The Bad Times Of Face

face Is holding on

The man groaned and rolled over to stare blankly at the ceiling. His head ached fiercely and blotches of color swam before his eyes, turning the darkness green and purple and making him groan still more miserably. When he tried to sit up, his stomach heaved and he retched painfully, then he collapsed back on the floor and shut his eyes.

Several minutes passed before he tried again. This time, to the accompaniment of muttered curses and threats of vengeance, he managed to push himself upright. He scanned the flat with narrowed, watering eyes, assuring himself that he was alone, then he patted down his pockets. Nothing seemed to be missing, including his weapon and the sheaf of bills in his wallet, which ruled out a robbery. But who else…?

Scrambling to his feet, he dived for the window and snatched up his binoculars. Nothing moved in the opposite flat. He swept the entire building with the lenses, straining to pierce curtains and shadows and dumb stone with no success. If his target had moved, he'd missed it. And if he'd allowed the target to slip away again, he'd probably find himself minus a few essential body parts by the end of the week.

His hand shook slightly as he lifted the phone and dialed it.

The familiar, arctic voice answered on the first ring. "Eagle's Nest."

"Hatchling One."

"Why are you calling at this hour?"

"I had a visitor tonight. Someone broke into the flat and attacked me."

The man on the other end of the line hesitated, processing his news, then demanded, "Peck?"

"I can't say for certain. It was dark and I didn't see his face. But I don't think it was him."

"Why not?"

"I've been watching him since he returned to the flat, and I would swear he doesn't know I'm here."

"He's evaded our surveillance once already."

"Yes, but he came back. Maybe it was just dumb luck that he got away before."

The voice turned dry. "This is the A-Team we're dealing with, Hatchling. Dumb luck doesn't enter into it. No, his every action has a purpose, including his return to the flat after he'd slipped our leash. He knows he's being watched."

"That doesn't mean he knows where I am."

"Who else could it be?"

"MI6," he said, with a certainty he did not feel. He wasn't deliberately trying to mislead his commander, but he wanted to live, and that meant he had to convince the other man that he had not screwed up. "They searched the flat earlier and might have spotted me."

"Hmm." He didn't exactly sound convinced, but he wasn't threatening to carve his underling into steaks, or worse, hand him over to Mr. K. "I'll send Hatchling Three to relieve you. Get some sleep. And inform me when the target moves again."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." He hung up and sagged with relief. Then he lifted the binoculars again and trained them on Peck's window, mouthing a silent prayer that he was lying safely in bed, enjoying the sleep of the just.

The rooftop of Face's flat, Tangier

Face awoke when the sun lifted high enough to spill over the wall and touch his eyelids. Blinking and cursing, he untangled himself from the quilt and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It was still early morning. The street was nearly empty, but the buildings lining it rang with the sound of many hidden people preparing for the day. The smell of food cooking and coffee brewing made Face's stomach rumble. He quickly packed up his gear and headed back downstairs.