Time is a fine story teller, and history a fond student.
- Hannibal, "The Big Squeeze"
Couldn't you give them name tags?
- Sam (glancing heavenward), "How the Tess was Won"
Chapter 1: Arrivals
MONDAY, MAY 12, 1986
CEDAR GLEN, CALIFORNIA
3:30PM PACIFIC TIME
Leaping around in time, I often found myself in my fair share of unusual situations. I had been shot at several times, dangling from a trapeze, strapped in an electric chair . . . but never had I found myself trying to outrun law enforcement agents, especially ones from the Army. I only hoped that we wouldn't get caught before I had the chance to do what was necessary to fix history and Leap out.
"Things are never as bad as they seem to be," the white-haired male said with another light laugh, almost to where he seemed amused by the events that were currently unfolding.
"Yeah . . . it's usually worse," Sam commented about his Leaps in a low mutter, not thinking that he was overheard. He certainly had his fair share of difficult situations, especially when first starting out on a Leap and not knowing what he was getting into right away . . . and this seemed to rank right up there.
"Faceman . . . where's your sense of adventure, muchacho?" the guy in the bomber jacket started to ask in a Texan drawl. He glanced over at the spot where he thought his teammate was, his eyes widening in shock. "Y-You're not Face . . ."
Sam tried to maintain a neutral and calm expression even though the first thoughts that entered into his mind was, 'Oh boy . . .' And Faceman? Was he referring to the person he had Leaped into? It was a probability, based on what was happening.
"What ya talkin' about fool? Face is sittin' there right next to you," the burly driver blasted, much to Sam's relief.
"He's not BA. It's weird . . . he's wearing Face's clothes, but he isn't the Faceman," the individual sitting next to the time traveler persisted, much to Sam's dismay. If he persisted, chances were that things were going to go very badly, very quickly.
"Hannibal . . ." the driver started, anger definitely welling up within his tone. Based on how the driver looked, or at least from what Sam was able to see, he certainly didn't seem like someone you wanted to get mad at you or he'd probably make you regret it.
"I'm tellin' ya, the guy next to me ain't Face!" the guy with the baseball cap and bomber jacket insisted, raising his voice a bit more almost as if he was getting annoyed with the fact that the two in the front of the van didn't believe him.
"Cool it, Murdock. Let BA concentrate on getting us away from Decker first. Then you can tell us about the guy you think is sitting where Face is, or about your invisible dog, Billy," the man in the tan jacket said in a firm but gentle tone.
BA . . . Sam didn't know what those initials stood for, but that seemed to be what the others called the driver. Murdock was apparently the guy sitting next to him, and Hannibal in the seat in front of him. From what he gathered within this short exchange, this Hannibal seemed to be the leader of the group. He also didn't know who this . . . Decker . . . was or why the Army was chasing them, but he was certain that he was going to find out. He just hoped that it wouldn't be the hard way.
Sam looked over in Murdock's direction, somewhat apprehensively, only to see a pout appear on the pilot's face. Could he see through the aura? It seemed like a distinct possibility based on his reaction, and he didn't seem to like being told to back off his claim.
He heard the engine roar and felt another burst of speed in the desperate attempt to escape their pursuers. The unmistakable sound of gunshots rang in his ears, originating from the cars behind them. The others within the van did not duck their heads or react to the sound, and Sam found it very hard to do the same.
"Uh, Hannibal, I think their aim is getting better," Sam commented. He could almost swear that he heard the sound of bullets whizzing by outside the walls of the van. If one of them happened to pierce one of the tires, especially at the speed they were traveling . . . that thought alone made the Nobel Prize winner shiver slightly in fear.
"I got my foot to the floor, man, and we ain't puttin' any more distance between them and us," BA added, still trying to put his full attention into driving. Truthfully, a small amount of concern was creeping into his gruff tone, which he couldn't totally mask from the others.
"Relax guys. Decker could never catch us." Hannibal noted confidently, taking a puff on his cigar with a blissful look on his face. He seemed certain of their escape, even though they were still being chased. It was almost as if he relished in the idea of being chased, and getting away at the last possible moment
"Colonel, what about the time . . ." Murdock started to say, his face still contorted into a pout, only to be cut off by BA who also chimed in on the current situation.
"Yeah, sucker. Decker's caught us several times. This time, there won't be no cavalry comin' to free us since we're all in the van," BA added, knowing where the crazy man was headed with this one.
"Aw," the white-haired Colonel said, somewhat half-heartedly, almost as if disappointed that they weren't also relishing in the moment like he was. "You guys gotta do these things with style, or it isn't any fun."
"Does that style include actually getting caught by Decker?" Sam questioned, praying that wasn't the case. He had a good idea that he probably wouldn't be able to change history or Leap if he was stuck behind bars.
"Come on, Face. I thought you, of all people, understood. You make him believe that he is going to catch us, and then you slam the door in his face," Hannibal replied with a huge mischievous smile, the light tone returning just as quickly as it had faded.
Dr. Beckett watched in amazement as Hannibal pulled out a silver 9mm pistol and leaned out the driver's side window to fire his own weapon at those chasing them. Either this guy was ultra brave, incredibly lucky, or totally crazy.
There was a pop, and then a roar from behind him, a strange one that he had not heard before. That was followed by a loud crash, skidding, and a couple of more crashes. Seeing Hannibal pull back inside with a huge smile on his face, and comment, "I love it when a plan comes together," Sam could only assume that the results were good . . . at least in the sense that they could escape their pursuers.
That was a relief, but Sam had the feeling that the worst was yet to come . . .
Two Army officers climbed out from the overturned vehicle. One, an African American wearing the marks of a Captain, looked to be fairly stunned as he dusted off his cap. He was of average build with a mustache and appeared to be in his late 20s. The other, an older white male with blondish hair and the marks of a Colonel, bore a look of frustration combined with anger. His face was worn and haggard, showing the hardship of his years as well as his personality. His eyes were focused on the spot where the black and gray van had been just a moment before . . .
"How do they keep doing it, sir?" Captain Marcus Crane wondered, shaking his head at the wreckage in disbelief as he watched the other MPs climb out from the other vehicles.
"They're the best, Captain," Colonel Roderick Decker admitted as he straightened his uniform. His tone had been one of admiration and respect, perhaps even lightly laced with jealousy, for these criminals he tirelessly pursued. "Their unorthodox style made them the top commando unit in 'Nam. They had a success rate that no other unit could match up to, and that is what makes them so dangerous even now."
Another Corporal came up to the pair, holding out a green field radio that looked much like a very large cordless telephone handset with a giant antenna. "Colonel Decker, General Fulbright is on the horn and wants an update on the pursuit," the soldier reported.
Although Decker remained unphased by this news, Captain Crane almost seemed to be annoyed. This wasn't the best time to get a communication from Fulbright, especially in light of what had just happened. Crane was worried that this incident was going to force them to hang up all of their uniforms . . . for good. From what he had heard, even Fulbright had his issues with pursuing the A-Team as well.
"What are you going to tell General Fulbright?" Crane asked.
"As little as possible . . ." Decker noted quietly, his voice indicating that he clearly wasn't looking forward to the conversation that was about to come. It's not that he hadn't been chewed out before for failing to capture the A-Team, but this time was different since he had been personally put back on the case by General Fulbright himself so now he not only had someone to answer to more directly, but someone that was monitoring his performance and could make a difference in terms of his career and if he'd ever have a chance to get out of that hell hole he had been relegated to.
The Colonel took the radio from the lower ranked soldier and returned his salute, prompting the younger man to dash off. Raising the massive radio so he could talk into it, Decker started, "This is Colonel Decker . . ."
"Decker, this is General Fulbright. I want a status report," the voice came across, equally as gruff and straightforward as Decker's was.
"Sir, we were in pursuit of the A-Team and were about to apprehend them. They opened fire on us and severely damaged our vehicles. They managed to get away . . ." Decker started, about to go into the next part when he was interrupted.
"Damn it, Decker! I don't have time for your excuses! I want results! If it wasn't for the brass upstairs pressuring me to give you a second chance, you would have been rotting away the rest of your military career in Bangor, Maine!" Fulbright blasted.
"Sir, one of my men reported seeing someone with them that matched the description of Captain Murdock. If that report is true, I know exactly where the A-Team will be heading," Colonel Decker reported.
"Very well . . . I will keep you on the case for now, but I'd better see some results soon, Colonel Decker, or I will personally put you on the first plane back to that miserable flea bitten assignment!" Fulbright threatened.
"Understood sir. Decker out," Roderick said, cutting off the radio communication. The look on his face was enough to tell anyone who came within 10 yards that he was fuming to the point where he could strip some hapless soldier of their rank at the drop of a pin.
LOS ANGELES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT (A.K.A. LAX)
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
A slender female with shoulder length wavy brown hair made her way through the Los Angeles International Airport. She was wearing blue jeans, a white blouse, and carrying nothing more than a brown leather tote bag. From the pace at which she was walking, it was obvious that she was in a hurry.
The flight had been long and exhausting, but she had no sleep. She couldn't take the chance of dozing off and having someone rummage through her belongings, or finding herself looking down the barrel of a gun, forced to cooperate against her will. Even now, she could not stop and let her guard down for an instant.
Her instincts told her that she was being followed, and a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed it. A suspicious male with sandy blonde hair, wearing sunglasses and a dark suit, was following from a distance. He had been doing so ever since she got off the plane. She could only speculate who the guy worked for, but knew for certain what he was after.
After everything that had happened, she knew that she wouldn't be safe until she had returned to the States and found some old friends. They could protect her. She was certain of that, after having witnessed first-hand what they had done to help others. With how abruptly she had left, she wondered if they would even consider helping her now. Still, she knew that they were the only ones who could make the difference between life and death . . . for not only herself, but million of others.
Right now, she had to focus on trying to lose her tail so she could meet her ride, who was probably waiting for her already. Her pursuer was good, that much she had to admit, but she had also learned a few things in her time . . .
Taking a moment to look around, she spotted just what she needed . . . a people mover catwalk with metal railings that stretched over a busy street, leading to a parking lot. As he neared, she noticed that there was a sheet of plexiglass that separated the two sides, which meant that it would be impossible for someone to jump from one side to the other.
She made her way quickly to the moving catwalk and stepped onto the side that would take her to the parking lot. She had an idea forming in her mind, but it all depended on timing . . . and the crowd. Fortunately, luck seemed to be with her as a large group of people got on the walkway behind her, blocking the path of her pursuer.
Seizing the opportunity, she started to run toward the end of the catwalk. Once there, she crouched down and did a sharp u-turn, huddling against the inside railing on the mover heading in the opposite direction. She practically held her breath as she mentally calculated the point in which they would have passed each other. The moment she thought that took place, she started crawling along the conveyer on her side, praying that her pursuer would not look back before she could reach the end.
Almost like the light at the end of a tunnel, that moment came and she quickly scurried off, moving to the side and out of the line of sight. After waiting for just a moment, she sprinted towards the entrance of the airport. Stepping outside into the bright California sun, she saw a hoard of cabs waiting to whisk passengers away.
"Amy!"
She heard the voice call out, a familiar one. Looking around, she could not immediately find the source. Inwardly, she prayed that it wasn't one of her friends from the neighborhood where she used to live. A delay that kept her from her ride was the last thing that she needed right now . . . there was no telling when her pursuer would realize that she gave him the slip and backtrack.
"Amy! Over here!" the voice called again. That was followed by a quick bleat from a car horn, which drew her attention to the source.
She silently thanked her lucky stars that the voice calling her name belonged to her old colleague, who kept his word to pick her up at the airport. She wasn't quite sure what she would have done if he hadn't shown up.
Moving swiftly, she walked over and got into the brown sedan, letting out a huge sigh of relief. "Thanks Zack. Now let's get out of here, and fast."
"Sure thing," he said, slipping the car into gear and pulling away.
Zachary Goldman could be considered as a nerd, mainly because of the glasses he wore, but Amy knew better. He was one of the most brilliant men that she knew . . . a relative fountain of information. They had worked for several years at the LA Courier Express, and he was the one who gave her the details necessary to help free another friend of hers when he was being held prisoner in Mexico.
"Amy, what's going on? You jumped at the chance to be a foreign correspondent and were over there for almost two years, but now you suddenly come back. What's the deal? Jakarta and Europe not good enough for you?" he wondered, trying to break the air of silence between them.
"Those places are fine, Zack, but that's not it. I just needed to come back and get some help on something . . . that's all," she replied, hoping that he would buy the half-truth.
"Hey, research is my specialty. Remember when I gave you the info that helped you find Al?" he started, enthusiastic about the possibility of working with his friend again.
Amy was about to dismiss the idea of Zack helping her, but she realized that she could use all the background information she could get. "I remember. Listen, I'm into a really big story here that could mean the Pulitzer if it pans out. You can't tell anybody about it, especially Grant. He'd pull the plug on it before I can uncover any more proof, plus pull me off the foreign assignment for good."
"Whoa, this sounds really serious, Aim," Zack commented as he exited off the Century Freeway onto the 405 San Diego Freeway.
"It is really serious . . . and it could even be dangerous for you," she warned.
"I've been itching to get into some action since I left the Miami Herald. The closest thing I got was having to break into Massey's place when you were trying to find him," he noted.
"Okay, then first thing's first," Amy started, as she began to think of a plan. Her mind started creating a mental check list of things she needed to do, now that she was back in the States, and the order in which she needed to do it in . . . but one thing remained a priority. "I need to run an ad in the classifieds."
"I can probably slip it past Eldridge so you can run it for free, but why the ad?" Zack wondered.
A small smile appeared on Amy's face for the first time since she had arrived back in Los Angeles. "To contact some old friends . . ."
