED

FOR THE LOS ANGELES UNDER-GROUND WHERE, STILL PURSUED BY THE

GOVERNMENT THEY ACT AS SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE. IF YOU’RE IN

TROUBLE, IF NO-ONE ELSE CAN HELP AND IF YOU CAN FIND THEM-MAYBE

YOU CAN HIRE THE A TEAM!

The Lady Vanishes!

“I'm a tellin' you boy, that little lady's got more fire in her belly than a whole passel full of rattlesnakes!”

Henry Sternhagen didn't need this, he was already under enough stress being the Editor of the Sentinel and he could do without this Kentucky-fried loudmouth bawling him out in his own office!

“I mean, look at 'em out there,” the cowboy indicated with a swirl of his fringed jacket at the other workers in the office,

Through the Venetian-blinds the employees typed, chattered and performed the various duties of workers everywhere.

“They’re Sheep! That’s what they are, sheep! Why, give me half a dozen reporters like Amy Allen and we'll rule the dailies!”

“That’s as may be, Mr...”

“Lestrade, Charles P Lestrade-aren't you listening, boy?”

“Yes, yes alright, but how can your entire takeover of this paper hinge on just one reporter?”

Lestrade reared-back;

“Have you read any of her expose's of the recent year?”

“Mr Lestrade. Miss Allen is a freelance, she writes for four other papers-I don't follow her output fanatically as I only read ours! No,” he finally snapped, “...I'm sorry but I don't know where she is, or who she's working for!”

The cowboy walked dejectedly out of the office-block and crossed the street, stopping at a hot-dog vendor where he stayed for a few minutes, eating his purchase without enthusiasm.

After watching the front of the building for five more minutes, he turned about and stepped behind a fruit stall into a grubby alley, approached a black van and stepped into it;

“No luck guys. He doesn't know where Amy is either and hasn't seen her in a month.”-As he said this, he pulled a small package from his inside pocket in Christmas wrapping paper and placed it on his lap. Behind the wheel, a black man-mountain draped in gold chains turned to him with concern as did a fair-haired man in a dark blue blazer, as handsome as they come. The two seemed unsettled by their leader's humour, he seemed a little lost, adrift, and Hannibal always had a plan...

“I don't like it! She wouldn't just disappear like that! Not go and not tell us!” The driver snarled.

“Well,” their leader voiced whilst peeling-off his moustache and removing his Stetson,

“...we DO still have one paper to try...”

Smoke billowed from the rear of the van which elicited a coughing fit from Peck and a scowl from Baracus.

“Oh Lestrade, you still have much to learn.”-Claimed the clipped tones of an English accent, followed by a deerstalker and cape-clad intruder from the back, “Quite simply, you see but you do not observe!”

“Did you really have to choose the name Lestrade?” Queried Face.

Despite the Lieutenant's misgivings and the bizarre behaviour of the fourth member of the team, Hannibal was grinning again.

“Pray enlighten me Holmes...”

His arms on the leather-topped desk in front of him, Doctor Sidney Harris contemplated his predicament with his fingers steepled.

There certainly was a problem here. It seemed almost insurmountable but he forced himself to figure it out;

“Of course, CAYENNE! The capital of French Guyana is Cayenne!”

He mentally patted himself on the back and filled-in the latest, beloved crossword puzzle of his.

“Aaahhh.”

Sighing luxuriously as he pushed himself back on his caster-clad swivel chair, he basked in the glow of his own brilliance-another completed. Then the beatific expression on his face faded, to be replaced by his usual, heavily creased frown as he recalled his OTHER problem;

“The girl.”

This was her third escape-attempt. Admittedly, she'd been caught again but this time she'd gotten to her car where it was abandoned in the woods, wearing a straitjacket even!

“She certainly is a very resourceful young lady,” he admitted with no little admiration,”...it might be worth keeping her around purely for the entertainment-value!”

Harris stood and unscrewed the cap of a large, stainless steel flask to pour some of the heavily scented Earl Grey tea that he preferred.

Regretfully, he knew that there was not a chance of what he said happening. She would have to be disposed of, but how and when?

The Search Begins The woman slammed punch after punch into the bag, sweat prickling her brow and the small of her back. She stepped-back, spun and aimed a high kick, spinning her leg like a propeller blade which surely should have provoked a grunt at least from the inanimate object. No, obviously not, but it certainly was savage.

Her leotard was damp with sweat and she was approaching exhaustion but still pummelled the bag's hide and her hair though tied-back in a ponytail, whipped around her. The perspiration had tamed its usually uncontrollable frizz, the drinks of the previous night had now been boiled out of her system and once more she felt back in 'The Zone'. She arched-back, moaning as her spine reached its limit and ran her hands back through her hair till encountering the band that held her ponytail in check.

Momentarily exhausted, she crouched, hands on her knees, butt-out panting and tugged at the leotard.

“Amy!”

She spun to see a guy in overalls holding a clipboard and tilting his baseball cap-back. He blinked at the stranger;

“Oh! Er...sorry.”

“Who are you? What do you want” She asked.

“I’m on Buildings' Inspection. Come to check on your gas supply, fire escapes...”

“Oh,” she relented, coming down from the high of trashing the punch-bag, “...Okay, carry-on.”

He moved to the radiators first, checking their connections, noting this on his board then disappeared into the kitchen, glancing behind the oven.

“So,” she ventured, padding after him, “...you know Amy do you?”

A look of hurt on his face, he turned to her and enquired;

“She never mentioned me?”

She shrugged;

“Uh, I don't know, who are you?”

“Chuck!” As if it was obvious.

“Oh yeah... Chuck!”

“Only we did have a date last night...”

Who could blame her, the guy was a dish! Despite his work clothes he walked like a model, had blond hair and the bluest eyes she'd seen. Boy, those eyes, you could lose yourself in those eyes...

“-she gone?”

“Um, er-pardon?”

“So where's she gone? For that matter, who are you and what are you doing in her apartment?”

She flinched;

“Me? I'm Audrey.”

“Audrey?”

“Yeah, Audrey. Audrey Dial!”

He scrutinized her, looking her up and down. Unashamed, she met his eyes with a steady gaze;

“Audrey Dial you say..?” he contemplated as he rubbed his chin between thumb and index finger, “Well, I guess you wouldn't be burgling dressed like that!”

“Well of course not! Me and Amy usually go to the gym together but she had the bag installed and then went-off somewhere. She gave me a key. I guess she'll be back when she's back.”

Face was perturbed. Amy had never mentioned an 'Audrey Dial', yet the name rang some sort of bell and here she was, a frizzy-haired, snub-nosed gal with a longish face but she looked okay in Lycra. From what he'd seen, she seemed to know her way around a punch-bag, too...

He blinked, concern seeping into him as he tried to get back to the case in hand;

“Amy didn't mention where she was going at all?”

“Nope, just up and went.”

A new voice entered the conversation from the doorway;

“Ah, but we must check all possible clues, gentlemen!”

Audrey and 'Chuck' were now confronted by a whirlwind in tweed storming-in and circuiting the apartment.

“What the hell!”

Face winced, they were supposed to keep Murdoch in the van!

“First, we must check trivialities and, if necessary, discount them!”

“Stop it! Stop it-don't!”

Amy's cries fell on deaf ears as Statham gripped the buckles at the back of her jacket and, whirling like she'd seen hammer-throwers at the Scottish Highland games do, threw her into the pool.

The bound reporter managed to gulp a lungful of air before she hit the surface and descended beneath it. Desperately she tugged at her arms as if the water would have some loosening effect on the straitjacket or weaken it as if it was constructed of tissue-paper but it held as firmly as ever.

Her mind flew back to the childhood swimming lessons she'd had and tried to right herself to tread-water, the only thing that could save her from drowning without her arms to stroke.

Amy thrashed about in the water, blinking her eyes clear as her head broke the surface. Inside the canvas sleeves of the jacket her hands clenched and unclenched with the frustration of appendages deprived of their natural usefulness pinned, as they were to her sides.

Possibilities streamed through her brain. Was this it? Would she die here in this pool? Had they tired of her escape attempts so much that they would let her die here? Where was Statham, had he gone or was he still behind her? Furiously kicking at the water she remained facing away from where he had thrown her in. Turning to face her tormentor wasn't a necessity at the moment, staying afloat was!

There was a sharp jab in her back and she thought for a moment that the thug had got into the pool behind her but something snagged the straps at her back and she was tugged backwards, closer to the centre of the pool till there was another fumbling at her back. It didn't feel as if anyone was in the pool with her but more like she was being prodded with giant chop-sticks.

The whir of an electric motor sparking-up made her struggle to turn herself around in the water but before her cork-screw kicks had any effect, the straps at her back tightened as she lifted-up out of the water via the place's hoist.

The already-tight straitjacket squeezed her mercilessly now as the straps contracted under the strain of raising her sodden form out of the water. Her arms similarly were tugged even tighter around herself and the groin-strap he’d fastened in the van bit as her thighs cleared the water's surface. She hung, powerless.

With the hook close to her waist, she see-sawed, first her feet in the air, then her head... She turned slowly due to some twist in the cable and saw Statham come into view, grinning and holding a curtain-pole;

“Now how were you going to dry-off if I didn't hang you up, love?” He chuckled, snidely,

“Have a nice night, sweetheart.” He turned the lights off and left.

Amy didn’t even bother to struggle, what would be the point? She was in pain but struggling would make it worse and if she did get free she would just plummet into the water beneath her-what was the advantage? Silently, tears rolled down her cheeks...

The suspension of a nondescript green Dodge sedan creaked, its door was flung open and a tall, craggy man got out, stepping into the litter strewn back alley. His ears pricked-up as a late sixties’ black Triumph slid around the corner at the far end of the deserted lane and skidded to a halt. The meeting was on!

The tall man was unsure when he saw the woman that exited the TR4 though. She approached him;

“Colonel Decker, I presume?”

The military man tensed. He liked stability. He liked order but was now looking at someone he’d been ordered to work with who symbolised anything but!

“YOU are an agent with the FBI?”

She squinted mole-like into the sun and pulled out a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses, popping them on. She looked like that ‘Rocket Man’ singer-the limey;

“Yeah well, we all have our bad days...”

He looked her up and down. She looked like she just fell out of a night-club! Unkempt, frizzy hair framed her long face but the velvet jacket, boots and hot-pants were the icing on the cake!

He leaned closer;

“You’ve been drinking!”

“Not for,” she checked her watch, “... five hours, it’s all the better to fit in. You must have been pretty loaded not to have caught these guys in what-sixteen years?”

Decker deliberately dodged so she’d squint at the sun again and again. Anyone drunk on parade would get far worse! If only he could make her scrub this alley with a toothbrush!

In an attempt to be incognito he’d shucked his uniform and was clad in an awful, plaid sports-jacket and chinos. They felt alien to him, he was without his authority and superiority-he looked like a civilian;

“Smith, Peck and Barracus are extremely capable!”

“-and that’s why your superiors called-in the bureau? Let’s not kid ourselves Decker, you need us, you need me!”

Decker leaned in closer once more, growling under his breath;

“If you were under me-“

“If I was under you I’d have to be drunk AND stoned!”

It wasn’t the beginning of a beautiful friendship...

Stop That Plane!

Statham swaggered up the corridor away from the pool whistling. It amused him to keep her hung up but there were certainly other things on his mind that he would prefer to do to her, if it wasn’t for that old fart of course...

“Mr Statham..?”

He froze. It was his master’s voice!

“Yeah?” He asked without turning.

“The word is yes, the suffix Sir.”

The Cockney turned to see the silhouette behind him. Harris always wore that suit, maybe multiple suits, but all pressed, immaculate, identical.

“Yes... ‘Sir’?”

“That’s better. I was wondering... Miss Allen?”

“She’s in there.” He gestured toward the frosted doors to the pool and made to walk-on.

“I hope she hasn’t come to any harm?”

“Why not?”

“It would displease me.”

Statham turned back. He was an old geezer yes, but there was something dangerous about him. The Londoner had been in the forces and could recognise it. Was he in the army as well?

Something like that, something dangerous...

“She’s not dead, she isn’t in the water. She’s hanging up.”

“Indeed,” Harris nodded vaguely, then-“...you mentioned something she’d said before. It was something about help coming?”

The balding cockney frowned;

“It was just talk, weren’t it? That’s all.”

Sidney Harris had an obsessive quality about him and he didn’t like leaving anything to chance;

“She is a journalist. Someone may try to trace her here. What exactly did she say?”

“Just that she ‘had friends’ that’s all.” The east-ender indicated with his index fingers for parenthesis.

Harris sighed;

“Once again, EXACTLY.”

“Okay, okay,” Statham considered, “...she said, I’ve got powerful friends, they’re going to come here and raze this place to the ground-I hope they let me watch.”

The man in the immaculate black suit frowned;

“She actually said ‘raze’?” He pursed his lips. “That actual word?”

The thug nodded as Harris looked-back to the pool doors,

“Intriguing...”

The night was still, quiet and Barney Hendrikksen left what he comically called ‘The Control Tower’ (in reality a wooden shack with a radio) to patrol the small airfield he ran.

There really wasn’t any need for security though ten years ago he caught some guys trying to help themselves to fuel;

“-Pretty quiet since that,” he considered, but continued to patrol between the few aircraft there and lanced-out the beam of his flashlight between the odd Piper & Cessna, “...as quiet as the grave.” Then he lapsed into fantasy, imagining himself to be in an old war movie or two,

“Looks like Jerry’s taken the night off, lads! By Heaven I’ll be glad when this dem war is over!”

Barney settled-down on a crate, opened his lunch box and started on his sandwiches. Halfway through his third ham and mustard he sniffed the air and stopped, putting the thing down. What was that? He pushed his baseball cap back and stood up, momentarily changing sides;

“You know somezing Hans? I too, will be gled when zis var is ofer. I long for my lieblings und my cabin in ze woods-“

There it was again, that smell. Burning! Something was on fire! He’d have to check the fuel first. He’d certainly know it if that went up!

Hurriedly, he broke into a jog and began to use long-idle muscles to find the cause of the smell. There were no flames anywhere, not yet, anyway but these things never got better!

Suddenly he saw it, a glow coming from the entry road and breathed a sigh of relief that the fire wasn’t on his field!

He could see a car out there, between the trees;

“Oh boy, I’d better see if anyone’s hurt!”

He scrambled for the shack, grabbed the first-aid kit and extinguisher and jogged out to the burning vehicle. Flames licked out of the open rear windows but he could see two shapes in the front, upright but not moving. As he closed in on the vehicle he thought this strange. The fire began to roar and he closed in the last fifty yards, breathlessly. By now, the fire had taken root and there was no way he could put it out if he tried, but those poor people in the front!

“Wait a minute...” Peering through the smoke and flames he could see the reason they were upright but didn’t move, “Mannequins? Who’d burn mannequins in a car?”

Hendrikksen felt an awful suspicion forming and looked down, to see a sheet of paper under a rock which he lifted to his eyes;

“Sorry, we’ll bring it back.” He read. “What the-“

Above the noise of the crackling fire there was another, more familiar sound-the cough of a Kaufman starter, followed by another and two bellowing roars, the sound of which he was quite familiar with;

“NO! Not my DC3!”

He struggled to run back but a stitch had now taken residence in his side and (luckily, with his back to it) the wreck behind him exploded, throwing him to the ground. Barney Hendrikksen watched hopelessly as his beloved old plane taxied to the end of the runway before pirouetting and facing him to roar up the oiled dirt and soar majestically into the air, over his head.

The Captain’s Table

Amy awoke to the judder of humming machinery as the winch carriage slid her left, away from the pool’s surface and over its tiled sides. Soaking and squashed, she blinked her eyes open as she was lowered to the floor surrounding the pool.

She hadn’t even been aware of falling asleep but must have, though not for long (it was still night-time outside the huge, Georgian windows) and she felt shattered, her eyes burning at the pain and how long she’d been awake now.

With a jolt, she collapsed to her knees as her still muddy feet encountered the floor and gasped with relief as the straps loosed from the tension of holding her aloft, sighing at the easing on her arms and ribs. Her throat was like the desert and she groaned at the straitjacket now seeming almost comfortable!

“Dear dear. Miss Allen you are going to have to learn not to antagonise my staff!”

Amy cringed at the cultured tones of the place’s manager.

“As you can see, one or two are rather impulsive. It is an unwise course of action...”

His black, patent leather shoes entered her field of vision and she glared at them, immaculate on the tiled floor.

The brunette whimpered with pain and exhaustion (also lack of food!) as he gripped her arms to lift her to her feet;

“Now, what do you say to a nice hot shower, a change into something a little more comfortable and some food, perhaps?”

“You know Hannibal, I never thought the old Burger switcheroo would still work on him!”

Smiling from the co-pilot’s chair their grey-haired leader lit another cigar;

“Yeah, good job too! We’ve done it so many times now that we can tell when he’s going to wake-up. You’d better get ready to scam us some wheels Face, for when he does!”

“You really think he’ll still buy it that we drove him up here?” Asked Peck as he struggled against Barracus’s weight with the giant slumping into him as the plane banked.

Their Colonel considered;

“He’d better.” Then he took another look at his lieutenant and frowned. “What’s up, Face? If you cause too many wrinkles on that we won’t be able to use it, I’m the character-part actor around here!”

“Yes Mr Peck,” agreed Murdoch from the pilot’s seat, still in his deer-stalker,”...this team has need of your visage, unburdened with lines of age as it were...”

Templeton Peck resisted the urge to check for lines in a mirror;

“It’s just that girl, Audrey Dial...”

“Doesn’t ring true, huh?”

“It’s the name. Amy didn’t mention her but it rings a bell somewhere!”

Murdoch voiced his opinion;

“Mayhap you are thinking of a performer or an actress of the stage or screen?”

“-Could be, Face. The only Audrey I know of is Audrey Hepburn though.”

“Yeah, I guess...”

Colonel John Smith then beamed as he noticed a battered, auto radio/cassette player under the instruments;

“Hey Face, hand us those tapes...”

Despite herself, Amy was actually cheering up and almost didn’t mind the company at the other end of the long table. Harris had taken her from the pool and escorted her to a room. He’d loosened the straitjacket till she could ease out of it. Despite any fears she may have had, he merely indicated the en suite shower and informed her of a previous member of staff whose room it had been and that there was a full wardrobe.

“I’ll return in twenty minutes, when I hope you will have dressed for dinner.” He urged.

Amy Allen turned-up the heat of the shower as hot as she could (who knew when she would next get a chance?) and sighed blissfully as the hot needles scoured every inch of her body, dirt streaming down her legs in rivulets. There was a selection of soaps and shower gels plus shampoos and she tried them all, her hands creating a lather whilst they rode over the bumps and troughs caused by the jackets straps and her period of suspension;

“What is this? What’s it all for?” The reporter pondered. It was true Harris couldn’t get much lower in her opinion.

She exited the bathroom and tried the main door once again-still locked. She’d heard the tumblers click after he’d left her here but decided to avail her self of the facilities while she could. What did they have planned for her though?

The windows had bars like so many of the place’s so she slid open the doors to view what was in the wardrobe and was pleasantly surprised;

“Nice...”

Whose room had it been? There were dresses of every description, lingerie and shoes! Amy rarely had a chance to dress in such finery and availed herself of something suitably Ginger Rogers, first putting on some non-binding underwear, opting for a champagne camisole and stockings together with strappy, open-toed shoes. She lingered over the normally irksome task of her makeup at the movie-like, mirrored table-it seemed to alleviate the brutality of the last (what?) two months here, doing such a fluffy, pointless thing.

Harris tapped at the door, unlocked it at her call and then guided her to a feast she thought she’d never see again!

“I said come on, will you?”

Face was trying to run to their transport but Murdoch insisted on doing a Holmsian stroll, cape a-flapping.

“My good fellow, I see no reason for your haste. We shall simply check-out this information!” He cried, waving the sheet of paper under his friend’s eyes.

“Murdoch, Murdoch! Look, thanks for the help but couldn’t you be a little more inconspicuous? Couldn’t you be a little quieter instead of crying-out AHA! Like that?”

Murdoch began stepping up his pace but still clung to his new persona;

“I’m afraid your friend Murdoch is out at the moment and the Great Sherlock Holmes demands an audience! I, however see your concern-the young lady...”

Despite himself, Peck paused and remonstrated with his cohort;

“Yeah, yeah- it’s the girl alright-the girl!”

“You distrusted her sudden appearance at Miss Allen’s apartment?”

“Yeah, I did! Look,” The Faceman pointed whilst checking his pocket for the tapes he’d snatched before ‘The Great Detective’ had interrupted, “...there’s the van, okay?”

They both broke into a jog and charged for the side-door of the vehicle, clambering-in.

“There really was no need to worry,” admonished Murdoch/Holmes, “...I made certain to remove the top two pages of Miss Allen’s notebook...”

‘Audrey Dial’ muttered an expletive as she slammed down each level of the fire-escape. Amy Allen seemed to get too many exclusives on The ‘A’ Team and for this reason she’d paid her apartment a visit to learn from the building’s super that she hadn’t been seen in two months.

She took a look around but then began toying with the punch-bag before grabbing something a little more suitable to wear to give it a decent working-over;

“Okay Colonel Decker,” she said, squaring-up to the bag in a silver leotard that she’d borrowed from the wardrobe, “...here’s where you get yours!”

The military man had annoyed her, she’d bristled at his barbed remarks and before she knew it she was glowing, pummelling the bag with a vengeance!

Jab, roundhouse and kick she’d hit the thing with, but still it smirked at her with that craggy face. So what if she liked a drink-it didn’t do Philip Marlowe any harm!

She was almost exhausted when ‘Blondie’ entered, providing a welcome distraction but she had to come up with something quick about why she was in his girlfriend’s apartment.

But then, hang on-wasn’t Amy going-out with that architect-Blake? What the hey, it was nothing to do with her if the girl liked what the English called ‘a bit of rough’-still, those blue eyes...

Of course, then that nut in the Sherlock Holmes outfit turned-up and began storming around the place after ‘clues’ with Blondie trying to calm him down or usher him out. Could they be them? There were supposed to be three but wasn’t the fourth, Murdoch supposed to be institutionalised? Certainly, neither of these two were black or fifty but this new arrival looked like he should be locked-up...

Then the nut in tweed had come-up with a notebook, “Aha!”-He’d cried, tearing the page-off as Chuck grabbed him and there was a clatter from the bureau. Blondie steered him to the door;

“I’m sorry but my brother is having one of his episodes!”

Then they were gone, out the door and the brunette grabbed the rest of the notebook off the floor. There was something poking-out from behind the piece of furniture and she scooped it up. A cassette-tape! Peering at the surface of the dusty writing desk (this place hadn’t been cleaned in a while but then, what had become of Miss Amy Allen?) she could see patches the size of cassettes-he’d grabbed them! ‘Chuck’ had grabbed them along with that page!

“A pencil!” She squealed, “I need a pencil!” She tore open drawers and got a stub-she rubbed it over the remaining page; “Buck-Back-Beckman?” There was another word,

“Foundry?” She peered closely but it didn’t work, it was too faint-the nut must have torn off more than the top page!

“My clothes, my clothes, damn it!” she gasped as she ran for the bedroom, knowing she couldn’t follow them in spandex! She vaulted over the bed grabbing her pants and yanked them up, swung into her shirt, jacket and shoulder holster and ran for the door, then paused.

Audrey ran back and grabbed the cassette. She turned the tape over in her hand and written on the back in felt-tip was that name again-‘BECKMAN’. Audrey thought better of the single, creaky elevator. It had to be still in use by Holmes and Watson;

“FIRE-ESCAPE!”

She ran back, opened the window and swung-out, pounding-down floor after floor.

Amy had been escorted to the dining-room. Her arm in Harris’s, she almost immediately moved to the fireplace to warm herself. After her escape through the forest and night over the pool she thought she’d never get warm again!

“Dinner is served.” Her host proclaimed and led her to her seat at the table.

He’d even got some of the attendants and nurses to serve the food, they’d started with soup. It was just a thin Chicken-Noodle but still warmed her from the inside and prepared her for the main course.

All the while Sidney Harris chatted, almost as if they were friends! She’d told herself that she wouldn’t drink but couldn’t help herself. Glass after glass went down her throat as much for the pleasure as for the pain-relieving properties. Her sides, shoulders and elbow-joints still ached from her previous bondage and she was anxious to numb it as well as fill her stomach.

“Miss Allen, you delight me in your resilience and cheer in adverse circumstances-“

It was funny, she hadn’t been aware of it herself;

“-tell me, you must have many friends...”

“Ooh, friends, yeah I’ve got friends, friends like you wouldn’t believe...”

Amy Allen began to chuckle, then it grew into a full-fledged laughing fit as he stared at her.

She laughed harder and harder.

Harris paused then pushed a sliver of beef into his mouth as she cackled. It was the one time she actually looked as if she belonged in the place but it was mere hysteria caused by her release and a little something he’d spiked her drink with. He gave her a head of steam and she shovelled some beef and potatoes into her mouth before moving back to the fire and bathing her back and rear in its warmth. Moving unsteadily back to the table, she speared another potato and dropped it into her mouth then moved to the window. The reporter looked out over Oregon’s woods and smiled to herself;

“They’re out there and they’re coming...”

“Who are out there? Who’s coming?” He enquired softly, suddenly at her side.

Amy grinned to herself in recollection of her unstoppable cohorts;

“He rode the elephants and smokes fat cigars, his friend has a bad attitude, one is just a face and the other is on planet Murdoch!”

She felt his hands on her shoulder tense and then they were snatched away. Harris glided across to the intercom, pressed down and announced;

“Miss Allen has finished her meal...”

“Ooh boy,” Amy giggled, “...the dessert course!”

The double-doors behind her opened and she turned, only to have the zip tugged down at the back of her dress and it pool around her feet;

“We wouldn’t want to crease that lovely frock would we, my dear?”

Advancing on her were two burly nurses with yet another straitjacket, though this one appeared to be fashioned in shiny, pink rubber;

“No, please don’t!”

“I hope you don’t mind, it’s an experimental model we’ve been asked to road-test.” Harris offered.

The brunette gasped as she staggered-back, tripping over her dress and falling on her behind;

“Not again, please!”

Seek, Locate, Acquire!

Barney was amazed as an old Charger bounced between the gate-posts of his field and slew to a stop in front of his office. A gal with frizzy hair jumped out and similarly charged up to him;

“FBI! That plane-“

“Boy that was quick, I only just phoned in! You people are amazing!”

Audrey waved him quiet before continuing;

“Who was in it?”

“Well,” he considered, “...the people who stole it...”

Damn it, she’d just missed them! Luckily, after scrambling off the bottom ladder of the fire escape she’d sprinted around to the front of Amy’s apartment block to see the incongruous pair jogging down the street. They’d passed her old Triumph when suddenly the fabled, fat tyred black van had pulled-up, into which they’d dived. She tore up to her sports, vaulted into it and gave chase.

Unfortunately, after a low-key pursuit around block after block (during which she’d played some of the tape) she seemed to have lost them till she saw the unmistakeable shape of the thing in a parking-lot. She’d entered, parked and popped the tape out before drawing her gun, advancing on it only to find it empty. She jogged back to the TR4 only to find four flat tyres and four guys crammed into a station wagon making a getaway!

Audrey commandeered the Dodge from two snarling teens and kept the ‘wagon in sight as they left the city behind.

Amy Allen’s voice was a constant companion, talking to her out of the stereo. Once she thought she’d lost them but then figured that the outward direction they were heading to must have something to do with finding their friend, not necessarily escape. She had a grudging admiration for these guys. They had loyalty boil-dyed into them-they’d never left a man behind;

“Here’s hoping they feel the same about a girl!” Audrey surmised, having gained a vague destination from the single tape they’d missed. True, she could try to take them on her own but reading-up on their past escapades and resume’ she didn’t think it would be that clear-cut a victory for her;

“Would be quite a feather in my cap though...”

Amy Allen had to be some sort of civilian liason for them, almost another member of the team and must be in trouble!

The reporter had mentioned on the tape that she was heading to Oregon, the name The Beckman Foundation came up but they couldn’t drive all the way there, time might be of the essence! The airfield! They were heading-out to that old airfield, and now she was, too!

“Have you got a chopper here?” The FBI woman demanded of the place’s owner as she looked around, fervently.

“Well yeah,” he admitted, “... but I ain’t losing any more aircraft tonight!”

She flashed her ID at him;

“This says you are!”

“-Audrey Dial, of course!” Face admitted with some shame, “It’s my favourite movie, too!”

Hannibal groaned, they’d been hearing this since they left the plane at a short airfield near a logging camp.

‘Charade’ starring Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn was the film where Grant played a charming con-man with Carson Dial as one of his aliases and Audrey was, as ever the lovely Audrey...

“Okay Face, just can it will you?” Hannibal requested, “We’ve heard this before!”

Templeton Peck chuckled to himself and concentrated on the driving as the pickup’s wipers batted away the flurries of snow that had begun to fall from the sky. The liberated truck bounced and slid over the slushy track while B.A. still slept in the back and Murdoch tried to keep him upright.

On the journey from Amy’s apartment B. A. had spotted they were being followed, nodding at the rear view mirror;

“Hey, any of you know anyone with a black Triumph?”

“Why’s that, B. A.?”

“Looks like we picked-up a tail...”

Hannibal frowned as he checked-out the old sports in the mirror of the van;

“Lose ‘em, Sergeant!”

They’d then abandoned the van and doubled-back, dealing with the TR4 before grabbing another car.

Amy had dictated her intentions of investigating ‘The Beckman Foundation’-a private institution run by a Doctor Harris. The rest of the recordings ended abruptly, there must have been another that either Face had missed or Amy hadn’t recorded yet. Amy had discovered that patients being referred to the place seemed to have a habit of changing their wills with the proceeds now going to said institution and had planned an expose’. Had she been dealt with?

As one, the men hoped she was still okay.

The truck bounced and juddered further along the forest road, the dense foliage bringing back not-so-happy memories for the group...

Harris stared out at the woods surrounding his castle. Though he was definitely here and now, in his mind it was well over a decade ago and another continent out there, jungle-noises, chopper blades and Jeep engines vying for dominance, and the heat...

Could it be them, really? You didn’t have to be a crossword whiz to figure-out that Hannibal took elephants over the Alps and he knew of only one person who’d assumed that nom-de-gere! The same person was also fond of cigars-Smith!

What would Smith do if he finally caught-up with him here? Sidney (formerly General) Harris had had a very comfortable life since ‘acquiring’ part of the contents of the bank of Hanoi, he’d even continued his acquisitiveness in civilian life, the proceeds of this in many scattered bank accounts but what good would all that money be to him if Smith and the others caught up with him here? Now it looked like he might have to flee before the men he’d helped frame for his and his friends’ actions arrived on his doorstep nearly two decades later;

“Perhaps I ought to have packed a bag?” He contemplated, wryly.

Suddenly, the door slammed open behind him as Statham burst in.

“Do you never knock, man?”

Harris then took-in the chief orderly’s unkempt look and his numerous cuts and bruises-he arched an eyebrow;

“Did Miss Allen give you some more trouble?”

The Cockney bared his teeth (revealing he was missing one) and snarled;

“There were these blokes at the bar-“

“Indeed? Really Mr Statham, you must learn to control your animal tendencies...”

“Shut it!” The younger man growled (to Harris’s outrage) “They were a heavy-mob right?

There were four of them, and the geezer in charge-“

“-A man in his fifties, greying-with a fat cigar?”

Statham frowned;

“Yeah, that’s right! Then some Redford lookalike and a black bloke with gold chains-“

Harris winced and looked again to the woods-were they out there now? “-to cap it all some nutter who thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes or something!”

This was it, they were here. They were coming! His voice was low, quiet almost to the point of being inaudible;

“May I ask what became of these gentlemen Mr Statham?”

“Stashed ‘em away, didn’t we! Reckon they were that reporter’s mates?”

Harris turned back in a flash, spitting at his subordinate;

“-Why, you stubble-headed booby! Of course they were her ‘mates’!

Amy had managed to evade the staff and jacket-funny how ‘track came back to you after all these years. She’d pounded-down the curiously-deserted corridors in her heels which seemed to have the benefit of de-fogging her brain. She recalled a lot of the staff seemed to disappear at night from time to time but where was there to go up here in the woods to drown your (and others’) sorrows?

She had to get out! She’d done it before in a straitjacket but whilst she was now free to move, she’d freeze out there in her underpants!

Clothes and transport, that’s what she needed! Would her car still be out there in the woods?

Whether it was or not there’d be no point making for it, it would be too risky! She’d have to get the keys to a van or something, but where did they keep them?

Amy Allen heard voices and clung to the wall behind her, semi masked by a fire-hose reel.

The voices faded again and she heaved a sigh of relief as the chill of the wall made itself felt through her camisole but then her eyes lit-up as she stared directly across the corridor to see a store-room door and quickly looked around;

“No one there...” -She tip-toed across to the door, found to her delight that it was open and concealed herself therein.

The reporter’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom but she figured that the place’s light wouldn’t be noticed against the glare of the brightly-lit corridor. She found the stubby switch and clicked-it on.

Amy was momentarily dazzled but blinking, she glanced around the shelves and grinned, seeing that apart from toilet paper and cleaning supplies there were also uniforms;

“They should have one in my size!” she surmised.

The Crew-Cab pickup they’d liberated from the loggers lurched off the road toward a bar/diner called Sid’s-the only sign of civilisation for miles. What with the golden glow coming from inside and the (now heavier) snow flurries framing it, the whole scene looked very seasonal.

The tired old truck had ground its way up the muddied track eliciting waking groans from B.

A. but now came to a juddering stop at the eaterie, its radiator steaming and Amy’s last tape long-finished in its deck.

“Are you losing your touch, Face? This thing is a dog!”

“I have to work with what I can get, Hannibal! I got us a vehicle near where we landed, okay?”

“Your larcenous friend speaks the truth, Colonel Smith. This carriage is the best he could procure for our use.”

Hannibal and Face exchanged a glance, Murdoch seemed to have been sucked-in deeper into this persona. How long would it take for him to shake it?

“We must, however make haste and gain directions to this Beckman Foundation,”

Murdoch/Holmes surmised, “...there is a damsel in probable distress that may need our assistance, the game’s afoot gentlemen!”

“There you are!” The woman in the Huey gasped as she saw the speck of the Dakota on the horizon and banked the elderly machine toward it;

“Only one course but I’ve still got it, it’s like riding a bike!”

The chopper lurched and dropped and she grappled with the controls, eventually righting the old Hog;

“Harder when you fall-off though!” Swiping a hand through her frizzy hair, she attempted a poor Hepburn, “I simply can’t stand outdated, Vietnam relics”

Having already contacted the civilian aviation authorities she’d told them to get in touch with the military on behalf of the FBI to let Decker know where the group were headed but she was going to need to put the thing down when she got there and wondered if the foundation had a helipad;

“Got to have enough space somewhere, then I’ll just wait it out for them...”

When the first punch hit home the Colonel had a mixture of feelings. There was of course the pain of the punch stabbing into his gut but other than that there was the sneaking suspicion that he would have been able to dodge it ten years ago. This was however tempered by his assumption that they’d hit pay-dirt. There was always the possibility that these folks didn’t like strangers but surely, they were getting-on well enough till directions to the Foundation had been broached?

The doors had creaked open as he, Face and Murdoch had entered to be greeted by a surprisingly vibrant atmosphere of laughter, the sizzle of steaks and onions and clinking of beer glasses.

When was the last time we had a night-out like this? Hannibal thought. The smells, noises and general bonhomie evoked grins from both he and his wing-man and to his surprise, his belly rumbled-he took another puff on his cigar to quell the pangs, Wong would feed them up when they got back but they had to find Amy. Would be nice to ‘sit a spell’ though...

Despite themselves, they began to join-in with the throng, even getting in on a game of darts with a displaced Londoner. Funny that, just throwing arrows at a board... Simple pleasures were usually the best. Then he’d dropped the B. F. Bomb and the atmosphere changed...

Their new friend had visibly tensed at the enquiry of the Foundation’s whereabouts but then grinned blandly before moving back to his friends to mutter with them whilst a surprisingly adroit Murdoch threw his cape over his shoulder, flinging his darts to score a double-top.

Hannibal grinned-anything that flies, anything that flies!

That was when the punch came. The Colonel staggered-back under the force as Face jumped at his attacker. Everything was a blur from then on. Face and the Cockney flew over a table whilst he and Murdock fought back to back attempting to defend themselves against the heavier numbers.

One of the Cockney’s friends charged at them to be met in the face by a barstool courtesy of Murdoch, and Hannibal smashed a table into another as Face rolled on the floor with their new ‘friend’.

Murdoch was grabbed by the arm, spun and slammed up against the bar, soon to be joined by the Colonel while Face put-up a valiant effort. The sheer weight of numbers was overwhelming, however. Two of Statham’s cronies held Face back whilst he was pummelled and thrown on the other two then all three disappeared under a mob, punching, kicking and snarling.

“Who are you? Why do you want to know how to get to the Foundation?” Statham growled between punches.

Hannibal was grabbed, along with the others and hoisted to his feet against the bar. Blood trickled from his hairline to his jaw;

“Me and my two boys heard the fishing was good up there...”

“Yeah,” Face agreed, “...a long time since we had real catfish!”

A man built like a grizzly in a check shirt slammed a fist into Face’s gut whilst Hannibal received another from Statham. He wheezed and sagged but straightened back up;

“You’re an amateur kid,” -he gasped, “... I’ve had this from the professionals!”

Punch after punch followed. Then the door opened again and the cold rushed-in from outside;

“Hey Hannibal, where are we? How did we get here?”

Sergeant Bosco ‘bad attitude’ Baracus frowned as he took in the scene before him, Hannibal, Face and Murdoch were up against the bar, bloodied and beaten with a crowd around them, now turning to look at him with definite intent.

The growl seemed to begin deep in his stomach but rose through his throat till it began to percolate out of his mouth. They could all hear it and Colonel John ‘Hannibal’ Smith began to grin...

Amy Allen eased her way out of the store cupboard, pushing her stiff Nurse’s hat down on her head, wishing it was a wimple-that would have covered her up more!

She made her way down the corridor to the front of the building, forced to wiggle in the too-tight nurse’s uniform. She’d seen a discarded clipboard and held it as a suitable prop, sometimes sticking it up in front of her face and pretending to write on it when others approached.

Figuring that the vehicle keys should be behind the front desk, she made her way to it via a circuitous route. Luckily, there was no-one behind the desk and she shot behind it to rummage in the drawers.

No keys were in the top one so she stooped lower and lower, the seams of her appropriated disguise straining.

“Aha!” She gasped as the lowest drawer gave-up its secrets. Each fob had the registration of the Foundation vehicle it applied to on it but to be safe (and ensure no-one gave chase) she grabbed all of them!

“Hello darling, did you miss me?”

Amy winced as she turned to face Statham. She threw the keys in his face and turned to run but he was flanked by the other two who’d previously turned-up with the jacket and her attempt to run was hampered by the tight uniform and heels. The reporter was tackled to the ground, rolled on her back and Statham (with obvious relish) began popping the fasteners on the front of her outfit.

Webb, a butch-looking female sat on her legs whilst her arms were dragged out of the sleeves of her uniform as she spat and grappled with the Londoner and the other attendant.

To Amy’s ire and protestations the snug, sticky sleeves of the new rubber straitjacket were tugged up her arms till her fingers located in tubes moulded into the ends of it’s hated, sealed sleeves;

“There you are, darling. Snug as a bug in a rug!” The words came out with a whistle through the gap left by his missing tooth.

Amy’s struggles became almost irrelevant as the pink monstrosity continued its sticky embrace. Her arms were now through the front and side-loops and she was flipped for the back to be fastened and sleeves joined behind her;

“If you didn’t have these helpers, I’d have done that to your face, you cretin!” She screamed as she struggled on her back on the floor. He glowered at the stricken woman as a variety of press-fasteners and buckles sealed her tightly into the kinky-looking restraints. A thick groin-strap was riveted to the inside of its front which was tugged through her legs and snapped to the back of the straitjacket like a wetsuit.

The entire thing was extremely tight and binding. With the canvas one it was fastened, but didn’t cling like this monstrosity did and Amy struggled with it, her arms snapping back into place as she tugged at them. There was nothing static to strain against and it clung snugly, counteracting her every move. The construction of it was meant to exhaust her and presumably to fit any size with its elasticity.

Statham hoisted her up by the shoulders’ lifting eyes and walked her to a full length mirror on the wall;

“There you are love, now don’t you look sweet, all wrapped-up for Christmas?”

Amy winced at how she looked, wrapped in shiny pink rubber with high heels and stockings-she gritted her teeth, saying nothing. Then the reporter peered closer, taking-in the thug’s battered face and missing tooth. She smiled sweetly and turned to him;

“They’re here, aren’t they?” She ventured with a grin.

Statham’s lip curled;

“I had some trouble in a bar earlier that’s all. Tell you what,” he suggested, pulling something out of his jacket pocket, “...if it is them, lets make it difficult for them to find you!”

With that, he whipped a matching, pink rubber hood through the air to open it and began to drag it down over her head as she squealed obscenities at him that she’d never have gotten published in an article.

The thing was crushingly tight and had to be rolled-down over her hair like a bathing-cap as she began to scream. At first, her eyes were obscured, and with the thing halfway down her face Statham forced a sponge-covered rubber bung in her mouth that simultaneously held her jaws open but sealed her mouth shut. Any further noises except a muted moaning were stopped as the hood was dragged-down over her head under her jaw-line and laced-up.

To her horror the thing was press-studded into place under the jacket’s collar. She was never going to get out of it!

The eye-holes in the obscene thing were now in line with her eyes and she took-in her new look with disgust that she had no way to express-she looked like a bald, pink alien. The tight cowl showing no facial features apart from her eyes!

Statham put his head on her shoulder, mockingly and whispered into perforations at her ear;

“There you are, your own Mum wouldn’t recognise you now! What an arse though!”-He emphasised this by slapping her enthusiastically on the backside. The bound reporter arched backwards in outrage but could do nothing to retaliate as he passed her to the other two, “Go on, you have a feel!”

The other male attendant, Garrow grabbed her just as enthusiastically and slapped her too.

This time you could hear the vague moan of the stricken woman, then her eyes shot to Webb who gripped her behind tightly but then declared;

“I prefer her legs!”-before rubbing her hands up and down her prisoner’s limb before twanging her garter-strap, “Can I have her for later?”

Amy was silent but her eyes bulged behind her mask.

“Nah, sorry Spider,” Statham said regretfully. ‘Spider’ Webb gave him a churlish look which seemed to suggest that she was upset he’d reserved this leggy one for himself, “...we’ve got to hide her away. I don’t think her friends will get out from where they’re stashed but we can’t take any chances.”

Amy thought furiously about what he meant. It had to be Hannibal and the boys, but what had happened to them?

She kicked-out at the woman before trying to run away again but ran-out of steam halfway down the corridor. High heels and a pink rubber straitjacket and hood-what was she thinking?

Hearing the laughter from behind her, Amy had one final flurry of struggling with the obscene wrappings and then turned to face her captors.

“No, go-on love. I dig a floorshow!” Statham chuckled, his eyes on the woman that looked as though she’d been forced into a sausage skin.

With a sigh, Statham said;

“Come on. Let’s get her stashed away.” And they advanced on the anonymous female...

WE NEED A MONTAGE!

Amy travelled down to the bowels of Harris’s domain, slung over Statham’s shoulder in an undignified fireman’s lift. Suddenly, all the lights went out, something that almost made her attempt to ask why-the bung in her mouth took care of that though...

“That’s odd...” Admitted Statham and paused as somewhere a diesel generator coughed into life and dim, flickering, emergency lighting blinked into existence.

“Webb, Garrow-see if you can find-out from Harris what’s going on!”

Amy felt a hot hand run-up her leg and a slap on the behind as the orderly regretfully made her way back upstairs, accompanied by the other one.

Amy heard a key rattle in a rusted lock as the Cockney carried her into a musty-smelling cell and dropped her onto a thin mattress that felt cold and damp through her stockings, before making for the door;

“Ta-ta, love. See you later...”

The door creaked closed, leaving her desperately trying to right herself on to her feet. Though she knew her limitations, she tried to make a noise but only a faint moaning escaped the featureless pink hood as she wriggled and stretched at her rubber prison-she couldn’t even be heard outside the door, let alone on the ground floor above!

Harvey toasted himself in front of the propane fire as he looked-out at the snow plummeting-down out of the sky. Luckily, there were plenty of rations in the stores but he was beginning to worry about those guys in the barn. Would they be okay? He’d have to check on them later.

Though he was perfectly warm in here, just the sight of the snowstorm outside chilled him. He took another sip from his hip flask.

Glowering at his second in command, Decker bit his tongue as Brewer fought with the controls of the four wheel drive. It was true the conditions were treacherous but just the thought that they were so close, so tantalisingly close...

This amorphous, white barrier between them was making him crazy though!

“I’m sorry about our speed sir,” Brewer said as they ground their way, inch by inch up the hill, “...but we want to get there in one piece!”

Decker just scowled, not trusting himself to give a decent answer.

Audrey squinted through the slot she’d rubbed in the misty, frozen screen with her hand, trying to see the building with the lights that had been there before;

“Where are you, where are you?” She urged as if wishing could make the ghostly vision appear once more.

Suddenly, there it was! The huge building was directly in front of her and she was approaching it at fifteen feet high! Panicking, she pushed all the controls forward and the Huey dropped like a stone, landing on its skids jarringly. It slid along the snow almost to the gaping front door, just missing an ornamental fountain and she gasped as it scraped to a stop, the blades whipping around, almost at the stonework;

“Hell!”

Then she began to giggle, she’d made it, she was here! The woman in the baggy suit gurgled with delight that she had managed to pilot the unfamiliar chopper all the way here and before (she hoped) the criminals she needed to pick-up;

“As soon as I get a chance I have to get a shower!”

The rotors swung slower and slower and she booted the door open, unprepared for the wind-chill factor as she battled against it and the snow in her eyes to hold it open and get out.

She felt a tremendous sense of unease though. Why WERE all the lights out? Why was the door open?

“Like the damn Marie Celeste!” she gasped into the wind and crouched under the blades to make her way toward the creepy, gothic building.

The massive machine looked like some sort of heavily modified wheeled loader but with a mixture of saw blades mounted on arms on the front and log grabs attached. It was up on blocks but the huge wheels were stacked against the wall in the corner, they had no tyres but instead were solid steel with ‘teeth’ or cones for tread, like a garbage crawler’s.

Baracus crossed over to it and climbed up onto the axle to hoist the hood and view the engine.

He inspected it from outside and then sniffed at the oil filler cap to check it hadn’t been cooked or seized. There wasn’t a battery but some were in the corner near the wheels, fizzing as they were charging;

“Maybe Hannibal, maybe...”

The team’s wheel-man scrubbed at a nameplate on the behemoth’s side with his sleeve revealing the legend BLAINE;

“Aww Hannibal, I ain’t gettin’ in no Blaine!”

The radio in Decker’s struggling Jeep crackled and he took it whilst Brewer fought with the wheel;

“Decker?”

“Thought I’d let you know Colonel, there was a bust-up at a diner up on the mountain earlier, four strangers-“

Decker chewed his lip;

“It’s them, I know it’s them! Are they at this Beckman place?”

“That’s the thing Colonel. It seems these guys stole a truck from some loggers and then started a fight at the place...”

Decker gritted his teeth, silently willing the man on the other end to speed-up.

“Anyway, the loggers caught them and have them tied-up at their camp.”

Decker beamed at Brewer then demanded;

“Where is it? Where is this logging camp?”

“Well, it’s on the same left turning you have to take to get to the institution but is a lot closer, only about a mile after the turning.”

“Thank you son!”

Decker replaced the radio’s hand-set, grinning all over his face, if he could have got out, jumped-up and clicked his heels, he would! Well, maybe not-but he might have ordered someone to do it for him...

Audrey jogged head-down for the doorway of the big building under the slowly-rotating blades of the Huey but then suddenly there was a muzzle-flash from the darkness and a bullet whizzed past her ear!

She dived sideways behind the marble fountain and another shot loosed a chip of it past her other ear.

Was it them? Were they here now, already? The wind howled and the FBI woman’s teeth began to chatter as she reached for her gun;

“Damn it, it’s not fair!” she stuttered. She’d been hoping that she would have gotten a warm welcome and perhaps something hot to eat and drink when she got here but now, here she was, shivering in her thin suit in the snow after that uncomfortable flight and someone shooting at her.

How had they gotten here before her? Surely they’d had to ditch that DC3 somewhere before getting here in something wheeled? She’d just flown straight here and landed on the lawn! Was it them?

Then, the brunette became aware of a noise, no-a voice shouting something at her from inside the doorway. It was a man’s voice but it was hard to make-out over the wind. It sounded like someone scared and pleading for lenience or help.

She sat in the wet snow, her teeth chattering with her back to the fountain. There was no way she was sticking her head up from behind cover! She grabbed a handful of hair and dragged it away from her ear to hear better but it didn’t do much good.

Across from her sat a group of vehicles, big green vans, a bus with chicken-wired windows & the place’s logo on the side and three cars. Her eyes were drawn to a black Rolls Royce, the snow settling on it uniformly. As well as the prestige vehicle there was a fifties port-holed Buick, black with flames. Curiously, between them was a tiny Renault, this one however had snow settling on it everywhere but the hood showing it had recently been driven. It looked out of place between the stately limousine, the Buick and the works transport...

PRACTICAL MECHANICS

Hannibal dipped the oil, having poured the last of the cans into the engine whilst Face busied himself manually pumping fuel into the thing’s tanks and B.A. used a wheel-brace to tighten the nuts on the final wheel. The team had moved so fast, it was almost a montage! All of this activity was accompanied by a frenetic drum-beat.

“Fool, stop drumming on that hub cap with those wrenches and help me over here!”

Headlamps lanced through the snowstorm into the yard as Harvey watched and three military Jeeps in hardtops skidded into view;

“What the hell..?”

Suddenly, there were soldiers everywhere, swarming out of the trucks and bursting into the office.

The grunts filed-in and formed a phalanx either side of the entrance whilst a tall, grizzled veteran strode toward him;

“Are you in charge here?”

The man was frozen with fear at the incongruity of the situation. He took another swig from his flask and managed a sloppy salute;

“Yes Sir!”

Decker liked that-order.

“I understand you may have some prisoners we are looking for, where are they?”

Harvey blinked and pointed vaguely through the door;

“We got them out there in the barn, tied up.”

Decker narrowed his eyes as he stared at the wooden shack with the dilapidated crew-cab next to it. He popped the cover off his holster, feeling a sense of deja-vu;

“Is there... any equipment in there..?”

“Some I guess, nothing that works, though.”

Then there was a noise, they all heard it. It was a starter spinning-over a large engine and Decker swung on the shorter man with an evil look in his eye;

“Whats in there?”

“Just the Blaine, I guess...”

“The Blaine?”

With a ferocious bellow the sound of a huge engine revving-up came to them across the yard and Decker started shouting orders;

“Get out there and cover the barn-doors! Use the Jeeps for shields and shoot at whatever comes out of that barn!”

The soldiers ran out, got behind their vehicles and trained their guns on the doors as the angry-sounding engine revved higher and higher.

Decker squinted as the engine note dipped, whatever it was had just been put into gear, drive had been taken up!

Four of the grunts ran to the doors against Decker’s orders and levelled their guns at them when suddenly shrieking saw-blades appeared, cutting through the hefty wood from the ground-up.

Still chained together the doors fell, leaving their hinged edges still attached to the barn and the soldiers had to scatter as an enormous something rumbled out of the shed.

“Fire at will, men!” Screamed Decker and they began loosing-off shots at the tall, indistinct shape. “Shoot at the tyres, shoot at the tyres!” He screamed.

The enormous machine slew in front of the pickup and from the other side, Murdoch jumped-down, snatching the large tool bag with their weapons and ammo from the back and passing it up into the cab before getting back up, himself.

Brewer riposted;

“It doesn’t have tyres, sir!”

“What do you say we turn the lights on, B.A.?” Yelled Hannibal from the cramped cab and with a grunted affirmation their driver hit the halogens as it roared around towards the troops..

Suddenly, Decker and the others were blinded by the vehicle’s enormously powerful lighting rig as it swivelled away from the barn toward the Jeeps;

“Say,” B.A. commented, “...isn’t that Decker down there?”

“Sure looks like,” vouched Face, “...lets give him a show, shall we?”

“Yeah!”

Both arms extended on the front of the massive piece of machinery as they scythed through the Jeep’s tops. Glass and fibre glass splintered and shrieked as the vehicles shuddered and tipped. One ended up on its side as the behemoth trundled-out through the gates and onto the track heading to the Beckman Foundation.

“You know if we ever do go to trial Hannibal, this stuff isn’t going to work in our favour...” -sighed Face.

“Who the hell were those guys?” Harvey demanded.

“The ‘A’ Team!” Growled Decker as he looked at the wrecked Jeeps he’d requisitioned and spat at the ground.

“DAMN IT!” Cried Harvey with disappointment as he withdrew and waved a tatty notebook under the Colonel’s nose. “I even had my autograph book on me!”

Keeping the fountain between her and the open door, Audrey crept over to the Renault and moved along the side of it to get to the rear. It seemed a bit Hollywood but could she set it rolling or drive it through the doorway? A cursory glance had shown that the keys were still in it. Fair enough, there couldn’t be many car thefts this far out in the woods unless her estimate of the sophistication of grizzly civilisation was sorely inaccurate! However, the driver’s window was halfway down despite its recent use and snow had started to drift inside-odd.

The woman placed her .38 on the chic little hatchback’s roof and cupped her hands around her mouth-what she wouldn’t give for a bullhorn!

“Who is that? Who’s there?” She shouted against the wind. “I’m FBI! You’re committing a felony firing that weapon at me!”

At anyone, actually-she thought, but she had to state her case and the position the shooter was putting themselves in.

Something was shouted out of the doorway, it sounded like a question or someone’s exclamation of surprise and then a dapper, grey-haired man in a dark suit walked into the light, his hands raised.

Audrey sighed, quite a feat with chattering teeth and scooped her gun off the Le Car to warily approach the place.

The monster of a vehicle churned its way through the snow and mud with ease. Strangely, it was the long, clear, straight stretches of road that it had trouble with. Hinged in the middle with its steering comprising of hydraulic rams on either side, it swerved and wobbled alarmingly and any real speed was beyond it!

B.A. scowled through the screen as the huge wiper made short shrift of the blizzard, his mood lifted somewhat by the distance he’d got out of Murdoch’s pipe when throwing it out of the door after their pilot had tried to light it. Murdoch was subdued.

The lighting rig atop the roof blazed-out along the road, though visibility was low with the snowfall and from a distance the thing looked like some crazy, fantastical depiction of a dragon moving over the land, its eyes afire.

“Hannibal,” Face ventured in his Colonel’s ear in the cramped cockpit, “...if Amy is at this Beckman Foundation and we do find her, exactly HOW are we going to get away? Decker’s back there,” he nodded over his shoulder, “...and this thing isn’t going to make it all the way to Canada!”

“Yeah Hannibal,” agreed B.A., “...what do we do to get away? This mission could be a dead-end!”

“Don’t worry m’boys,” their elder offered in his best W. C. Fields’ Mr Macawber,

“...something’s bound to turn up!”

The others sighed, unconvinced.

Decker had ordered his men to remove what was left of the Jeep’s cold weather gear and dutifully, they dragged the remains of the hardtops to one side leaving the vehicles uncovered, the two remaining on their wheels, that was;

“Come on men, are we soldiers or are we soldiers?”

His men looked at each other, shivering in the snow and contemplating the road ahead with dread in their new convertibles...

Steam snaked-up off the seat of the FBI woman’s pants as she stood in front of the blazing fire-this was more like it!

“I’m so sorry madam, please accept my apologies” Harris said, trying to placate her with a plate of chicken drumsticks.

The (now rapidly warming) woman took them greedily and began to devour one with a moan of satisfaction-this was more like it.

“As I have said, some of my staff were involved in a fight with some dangerous armed men in a local bar who seemed to be intending on coming here. I mistook you for them, I’m so sorry.”

Audrey sighed as she thumbed some chicken grease off her chin and swallowed before offering;

“Yeah, we know all about them-The ‘A’ Team, they’re called.”

She picked-up a cup of tea (she would have preferred coffee) and let the hot liquid warm her slowly. She gestured to the automatic on the table;

“I presume you have a licence for that?” Harris smiled;

“But of course! I don’t know if I can lay my hands on it at the moment though. Tell me,” he urged, “...do you know what has become of this ‘A’ Team?”

The brunette crossed to the table, still warming her hands on the cup and drank its last before placing it on the table cloth;

“Well, I’ve been out of touch with them but have radioed the military who should have gotten here by now. Hopefully, they’ll have taken them into custody or will be heading here to prepare for them.”

Harris looked perturbed;

“The Military,” he asked, “... really?”

“Yeah, they’re escaped fugitives is what they are.” She added crossing to the window to see the snow coming down in an almost solid mass-she might get snowed in, for how long?

The man in the perfectly pressed suit joined her at the window, staring out into the void.

Despite his almost effete manner there was something in his eyes and expression that said he’d seen some danger in his life. He was pretty handy with a gun, too...

She watched as he ran his tongue over his teeth in contemplation or possibly anticipation and began to worry, what if the mercenaries turned-up here? How could they defend themselves?

“Are there any other weapons here?” He frowned;

“Weapons, why?”

“Well,” she contemplated, “... if they have avoided capture they may try to get here. You have that,” she gestured at the automatic, “...and I have this but these guys are usually pretty well equipped.”

Harris chewed at his lip;

“Really,” He contemplated gloomily,”...do you really think there is a chance of them making it up here in this?”

“Well, it would be wise to consider it, I did. Can we barricade ourselves in here?”

Harris looked desolate as he stared-out into the night. Light reflected-back from the snowfall onto his features giving him a sepulchral look.

“I’ll have the gates bolted and locked and we can move furniture against the doors-there may be a hunting rifle or two here...”

Audrey nodded, trying to think what their best course of action would be. Then she frowned as she stared out into the blizzard. She was forgetting something in all the discomfort and now, hospitality-what was it?

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Do you know of an Amy Allen?”

He frowned;

“Amy Allen?”

“Yeah, a reporter-about twenty five, yea-high” She indicated with her palm.

“-The girl with the notebook? Oh yes, I hope she made it down the mountain safely.”

“She left?”

“Indeed. She was very anxious to get away before the snow came,” he grinned, “...a city type!”

Audrey frowned. This man seemed the epitome of a ‘City Type’ but what was he doing here?

Also;

“That car-“

“Car?”

“Yeah, out there-whose is it?”

Harris smirked;

“I must admit to it being mine-it is rather fine isn’t it?”

“The Renault?”

The place’s director froze and the skin stretched-back from his face;

“Renault?”

“Yeah,” Audrey elaborated, “...a little hatchback out there between the vans and the Rolls.”

He grimaced;

“Royce, please.”

“Pardon?”

“Rolls was the salesman, Royce was the engineer-the cars are Royces!”

Audrey didn’t like this, she was getting (or being lead) off-track here;

“Uh-sorry? Look, whose car is the Le Car? Allen owns one and apart from ‘Greased Lightening’ it’s the only other car out there-mmph!”

She hadn’t seen the big man approaching from behind her but now had a good view of his reflection in the window as he pressed the pad against her nose & mouth and the unmistakeable smell of chloroform filled her nasal passages.

Audrey slammed her elbows back into him but he didn’t seem to feel pain and kept the pad against her face with unremitting force-she felt herself beginning to black out...

STORMING THE FORTRESS

Heater rattling, the behemoth crested the hill overlooking The Beckman Foundation and they stopped. Observing the building from their vaunted height they glanced at each other meaningfully.

“Hannibal, what if she’s-“

“Don’t think like that, Face. We’re here to bring her back.”

“Yeah!”

“Indeed gentlemen, ahead of us lie’s the tower the princess is imprisoned in! We must make haste!”

In desperation, Amy charged at the door but bounced-off it feebly. She whimpered into her gag at the pain in her shoulder. Her action was pointless anyway. All the doors opened inward, she would have had to have taken the frame out of the wall to have escaped.

Suddenly, she began furiously thrashing and yanking her arms up against the inexhaustible rubber’s tension but her limbs kept springing back into their former position. As she heated-up she could feel the restraints gluing themselves to the layer of sweat she was building up on her arms and she bellowed as loudly as she could in her frustration, the sound was a muted moan barely leaving the environs of the grubby padded cell she’d found herself locked in-it was hopeless!

Clad in a heavy coat Statham made it to the gates and dragged them together before pushing their bolts down into the ground and threading the locking chain between them. Then he looked-up. There was a noise above the sound of the wind and he shielded his eyes against the snow as he peered up the hill to see blinding lights crest it atop a huge digger or earth-mover;

“Bloody Hell! They don’t do things by halves, do they?”

It had to be them, who else could it be? Somehow they’d gotten away from the loggers and come here! He sprinted across to the bus and jumped inside, started it and backed it across the gates. That should hold them for a while!

Harris dragged the agent to the couch and laid her out on it, gently placing her head on the armrest. He cupped her face with his hand;

“I bid you adieu, fair lady.” He mocked and left the room into the corridor. He charged down it till he made it to the back of the building and leaped-out into the snow to the equipment shed at the back. Snow blew into his face till he managed to drag the door open and plunged inside.

Once in, he dragged the tarpaulin off one of the dormant items and beheld one of the establishment’s emergency snowmobiles. Would it still run?

Harris rocked it from side to side and listened to the tank. Something sloshed around in there but he would probably need it full!

He shot across to the numerous cans on the wall and grabbed one, sniffing at it;

“That’s the stuff!” He gasped before putting it in the tank. He kicked at the starter again and again but the thing just coughed and spluttered. Then suddenly, it caught and the engine burst into life.

His eyes lit-up at the thought of his escape route as the two-stroke revved but then looked around for something suitable to wear. Nothing here, he’d have to try back at the hospital.

Regretfully, he turned off the motor and it died. The aroma of burned dust and petrol- smoke was thick in the air.

“It’s the Douglas car taking first and third place!” The announcer yelled as the agent looked to her left to see her first crush, Dean Jones steering the front half of a Volkswagen across the finishing line while Buddy Hackett shouted at them from the back half, a car’s length behind.

Suddenly someone grabbed her and she was thrown onto a bedding of hay as Connery snarled;

“I must be dreaming!”

The world swam around her as she slept. She’d watched too many films! Memories and things she’d seen assaulted her from every corner.

Baker, he stared at her as the bullets slammed into him again and again. It wasn’t her fault. He was a rookie, made the wrong decision but she should have explained better or been there, she should have dragged him out of the firing line-she didn’t though, it was all over so fast!

Back into the fiction, it was more comforting, she began to make her way forward to the present day. Horrifyingly, she found herself as Barbarella (an ex’s favourite movie)with vampire-dolls after her then she drove a car at high speed under the ‘L’ train in pursuit of a drug-dealer, was held by Christopher Reeve as they soared above the world of men and swooned as Indiana Jones held her whilst angels wrought their wrath on the Nazis below.

She knew that there was something important she should be attending to and struggled to wake-up but couldn’t, weary from her long flight and her brain in a swamp of chloroform...

“Are we ready for this, guys?”

Face, Murdoch and B. A. nodded grimly as they viewed the vaulted, gothic building below them and the gates with the bus backed-up behind. Their guns were in their holsters and they’d stuffed extra clips in their pockets just in case.

There’d always been a niggling hope in Hannibal’s brain that there had been some misunderstanding about Amy’s disappearance but the actions of their friends at the bar and now this barricading of the place indicated it was a slim to non-existent conjecture that words might work. Their friend was down there somewhere and he steeled himself against the possibility that she might not be in one piece...

Harris jogged back through to the front of the building to get under the stairs to access their coat cupboard. There should be one of the place’s snowsuits and goggles in there.

“Sir, they’re out there on the hill!” -Yelled Statham breathlessly as he ran in through the front door.

“They’re here?”

“Yeah, and they’ve got a bulldozer or something out there!”

Sidney Harris paled considerably and then Statham noticed the snowsuit he was now gripping;

“Going somewhere, are you?”

There was an enormous, ringing crash from outside!

The Blaine had began to gather some speed as it rolled down the hill but with it’s imprecise steering it couldn’t be left to roll by itself on auto pilot and Baracus held on to the wheel grimly as he extended the arms to their full length. The saws spun and he thought what he would do to the people in that place if Amy had been hurt at all.

Hannibal and Face clung to the side-steps while Murdoch was half-in, half-out the door as the gates approached at a speed the machine had probably never been pushed to in its existence.

Just before the blades hit the gates, Face, Hannibal and Murdoch jumped.

They landed in the snow either side of the entrance as the machine crashed through, its hydraulic arms spearing through the gates into the bus.

One of the whirling blades caught the wrought iron gate and broke-off. It spun up into the air like a firework and the arms punched holes into the bus’s side as the gates leaned against it and then went under the wheels. Acting as a ramp, the gates bore the Blaine up and over the bus which flattened like a paper bag under the massive machine’s weight and the rams on the front broke-back under it. They spewed hydraulic oil everywhere. Its searchlights blazed up into the air like a Twentieth Century Fox lobby card before it crashed-down, over the bus and into the snow.

Hannibal, Face and Murdoch followed it through the entrance to the place, crouching low to avoid any anticipated gunfire. The Colonel gave his men one of their secret signs and the three split-up, skirting the perimeter.

The Blaine swung right, avoiding the unexpected presence of a helicopter in the parking lot to snap like a Jack-knife, slamming into the first van, pushing it into the others and the Buick.

Harris watched, holding his breath as the Buick barely kissed the Renault, halting before any touched his Rolls Royce, he sighed with relief.

With a whirr, the shed saw-blade screamed down out of the sky and thudded into the Royce’s roof at which he yelped.

Gritting his teeth he realised it was of no consequence, if he was to escape, he’d have to leave the car anyway and he rushed back inside to raid his safe for some money.

Murdoch and Face flanked the entrance whilst the Colonel checked on Baracus, gave them the thumbs up and darted around the back. They watched as B.A. climbed down from the stricken machine. He had to be indestructible!

Harris slammed the safe shut and closed the portrait over it. Though he hadn’t had need to avail himself of his ‘loose change’ he’d easily made his way to the safe in the subdued, emergency lighting and closed the portrait behind it.

“Aha!”

He turned at the cry from behind and beheld the cape-wearing Deer-Stalker clad silhouette of what had to be Murdoch at the door.

“The Napoleon of Crime!” Spat the figure at the door.

Harris stuffed the rolls of bills into his pockets;

“I believe you’re mistaking me for someone else.” He replied, mildly.

Murdoch crossed to the wall, snatching two swords from a crossed set over a shield and tossed one to his foe.

“I don’t believe so. You, Moriarty are at the foot of every high crime in London today! What you are doing at Baskerville Hall is a mystery so far but you have met your match in me!”

“The Great Sherlock Holmes?” Harris questioned with an arched eyebrow.

“The very same!”

Sidney Harris swished his sword experimentally, caught-up in the moment;

“You do realise, I am rather good with these?”

“-Are you? I can give a master-class!” claimed his opponent.

They lunged at one another, blades flashing and cracking in the dull lighting. Harris was indeed a trained master of the blade but somehow, Murdoch seemed to be equally adept. Surely it couldn’t just be from watching old Errol Flynn movies at the hospital?

Hannibal made his way around the back of the building but stopped at the sheds behind the main structure. The smell of petrol was in the air and he peeked inside the shed to see an unfurled snow-mobile, its hot engine ticking as it cooled. Without a second thought he tugged the fuel pipe off the engine and turned off the fuel tap, anything to slow down a would-be escapee.

Face crept down, into the bowels of the institute. Murdoch had taken the upstairs so he’d tried down here though (truth to be told) he really didn’t like these creepy old places and certainly wasn’t fond of them in such circumstances. He worked okay in action situations but the all-pervading spookiness of a run-down asylum was something else;

“Oh boy.” He muttered, tugging a cobweb from across his face. Surely there was nothing and nobody down here?

Then he heard it, a muted moan and thump from one of the place’s old cells-he swallowed and clasped his automatic tighter as he approached.

“Here goes nothing...”

Peck peered through the small, barred portal into what appeared to be an empty cell when suddenly a bald, shiny, pink head appeared at it, inches from his! He surprised himself by not screaming.

“Whoa, geez! Sorry, sorry to disturb you!” He gasped, as the mouth-less head bugged its eyeballs at him, moaning as loud as it could with no orifice to do so.

The head waggled from side to side, eyelashes fluttering, urgently. This was the worst kind of come-on!

“Um, sorry Ma’am, you just aren’t my type-think of the introductions!”

The creature jumped up and down, moaning and crossing her eyes;

“Hoo boy, are you in the right place!” Face muttered and turned to walk off.

He got five paces and frowned, turning back to the pogo-ing apparition;

“Amy? Amy, is that you?”

The pink head nodded furiously at him and he gasped;

“Get back, get away from the door!”

She did so and he loosed a few shots at the lock-the noise incredible in the small space. Ears buzzing he put his toe against the metal and the door creaked open a tad before pausing as he took-in Amy’s apparel from the portal;

“Say, that’s a new look for you, isn’t it?”

The reporter’s eyes were narrow with fury as she glared at him, then they widened, looking over his shoulder and he spun to be met in the face by a fist. His gun flew-off into the dark...

Hannibal tugged at his gloves in the cold and headed-back into the main building when someone dropped on him from above and he slammed into the floor under the weight. He rolled sideways onto his attacker and smashed a fist into its face only to see he’d knocked-out a woman, a hefty, crew-cut woman but a woman none the less;

“My apologies, Ma’am. I thought you were a man...”

The blades flashed and sliced and Harris was beginning to worry, he had more important fish to fry! He had to get to the snowmobile!

Suddenly punched by his assailant he rolled over the back of the couch to see Murdoch stride over it, tipping the thing-a move he’d no doubt seen in many a film!

Harris rolled to his feet. This had gone-on too long!

“Well done, Captain Murdoch, you’ve no doubt seen a lot of television at the V.A.!”

‘Holmes’ frowned;

“I fear you are making a mistake, sir. My name is-“

“Sherlock Holmes yes, I’m sure you feel that’s your identity at the moment BUT

MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES WERE ALWAYS YOUR PROBLEM, CAPTAIN

MURDOCH!”-He emphasized, attempting to bring him back down to Earth.

Murdoch circled his opponent, their swords experimentally touching;

“You seek to confuse and bamboozle me, Professor!”

He launched into a slashing attack that Harris adequately fought off;

“Stand to attention when you address a superior officer, Captain!”

Murdoch wavered, only to be caught on the chin by Harris’s sword-wielding fist. He toppled backwards as the dapper older man stood astride him;

“General Harris..?”

“State your name, rank and serial number!”

Suddenly, Murdoch was back in Vietnam. His chopper was downed and he crawled from the wreckage only to be caught by the enemy. Wounded, he had rocks rain-down upon his head and woke-up in a bamboo cage, starving and thirsty.

Prodded by sharpened sticks he retreated into himself, consoled only by a faded newsprint-photo of a girl tennis-player and certain plants and roots that offered some sustenance, sustenance and escape... He had no idea how long he’d been there, starved and tortured but one day his friends found him and brought him back. They covered for him and his eccentricities but he was never the same and after they’d been repatriated he’d been put in medical care...

“I said, state your name, rank and serial number SOLDIER!”

Murdoch swallowed, his hat slipped from his head as he stared at the imposing, familiar figure;

“Murdoch, H.M., Captain. Serial Number 554678, Sir!”

Harris slapped the downed man’s sword away and grinned, breathlessly;

“Indeed, and now Captain I believe I must be going-“

He lifted his sword, trained it on the fallen man’s ribcage and smirked. There was the rasp of a match striking from the shadows and he looked-up to see another figure’s face light up as he did his cigar...

B.A. sat on the step of the Blaine nursing a bleeding arm as the snow fell around him. He glowered at the machine near the building, knowing it was their only escape route.

Wearily, he rose and trudge toward the chopper, wiping blood from a cut on his forehead and looked inside it;

“Oh man, I always hated these things!”

Truth to be told it was only because it was always Murdoch at the stick.

Amy tried to hook her toe around the door as the two fought outside. If she could have sworn or screamed at it, she would!

Face slammed a fist into the Cockney’s stomach to repay him for the Diner and Statham grunted, doubling over. Grinning through a split lip, Peck followed this up with a raised knee into his face, feeling great satisfaction as he felt his opponent’s nose crack.

Looking-over he saw Amy (What had to be Amy) stagger out of the cell, all legs and rubber;

“Had to be that wishbone I pulled back at Wong’s!”

Statham wearily dragged himself up from the floor but whilst on all fours, Face swung a boot at his head and he collapsed once more into the flagstones’ embrace.

Templeton Peck staggered back against the cold wall and tried to regulate his breathing then limped across and got behind her. There was an array of laces up the back of the skull-cap and he began trying to pick them free. He didn’t want to take any chances, what if it wasn’t her?

The cowl loosened and the patient gave an almost orgasmic moan as it slackened. Face tried to tug it free in the darkness but it wouldn’t come loose. Then, in the dim light he noticed the press-studs attaching it to the straitjacket and un-popped them, tugging the thing out from under and off. He encountered some resistance from the front and realised that the muffled moaning indicated an attached gag or mouth-plug and pulled it gently out, away from him, eyes locked on the back of her head.

The hairstyle was certainly the same from the back and he slowly rotated the girl to be met with a familiar face;

“Amy!”

She ran her tongue around her teeth and gums, shifting her jaw from side to side then beamed at him despite her admonishing;

“What the Hell kept you?!”

“Colonel.” Harris nodded at the new arrival.

“General.”

Murdoch still lay on the floor, his eyes now switching between the two old soldiers.

“Captain, I believe you have a bird to prepare...”

“Yes sir, Colonel. Only be a jiffy!”

Murdoch scrambled to his feet and left the room suddenly, fully himself again.

Amy emerged from the darkness in front of Face, still in the restraints. Peck frequently glanced-back at Statham and also told himself that he was there to stop Amy tumbling back down the stairs but the view was pretty good too...

Teeth beginning to chatter again she made her way to the big room with the fire she’d been treated to a meal in and crossed quickly to the blaze.

“Okay,” she demanded, “...is this enough light to get me out of this cockamamie vacuum-pack?”

As she turned, the reporter saw a figure on the couch and demanded;

“Who the Hell’s that?”

“Audrey?” Peck answered, hopefully.

Amy Allen scowled;

“Audrey who?”

ENDGAME

Hannibal and ex-General Harris circled each other...

“You know General, you’ve caused us quite some inconvenience...”

“What can I say Smith, I wanted the money.”

B.A. grimaced at the tweedy figure striding across the snow towards him and the chopper;

“Well, if it ain’t the Hound of the Baskervilles!”

To his surprise, Murdoch didn’t reply but squeezed past him to get into the Hog and check the overheads and readouts;

“Hmm, some fuel-not much. Might be enough...”

Baracus frowned;

“You ain’t Sherlock Holmes anymore?”

Distractedly, Murdoch admonished his friend;

“Oh come-on B.A., that would be pretty silly, wouldn’t it? I may be howling-mad but I’m not crazy!”

B.A. brightened;

“Yeah, yeah-I guess it would...”

“I’m just little old me. H. M. Murdoch, pilot!”

That said, he tossed his deer-stalker into the back of the Hog and unfurled a baseball cap from his inside pocket, screwing-it down onto his head and flashed his comrade an unnerving, manic grin;

“Hey, look at this. The heater isn’t even on!”

‘Audrey’ felt herself being rocked from side to side. She realised that this meant she might be coming out of her stupor. It was almost a shame as she was getting ready to go-out on stage and do her big number in front of the troops, she’d give the boys the gumption to get out there and lick Hitler! She admired herself in the mirror in her figure-hugging black dress as her wardrobe assistant helped her tug-on her long, opera gloves and then she blinked herself awake, squinting into the lights, directly above her;

“Ooh!” She groaned as she clenched her eyes and her teeth against the glare. Then she frowned, something from her dreams had carried-across into reality, she really was being helped into opera gloves and her waist was being cinched-in!

The agent was being held-up, off the couch and she smiled a watery smile at Chuck-or ‘not Chuck’ as he stood over her looking a little shamefaced;

“Hi there, cutie!” she gurgled.

He looked even more ashamed than before.

“Aww come-on Chuck. Or should that be Templeton?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah, that’s right. I know your little secret...”

She sounded drunk, her head still foggy with the chloroform and she felt a little ashamed herself. She’d always been able to handle her drink but this stuff was something else!

In an effort to tap her nose in the universal sign of ‘a secret shared’ she lifted her hand to her nose and tapped it, then made to admire the look of the long gloves. Audrey frowned. Instead of the graceful, black velvet offerings she’d imagined, her arm was in a horrible, shiny pink rubber sheath and despite attempting to flex her fingers they wouldn’t come apart, sealed as they were in a mitten-like, thumb-less end!

Drunkenly her eyes travelled up her arm to see the ‘glove’ didn’t end but turned into a sleeve that met her shoulder. The skin-tight substance clung to her flesh like a sticky coating of thick paint and she once again looked at her fingers (or where they should be) to see a buckled strap leading off the tip.

The woman from the FBI tried to make sense of this, then saw her legs;

“Hey Temp. Where’re my pants?” she began to gurgle, liquidly, “Whoa, slow-down mister!

You’re a bad boy, a VERY bad boy!”

Her low, chuckling ceased as a woman’s hand with long red fingernails clasped the strap on the end of her arm and tugged it across her through a vertical loop on-what the hell was this thing?

Swinging her legs off the couch, she noticed something else. She was wearing stockings and garters;

“Hey ‘Face’, I don’t wear stockings,” then, angrily, “...what the hell do you think I am!”

Templeton Peck stayed diplomatically silent as her other arm suddenly jerked, seemingly of its own accord through the loop on her chest;

“Hey! What is this? Who are you, lady?”

The bemused female tried to drag her arms away from each other and out of the loops but still wasn’t running on all eight cylinders and with a final wrench her arms were tugged tightly around her and fastened together at her back.

The woman behind her swung her around and stepped in front.

“That’s my suit,” Audrey gasped as she fruitlessly tugged at the straitjacket, “...you’d better get me out of this and give it back sister or you’re in real trouble!”

“I don’t think so sweetie,” Amy countered with dead eyes and a tone that even worried Face,

“...my friend here tells me you were in my apartment and I saw you even had my leotard on, don’t worry, you can keep it! Just who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Uh, Amy...” Face tried to placate but she shrugged-off his touch and thrust Audrey back into the couch’s padding, putting one hand around her throat.

Face was seeing another side to Amy now. Maybe it was a side that hadn’t been there before.

Just what had they done to her here?

“Fair exchange is no robbery,” Amy sneered, “...I’ll keep the suit and you can keep my leotard and straitjacket!”

The prone agent’s eyes darted from Amy to Face and she began struggling with the clingy rubber jacket with a fury borne of fear now. The jacket held, of course it did. It was an experimental model but very well made and it fit all sizes very snugly.

Audrey tried to gasp something but her face was turning red and Face had to slap Amy Allen’s grip from her throat, he was concerned to say the least...

The frizzy brunette sucked-in a whooping breath and Amy glared at her friend accusingly as if he was spoiling her fun.

“Amy calm down! You’ve been through some stuff here but you’re okay now!” He urged at her venomous look. Was this some kind of good cop/bad cop routine that she was trying that she hadn’t informed him of? He hoped to God it was! He pulled her towards him by the wrists but the reporter gave him a look that he didn’t recognise. It was almost as if she didn’t know him!

Audrey saw her chance and tensed her legs, pushing-back against the seat squab and bouncing forward. She managed to right herself and barged Face and Amy out of the way but found she couldn’t run as she was in heels! She stumbled and crashed to the floor, flat on her face;

“Dammit! High heels-I hate high heels!” She bawled into the carpet.

Immediately, Amy was upon her, pinning her to the ground and snapping the rubber groin-strap back between her legs to press-stud it above her buttocks to the rear of the jacket, sealing her in;

“There you are, how’s that honey? You’re... you’re ‘SNUG AS A BUG IN A RUG’! That’s what you are,” she giggled, “...you’re snug as a bug in a rug!”

Audrey clenched her eyes shut as the manic woman lay atop her, pressing her further into the deep pile then, suddenly the weight was taken off her.

“Amy! That’s enough! That’s enough, okay!”

Amy Allen snarled as Face hoisted her off her victim and picked her up bodily, swinging her away to the other side of the room, her legs kicking.

“Let me go Face, let me go! LETMEGOLETMEGOLETMEGO!” She screamed. Her eyes blazed at him but he blocked her from approaching the fallen woman and, frustrated, she crossed to the window to stare out at the snow.

Audrey steeled herself as she heard the footfalls approaching but could do nothing to right herself or escape. She wouldn’t get far. What would be her treatment from the demented woman if she tried?

The feet came closer and she squirmed into the shag but from behind her a soft voice cooed;

“It’s okay Audrey. It’s okay. It’s just me,” he paused, “...Chuck. Well, Face really. You know that now, don’t you?”

She nodded and muttered;

“Is she coming back?”

Face turned his head to see Amy still at the window but her shoulders were still hunched in that tense, ‘about to pounce’ posture;

“Nope, she’s at the window but it’s probably safer not to make any loud noises...”

“Can I get up?”

“Yeah, I think so but do it slowly okay?”

Audrey shuddered;

“Templeton?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t get up...”

Decker stoically attempted not to shiver as the Jeep ground upwards along the track. He could hear his Lieutenant’s teeth chattering from here though! No problem, they were nearly at the institute. He just hoped that Smith and the others were still there...

Hannibal and Sidney Harris circled each other, though the younger man (but not by much...) always attempted to know where the door was in the darkness, he didn’t want his quarry slipping away now, not after all these years!

Finally they’d found him, the man who’d framed them and taken the contents of the bank of Hanoi. They’d have to keep him here till Decker arrived!

“You’re not going to attempt to fight me, are you General?”

“Why,” Harris asked, innocently, “...would that put me in your ‘bad books’?”

Colonel John ‘Hannibal’ Smith smiled. At least he was keeping it witty;

“I just wouldn’t want you to get hurt too much. That’s all.”

Harris grinned;

“Oh really Colonel, I believe you’ll find I am rather spry for my age...”

Suddenly he saw Harris’s arm whirl as he pitched something at him he hardly had time to dodge. The paperweight clipped his ear but bounced off his shoulder and he grunted with the unexpected pain.

Then Harris was in front of him, slashing and thumping him with a flurry of blows and Hannibal sagged to the floor.

General Harris rotated away from him and stretched his arms wide like a ballet dancer;

“In case you’re wondering, a mixture of Karate, Aikido and Savate, Smith.”

Hannibal wheezed and rose. Something flew out of the dark at Harris as he turned and hit him square in the forehead-he yelled.

“In case you’re wondering, a mixture of air-sole and leather, regulation issue, size ten!”

Harris rubbed at his forehead and staggered, scowling;

“Really Colonel, you’ve resorted to throwing your boots at me?”

“Really General,” he retorted, “...you resorted to betraying your country and friends, framing my men and now feed off the savings and money of people you commit?”

“Ah well. There is that, yes...”

“Maybe I ought to put this on her,” Amy shook the cowl over Face’s shoulder as he blocked her from her would-be victim, “...maybe that would make her talk?”

Face spun, ripping the obscene rubber hood from her hand and shaking it at her;

“How Amy? How?” He jiggled the mouth-plug at her.

The reporter bit her lip and looked at the floor;

“Just an idea, that’s all!”

Suddenly, Face hugged her. He could feel her resisting. She was stiff, rigid, but then he gripped the back of her head and pulled her into his shoulder;

“Amy. You have been through some terrible things here and they’ve affected you. You need to back-off, calm down and, well you need a hell of a holiday!”

Face chuckled and then Amy did too. He felt her begin to melt, become pliable in his arms.

Amy’s laughter turned into sobs and he held her even tighter as Audrey watched wide-eyed from the couch.

Amy burbled something unintelligible and Face leaned-in closer;

“What? What was that, honey?”

“Who is she then? What was she doing in my apartment and why was she wearing my clothes?”

Face eased her off his shoulder, dragged two chairs up to face the couch and sat the two of them down to face the other occupant of the room;

“Go-on then Audrey, spill it.”

“I’m FBI.” The woman explained.

“Liar!” Amy spat.

“It’s true!” She pleaded, still struggling in the pink rubber straitjacket on the couch. “Just check in my pockets!”

Amy fumbled in the jacket, tugging-out Audrey’s gun and Audrey was glad she seemed a little more stable before she found it!

“Inside pocket, inside pocket!” Audrey urged.

Amy tried inside and her eyes narrowed;

“Nothing, nothing in there.”

Audrey blinked;

“But it must be!”

“No, nothing.”

Face looked from Audrey to Amy and then back again. He really wanted this to go well;

“Are you sure it was in your suit, Audrey?”

“Hell yeah! Look,” she thought, “...I really had to run to catch-up with you guys-NO WAIT!

I had it at the Airfield, it must be in the chopper or out there in the snow! I had a fire-fight with Harris, honestly!”

Hannibal and his combatant toppled over the upturned couch, struggling to get decent hits on each other in the dark.

Harris was weary of this. No matter how good he was for his age he had to get away. Colonel Smith’s men were here with him and if he was kept busy for long enough the others would arrive, then the military and at his age a long prison sentence was impossible!

Hannibal swung a punch which just managed to clip the side of the older man’s head as he dodged, snake-like and then, suddenly Colonel John Smith was grabbed from behind and spun.

A fist crashed into his jaw and his feet were hooked-out from beneath him by Harris’s patent leather shoes!

Hannibal crashed-down. His head hit the side of the coffee table and Harris struggled to his feet, wheezing as he congratulated his saviour;

“Thank you, Mister Garrow. You’ve earned yourself a raise!”

The three Jeeps struggled to the crest of the hill, their occupants wet and freezing;

“N-n-n-nearly there, C-Colonel!”

Decker said nothing, his teeth gritted against the chattering they might produce!

The sound of a powerful aero-engine firing-up from outside had Face grinning at Amy;

“Looks like we may have a way-out, after all!”

Then Murdoch and B.A. had charged in;

“Face,” B.A. shouted, “...looks like we’ve got company up on the hill! If we don’t go soon we may have to shoot it out with Decker’s men!”

“Okay, okay-we’ve got to find the Colonel and go!” Face gasped, charging-off into the rest of the building.

Suddenly Murdoch and B.A. noticed Amy for the first time;

“Amy!” They shouted as one and ran over, hugging her. Then they noticed Audrey in her stretchy bonds;

“What happened to her?” B.A. queried.

“Me.” The girl reporter replied to Audrey’s red-faced indignation.

“Amy Allen, unless you want to spend the winter here, you’d better come with us in the chopper, its outside!” Murdoch demanded, ushering the girl out the door with B.A.

“Wait a minute,” Audrey begged,”...you can’t leave me here like this, please!”

Murdoch sprinted across;

“Sorry lady, you can’t come with us. If you’re not a spook then you’re some kind of detective trying to get us, but I’ve just got to say,” he added, hoisting her off the couch and sucking the life out of her with a kiss, “...you’re my kind of girl, Audrey!”

He pushed her away and she dropped back onto the couch breathlessly, watching as he charged out the door, a silly grin on her face;

“It’s Eleanor...” She sighed with regret.

Harris was back in the snowmobile shed, furiously kicking at the starter of the immobile machine in the dark;

“It worked before! Why on Earth won’t it start, now?”

Spinning faster and faster the blades of the Huey whipped the snow but Murdoch cursed the machine under his breath.

B.A. watched the headlamps of the three vehicles descending the hill behind them. The lights of the helicopter were off to avoid it being shot at as a target, possibly the howl of the wind would disguise its engine-note till they got away.

“Come on Face, come on!” Amy hissed from the back seat.

Then, a shape staggered out of the doorway, struggling to drag someone with him. B. A.

Jumped out of the chopper and helped Face carry the Colonel to the Hog and they got him inside. He groaned as they loaded him, his hair matted with blood.

“What happened to Hannibal, Face?” Asked Baracus.

“I don’t know, I found him like this but there wasn’t anyone else there!”

“This is your Captain speaking,” Murdoch crooned smoothly as the doors slammed, “...I’ll have to ask everyone to extinguish their cigarettes and fasten their safety belts. The stewardess will be providing a choice of hot and cold beverages-“

“Shut up, fool!” B. A. Barked. “Get us out of here before Decker grabs us!”

Dutifully, their pilot cranked-up the engines and the Huey rose-up in darkness. It sashayed sideways, away from the cars and over the wall, Murdoch keeping it as low as he could to avoid attention.

THE GANG’S ALL HERE?

Bouncing down the rutted track to the Beckman Foundation, the Jeeps whined. Their frozen occupants’ faces lit-up at the thought of a building with heating to get into and Decker surveyed the scene with the smashed gates and destroyed Blaine up against the institution’s vehicles with a grim smile. Hopefully, they were injured and wouldn’t put up much of a fight!

The four by fours fanned-out into the snow-dusted yard and the frozen soldiers dismounted.

Decker looked them over. Despite his reputation as a tyrant, he knew that to get the best performance out of his men they’d need to be provided for but his obsession with Smith’s group had led them to be near-frozen in getting up here. They weren’t at peak operational capacity...

Decker gave them similar directions as Colonel Smith previously had his men and the soldiers spread around the yard, some to capture the building from behind.

Decker approached the building from the front, his gun in his hand and Brewer at his side.

They were presented with the building’s corridors and silently, Decker pointed Brewer the one way whilst he took the other.

Sidney Harris paused upon exiting the shed containing the snowmobiles. Through the wind he could hear the sound of a helicopter’s take-off. Had they gone? He might not have to leave if they had.

Almost as soon as the noise faded though, another replaced it. It was the undeniably agricultural sound of Jeeps, their engines and transmissions whining.

Could he bluff his way out? No, there would be too many awkward questions. If he couldn’t use a snowmobile then he’d have to try to snatch one of their vehicles!

Dragging himself up the stone steps, Statham got to the door as an indistinct silhouette blocked the portal. The orderly lashed-out, slamming a fist into its torso and throwing him bodily down the flight of steps.

He sank to his haunches and sucked in a shuddering breath before noticing a green cap, halfway down;

“A soldier?”

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Decker asked, mockingly.

The FBI woman had been trying to use a hat-stand to pluck the straps of the straitjacket apart but had merely got the thing hooked-up to her, dragging it around the lounge;

“Decker! Decker, did you get them?” She begged.

“Get them?” He looked around, “They’re in here somewhere.”

She rolled her eyes;

“The Helicopter, did you stop the helicopter?”

The old soldier looked at her uncomprehendingly;

“What helicopter?”

Audrey/Eleanor’s jaw dropped. She stopped her struggles and for a moment forgot about how ridiculous she looked, stuffed in a pink straitjacket with a hat-stand dragging behind her;

“You’re kidding me, right?” Then she started to chuckle, “A great big green Huey Hog and he missed it! Wow, sixteen years you’ve been chasing these guys! I finally get them here, call you and you still lose them-you won’t have caught them in another sixteen years!”

Colonel Decker’s eyes narrowed as he fisted his hands. He turned his back on her and walked to the window; “shut up.”

She continued, unabated;

“I mean, this is really precious, it’s brilliant!”

“They didn’t come here in a helicopter. They came in a logging machine!”

“IT WAS THE HELICOPTER I CAME IN!” She shrieked.

Decker spun and stormed-up to her;

“You mean you knowingly aided and abetted known fugitives in their escape?”

She boggled at him;

“They took the helicopter I pursued them here in! Boy you’re dumb! Military Intelligence?

That’s a joke!”

With a final jerk she freed herself from the hat-stand and it fell to the floor with a thump.

Decker leaned-down to the floor and for a moment she thought he was going to right it but he rose clasping the rubber hood;

“Why don’t you shut up lady?”

With that, he rammed the sponge-clad rubber bung into her mouth and she staggered backwards, shaking her head furiously to dislodge the obscene thing jammed between her jaws.

The attached cowl flapped around like a flag as, hair flying she attempted to growl cuss-words at Decker but he darted across to her and to her horror began to stretch the hood back from her mouth over her head. Eleanor barely had time to gasp before the thing enclosed her head, her eyes bulging behind the cut-outs.

“Let’s just see now, how is this thing fastened-down properly?”

Wide eyed, she felt the press-studs snapping shut joining the cowl to the jacket. He pushed her frizzy hair down inside the neck of the thing and then, when all the fasteners were done-up the laces at the thing’s back were yanked mercilessly tight.

In silence, the bound woman began to butt and kick-out at him with all she had but Decker merely grabbed her in a headlock and dragged her to the wall where he gripped her arms and hoisted her up like a sack of potatoes to hang her on a coat hook attached to the wall alongside several others.

“Colonel, Colonel, what’s happening here?”

Decker spun to see Brewer in his underwear;

“What’s happening here? What the hell happened to you?”

Brewer shrugged with embarrassment, his head facing the floor;

“Someone slugged me and took my uniform.” He admitted.

“They WERE still here!” He snarled at the pathetic, hanging figure furiously kicking her stocking-clad legs to no real effect.

“-Uh Colonel, who IS that?”

Colonel Decker had advanced on the helpless rubber-clad woman but steeled himself and turned-back to his subordinate;

“Nobody,” he replied, “...nobody at all, just one of the patients here who must have gotten out.”

The FBI woman shook her head from side to side as she kicked and jostled, trying to free herself from the wall.

“Sir,” Brewer ventured, “...why is she wearing fishnets and heels?”

“I don’t know how they treat the loonies here, Sergeant! Maybe it was part of the treatment, maybe it was her birthday!”

Eleanor struggled and tried to semaphore-blink some plea to Brewer but it just made her look more insane.

Brewer approached the spasmodically-jerking female but Decker warned;

“Watch it Sergeant, she was quite a handful even in that thing! No,” he said, smiling slowly,

“...we’d better find a member of staff here who’ll know what to do with her. There must be a rubber room here, somewhere!” Decker strode across to the securely-pinned female and to her fury gripped one of her thighs, “How about that Sergeant, a rubber jacket for a rubber room!”

Decker then began to make an odd groaning wheezing sound that Brewer had never heard from him before. Then he figured it out, as the woman thrashed, Decker was laughing...

The figure in fatigues walked out of the building headed for one of the Jeeps but then, to his ire other troops came around from the bushes to meet-up at the four wheel drives so he turned, pretending to look-over the vehicles parked here.

The Buick was a write-off, pinned in place by the huge digger but the Renault and Rolls were relatively unscathed. He crept around the side of the Rolls and opened the door to get in. There weren’t keys in the ignition so he tried the visor and glove-box. There they were. A set of newly-cut spares in a plastic bag!

The main key slipped into the ignition and the engine started, faultlessly and silent. He pushed the handbrake in under the dash and slipped it into drive, his foot on the brake.

Then there was a call from the building and the troops began jogging for the doors. Once they’d passed the Spirit of Ecstasy on the grille he raised his foot and the Silver Shadow began to creep forward. His fingertips light on the wheel, he steered it toward the gap between the flattened wreck of the bus and the gate-post.

Suddenly there was a cry and a gunshot and he rose from behind the wheel and gave it some gas.

Twin plumes of powder sprayed up from the rear tyres as the big V8 came into its own and it snaked between the Jeeps and bus as gunfire crackled behind it.

FLIGHT!

“Harris...” The Colonel groaned from the back seat.

Face leaned-in, concerned;

“What was that, Hannibal?”

“General Harris...”

They were going to have to get Hannibal’s head-wound seen to, thought Face. General Harris was a bogie-man from the past!

Hannibal looked-out from heavily lidded eyes as Amy gripped his shoulder;

“Do you mean Doctor Sidney Harris, Hannibal?”

“No,” he groaned, “...General Harris, he was at the hospital.”

“Hannibal,” B.A. butted-in, “...you’re crazy! He wasn’t there!”

Amy began to babble;

“There was a Harris, a Sidney Harris at the place. It was him who trapped me there when I found-out about the money he was siphoning off from the Foundation and its inmates! He got me stuffed in a straitjacket and locked-up!”

“Nah, it couldn’t be the same guy Amy,” Face countered, “...Harris disappeared after the war. He was the one who set us up...”

She considered;

“Very dapper, suave-incredibly neat,” she offered, “...drinks Earl Grey tea and does crossword-puzzles.”

“Yeah,” B.A. agreed, “...a weasel of a guy, a rodent!”

“-That too!” She agreed

Face slowly turned to B.A. and Murdoch, together, they chorussed;

“My God, it WAS him!”

The Rolls thumped and pounded down the snowy track. Nobody seemed to have given chase yet but he couldn’t get too complacent. Luckily, he was used to these roads and had traversed them in snow before.

As the Silver Shadow over-steered around a curve its tail-end slid and the driver heard a loud noise. A Vietnam-era helicopter rose-up from behind a copse in front, shaking snow from the trees and training its searchlight on him...

Blinded, he threw his arms in front of his face and the Rolls left the road, leaping into space toward the chopper.

Eleanor hung from the hooks with her legs tensed against the wall behind her, pushing as hard as she could. The rubber just stretched then rebounded. There seemed to be a commotion coming from outside and Decker ran-out, seemingly losing interest in firing any more taunts at the helpless agent. Perforations at her ears allowed her some hearing and the soldiers appeared to scramble for their vehicles and desert the place.

A blocky shape then entered the room, approaching her. As it got closer, Eleanor could see it was a woman and she dropped her legs, waggling her head from side to side and moaning to attract attention.

“Here you are dearie, I was wondering if I’d been left here all on my loansome!”

Mutely, the woman from the FBI attempted to convey to the attendant that she wasn’t an inmate but short of having the hood magically disappear there was little she could do.

Moving to a cabinet, the attendant selected a bottle, sucking-out its contents with a large syringe.

The woman formerly known as Audrey Dial shook her head as she realised the intentions of the warder but her face was gripped as a flap at the front of the mask was opened and the fat syringe was plugged into the front of the bung.

Feeling her mouth fill with the drug-whatever it was, she tried to spit it back out through the bung’s feed tube but it had to have some sort of one-way valve in it and the awful tasting fluid stayed in her mouth whilst she refused to swallow it.

She could feel her gums becoming numb as the anaesthetic took hold then the orderly gripped her nose through the mask and all she could do was swallow. Once the hideous-tasting fluid was down she sucked-in a whistling breath through the catheter.

“That’s my girl.”-cooed the attendant.

Murdoch yanked-back on the stick and the Helicopter rose, the Rolls just missing its landing-gear as it sailed-out into the void. It crashed-down between the trees but miraculously landed on its wheels and the driver seemed to regain some control as it slalomed between the trees like a skier at the winter Olympics!

“Damn! He’s pretty good!” B. A. Exclaimed.

The black limo carried-on, ricocheting off trees and stumps as it plunged further down the mountain and Murdoch rose, unable to risk the rotors at flying any lower.

Every so often they glimpsed the Shadow skidding between the trees but couldn’t get close enough, despite firing shots at it hopefully.

Decker had to slow the Jeep down, abandoning pursuit. The cold had now gotten to him and he’d had to leave Brewer at the Beckman place;

“D-damn it, l-lost them again” He stuttered through a plume of exhalation.

He held-up his hand for the following Jeep to stop and winced at the events so far. Despite his victory over the FBI Agent this had plunged him close to despair. He crunched the stick into reverse, swung the Jeep around and they headed back. She’d distracted him with that helicopter story allowing them to get away in one of the cars but they were still gone. Now all he had to look forward to was to hole-up in front of the fire in that damned place!

“I see it! I see it, Hannibal!” Murdoch yelled and looked for a place to put the Huey down.

He found a clearing and they left the confines of the Chopper to Hannibal and Amy as they warily approached the smashed Rolls.

It had slid into a tree, the front bumper and ornate grille ruined as steam poured from a ruptured radiator.

B.A. and Face approached the wreck;

“Looks empty...”

The driver’s door hung open & the rest of the car was unoccupied but there were tracks leading away into the forest. They looked to each other.

Then a shot rang-out and B.A. dropped clutching his shoulder. Murdoch dived behind the car but Face slipped in the snow, stood up and somewhere the sniper took aim, his target in his sights;

“This is where you get yours, Robert Redford!”-He squeezed the trigger.

Eleanor was thrust up against the cramped interior of the VW as the (now whole again) car took a curve impossibly quickly and she squirmed against her bonds. Her straitjacket was now orange as befitting the other crew of the car and the crash-helmet on her head rattled against the window.

“So,” the driver enquired of her between chewing, “...you screwed-up again?”

“Yeah Jim, she did, she did!”

Buddy Hackett had now been replaced by Baker, his coveralls soaked with the blood that had spilled from his wounds.

“I didn’t ‘screw-up’, I was ambushed!” She snarled, struggling in her seat.

Eleanor shot Jim Douglas a glance to see him still laconically chewing. His knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel and she noticed wispy, grey hairs at his temples and on his upper lip that hadn’t been there before. Still with his eyes on the road ahead he barked at her;

“Lean over!”

“Do I look as though I have any room to play with here?” She yelled as the Volkswagen bounced off a barrier and tilted-up onto two wheels, throwing her tighter against the door as they veered between two trees into a wood.

“You tell her Jim, you tell her! She got me killed!”

“No I did not! You were too trigger-happy, Baker-you got yourself killed!”

She ceased her argument, knowing it was pointless. This wasn’t real, none of it was. In reality she had been drugged again and was tied-up somewhere.

“You know something lady?”

Eleanor looked at the driver to see he had the head of a sheepdog and the wheel was now gripped in his paws;

“This journey could be one-way!”

Decker pulled-up at the place’s courtyard and dismounted from his transport. He glowered at the vanquished Blaine. Why couldn’t at least one of them have been badly hurt this time?

He frowned at the now-filling dry patch left by the Rolls Royce but there was one next to it, too!

What had been there? A little European thing, a hatchback! He didn’t think he could get any angrier but now it looked as though someone else had given him the slip, too!

Just as he began to squeeze the trigger, the assassin felt a presence and spun to be confronted by a huge mass of fur towering over him.

The bear roared its displeasure at be woken from its sleep and lashed-out.

Webb stared at Garrow;

“What the hell’s happening? The place is swarming with soldiers! Where’s Harris?”

“Where’s Statham?” Garrow added, his eyes moving unwaveringly to the behind of the slim young woman slung over the big one’s shoulders.

Webb shot him a glance that said FIND YOUR OWN and he looked elsewhere.

“Statham is nothing. Why are the military here?”

“Why ask me, I don’t know!” He quailed, “You don’t think its something to do with the patients do you?

“I hardly think so...” She muttered but her eyes were shifty. “Exactly how many are still left?”

Garrow began to panic, she loathed him. He was a typical man-so weak. He had begun to sweat;

“I don’t know, about a dozen?”

Then the two exchanged a look and their gaze shifted to the back of the building. The meaning of the look was implicit. What if they started digging?

“We’ve got to get out of here!” Webb grated.

“How?”

“I don’t care! There are snowmobiles out back and stuff out front. Take one of the snowmobiles.”

Garrow was fidgeting;

“What about you?”

Webb sneered;

“Run away, little man. I need four wheels to carry away my prize!”

She shouldered him out of the way and carried her victim off.

“God I love that woman!” Garrow sighed like a prom-queen.

The animal howl echoed across the wood and Face got up from his space on the floor as did Murdoch and B. A., struggling to his feet.

The growl was accompanied by a very human scream and they exchanged glances, not entirely sympathetic ones.

After fifteen minutes, they came across the body. It was mangled but still recognisable and recognisably not Harris.

“We’d better get out of here...”

FIVE CAPTIVES NOW!

Stamping his feet and beating his arms together the logger cursed his luck at having been practically ordered to guard this bunch. So they’d taken the truck, so what? The thing was FUBAR anyway. They’d only made it to the diner. It was the principle of the thing he supposed.

Luckily, they’d been subdued when he and the others had tracked them down to Sid’s and Harvey had gotten a lucky shot on the one still standing. Good thing too, that black guy was huge!

Hannibal watched as the man’s breath pooled-out on the chilly air. He’d tried to light the stove but it was merely smouldering. The thing would take hours to heat-up and start warming the equipment shed.

Harvey Schneider’s teeth chattered as he thought of the foreman’s office and its gas-bottle fire. Surely the cops would get here soon?

“That’s it! I’ve had enough, see you guys later!”

That said, he shivered his way to the barn doors and shouldered his way out;

“That stove will warm-up soon...” He vouched, optimistically and locked the doors behind him.

The bloody red glow washed over them as they eyed the stove hopefully.

“Damn it!”

Where the hell was that Dakota? The agent formerly known as Audrey peered desperately out of the chopper as it banked over the forest.

Snow had begun falling out of the sky in torrents, batted down the screens by the force of the rotors but her teeth chattered as her mind went back to her first car. It was an ancient, oval-windowed VW with a non-existent heater that was no fun in New York’s frigid winter climate!

Once again, however she was in a vehicle with precious little warmth;

“Has this whirligig even got a heater?” She gasped, her breath pluming-out, “I bet Ken Tobey never had to put-up with this!”

To her ire (and the beginnings of fear) the snow began to gather on the screens and they began to mist up;

“Wait a minute...”

Up ahead she could swear she could see lights in the woods, a cluster of them all together. It looked like a building out here in the middle of nowhere!

“Here we go, here we go...” She urged the old machine as she swung it towards them. She’d have to put this thing down soon. She was running out of windshield to see through, losing a battle demisting the glass with the warmth of her palm!

Suddenly, all the lights on the ground blinked-out.

The stove had begun to emit some warmth but to Hannibal, the thing looked almost apologetic for its poor efforts.

When B.A. had turned-up at the diner things seemed to be looking up. The Londoner had snarled and charged at him only to be thrown bodily through the window. Then all hell had broken loose!

Furniture and bodies flew, with Murdoch, Face and Hannibal doing their best to keep-up but they were exhausted from their previous exertions. Then the door had swung open behind Baracus and one of the lumberjacks broke a two by four over his head. So now, here they were, back at the camp they’d got the truck from.

“Any plans, Hannibal?” groaned Peck.

“Well gentlemen,” Murdoch boomed before the Colonel could answer,”...I believe we should attend to a certain young lady in distress!” and he stood, his ropes falling to the floor.

He swirled his cape with a flourish.

“You astound me, Holmes!” Hannibal laughed.

Their erstwhile pilot smiled slyly, holding a penknife between his thumb and forefinger;

“It’s elementary, Lestrade!”

“Shut-up fool, untie us!” Barked B.A. and Murdoch set about, cutting them loose.

Colonel John ‘Hannibal’ Smith crossed to the stove and lit a cigar from it, then looked at the chained doors;

“Say Guys,” he asked, peering into the gloom at a giant piece of machinery, “...reckon we could get that going?”

Harris was still lost in the past, staring out through the snow. He winced against the rattle of automatic weapons and snarl of Jeeps yet dragged himself out of it when he realised one of the noises in his head was getting louder, more real;

“No!”

Coming toward him, over the tree-line was a helicopter. It was a shape he recognised from years ago-the blocky, uncompromising shape of a Huey;

“They’re here, they’re definitely here!”

He burst into frantic life, running to the light switches and flicking them all off but the helicopter still approached.

“No,” he gasped, “...no good! I have to kill all the lights!”

The fuse-box, he’d have to get to the fuse-box and throw the main switch, the place was a beacon in the night!

Decker was grinning fit to burst. After the FBI-woman’s message had been relayed to him he’d got his team to an airbase and sequestered a transport plane to take them to The National Guard base at Portland. Maybe she wasn’t such a screw-up after all?

They’d touched-down amidst a snowstorm and demanded vehicles for the trip up the mountain to the Foundation.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait it out till tomorrow, Colonel? This snow’s really settling-in now and that mountain’s going to be treacherous!”

Decker leaned-in close to the young Corporal’s face and asked as sweetly as he could;

“Then I suppose you have such things as Jeeps do you, son?”

EPILOGUE

A tiny, little known path-a footpath really echoed to the sound of a small, high-revving engine and eventually the Renault bumped-up, scraping out of a thicket and onto a main road. It swerved toward town;

“Portland ahoy!” Claimed its driver.

Amy helped Hannibal out of the Huey as its rotors spun decreasingly on top of the office-block.

Hannibal and B. A. had stopped bleeding but still needed attention and they staggered to the service stairs, the wind and snow howling around their entrance.

They trudged on down with Amy at the rear, her arms crossed. The reporter shuddered at bad memories and thrust them straight down at her sides, keeping her fingers splayed-out. Face caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and asked;

“You okay, Amy?”

“Yeah, sure. Maybe I’ll take that holiday you were talking about...”

He put his arm around her shoulders and they trudged down the stairs to the first exit, walking-out onto the block’s top floor opposite the elevators;

“You know, a vacation sounds pretty good to me at the moment too!”

“-and me!” echoed B. A.

“-me too!” agreed Murdoch.

“-and I have to concur.” Hannibal wheezed as he leaned on the wall.

Murdoch rang for the car.

“No offence guys,” Amy muttered, “...but can you take your vacations somewhere I’m not?”

Not offended in the slightest they grinned at her and stepped in. They went down in the elevator in silence till it passed the third floor and the reporter looked at her friends;

“Guys, in all the... all the STUFF that’s happened I just-“

“-Its okay, Amy.” Hannibal managed.

She quivered;

“Just thanks, guys! Thanks for everything!”

Each got a hug and even the wounded didn’t wince too much. With a ding the door slid open and they stepped-out into the lobby, then the street. They were in Portland, the Huey could only make it this far as they’d landed on fumes alone.

“Well Guys, I think a train would be the order of the day but first, we’d better get some bandages.” Hannibal offered, then turning to Amy he added, “Oh, by the way Amy, Merry Christmas!”

He presented her with a small box wrapped in coloured paper and a ribbon which she undid.

The box contained a set of ignition keys;

“It’s parked at Wong’s. Thanks for the good press.”

Amy Allen beamed.

The woods and the Beckman Foundation were far behind now, road-markings and signs flashing past.

Webb had taken the only van with a four wheel drive set-up and made it out of the place before the soldiers returned from chasing Harris, Statham or both.

“How do you feel about Canada, honey?” She bellowed to the back of the vehicle.

There was no reply from her companion.

“I hear it’s where men are men! Just imagine, I don’t think I’ve ever met a real one yet, and I just love maple syrup!”

Webb wondered if her new pet was going to be okay. She didn’t know much about the drugs she’d administered but she knew that health-benefits were rarely of concern to Harris. His patients were merely corralled whilst he made arrangements with their relatives for a share of their estates. If they had relatives, that was. If not, he just took it.

Dorothy Webb (she obviously preferred just Webb) had pulled-off behind an auto shop and swapped plates with a derelict Desoto before grabbing some cans of green the same as the van’s shade to mask its hospital origins.

Pleased with her work, she dumped the empty cans and planted a kiss on her captive’s rubber-clad forehead where she lay unconscious, hidden under the rear seats.

Webb closed the van’s rear doors just as a prowl car went by. That was close! What if one wanted her to open the back up? There could be a roadblock or a routine checkpoint up ahead.

The burly woman pressed her hands against the rear doors as if bench pressing the Ford and then looked up and down the street. Nothing, nothing in this hick town except the auto store, a burger place, a couple of thrift stores and what looked like a costume-shop. She frowned and walked over to it;

“Your non-stop party shop...” She mused.

Officer Billy Hayes stamped his feet in the cold and shook the snow from his cape as he guided the traffic slowly around the wreck. A tanker had slid clean off the road, the unit half-submerged in the river whilst the trailer had swung-out across the highway.

“What seems to be the problem, Officer?”

“Well Ma’am...” He tailed-off.

The van was a hiked-up 4 wheeler but the driver was the weirdest he’d seen today! Facing him was a woman with a crew cut and bulging biceps. Not just that, she was heavily made-up in the manner of someone who either wasn’t used to doing it or was deliberately mocking the activity, she looked like the Joker! She also had one of those little white nurses hats on that would have looked cute on someone, practically anyone else and a blue rubber Nurse’s uniform which only accentuated her beefy frame. The one in the passenger seat looked even weirder.

She was in what looked like a pink rubber straitjacket and creepy harlequin mask with a blonde Marilyn Monroe wig and a ballerina’s skirt-a tutu, that’s what they were called!

The van’s radio blasted some death metal tune as the one on the passenger seat writhed in her bonds and he could see she was wearing fishnet stockings with those Victorian-style ankle-boots though studded and with a short chain joining them together.

Hayes was bug-eyed as he stepped-back to fully view the van. He strode around it, taking-in the ‘JUST MARRIED’ signs written on the sides and back in foam-spray and returned to the driver’s window;

“Uh-you two...ladies are married?”

“Sure are!” The ‘Nurse’ replied. “I wasn’t really into it, it’s such an old-fashioned

‘ownership’-type deal but Bobby Sue here finally wore me down and convinced me! Didn’t you, baby?” She cried, gripping the passenger’s thigh non-too gently. “Didn’t you, didn’t you baby?”

With that she leaned-over and licked the nearest leg as the other occupant writhed. The big one turned-up the radio;

“She just loves her ‘Metal’!”

The Officer was aware that he had been staring at the two weirdos for a little longer than was necessary and the driver frowned;

“Is there a problem Officer? You want to see our marriage license, is that it? Are we a little too EXTREME for your hick-sensibilities?” She bellowed.

Hayes didn’t know what to say, he buckled under the pressure;

“No, no-it’s not that! I just... Why are you two dressed-up like that?”

“He wants to come along,” she turned to her soundless passenger, “...you hear that? He wants to come along, baby-doll!”

Hayes took a step back;

“Uh no, no Ma’am...”

“Oh you do,” she grinned, “...you know exactly the sort of party we’re going to and you want to come!” She made a show of looking him up and down and licking her lips. “I don’t know, maybe... Is that cape the only rubber you’ve got? I can’t promise you won’t end-up on a leash, Officer...”

Wordlessly, he waved the two oddities on. The van swerved around the trailer and out of sight, over the hill;

“I don’t know. That may have been the best offer I’ll get all month!”

Further-on, the van pulled-over, crawling off the highway to a dirt-track and the pathetic figure in the hobble-boots, tutu and straitjacket was yanked out of it.

“Bobby Sue, you just weren’t helping back there, OOW!”

Webb held her foot and watched the bizarre figure try to wiggle away, her Marilyn wig blowing-off as she tottered along in her heels and tutu.

In no time, Webb was walking alongside her, their eyes locked, Eleanor’s were wide while Webb’s were mocking, sly;

“That wasn’t very nice! I can see,” she asserted, steering Eleanor back towards the van, her wig in one hand, “...that I’m going to have to give you a spanking, my girl!”

The FBI woman furiously shook her head even as her ‘owner’ sat on the rear step of the van and bent her over her knee. Slap after slap was heard, but not a single cry. Then the hypo was grabbed from the glove-box....

A car roared-up outside the used car lot’s office and a distinguished, older man entered ‘Mad Marty’s’;

“Hello,” he asked smoothly,”...I’m really rather taken with that Jaguar!”

Marty looked-up, beaming;

“Well sir, I can certainly tell you’re a discerning driver...” His speech tailed-off as he noticed the man’s muddied shoes, pants and the battered Renault he’d roared-up in. Then he saw the wad of cash on his counter...

The shaggy dog bounded ahead into the wood and Eleanor followed, her head held-back to get some sun.

“Come on, will you!” The sheepdog yelled at her.

“Okay, okay! It’s a bit tough moving quick in this straitjacket!” She yelled.

The dog stopped on a rocky outcrop and tilted its head;

“Well why didn’t you say?” He called back and scampered to her, jumping up at her back and unhooking the sleeves from behind her.

The FBI woman exhaled a sigh of relief and flung her arms wide before unbuckling the groin strap and shrugging out of the awful thing, hoisting it over her head and shoulders;

“Why didn’t you do that before?”

“You never asked!” He replied, reasonably.

Eleanor picked at her leotard, she felt it was almost a part of her now. She ran her hands through her hair;

“Oh boy, free at last!”

The dog contemplated her evenly, holding her gaze for a long time.

“Except I’m not, am I?” She concluded.

The canine turned from her and padded-back to the rocks. She could see he was headed to a cave and he paused;

“You are while you’re here.”

She shivered as clouds began to scud across the sky and fat raindrops began to hit her. Arms pumping, she ran to the cave the dog had disappeared into.

Somehow, he’d gotten a fire lit and she huddled-down in the flickering darkness next to it staring into the flames as the kindling crackled. Images swam in the fire, a good-looking blond guy, a crazy man in a deerstalker and then an urbane villain. Next, a balding thug was reflected in front of her clamping a chloroform pad to her face and she was bound as the blocky female came for her with a syringe. Then there was a dashboard in front of her and she was aware of looking through the eye-holes of a mask to see a traffic-cop she tried to alert to no avail. The big woman smacked her like a little child and then more drugs filled her mouth...

“I won’t be here forever will I?” Eleanor asked, hugging her knees.

The sheepdog trotted-over and put its head in her lap;

“Why not? It’s warm here.”

Outside, a storm raged and she shivered despite the fire, stroking his head;

“I’m not mad am I? I’m not ‘round the bend’?”

The dog yawned massively;

“It’s warm round the bend.” He said, noncommittally.

THE END