38
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
From a distance, Hannibal could not discern the condition of the hay elevator. Not even binoculars gave him an idea of how rickety it was. When he passed the nearby hay wagon with its load of moldy hay and approached the barn, he let his gaze travel from the base of the ladder-like conveyor to the loft window and silently groaned.
If he was careful, he might ascend its length without any rungs cracking. The elevator was homemade and so old, it was operated by a manual pulley system. Not motorized like more modern farm equipment.
Probably hasn't been used for years.
Hannibal detected muffled voices from inside the barn but the people they belonged to didn't seem to be moving around. The Colonel made sure his carbine wouldn't slip off his shoulder during the climb and, with one more cautious glance to either side, put his foot on the first wooden rung. It was a little spongy but held his weight.
His bare hands on the outer edges of the conveyor, he made his way slowly toward the window. Halfway up, a rotting rung snapped in half under his boot. Hugging the elevator, he held his breath and listened. The voices paused in their conversation as if also listening.
It was then that someone inside the barn groaned loudly.
"Shut up!" An enraged voice answered the drawn-out pain-filled cry. The hostage continued to moan.
"I said shut up!" Whoever moaned was suddenly silenced by a loud flesh on flesh slap.
Hannibal hoped Face was only covering for the outside noise they all must have heard. It sounded as if he was seriously injured. For several seconds the Colonel clasped the ladder with one arm and held his weapon at the ready. If more than one person came out, he would be seen immediately and would have to shoot to kill.
But then whoever's left inside the barn might kill both Face and Melody or use them to force me to surrender.
Minutes passed. As soon as he knew no one was going to check on the noise, the older man continued his laborious course toward the window.
Easing himself through the opening, he found a mound of decaying hay bales and burlap bags filled with corn. Rats had gnawed holes in the bottoms of two of the bags. Kernels spilled out around them. Hannibal frowned.
For as old as the hay bales were, the bags seemed to be more recently placed there. The burlap was still clean and appeared almost new. Maybe Jack was hiding something?
No time to try to puzzle that out. His first concern was Melody and Face.
"You . . . guys have . . . the wrong person . . . I . . . I told you." The lisping gasps belonged to Face.
Must have taken quite a few punches for him to sound like that. There goes our way to get any decent motel rooms for a while.
Spotting a narrow gap between the boards making up the loft floor, Hannibal skirted the ancient hay bales to get a view of the stable area below. A black rat, startled by human movement, let out a long squeak of protest and scurried away into the darker recesses of the room. The rustling and squeak were covered up by a different sound, one that made the Colonel's muscles tense.
Face wasn't shutting up as commanded, and he was reaping the consequences of his disobedience.
He knows I'm up here. He's laying down cover as best as he can. And whoever they are, they intend on beating him to a pulp until he can't make any more noise.
Hannibal carefully knelt and peered through the crack between the floorboards.
The barn had long ago been gutted of its stalls. It was now a wide open space except for timbers holding up the loft floor above. Melody lay unconscious on her side in the loose straw covering the dirt floor. Her hands were bound behind her and blood matted her hair. Beyond her were two black sedans with tinted windows parked end to end. A lit oil lamp rested on the roof of one.
Face was lashed to one of the supporting timbers in the barn. His arms encircled the post, wrists bound behind him. Ropes around his feet, waist and chest held him upright. The four henchmen surrounded their boss who paced back and forth in front of the con man.
"Wrong person? Huh. Is that so? I guess when Scotty and Frankie get back, we'll see about that." Jack motioned for one of his men to punch the con man in the gut, a blow which made the Colonel wince.
Hannibal drew in a silent angry breath when he saw the amount of bruising on his Lieutenant's face. Both eyes were nearly completely swollen shut. Blood dribbled down his chin from his nose and several places on his lips. Both cheeks were blotched purple-black.
As he watched, the man in charge unfolded a sheet of paper and pushed it close to Face's nose. "So this ain't you in this picture?" He backhanded the con man again. Face's head snapped to one side. His head lolling forward again, the Lieutenant squinted through the disheveled hair hanging in his eyes and slurred, "I don't . . . know who . . . that is . . . but it isn't . . . me."
Sneaking carefully to the loft window, Hannibal removed three of the grenades from his jacket. If he could create a disturbance in the field maybe Jack would send most of the armed men out to see what was going on.
It worked to flush Scott out of hiding. What are the chances it'll work again?
The Colonel hoped the chances were good. And he hoped Face was able to handle a weapon when they escaped with Melody. If he couldn't . . .