It's a sin to eavesdrop, guys.
- Hannibal, "Children of Jamestown"
Chapter 12: Background Check
Hannibal opened the door and emerged from the bedroom on the second floor of the penthouse suite. From what he had learned, this particular luxury hotel room had often played host to Presidents, dignitaries, and big-name celebrities over the years, hence why the hotel staff had called it the Presidential Suite. In fact, they had slept right on the very same bed that he had slept in for the past few days.
One thing was for sure . . . he had one of the most comfortable and sound night's sleep in quite some time. He really had to give it to Face. He had an amazing talent for the remarkable when it came to acquiring things for the Team, especially when it was something posh and expensive and played into the upper-class lifestyle he tried to project. If he hadn't been on the run, truthfully, the silver-haired Colonel likely could get used to living in the lap of luxury . . . although it certainly wouldn't be as much fun.
He raised his arms above his head as he stretched, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep from his muscles. His mouth opened wide in a huge yawn, before he lowered his arms. As he did so, his sense of smell immediately detected the rich aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. It didn't smell like the coffee that came in a can, but rather the type that had just been ground from premium roasted Columbian coffee beans.
He looked over the railing from the bedroom area into the living room below. From his vantage point, he could see a figure sitting on the couch, but he couldn't quite make out who it was . . . even though he actually had a pretty good guess. His hand cupped the gold-trimmed handrail as he quietly made his way down the winding staircase into the main area of the penthouse suite.
Once he entered the living room, he could immediately see the muscular figure of BA sitting on the couch. He was actually almost sitting on the edge of the seat, and leaning forward over a device that looked like a portable tape player that sat on the coffee table in front of him. A set of oversized headphones was clamped around his head, covering his ears, and it was clear that he was listening intently to whatever noise was being projected through those earphones. The West Point trained strategist could see steam arising from the coffee cup that sat next to the tape player ,which meant that either BA had made the coffee himself, or someone else did.
He didn't want to disturb the Sergeant right away so he made his way over to the bar, where he saw the mostly-filled glass coffee carafe. It was very clear that it had to have been freshly made since there wasn't much missing from it. Walking behind the bar, he pulled out a coffee cup and then grabbed the carafe from off the warmer. He poured the hot liquid into his cup and watched as the steam arose from the white porcelain mug. He put the carafe back onto the warmer, and then lifted the cup to his lips, taking a sip. Just as he suspected, it was a very rich Columbian coffee and it was very strong too. Then again, BA always liked his coffee strong enough to where it could almost peel the paint off of a house.
Walking out from behind the bar, with the coffee cup in his hand, he made his way over to the expansive sliding glass door. Beyond that, during the summer, they could have walked out onto the balcony and had an unobstructed view of Chicago's beautiful lakefront from about twenty stories high. A fierce howl of wind from outside could be heard as it buffeted against the sliding doors. Glancing outside through a couple of spots on the glass, which was becoming embedded with frost, Hannibal warily eyed the weather.
On the balcony, all he could see was a sea of white blanketing the area. Even beyond that, the lakefront was covered with snow far more than it was when they had flown in a few days prior. He glanced down at his watch that was strapped to his left wrist and noted the time.
8:00am.
His ice blue eyes spotted the famous Lake Shore Drive. From what he remembered, his parents used to catch the Chicago Skyway instead of taking I-94 from Indiana. It was often faster, and provided a magnificent view. The Skyway was actually a six-mile long bridge, and they always got off of it at Stony Island Avenue. From there, they'd cut over to Marquette Drive, which fed directly into Lake Shore Drive, or LSD as people always commonly referred to it as. LSD ran the curved stretch along the lakefront all the way up to Hollywood Boulevard on the north side of Chicago. In fact there had been a famous song about it that he Hannibal had immensely enjoyed, performed by Aliotta-Haynes-Jeremiah in 1971, that brought back fond memories.
But, this was a weekday and stores would be open early along the Magnificent Mile in order to try and attract last minute Christmas shoppers before the big day. Many businesses and companies were still open. Considering the time of day, that stretch should have been filled with cars, packed bumper to bumper with people trying to get to those stores or their jobs. But, due to the blizzard, it was almost totally barren . . . like a ghost town.
It had been snowing steadily for two days, since they had left the ice rink that Mrs. B had taken them to. While it wasn't all blizzard like conditions the entire time, it did make driving to and from the Chicago Hilton and Towers and Mrs. B's apartment a lot more treacherous. There was one advantage to all of this, though . . . the weather had also driven away the MPs that kept a close watch on her apartment complex, allowing the A-Team to come and go with relative ease and anonymity.
The Colonel took another sip of his coffee and made his way back over to the make-shift listening post that they had set up. They had all taken turns manning the post, listening to conversations that were going on live as well as ones they had recorded when they had spent some time with Mrs. B. It was almost his turn to take over, although he was starting to have a few doubts gnaw at him. If they didn't come up with something soon, either through the bugs or with the background check from Face's contacts, they'd likely have to admit that they were wrong about Spencer Jackson. And admitting that they were wrong . . . that he was wrong . . . was something that Hannibal didn't like to do.
He sat down on the love seat and looked at the Sergeant, noting that his brow was furrowed in a cross between concentration and concern. BA was likely sorting through the previous night's recordings in the office chance that there could have been something on there that would have proven to be useful. Gently, the silver-white haired leader placed the cup down on the coffee table in front of him, and then decided to prod, "How's it going, BA?"
The muscular mechanic acknowledged his Commanding Officer's presence with a nod, but continued to listen to whatever sound was coming through the earphones for a few moments longer. He then removed the headphones and placed them down next to the tape player. His large fingers reached over and grabbed the coffee cup that was by him and lifted it to his lips. He took a sip and almost seemed to make a sour face. "Don't know how you or Faceman can stand coffee like this. Too rich for me," he commented as he put the cup down.
From the days of the military, BA liked his coffee black with nothing in it. Sure, the coffee the Army made tasted like mud sometimes, but it was far better than this rich stuff. The taste was just off, somehow . . . he couldn't even really describe it, but it just didn't taste like coffee should. The Sergeant picked up the sugar packet that rested next to where the cup had sat and tore it open, emptying the contents into the cup. He then picked up a small creamer cup and pulled the lid off, and then also dumped that into the coffee mug as well. Grabbing the spoon off the coffee table, he plunged it into the liquid and stirred it a bit. After he pulled it back out, he set the spoon down and then took another sip of his coffee. Seemingly satisfied that the cream and sugar cut down on the richness of the coffee, he set the cup down and then unplugged the headphones from the tape player. "I think we got something, Hannibal. Came in about 0200."
Hannibal glanced over at BA, trying hard to mask his reaction. Could this be the break they needed in order to take some action and protect Mrs. B? He wasn't quite sure what they had yet, so he didn't want to get too excited until he knew more. "Either someone stayed really late last night and put in some serious overtime, or came in extremely early this morning," Hannibal mused. "Was it from the mic on his name tag?"
BA shook his head and gave Hannibal a quiet grin. He knew that the Colonel had accompanied him and Mrs. B to her office, and there was a reason behind it. He had been asked to construct a third bug, not just the two that he had planted in Spencer's office. It was only after the fact that the Sergeant had learned where his leader had personally planted that third bug . . . literally speaking. "Nah, man. Came from the one you planted in that poinsettia on Mama's desk. Spencer used her phone to make the call."
"Smart," Hannibal appraised, narrowing his eyes for a moment. It was clear that whatever Spencer was up to, he was smart, calculating, and trying to cover his tracks. "If he's up to something illegal, anyone on to him would most likely tap his phone. But, if he uses a subordinate's phone, especially one nobody would suspect, nobody can trace it back to him. What have you got?" he asked, a tone entering his voice of pure determination.
The silver-white haired Colonel tried hard to suppress the surge of excitement that welled up within him. Two days of listening and, until now, there hadn't been anything that couldn't have been explained away. He had began to wonder, for a while, if they had been wrong about Spencer Jackson. He couldn't deny the desire for action that was growing. He enjoyed vacations and loved being able to relax, but he never liked to be idle for too long as it meant letting their guard down. And when that happened, they all got sloppy and would make them easier targets for the MPs. Perhaps that was part of the reason why he had been so eager to jump on this case. The other part that made him eager was Mrs. B. The last thing that they wanted was for her to get hurt by that sleazeball.
BA inserted a cassette into the player and pressed play. It was best to let the strategist hear what was recorded for himself so he could best determine how he wanted to handle this. He remained silent as the sound of some papers rustling could be heard ,followed by a click as someone picked up the phone receiver. That was followed by the sound of someone dialing a phone number. Mrs. B's phone was one of those old rotary phones, and not one of the newer touchtone phones.
Hannibal glanced over to his Sergeant upon hearing that sound. "Can you . . ." he immediately started to ask, but it was almost as if BA had read his mind. Before he could even finish his sentence, the Sergeant's large fingers hit the pause button on the tape player and then handed the Colonel a piece of paper. Glancing at it, his ice blue eyes read the phone number that was written on there. A grin appeared upon his face as he commented, "Nice, BA."
"Wasn't hard," the master mechanic admitted with a shrug. He didn't really think too much about it, and for him it had been relatively easy to figure out the phone number. Once he had heard it being dialed, he knew that his Commanding Officer would want that information, so he made sure that he got it. "Just had to calculate the length of each dial to figure out what number it was."
Hannibal grinned as he looked from the slip of paper to his Sergeant. A familiar twinkle began to appear within his eyes . . . a sparkle that was present when the Jazz flowed through his veins like adrenaline. "I'll get Face to check on this number with the phone company," he noted as he put the slip of paper on the coffee table in front of him. His hand then reached over to pick up the coffee mug and took another sip of his coffee. Once he set down the cup, he raised an inquisitive eyebrow at BA. "I assume the caller isn't identified on tape?"
BA shook his head and then pressed play on the tape player. He kept silent, figuring it best that the Colonel listened to this for himself.
A short silence filled the air before the voice of Spencer Jackson could clearly be heard over the recording. "I have the merchandise as promised," he said flatly.
Hannibal looked at the tape player almost as if it was a human being that had two heads. Of course, his curiosity was getting the better of him, and he really wanted to know more . . . yet, he couldn't help but to remark, "Merchandise? Sure gets to the point fast."
BA held a hand up upon hearing Hannibal's comment to try and indicate that there was more on the tape . . . a lot more that would interest him. His dark eyes were filled with anger, since he had already heard what was on the tapes. Even though it had been a little over an hour since he had heard the recording, it didn't totally quell the rage inside him over what he had heard.
Spencer's voice could once more be heard, his deep resonance cutting through the silence like a sharp knife. "Right. I have the demonstration planned . . . right . . . just as we agreed . . ."
Hannibal pulled a cigar out from the breast pocket of his tan safari jacket, and bit off the end with his teeth. Once the end was chewed off, he pulled it out of his mouth and placed it in the ash tray, not wanting to incur Face's wrath. The guy was sore enough as it was from the ice skating the other day, so the least he could do was show him a little bit of sympathy. Sticking the cigar between his teeth, he pulled out a lighter and allowed the fire to dance at the end of the stogie until he was able to draw in the warm, richly-flavored smoke, which he then exhaled. The white puff drifted upward as thoughts filled his mind. What kind of a demonstration did Spencer Jackson have in mind? It couldn't have been a museum piece . . . especially not with having to arrange this sort of business over his subordinate's phone at two in the morning.
"Of course. He has my word . . . tomorrow. Yes, I know there will be heavy security, but the man I have lined up is a professional. You just take care of your end of the deal, and I'll take care of mine," Spencer's voice was again heard. There was a definite tinge of frustration in his tone . . . even perhaps anger? It almost seemed like he didn't like being told what to do.
Hannibal exchanged a quick glance at BA, almost as if trying to read his emotions based on the expression on his face. He could tell that the Sergeant was angry at Spencer Jackson due to what he heard with the recording, but he held his tongue. BA obviously had wanted him to hear it for himself. Either way, whatever was going on, it was going down faster than he originally thought, yet they still had no idea what he was up to.
"Of course it's in a safe place. A very dear friend of mine has conveniently provided me with a place to hide the plans," Spencer continued, sounding rather indignant. He was confident . . . perhaps even a bit over confident . . . that he likely wasn't going to get caught. He let out a short bark of laughter and then continued, "No one will ever suspect her. She's been working at the Museum so long she's almost an attraction herself, and the President of the Museum absolutely adores her."
Even though he had heard the tape once before, a sneer had appeared upon BA's face and he let out a low, deep growl at the obvious reference to his mother. He was angry that someone would ever think of using her for illegal activities. His muscles tensed, and he looked like he was ready to pound someone or something just to relieve the volcano of rage within him that was ready to erupt.
Hannibal immediately noticed this and got up from the love seat. He moved next to BA and placed a calming hand on his shoulder as a sign of support. Immediately, he could feel the response within the Sergeant's body as he seemed to relax a little bit. It wasn't much, but just enough to where the Colonel knew that the mechanic wasn't going to take a swing at him, Murdock, or Face in an attempt to alleviate that anger.
"All right . . . yes . . . everything is in place. There shouldn't be anything to worry about. It'll go down like clockwork. You'll see . . . and with the press coverage, it'll make international news. I'll notify you when everything has been completed," Spencer's voice said once more, filled with a grim satisfaction. Another sound followed shortly after . . . one distinctive to the handset of the phone being put back on the receiver.
BA shut the tape off and then shook his head. His voice had a very dark tone, punctuated with the anger that he felt, as he noted, "After that, he went back inta his office. The other two mics picked up some papers rustlin', then he left the building. He came back 'bout 0700, but hasn't said anythin' useful since then."
Hannibal puffed on his cigar for a few moments as he thought over the conversation. There was still a lot of unanswered questions, but at least now they had a more information than they did a few days ago. None if it was good, however, and just further served to confirm his initial impression of the Spencer Jackson, as well as the suspicions that were formed following BA's phone call. Either way, the main concern was the welfare of Mrs. B and what could happen to her if they didn't act.
"Well," the Colonel began to say, breaking the silence. "At least we have a better idea of what he wants from your mother. She is unwittingly acting as a front for his illegal activities, whatever they are, and probably doesn't know it. I'm guessing whatever he's got going on, it's hidden in her office and she's got no clue what she's sitting on."
BA stood up immediately, his rage clearly evident as he moved around much like a caged tiger. Even though Hannibal had tried to calm him down a few moments prior, it only caused his anger to sit and stew . . . and right now, he was ready to throw a punch at anyone who dared to stop him, even if it was any of the guys. It wasn't like he'd intentionally try to hurt them, but at this point he was so filled with hatred for Spencer Jackson that he wouldn't be able to help himself. "I wanna go there right now, Hannibal!" BA proclaimed. "I wanna go bust down his door and teach him a lesson. Nobody messes with or hurts my Mama."
In a way, Colonel Smith couldn't help but to grin. Although he traditionally had used front door tactics, his men often complained about those plans since they didn't always go as he had intended. But here was his trusted Sergeant suggesting a very direct front door tactic . . . although one that'd likely land all of them in a stockade. No, this time around Hannibal had a very different tactic in mind. "Easy, BA," he tried to reassure the mechanic. "First, we need to find out who he was talking to. I'll get Face to check out the phone number right away. Next, we need to know what kind of demonstration is going down tomorrow and where. I don't like the sound of that. And we also need to know what it is that he had hidden, and where . . ."
Three hours later, the door to the penthouse suite opened and a tired Templeton Peck walked inside. He was pleased with the information he had managed to gather. His resources had come through for him, not only with the results of the background check, but also with the phone number he had been handed just hours prior. All in all, he was rather pleased with the results he was able to pull together, and he knew that Hannibal would also be just as interested in what he had managed to find out.
The moment he walked in, he looked at his Commanding Officer, who was sitting in an arm chair that overlooked the door . . . but the Colonel had his nose buried in the complimentary newspaper that was delivered to the suite each morning. He could see the words Chicago Tribune emblazoned in white across a blue banner at the top of the page. He half-expected a headline on the front page reading "A-Team in Chicago," but thankfully they had maintained a low enough profile to avoid drawing unwanted publicity and attention to themselves.
Hannibal looked up from his newspaper, once he had heard the door open. His crystal blue eyes seemed to sparkle a bit as he caught the smug expression on his Lieutenant's face that indicated that Face had been highly successful in his errands. After seeing the look on the con man's face, he looked back down at the newspaper, barely holding back a chuckle as Face unzipped his coat, put it in the closet, and then made his way over and sank down onto the couch with a groan.
Templeton Peck had been walking around for the last two days like a cowboy who had been thrown off his horse once too often. What made it worse was the fact that he whined and moaned about it, with every opportunity he could get, to anyone who would listen about how sore he was. No doubt, with the way he was brooding at the moment, he was likely going to start the conversation off by whining about how early he had been awakened. Well, all things considered, Hannibal considered the whining to be much more preferable to the moping about. He was certain that their conversation at the Museum was not finished, but at least he seemed to have made some kind of impact on the stubborn young man.
The Colonel heard Face clear his throat expectantly, as if trying to get some amount of attention. That just caused the silver-white haired leader to don an even bigger grin behind his paper. After almost twenty years together as a unit, he could almost predict the words that were going to come out of the mouth of his Supply Officer.
The frustration that was building up for the Lieutenant was growing. His whole body still ached from that ice skating they did the other day. Well, it was more like the others were ice skating, and he wound up kissing the ice a lot more often than he would have liked. He reached around with a hand and rubbed his lower back, trying to relieve throbbing within those muscles. He sat there in silence for a few moments, waiting for the Colonel to acknowledge him. When he saw his Commanding Officer casually turn the page on the newspaper, he realized that he was being deliberately ignored. Predictably enough, Face rose to the bait as he complained, "Hannibal, the least you can do is look at me. I hardly get any sleep last night with how much I'm hurting, you get me up at the crack of dawn, and send me running all over creation in all of that snow out there, gathering information. Don't you even want to know what I dug up?"
Hannibal looked up in earnest, almost as if just now noticing the con man's entrance, and grinned brightly. He ignored the expected jibe about when he had woken the Lieutenant up. It had been at 9:00am, not the crack of dawn, but after what his Supply Officer was subjected to at the ice rink and how much he was clearly in pain, he decided to let that remark go. "Oh, hi Face! What took you so long?" he asked, trying to hide the amusement within his voice.
Templeton Peck glared at his Commanding Officer with his blue eyes. He hated when Hannibal got to be like this, as it infuriated him to no end. It was very clear that he was already on the Jazz. Heck, come to think about it, it almost seemed as if the Colonel had been on the Jazz since they took off from Los Angeles for Chicago. What was it that some had said about too much of a good thing? He had never known his friend and mentor to have been on the Jazz for such an extended period of time, and he just hoped that nothing would go wrong as a result. "As it so happens," he stated haughtily, "I dug up more than I expected. I have some good news and some bad news. Where are BA and Murdock?"
Hannibal folded up the newspaper and set it on the coffee table. "BA is listening in on our friend at the Museum, and Murdock is watching TV in the other room . . . probably the Bozo Show. I'll get them," he offered as he stood up from the chair. There was no point in having Face do it and incur any more complaints from him with regard to how sore he was.
Colonel John Smith casually strolled over to the other room where BA and Murdock were. Thankfully, each one had been occupied with their own thing, which kept the peace between the two men. He hated to think of how much Face would complain if the pilot started to push the mechanic's buttons and they got into it with each other. Any amount of damage to the suite would burn any chance of getting this penthouse, much less any other room, at this particular hotel. "Guys, Face is back with the info," he announced to the two of them before returning to the chair.
BA and Murdock filtered into the sitting room shortly afterward. The A-Team's leader had to suppress a laugh when he first caught the wording on the bright red shirt that Murdock wore. In somewhat scripted letters it read, "Three Wise Men . . .you can't be serious!" One thing he had to admit, the pilot had a few shirts that were either pretty humorous or made a significant statement . . . but it was an attribute that made the Texan who he was. Once he saw the Captain and Sergeant settle into places to sit, Hannibal looked to his Lieutenant. "Okay, Face, start with the good news. We could use something going right for a change."
"Well," Face started out slowly. "I don't know if 'going right' is the best choice of words, but I definitely hit pay dirt when I investigated that phone number you gave me." He paused and looked around the room, relishing the suspense with a mysterious smile on his face. He knew that Hannibal was just going to love this one once he revealed all of the details he managed to get.
"Whatcha find out, Faceman?" BA growled irritably. His muscles flexed under his shirt as he balled his left hand into a fist and slapped into the palm of his right hand. He looked like he was about ready to hit someone or something. "I ain't in no moon to play no games with you."
Face gave the Sergeant an offended look for a moment, and then merely shrugged off the implied threat. He knew that BA was being very protective of his mother, and with good reason. "The phone number belonged to a shipping and freight company owned by a man named Brad Johnson. On the surface, everything is nice and legal. But, I did some digging and apparently the police have been investigating him for a while now. They suspect that he's a contact on the Black Market for none other than . . ." he paused for suspense. He looked expectantly at his friends, his expression that of a cat that had caught the canary or just succeeded in stealing some cream. He drew in a breath and continued dramatically, ". . . the Italian Mafia and one Gino Scarlotti."
Hannibal's crystal blue eyes began to sparkle like a diamond once he recognized the name. It was one he hadn't expected hearing again for a while since he was supposedly locked behind bars. Then again, someone who was as persistent as Scarlotti had the resources to grease a few wheels, if not buy out a few judges, in order to regain his freedom.
Murdock's warm brown eyes widened a bit as he also recognized the name. "The brother of Joe Scarlotti, who kidnapped Judge Mordente's daughter?" he asked, almost as if seeking confirmation. Although he loved going to Italy, they didn't have too much time to spend over there to look at the sights due to their mission . . . and then BA plowed through and destroyed the DC-3, which had been their method of escape. His stance started to take on a bit of a sulk as he recalled how that plane exploded into flames.
"Ain't that the dude that chased us 'cross Italy and onto that boat?" BA chimed in, also trying to make sure that his memory was correct. He remembered that mission all too well. He wasn't happy that he had been flown to Italy, and then had to be on that boat in a wheelchair as his disguise with the crazy fool playing nursemaid to him.
"One in the same," Face announced, the smug expression that he had when he had walked into the penthouse returning to his face. This thing was getting bigger and bigger by the moment, and he knew that Hannibal wouldn't be able to resist throwing a major wrench into whatever was going on.
"Nice, Face," Hannibal complimented him with a light tone. The twinkle within his eyes was still present as he contemplated this information. It was a wrinkle he hadn't expected, but if they could shut down whatever Scarlotti got his mitts into this time, it'd bring about a lot of satisfaction to the leader. He could just imagine the Italian mobster, madder than a hornet's nest, that the A-Team again fouled up one of his plans.
"Our old friend, Scarlotti," Murdock thought aloud. Even though the pilot had been institutionalized for insanity, there were times that he had such clarity of thought that one had to often wonder if it was really all just an act. His ideas were just as crazy as the Colonel's plans could be at times, and it almost seemed like the two men often thought along the same wavelength. He looked questioningly at Face and commented, "Wonder what he has to do with all this."
"I don't know," Face shrugged, having not heard the tape before he was sent out to get the information. He knew that Hannibal liked throwing challenges at him, and while he complained about it he had to admit that it did help to keep his skills sharp. "I wasn't able to figure that out. They were really suspicious of me. I think they thought I was an undercover cop. They asked me more questions than my last girlfriend."
Hearing that last line from the con artist, Murdock snorted with laughter. He clearly recalled the last woman Face had been involved with, along with what had happened with her. His burst laughter earned him a sharp, offended glare from the Supply Officer.
"The one you were absolutely positive was a Decker plant?" Hannibal suggested casually, trying to keep a straight face. He was glad he didn't actually burst out laughing after seeing the look that his Face had given the pilot. In a way, he found it amazing that the Lieutenant . . . normally a good judge of people . . . couldn't tell the difference between a true Decker bug and a jealous girlfriend. Of course, the poor girl was just devastated and never spoke to Face again.
"Well, she was certainly acting funny, asking all kinds of questions . . ." Face trailed off, looking rather exasperated. He couldn't believe that they'd bring her up now, of all times, and were getting a kick out of it. "This is not about Samantha!" he shot back defensively.
"If I were your girlfriend, Face, I'd be suspicious of you too," Murdock quipped, not quite ready to give up the banter and teasing of his blonde-haired best friend. It wasn't often that they had a chance to rib Face over his choice of girlfriends.
"Thank God you're not my girlfriend, Murdock," Face shot back in a haughty tone that only he could manage. He glared at the Texan for that remark. He couldn't be that transparent when it came to women that they'd suspect him of anything, could he?
"You look better in a dress than most of his girlfriends, Murdock," Hannibal quipped with a chuckle. A huge grin settled upon his face, knowing how his men were going to react to that. Sure enough, just as he predicted, he saw the jaws of Face and Murdock drop as they prepared to come back with a hot retort. Instead of snickering, BA also predictably let out a low, disgusted growl and his brow lowered in a mix of anger and frustration. That growl was enough to quickly sober everyone up and get the conversation back on track. Looking at the Lieutenant, the Colonel asked, "What else did you find, Face?"
Face cleared his throat in order to regain his composure and then straightened his tie. "That's all I managed to get on that front. I couldn't get in to see Johnson at his shipping company, or sneak in to scrounge around his office, so I couldn't learn anything from him directly. That place of his has more security than Fort Knox."
"You couldn't get in there?" Murdock asked, somewhat exasperated. He lazily draped himself over the chair, drawing his long legs up to where they hung over one of the arms, and the other arm served as a backrest. "Must be losing your touch, Faceman."
Not wanting the conversation to break down again, Hannibal kept his gaze steady on his Lieutenant. "So, what's the bad news, Face?" he asked, not even sure if he wanted to hear this. His mind was going over 101 different possibilities as to what the bad news was, and with all of them he didn't like the potential outcome or how it may affect their ability to figure out what Spencer was up to.
Reaching into his suit coat, Face pulled out a folded up set of papers. He meticulously unfolded them and shuffled through the pages that he held within his hands. "My contacts got back to me with the background check on Spencer," he revealed.
"You found something?" Hannibal asked with a frown, leaning forward in anticipation. He tried to read Face's body language to see if he could get some indication . . . some clue as to what the Lieutenant managed to discover. All he could do was hope that it was good news.
"No. That's just it. I found nothing. Zilch, zip, nada! The background check was completely clean. The man hasn't even had so much as a parking ticket in his entire life!" Face slammed the papers down in frustration. He then repeated for emphasis, "Nobody's record is that clean. Nobody's!"
Hannibal stood up from his chair and began to pace the room, his mind taking into consideration what was just said. Either this guy worked hard to keep his nose clean, or he had contacts that manipulated his record to purge any information that could incriminate him. He puffed on his cigar as his mind began to develop the beginnings of a plan.
Face shuffled through the papers he had just slammed down on the coffee table before adding, "I did check into that employee that almost got Spencer fired. You know, the one that Mrs. B. was telling us about . . ."
The cunning strategist stopped pacing for a moment and looked at the con artist. "And?" he asked, sensing that there was more to this that Face wasn't revealing just yet.
"C'mon, man. Just say it," BA urged in a dark and almost menacing tone. His dark eyes were filled with anger as he looked at the Lieutenant. He wasn't angry at Face, but more so with this Spencer Jackson and the entire situation.
"Apparently, it was a matter of jealousy," Face began to explain, his fingers deftly finding one of the pages and pulling it out where he could read the information through one more time. "Spencer had recently been awarded the position of Director of Exhibits and Security, a position this guy . . . Michael Robinson . . . felt that he deserved. He claimed that Spencer was embezzling Museum funds and using the Imagination Station as the center of operations for his drug running facilities. Apparently, he used to spend a lot of time there."
"So that's why Mrs. B was called in to testify on his behalf. I had wondered why she was involved," Hannibal mused thoughtfully. He pulled the cigar out from where it was wedged between his teeth and began to roll it within his fingers, almost absentmindedly.
"Dealing drugs around kids?" BA asked, somewhat incredulously. A low growl emanated from him once more before he commented, "Disgusting!"
"Yeah . . . well . . . Mrs. B told the Museum President and Board of Directors that Spencer had been helping her out with the kids. It was shortly after that incident that Spencer offered her the job in his department. There was a big investigation, but nothing turned up. The man came out of it clean as a whistle," Face explained as he looked at the others. An uncomfortable silence filled the air as everyone thought about the information that he had just revealed. It wasn't what they had expected, yet it seemed to confirm their initial suspicions of Spencer Jackson.
Hannibal stopped rolling his cigar between his fingers and stuffed it back between his teeth. This was a puzzle, and it was time to put the pieces together by reviewing the information they had available to them. He walked back over to the chair he had sat on before and eased himself back down onto it. His ice blue eyes looked at his men as he started to mention, "We know that Spencer is up to something because of what we picked up with the bugs. He mentioned merchandise and some kind of demonstration, not to mention whatever it is he's using Mrs. B to hide it . . . likely without her knowledge."
"The Mafioso . . ." Murdock said, lazily waving his left arm around a bit without moving from where he had draped himself over the chair. His Texas drawl was thick as he asked, "What on Earth could Spencer be selling that could interest them?"
"Drugs?" BA asked instinctively. The Museum wasn't too far from some bad Chicago neighborhoods. Even sections of Hyde Park, where the Museum was located, could be just as bad as Engleside or places where many of the Chicago Housing Authority Projects were located. With neighborhoods like that, drugs were plentiful, crime ran rampant, and violence was an everyday part of life. That was no place for a kid to grow up . . . but for those that were lucky enough to survive, like he did, the experience made him stronger. "That dude may have been right 'bout Spencer, even though they couldn't prove it."
"Requiring a demonstration?" Face countered as he thought about the situation. "As far as we know, Scarlotti is still in Italy. If he's involved, it's got to be something bigger where he'll get the news over there."
"Well, it is a museum. An artifact of some kind?" Murdock added thoughtfully, with an idea totally out of left field that only the crazed pilot could come up with. A smile lit up his face as he began to hum the Indiana Jones theme song.
Hannibal looked over to the Captain and couldn't help but to hide his grin. Murdock had a sense of adventure about him, and anytime something like this came up he was usually one of the first to jump at the opportunity to get in on the action. "It's not that kind of museum. Could be a weapon of some kind. Spencer could sure get a hold of one easily enough," Hannibal clarified. The grin on his face grew wider and the sparkle within his eyes shone brightly as he looked around at the rest of the A-Team. "Whattya guys say to another tour of our favorite Museum tonight, say just after dark?"
BA took one look at the Colonel's face and groaned. Nothing good could come of the fiery sparks that glistened within those striking blue eyes. "He's on the Jazz," he muttered darkly. "He's on the Jazz."
Murdock's wild grin grew even bigger, as he realized that this was going to be fun.
Face just sighed in resignation, closing his eyes and resting his head on the back of the couch. He had a bad feeling that this was going to be an extremely long night before everything was said and done. Even so, he had to admit that it would be nice to actually be doing something instead of just waiting around for Spencer to act. He opened his eyes and leaned forward, listening intently as Hannibal began to lay out his plan . . .
