Paul Blaisdell looked over the remains of his ruined headquarters, heart in his throat. This was no paperwork snafu. The place looked like a tornado hit it. Desks, tables, and chairs were overturned, most of the paper lying around was still burning from the fire set in the middle of the room and there was no indication of life whatsoever. *We've been betrayed,* was Paul's first thought as he picked his way gingerly through the rubble, looking for some signs of his command staff. Good people, all of them: Binh Thanh, Bill Mosley, Kim Nghi, Chan Hoang...and Kermit. What had happened to them? Did he really want to know? If they hadn't known about this attack....

"We got a live one!" hollered his aide, Miguel Rodriguez.

Paul ran toward the body, just barely visible in the wreckage. He helped Miguel toss the remaining debris off the man. It was Chan. Paul could tell that his condition was terminal. Fighting his despair, Paul leaned down, cradling the wounded man's head in his lap. "What happened, Chan?" he asked.

"It was...it was...." Chan coughed. "Do Vien. He turned us in."

Paul closed his eyes in agony. He KNEW he should have moved the base of operations before he went into town! He just knew it!

"We didn't have a chance," Chan continued, his strength draining from him. "They took everybody."

Paul looked up, seeing Miguel take out his gun. "I'll go find them," he said, clicking off the safety, "and silence them."

"I'M in charge here!" Paul Blaisdell found himself snapping.

Miguel looked at him like he was crazy. "We have to find them and silence them! Many more lives are now in danger...."

Paul and Miguel both looked down as Chan gave one last shuddering sigh and closed his eyes...forever.

"We have to find them," Paul corrected, "and RESCUE them!" His jaw set, he decided that no more men under his command would die....

"Paul...." Miguel could not understand why Blaisdell was going against SOP. "We have to-"

Paul grabbed the man by the shirt. "We have to do anything to save our people and that's an order!" he barked. With a quick, savage twist of his wrist, he yanked Miguel's gun from his grasp. "Go find them," Paul ordered. "And if I hear you've killed one of them - I'll kill YOU. Go!"

*****

"Bloodthirsty, wasn't he?" Savannah commented.

"He was bloodthirsty," Paul agreed, "but he was right. I should have ordered him to kill all of them - but I couldn't. It wasn't just Kermit, although that was certainly one factor. It was Vietnam. It was death. I'd just seen too much of it. That's when I knew it was time for me to get out of Vietnam. Once I'd lost my objectivity, that was it for me."

Savannah put her hand over his and squeezed comfortingly. "I don't believe that," she told him. "You're a good man....A good soul, as Caine would say. I can't believe that you weren't bothered by it from the beginning."

Paul smiled, immensely flattered by Savannah's vision of him. "Weellllll....I'll admit to a twinge now and then but I was a different man then, too." He ignored Savannah's look of disbelief and continued. "Miguel found that they had all been questioned - or tortured - and only two had been sent to the Hanoi Hilton. Kermit was one of them. Bill Mosley was the other. They killed my Vietnamese aides outright for being traitors. Within a week, Mosley turned up - in several pieces."

Savannah gasped, looking at him with sympathy. "Why didn't they do the same with Kermit?"

"They found out from Mosley that Kermit knew more about my operation than any of the others and decided to focus their full attention on him. Making him crack. I knew they would do it and, while I tried to think up a plan to get him out of there, my new staff and I was scrambling to make all the information that Kermit knew obsolete."

"You knew Kermit would crack?!" Savannah sounded insulted. It sounded to her like Paul expected Kermit to be disloyal.

This time, Paul put a hand over hers. "My dear, *I* would crack in that place. Besides which, I knew exactly how much training Kermit had and I knew it wasn't enough to save him. My only hope was to get him away from them. Miguel fought me at every turn."

"Why didn't you fire him?" Savannah asked indignantly.

"Because Miguel was the best that was available to me. He was very skilled. I just had to keep a tight rein on his temper and his homicidal urges. There were times when he wanted to kill when it just wasn't necessary. But he did respect the chain of command. He didn't always like my orders but he obeyed me.

"Anyway, I told him every day to document what was going on at the Hilton. That's about when our key operatives started dying. I had no idea that it was Kermit. The thought never occurred to me, since, like I said, I knew how much training Kermit had had and he wasn't that good yet. Miguel was going crazy trying to find out who was the assassin or assassins. He knew everybody in Vietnam who had access to a gun and he was getting seriously frustrated. Finally, he came across some notes about some unscheduled transport coming and going from the Hilton. I put a couple of sentries there to watch the routine but there was no routine. Finally, one of the sentries got close enough to see that Kermit was one of those prisoners in that truck. I couldn't believe it! I also couldn't figure out WHY they were shipping him back and forth. But I decided to figure that out later. The rescue took priority."

*****

"STUPIDO!" Miguel Rodriguez muttered under his breath.

"You'd better be talking to yourself," Paul Blaisdell snapped at him. Neither man was in a very good mood. They had been crouched down in these bushes, freezing their butts off for six days now. No routine to the truck meant that they had to be there all the time. They slept in shifts. They ate sparingly from dry rations. They were wet and exhausted. The truck still was nowhere to be seen.

On top of that, Miguel had to complain about the situation once or twice an hour, not understanding in the least about why Paul didn't just kill Griffin. It was obvious to both of them that Griffin had broken. Where Miguel was from, when an agent is under enemy control this long, he is no longer useful and must be eliminated. To him, Paul Blaisdell was too important a man to be crouched in a stakeout, wasting manpower and resources to save one man.

"Paydirt," Miguel whispered.

Sure enough, the dirty green truck came into view. Miguel and Paul drew their guns. Miguel obediently looked to Paul for the first move. Paul aimed and fired, taking out the front tire. The agents were already in place and they quietly surrounded the hapless truck as the soldiers were pouring out to fix the tire. The ambush was quick and efficient. There was a bit of difficulty as Paul tried to approach the rear of the truck to get to Kermit. Several soldiers were in there guarding him and there was a close call as one managed a shot at Paul that missed by a fraction. Finally, Paul clambored into the truck to see a puzzling sight: Kermit was just sitting there, hands cuffed in front of him, eyes open and staring. Beside him sat...a metronome?

"Kid?" Paul asked, snapping his fingers in front of Kermit's face. He didn't bother looking for the keys to the cuffs. Just used his own lockpick and Kermit was free in five seconds. Paul gripped Kermit's shoulder. "Kerm-?"

Kermit suddenly bolted out of the truck, moving faster than Paul ever expected.

"Catch him!" Paul yelled, only to realize that Miguel was out there and would probably take the opportunity to kill Kermit. Paul scrambled in desperation for the opening and saw Kermit lying at Miguel's feet. "Did you-?" Paul didn't want to ask. He approached Kermit, looking him over for wounds, and bent down to check his pulse. It was steady.

"You think I'm going to kill him after all this trouble?" Miguel asked, smirking. "I just decked him, is all."

Paul, relieved, blew air out through his lips. "Okay, let's wrap it up, people." Not wanting to press his luck by telling Miguel to carry Kermit, he picked Kermit up himself and fireman-carried him to the waiting jeep.

*****

Paul had seen the anger flash in Savannah's eyes as he mentioned the metronome. Anger also every time he mentioned Miguel's desire to silence Kermit in lewe of rescue. "Kermit was lucky to have you on his side." Smiling slightly, she added, "And so was I. Without you, there would be no 'us'."

"Well," Paul added thoughtfully, "he's paid back the favor many times over. You see, my dear, in those years in Vietnam, he ceased to be just my friend's son."

"He became your son."

Paul took another sip of his coffee. "Yes, he did. Though he has never failed to remind me during a lecture about his screwups that I was 'not his father, dammit!' I'm counting on Kat to get a touch of revenge on my behalf for those remarks."

Savannah could see the underlying hurt in Paul Blaisdell. The hurt that existed when he considered the possibility that Kermit didn't return his feelings. *Oh, Paul,* Savannah thought, *how could you think that?? He worships you as the father he never had!* Instead, she strove for lightness as she replied with resignation, "I don't think you have to worry about that one, Paul. She's a pint-sized Kermit. He came home from the park the other day simply bursting with pride because HIS little girl had shoved another kid who was taking toys away from her playmates. 'Guts AND a sense of justice,' he said. Can you believe that?!"

A huge grin on his face, Paul sympathetically patted her hand. He knew the problem would be a hundred times worse as she got older. "Well, at least they'll be on the same wavelength," he consoled. "It may give him an advantage I never had with him or Peter."

Suddenly turning serious, she said, "He loves that child more than his next breath and she worships him. When he's not working, if you see Kermit Griffin, you see Kat. But he still worries about what she'll think of him when she grows up."

"What do you mean?"

"If she finds out about some of the things he's had to do. He'll never feel worthy of being her father, Paul. That place - his whole past, in fact - has stuck to him and I don't think he'll ever feel 'clean', even if he lives to be a hundred."

Paul could read the desire in her eyes. Longing to find out some piece of information that would help free the man she loved from one more demon. She'd already given his more freedom than she knew. Paul didn't want to think about what would have happened to Kermit Griffin if he'd been on his own when Truong Qui returned to claim him. If there had been no one to see him spiral backward. No one to grab him and pull him back. "Savannah, there are some demons that can never be banished. Tamed or controlled, maybe, but never banished completely."

He continued the tale.

*****

Paul walked into the medical ward, his eyes first spotting Kermit. The young man was still dead asleep but that was certainly better than dead DEAD. Paul strolled through the infirmary casually, his body language never betraying the inner feelings, as he perused the Vietnamese wardroom. There were almost too many patients to treat. Thankfully, Paul didn't have to bully very hard to get a bed for Kermit. The hospitals in the area knew that Paul donated to their cause whenever he could and also happened to be the one honest source they had in the black market to procure medical equipment and drugs.

Paul pulled up a chair and sat next to Kermit's sleeping form. He looked at the 22-year-old face that now seemed about 80 years old. Would Kermit ever recover? Paul didn't know. He only knew that the other men Paul had rescued periodically from there usually found themselves in a VA psychiatric ward for a good long while. Running a hand through his graying hair, Paul sighed. *Shit, Mitch, what have I done to your kid?* He'd promised Mitchell Griffin at his grave that he would protect Kermit and now this.

Paul's head snapped to look at Kermit; he could have sworn that Kermit had stirred but there was no sign now. "Kid?" he asked, leaning over the young man. "Kermit, it's me, Paul. You're going to be okay. You're safe." Paul Blaisdell had been a little worried when Kermit was rescued. Kermit acted like he didn't know him but Paul had assumed he'd suffered a head injury or was hallucinating. Then, the doctors had examined him and Paul learned the awful truth....

Kermit's eyes fluttered open briefly. "Kermit!" Paul exclaimed, leaning closer. "That's it, kid. Fight!"

Kermit cracked his eyes open, squinted blearily and winced slightly at the sun shining through the open window. Paul glanced over, not seeing the significance and shrugged as Kermit closed his eyes again.

"No. No, Kermit, wake up!" Paul insisted, shaking him a little. He had to know if Kermit was all right. As of yet, Kermit hadn't uttered a sound. "Kermit!" Kermit's body went limp in his hands. "Shit," Paul muttered. "Well, okay, kid, you come around when you're ready. I'll still be right-"

Suddenly, as fast as lightning, a hand snaked out and pried Paul's gun from him. Paul noted with horror, as he realized that Kermit was playing possum, that he was looking at the business end of his own gun and Kermit's finger wasn't hesitating on the trigger!

Through long experience, Paul dove to the ground as Kermit's shot fired and hit the wall, causing the patients to cower in fear as they tried to avoid Kermit's view.

Paul watched incredulously as Kermit, despite the horrendous wounds he had suffered at the hands of the VC, sprang out of bed and ran for the door. Glancing around for a weapon, Paul grabbed two pillows, one in each hand, as a doctor moved to intercept Kermit. Kermit shot him point-blank in the gut. Spinning around, Kermit saw a nurse using a telephone and shot her, too. No remorse. No hesitation. But Paul had no time to grieve for the naive young man he'd learned to love as his own son. He had to stop him.

Taking the pillows in hand, he stood up, drawing Kermit's attention, and flung the pillow in his right hand at Kermit as hard as he could. Kermit scoffed at the 'weapon' until he realized that the pillow wasn't a weapon, it was a diversion. While Kermit's view was temporarily blocked, at least partially, Paul Blaisdell jumped over the cots and closed the distance between them. As Kermit brought the gun up once more, the pillow in Paul's left hand was hurled down on Kermit's hand, knocking the gun sideways.

Paul wasted no time. He knew that, to help him, he could not be gentle. He stepped up and hit his young friend as hard as he could.

Paul was ready for more but it only took one punch. Kermit was propelled against the wall behind him and stared into space for seconds before beginning to slide down the wall to the floor. Paul caught him, and recovered his gun, as Kermit lost consciousness.

He held Kermit in his arms for a long moment, mourning. But, soon, he realized that he had no time for that. Holding onto his gun, he draped Kermit over his shoulder and carried him back to his bed.

A doctor was in his way. "NO!" the doctor protested loudly in Vietnamese. "We will NOT tend to him any longer! You must take him away from here!"

Paul really couldn't blame the doctor but he didn't have any other place for Kermit that was as safe. Shrugging the doctor out of the way, he gently laid Kermit back down on the cot while the doctor continued to object. He then straightened, sighed, beckoned Miguel closer, who had just arrived on the scene, and held out his hand expectantly. Miguel's eyes widened and he looked like he wanted to argue but Paul continued to hold out his hand. Finally, Miguel dipped into his pocket and brought out a wad of cash.

Paul took it, peeled off a few bills and handed them to the wide-eyed doctor. Paul felt a twinge of unease, paying for the loss of human life, but he knew that he had given the doctor enough cash to fund them for two months. He'd make peace with his soul later. "Listen to me," he told the doctor in the doctor's native Vietnamese, "I want you to take care of him. Keep him sedated. Don't let him wake up or he'll kill you. I'll be back in a week and take him away. When I leave, I will give you more money. Deal?"

The doctor looked at the unconscious Kermit and at the money in his hand. "Deal."

Paul nodded as he turned to his aide, who was staring open-mouthed. "Are you crazy???" Miguel hissed. "Risking it all for one man? You should have let me kill him!"

Paul grabbed the man painfully on the shoulder. "We went through this before," he said quietly. "*I* am in charge here." Letting go, he strode toward the exit. Miguel followed.

"What will we do in a week?"

"Clean house," Paul Blaisdell said shortly.

*****

Again, there was that anger from Savannah as she refilled their coffee cups and found some cheese and crackers to munch on. Paul smiled. It almost made him wish that Miguel would stop by to visit Kermit. There's no telling what the man might suffer at the hands of Kermit's enraged wife.

"I knew the problem," Paul continued, "but I didn't want to admit it. I couldn't believe that Kermit was responsible for our agents' killings. But seeing what I saw in that medical ward room...." He shook his head.

"What?"

"Savannah...that loony stunt with the pillows....You see, an agent only delves into the unorthodox when the tried-and-true methods fail. Kermit was too good. It was like, overnight, he had become...someone different. Someone so skilled that only the crazy and the unorthodox would surprise him. I knew something was terribly wrong, but I couldn't figure out how he had gotten so professional so fast. Miguel, of course, had the usual reaction; especially when he showed Kermit's picture around at the sites of the assassinations. Kermit had always managed to keep out of sight during the killings but after, there was always at least one person who could identify him. Usually it was someone from housekeeping or janitorial services that admitted seeing him.

"That week was the busiest I'd ever experienced. I was pulling out. This incident made it clear to me that my business in Vietnam was over. We swept over everything. We burned our bridges, except those that I still needed to get out of Vietnam. Besides, the war was coming to an end. My contacts in Washington gave me iron-clad proof. In approximately three or four weeks, they would have instructed me to close shop, anyway. I was just doing it a little early."

"Did you get into trouble for that?" Savannah asked.

"No," Paul laughed wryly. "In fact, I was heralded as a great commander who could see the end of it before anyone else. Truth was, I was pulling out for me. Bill Mosley was one of those clean-cut young kids who should've been necking in his father's Ford rather than serving in Vietnam. He didn't deserve such a gruesome, painful death. And Kermit...well, Kermit had a lot of energy for this kind of thing, which made me worry about him. I knew he was a lot like Miguel, with the same kind of temperament that the agency would love to get their hands on. Now that Kermit had the skill to match his ego and temper, I couldn't imagine what they would do with him. I had to get to him first."

A noise startled the pair. Turning around, they saw a bleary-eyed Kermit stumbling toward them. "What are you doing up?" Savannah asked sternly as she went to his side.

"Thirsty," he mumbled.

Savannah shook her head and went around him to get more orange juice.

"I think I'm getting worse," Kermit mused. "So what old tale are you rehashing?"

"Something about France and a young blonde," Paul said, winking at Savannah.

"Oh, God...anything but that!" Kermit protested as a glass of orange juice was placed in one hand and two more cold tablets placed in the other.

"Now, exactly HOW many women were at that party, Paul?" Savannah asked, winking back.

Kermit just swallowed the tablets obediently and headed back toward the bedroom. "Don't believe anything this man says. Been certifiable for years. I oughta know...."

"Go back to sleep!" Savannah ordered and waited until the bedroom door shut. She threw a guilty look at Paul. "You know I will tell him what we were really talking about...."

"I know. But until then, he can wonder." Paul grinned. "You're lucky he's too sick to care. Ordinarily, he'd be perched over your shoulder, hanging on every word."

"You think he is getting worse?" Savannah asked worriedly. "Maybe I should take him to a doctor."

Paul shook his head. "He'll be fine. It's just a cold. Best cure is aspirin and orange juice. Ask any doctor. Besides which, I think he's enjoying himself." At Savannah's puzzled look, he continued. "I've noticed that when he doesn't like the caregivers in charge, like me or like the staff of a hospital, he's the worst patient in the world. But when a beautiful woman shows up to be the nurse...well...." He spread his hands. "What man wouldn't behave under those circumstances? We weren't so lucky when *I* was the nurse...."

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