I'm gonna need the love and support of all the friends I can get. And I want you to be my role model. Somebody I can look up to when the purple wobbilies start to wobble.

- Murdock, "The Beast From the Belly of a Boeing"


You're getting a little paranoid.

How do you think I've lived this long?

- Sam and Al, "The Color of Truth"

Chapter 5: Sneaky Feelings

MONDAY, MAY 12, 1986

MALIBU, CALIFORNIA

7:55PM PACIFIC TIME

Hannibal waited calmly and patiently outside the mahogany door. Face had inadvertently let the location of his recently scammed penthouse slip, which was the only reason why John Smith was standing in the hallway right now. Templeton Peck had tried to pride himself on keeping the location of his scammed penthouses concealed after he had posed as Mr. Toney, the famed interior designer, and ended up with not only having the penthouse shot up by General Chao's goons but also with having to tear apart the elevator and other common areas much to the dismay of other high-society building tenants.

A grin tugged at his lips as he recalled how Face wouldn't let the rest of the unit live that one down, complaining about it with every opportunity until BA had threatened to shut him up permanently if he said another word about it, much in the same way he often did with Murdock.

The Colonel glanced around, admiring the handiwork of his Lieutenant even though he hadn't even walked into the penthouse. Face had, once again, gone above and beyond to scam one of the finest and likely most expensive digs in the Los Angeles area. Just the hallway alone could be featured on the Lifestyles and the Rich and Famous with Robin Leech.

He took in the décor with an appreciative gaze, noting the gold trim on the white marble wallpaper that lined the walls, the mahogany paneling that matched the door to the penthouse, and the dentil molding. Claw footed mahogany accent tables stood at various spots throughout the hallway. Upon each table rested a well crafted porcelain vase, which looked like it cost more than a box of his Braniff cigars, and filled with a selection of flowers native to southern California that looked like they had been cut fresh that morning and artfully arranged.

Above each of the expensive tables, gold wall sconces provided a soft but gentle illumination that was perfectly balanced between not being too bright as to be blinding, but not too dark to where people couldn't see where they were going and trip over one of the tables. It all bore the makings of high class elegance that was designed to let you know that you were finally among your well funded peers. It was just the type of place for Face to live the refined life, perfect for cultivating contacts and lining up marks for future scams and plans.

'Not bad, kid,' Hannibal thought to himself, appreciating Face's power of persuasion that allowed him to acquire a penthouse in a place like this. And all he had seen so far was the hallway outside of it. He could only imagine what it'd look like inside of it . . . but that was if Face would ever open the door and let him in.

Raising his left wrist and twisting it, he glanced at the face of his watch as the seconds ticked away. It had been almost three minutes since he had rang the doorbell. That alone should have prompted Face to show up at the door with his .38 in hand. But, Hannibal had also followed that up a minute later with the special knock on the door, which Face would have clearly recognized. The first naggings of concern started to grow the longer the door remained unanswered, unless . . .

Although he and BA had briefly discussed it, there was still the possibility that Face had a hot date tonight and didn't bother to tell anyone. He could have set it up the moment they got back and he hopped into his 'Vette, before racing off to wine and dine some beautiful woman. Hannibal found himself smiling at the thought.

Even after all of these years, it still amused him with just how smooth the con man was. What Face was capable of acquiring for himself or the Team was nothing short of amazing, especially in situations that mattered the most. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times where it seemed like there were no resources anywhere in sight for him to have acquired some of the things that he did, yet somehow he always managed to come through. No matter how crazy it was, Face would get it. His powers of scamming wasn't limited to just money and equipment either. No, he had a natural charm about him that attracted women to him like a magnet, where they would follow his every beck and call if given a chance and even be grateful for the opportunity.

Hannibal allowed his mind to drift for a moment as he recalled something from what seemed like almost a lifetime ago. Face had taken up a dare from Ray right before the end of Ray's last tour and shipped back stateside. Even though he had been pretty new to the unit at the time, the kid somehow managed to scam a '53 pink Cadillac convertible in the jungles of 'Nam. Nobody could figure out how he did it, and even to this day Face continued to remain tight lipped about it. If one of the unit were to ask him about it, he'd flash a huge, disarming grin and call it a professional secret.

It was that type of feat that showed the level of talent which made Face an essential and integral part of the Team. Unfortunately, it was that same talent and charm that threatened his military career, landing him in the brig more times than not for even the pettiest little things. That was, at least, until the leader of the A-Team persuaded the MPs to release the young Templeton Peck into his custody.

When Hannibal had convinced them to do so, he knew that it was a risky move on his part . . . yet the cunning strategist had built up a reputation of picking out the dregs of the Army, the guys that they wanted to wash out and be done with, and turning them around. Face wasn't the first one that he had taken under his wing and mentored, and he never once regretted his decision either.

In doing so, it also gave the lost young man something that he wanted. No, it wasn't that he just wanted it . . . he needed a family. The type of tight-knit family that the A-Team created certainly wasn't like Ozzie and Harriett or Leave it to Beaver . . . well, maybe it was sometimes with the way Murdock and BA went at it like siblings who got on each other's nerves . . . but it provided that sense of belonging that Templeton Peck had so desperately craved. The bond that the four of them forged in the fires of war and combat was, in short, unbreakable, with all of their unique talents contributing to the astounding success rate they had over the years.

More importantly, the fact that Hannibal was willing to put his trust in Face and give him a chance where nobody else was willing to do so, it created a chord that reverberated within the young con man. And, in so doing, it gave the Team someone who was completely loyal and unbending in his ultimate dedication to them and remained as such even in the years after Vietnam.

The longer that the door to the penthouse went unanswered, the more the battle-honed senses of Colonel John Hannibal Smith went on alert. He knew better than to ignore his gut feelings, especially with how Face had acted in the van. Done waiting, he reached into a pocket of his Abercrombie and Fitch tan safari jacket and pulled out his black leather gloves. He slipped them on, and then pulled out a wallet from the back pocket of his black jeans that he wore. Opening up the black leather tri-fold wallet, he grabbed a credit card and slid it out of one of the slender slots where it had been held.

A small smirk tugged at his lips as he read the name on it . . . Michael Calhoun. That credit card, along with other identification, is what Face had managed to set up for Hannibal right after their escape from Fort Bragg . . . an alias that he used whenever he had to buy anything legitimately without the risk of alerting the military, or even when he acted as his own agent.

Carefully, Hannibal slipped the card into the small opening between the strike plate and the door knob, maneuvering it around until it caught the latch. A little bit of wiggling, and the door popped open.

"Eat your heart out, Face," Hannibal grinned as he put the credit card back into his wallet. Folding up his wallet, he put it back into his pants as he carefully made his way into the penthouse.

Instinct kicked in as his smile faded and he looked around, carefully surveying the scene and trying to figure out whether or not his Lieutenant had even returned here after they had dropped him off at his 'Vette earlier. Pulling out his silver Smith & Wesson 639 that was tucked into his belt, he released the safety and began to search the penthouse.

No lights were on, and the only sound was a faint hum . . . almost barely perceptible, emanating from another room. The only light came through the expansive windows that overlooked Malibu Beach, as well as ones that allowed him to see the skyline of Los Angeles itself. If this were any other time, he would have stopped to admire the amazing view of the city that had become their home for over ten years. His crystal blue eyes were quickly adjusting to the darkness within the penthouse, which would make it easier for him to move around and perform the search.

Looking back towards the door, he could see a few pieces of mail sitting on the floor, presumably put through the mail slot. It wasn't like Face to just leave mail laying on the floor, especially when he prided himself on scamming these high-class places to live and tried hard to leave the place as pristine as he found it. He even recalled how the con man tried to keep BA off a white couch, when Face posed as Mr. Toney the famous interior decorator, once the mechanic had gotten covered with oil and grease after working on the engine of a van.

Following the hum, he carefully made his way into what looked to be the kitchen and spotted the refrigerator, which was operating quietly, but still was the source of the hum. From there, he checked out the bedroom, and then the bathroom, only to find that the place was completely empty. There had been no indication that Face returned to the penthouse at all, which meant either he quickly scored a date for tonight immediately upon their return, or something else was going on . . . something that Hannibal was certain that he wasn't going to like.

Thankfully too, this meant that there were no intruders . . . especially guys wearing olive drab that they really wanted to try to avoid. If Decker, Fulbright, and their goons weren't casing out the place, that likely meant that this penthouse was recently scammed and they hadn't picked up on yet.

Walking back into the living room, Hannibal clicked the safety back on the gun and tucked it back into his belt before going over to pick up the phone and then dialed a number from memory. After a couple of rings, he heard a familiar voice answer. "BA, it's Hannibal."

"You okay up there, man? Any sign of Face?" the muscular Sergeant asked over the phone.

"Yeah, I'm in the penthouse right now, and it looks like he didn't come back here," the Colonel noted to his ordinance officer.

"You don't think he got himself a date?" BA wondered, knowing how fast the con man operated sometimes with women. Inwardly, BA didn't like it, since there was too much potential for a nice girl to have her heart broken by him . . . even if unintentionally.

"With Face, you never know. He does have that black book of his with a lot of numbers for women he could call, so it is possible. But if he did get a date, we may not know where he is and Los Angeles is a big city," the strategist countered. "There's a lot of fancy restaurants that he could have gone to, even ones we aren't familiar with."

"What we gonna do, man?" BA inquired, starting to get worried about Face.

"I'm going to plant some of your miniature bugs here, just to be on the safe side, in case he shows up. I'll be down in five minutes, and then we can swing by the VA to see if he went back to visit Murdock," Hannibal told him before hanging up the phone.

Pulling out a small box that he had gotten from BA in the van, he opened it up and saw the small electronic devices. They were tiny enough to where they could easily be hidden on or under anything, and not be noticed if placed in the proper position. He hated doing this, but Face's actions left him no other choice. The more that time went on, and he mentally reviewed what had taken place . . . even Murdock's claim that the person in the van next to him wasn't Face . . . the more he became worried. Even though Murdock was certifiable, he knew when he could kid around and when he couldn't. Taking a sweep through the penthouse, he put one bug in each room, hoping that Murdock had just been fooling around and he didn't have anything to worry about from his second in command.


TUESDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1999

PROJECT QUANTUM LEAP

STALLIONS GATE, NEW MEXICO

1:05PM MOUNTAIN TIME

As the tour of the Project started to wrap up, Senator Diane McBride still seemed in total awe at everything that she had seen. "I'm here, I'm seeing all of this . . . and in a way, I still don't believe it. Nothing on paper can come close to really describing what it's like to be here in person," she expressed.

"I take it that you've enjoyed the tour?" Al asked her with a bit of a coy grin.

"Immensely," she smiled back at him as they continued to walk through the hallways. "I'm glad that I took you up on your offer for the tour. It was very enlightening. Do you get many visitors to the Project?"

Al was about to respond when Ziggy's sultry voice penetrated the air. "I'm sorry to interrupt your tour for Senator McBride, Admiral, but there is an urgent phone call from the front gate guard."

"The front gate guard?" Al repeated to himself. Unless there was a major breech of security, the front gate guards kept to themselves, the first line in the overall Project security. If they were calling, then it had to be something important. "Put him through on speaker, Ziggy."

Almost instantly, a muffled roar could be heard in the background which almost threatened to make it difficult to hear the young man that was coughing on the other end of the phone. The sound of a siren could also be heard, although very faintly, which meant that something was going on close enough to the Project that it warranted Al's attention. Considering that Quantum Leap was built into a mountain at the former sight of ground zero . . . the first atomic weapons test . . . it was very unusual as well as slightly alarming.

"Calavicci here. What the hell is going on?" Al demanded.

"Sorry for disturbing you, Admiral. Sir, the Project is being placed on lock down," the young man responded between coughing fits. It almost seemed like he was yelling due to the sound in the background.

"Lock down?" Al parroted, clearly disturbed that someone else could order a lock down of the Project without his knowledge or permission. He tried to compose himself, remembering the company he was in, as he demanded, "By who's authority and for what reason?"

"Sir, a major wind storm has hit the area, kicking up dust and debris for miles around. Visibility is zero, so the New Mexico State Police have shut down all roads until this passes and advising everyone to stay inside," the guard revealed somewhat shakily.

"Nobody can leave? I have to get back for a committee meeting," Diane expressed.

"I'm afraid that's correct, ma'am," the guard reiterated, not realizing who had been with the Admiral. "It's worse than the dust bowl of the 1930s. There is no visibility, and you wouldn't be able to keep a vehicle on the road, much less see more than a foot in front of you," the guard indicated, sounding pretty nervous, if not scared.

"When do they say that this is going to pass?" Al wondered as he looked toward Diane apologetically.

"They say that this will clear up within 36 hours, sir," the guard responded, again coughing.

"Keep me posted. I want to know the minute it clears up enough out there," Al ordered, before turning back to his guest. He let out a bit of a sigh, and then softened his tone as he spoke, "I'm sorry about this, Diane. I guess you won't be making that committee meeting . . ."

"On the contrary," Diane told him with a smile as they resumed walking through the corridors, "Since I'm head of the committee, they can't start the meeting without me."

The Project Observer started to laugh at what Diane just mentioned. He could never figure out how Washington worked sometimes, and hearing that a certain committee meeting couldn't start without its chair somehow struck him as oddly funny. He wouldn't have expected that one if it didn't practically hit him in the face.

Once he regained his composure, Al suggested, "Well, since you're gonna be stuck here for a while, why don't we grab some lunch in the cafeteria with Donna Elesee and Sami Jo Fuller, and then after that we can get you a place to stay here at the Project for a couple of days until this clears up."

"Now that you mention it, I am a bit hungry. The drive from Alamogordo did take a bit longer than I had expected," she mentioned as her stomach rumbled almost as if on cue. "I appreciate the hospitality, Al, but I don't want to burden you too much, especially since Sam's Leaped into someone."

Al waved a hand, almost as if dismissively. "It's no trouble at all. It's my pleasure, Diane. Now, if you'll allow me to escort you, I believe we have a lunch date," he grinned coyly, holding out his left arm a bit like a true gentleman. He felt her wrap her arm around his, and then they both began to walk to the cafeteria . . .


MONDAY, MAY 12, 1986

WADSWORTH VETERANS ADMINISTRATION HOSPITAL

WESTWOOD

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

8:35PM PACIFIC TIME

Sam pulled the white Corvette into the parking lot of the VA hospital, recognizing the doors which he had escorted Murdock through not that long ago. He could just imagine Al popping in any moment and asking him what the hell he was doing back here, and telling him that this was a bad idea . . . a very bad idea.

Since this was a veteran's hospital, it not only bore medical staff, but also military staff as well who provided security. If one of them recognized Face, then he'd be in handcuffs faster than he could think. From the way Hannibal had talked earlier, it sounded as if Face was the one who often had to break Murdock out of the VA, so it was probably pure dumb luck that nobody had recognized him so far.

He shut off the ignition and slipped the key into his right pants pocket as he drew in a breath. He looked in the rear view mirror again, only to see the face of Templeton Peck staring back at him. He couldn't believe that someone who looked like Face did could be a criminal.

Then again, he had Leaped into criminals in the past . . . but this time was different. From the way that Al described the A-Team, they really did seem like modern day Robin Hoods. That sat okay with him in one respect as he really liked helping others, but on the other hand there was still the fact that he . . . well, Face and the other members of the A-Team were wanted men.

Being the proverbial boy scout, as Al often called Sam, he had to wonder if maybe Face's life would be better off if he turned himself in and did the time in jail for robbing the Bank of Hanoi, and escaping from a military stockade. Maybe he could get an early release for good behavior and be out in 17 years instead of 30 . . .

He stopped right there at that thought, quickly reminding himself that he had to fix history, and he couldn't do it if he was stuck in some kind of a prison, military or otherwise. Plus, if he landed in jail, then Hannibal would be killed, and chances are the remaining members of the A-Team would be met with a horrible fate.

Seeing no other alternative, Sam reached over to the map on the passenger seat and folded it up, putting it into the inside pocket on the suit coat that he was wearing. Opening the car door, he climbed out and headed for the building . . . but instead of heading for the front doors, he went around the side, hoping to locate the patient rooms in what would have been the psychiatric wing.

Right now, his only chance of figuring things out, much less getting any decent sleep tonight, was to find Murdock. Since he could see Sam for himself and Al, his holographic partner had to tell Murdock about the project and what was going on, so the pilot wouldn't blow things for him. All Sam could do now was hope that Murdock could help him get through the next few days, so he could save Hannibal's life and Leap.


BA eased his precious GMC van to a stop in a service driveway of the VA hospital complex. He had customized the van himself, painting it black on the bottom, charcoal gray on top, and separating it by a red stripe that ran along the length of the van until it reached a red spoiler in the rear. It was his pride and joy . . . and he absolutely hated it whenever someone else drove his ride.

He had positioned the van well . . . the nose was out far enough to give him and Hannibal a clear view of the parking lot, while keeping the van out of sight from just about everyone else. After 13 years of being on the run, what would have once required a conscious thought was now something he and the others did instinctively.

He glanced over to the parking lot where he noticed that Hannibal was looking, immediately spotting Face's white Corvette, which also bore a similar red stripe. Despite the darkness of night, it glistened brightly in the well-lit parking lot. BA smiled a bit, remembering how proud Face was to have managed to save up and buy the sports car, right before they took that job in Tarzana to help the Lonestar Cab Company. He had tried to convince Face to let him customize it to compliment the red interior, and how Face had reluctantly agreed to do the work on the plain white Corvette . . . just as long as he didn't paint it the exact same color scheme as the van. He also recalled how pleasantly surprised Face had been when he saw the finished work.

Hannibal opened up the glove compartment, pulled out a pair of binoculars, and snapped the glove box shut again. He shifted the position of his lit cigar hanging out the side of his mouth as he raised the spyglasses to his eyes, peering through it to get a clearer view. His brow furrowed slightly as he watched Face get out of the Corvette and jog over toward the psychiatric building.

BA also noticed this and echoed the very sentiment that weighed heavily on Hannibal's mind, "What's Faceman doin' back at the VA?"

"Good question, BA," Hannibal murmured thoughtfully, peering through the binoculars. The fact that Face decided to return to the VA only added more legitimacy to the growing concern that he had . . . a concern sparked by what Murdock initially had said in the van.

"Crazy foo' and Faceman are pretty close. Think they're cookin' up ideas for scams for missions?" BA wondered. Even the muscular Sergeant had noticed how, in several scams over the years, Face had gotten the pilot to accompany him. By doing so, Murdock had gained enough experience to where he was able to run some scams when he wasn't with the con man, like the one when he had to pose as a computer repair salesman when they had visited the Duke in Whispering Pines.

"Maybe . . . but why wouldn't he just call Murdock instead of taking the risk of coming here alone? Decker's got to be madder than a hornet's next that got kicked over after losing us earlier, so he's going to be more determined than ever to capture us," Hannibal countered. There were times when it was logical to pursue a plan or idea, and other times when it was just plain stupid . . . although as a seasoned leader, he knew how to tell the difference, as well as how to amend his plans on the fly in order to adapt to elements he hadn't originally planned for. With Decker hot on their heels and Fulbright likely not too far behind him, the idea of visiting Murdock unplanned was not just a foolish idea . . . it was reckless.

"Foo' does have that phone line in his room, don't he?" BA recalled.

"Yeah, and you installed it for him," Hannibal grinned, reminding the mechanic of his electronic prowess that allowed their pilot to get a private phone number. He remembered how thrilled Murdock was when they did that for him, although he certainly had annoyed BA through his near-constant phone calls to the mobile number in the van shortly after getting it put in.

"I still don't like it, man. Faceman's headin' for trouble," BA affirmed.

Hannibal turned over his wrist and looked at the time on the watch strapped to his right arm. "Ten minutes . . . if he's not back out in ten minutes, I'm going after him myself."


SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA

Karl Schutz stood at the end of the Santa Monica pier, as he had been instructed to do by his first contact . . . his first potential hired gun. He had to admit, Helmut Kruger thought of all possibilities once he learned how close the reporter was getting to uncovering the truth. He had assembled information on those who had run-ins with the reporter and were either released from or managed to get out of prison in some way. There were also a few other names that he was given to check on, in case he needed assistance with apprehending her.

This first gentleman was one of those who had recently managed to escape from prison after a two year incarceration, and was itching to get back into the action and get back into the good graces of his father. His father, apparently, was prominently known in the realm of the mob, gun running, and smuggling, in the state of Arizona.

A light wind whipped through his hair as he looked out over the ocean, turning his back to those on the pier. He could see the soft red glow of the sun as the last part of the fiery orb threatened to dip below the horizon. In a way, it was rather symbolic. Just as the sun was setting here over the vast ocean, soon he knew that the sun would set on the life of Amy Amanda Allen . . . but only after they had managed to retrieve the film and all of the answers from her that they wanted to know.

He fingered the packet in the pocket of his jacket as he waited, knowing that his information on the target was thorough. Even though the person he was about to meet had already encountered the reporter, he didn't want to leave anything to chance.

Turning back around, he could see that there were still a few people milling around the pier. Most were young couples, and a few families with older children. There were even a few people with fishing poles, trying to take advantage of the remaining daylight to get in a good catch before it got too dark.

He turned back to look out over the ocean, a light chill starting to fill the air. He drew the jacket closed around him, trying to ward off the coldness . . .

A tall figure walked up next to him, dressed in a well-cut brown suit with a matching tie. His wavy beach blonde hair and blue eyes made him look almost like he could have been a surfer, but the way he carried himself suggested otherwise. His face alone spoke volumes of the hardships that he had endured.

"You wanted to meet me, so here I am," he said, his voice clearly indicating that he didn't want to be out in the open . . . at least not like this.

Karl turned to look at him, carefully observing him just in case he may try to pull a fast one before he could even propose the job. "I have a proposition for you, Thomas Anderson . . . or should I say, Lieutenant Thomas Angel," he said in measured tones.

"What kind of a proposition?" Thomas wondered, wanting to get to the point quickly. The tone of his voice clearly indicated that he was in no mood for games.

The German pulled out the envelope from his pocket and handed it over. He gave the former Naval Lieutenant a chance to start leafing through the material before stating, "I need you to find someone . . a reporter for the Los Angeles Courier Express who recently returned here from a foreign assignment. She has a film with pictures of some sensitive documents, which need to remain classified. My employer wishes to recover that film and to speak with her."

Lt. Angel pulled out a picture of the reporter, his eyes widening slightly in recognition. He had the upper hand here, and maybe this could not only get him some extra cash to get back into the business again, but also make good with what he owed his father after the damage caused the last time around. "I had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting this reporter before. She hangs around a group of guys who are real trouble, and by now she's probably contacted them. This is going to cost you extra."

A small gust of wind blew up, whipping through their hair. The curiosity of Karl Schutz was piqued about this interesting twist. "Who are these men you speak of?"

"They call themselves the A-Team . . . escaped from a high security military stockade more than 10 years ago and have been on the run ever since. They're mercenaries, taking on bleeding-heart cases, sticking their noses into things where they're not wanted," Lt. Angel explained, recalling his unpleasant encounter with them a couple of years ago when he had been trying to distribute drugs for General Chao.

An evil gleam appeared in Schutz's eye as he heard the information. He knew that his Commissar would be extremely pleased if another threat could also be removed at the same time. "Very well . . . I shall triple your payment, with the remainder paid once you have delivered the reporter to our compound in East Germany. I trust that the first installment is to your satisfaction?"

"Yeah, but if Ms. Allen did contact the A-Team again, it's going to take an army just to get her away from them," Tommy noted, his tone clearly indicating his displeasure at the thought of having to tangle with Colonel Smith and his men again.

Hearing what was revealed only justified the second call he had made earlier. A small smirk appeared upon his face as he admitted, "I have prepared for such a contingency by contacting another individual who you will work with."

The look on Tommy's face clearly indicated that he wasn't too thrilled to hear that news. He would have preferred to pick his own team of people, whom he could trust implicitly, and he knew would follow his every command. "And just who is this other individual, Mr. Schutz?"

"You will find out soon enough, Lt Angel. Stay close to a phone. I will contact you within the next few hours, as soon as the other party agrees to our terms and payment," he informed the former Naval officer.

With that, Karl walked away from the pier, leaving Lt. Angel to ponder whether or not he should take this job. Even though he didn't like the possibility of having to work with someone he may not know, the need to get back into the business around Los Angeles was a lot more important to him . . . and that, in his mind, was enough to outweigh the risks if not only dealing with an unknown, but also having to likely encounter the A-Team once more.


WADSWORTH VETERANS ADMINISTRATION HOSPITAL

WESTWOOD

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

8:40PM PACIFIC TIME

After moments of fruitless searching, the Nobel Prize winner finally hit paydirt. Not only had he found the window to the room assigned to Captain H. M. Murdock, but it was also wide open.

Cautiously peering inside, the quantum physicist could see that the room was totally dark. The pilot was laying on a bed, his back propped up with a few fluffy pillows. The trademark bomber jacket that he wore earlier was draped over a post at the head of the bed, and the red flannel shirt was no longer tucked in. His fingers were interlaced together, his hands cupped behind his head in a way that his elbows pointed outward in a position cops typically had their suspects take when handcuffing them.

The room appeared to be empty, and Howling Mad's wrists were barren of silver shackles. He looked to be very relaxed.

Sam peered through the grate covering the window and spotted a couple of stand up video game cabinets, similar to what one might find at an arcade. Near the door was a sink with a mirror, and there was also a desk with books and papers strewn about, almost as if the pilot was neck deep into research of some sort. On the wall across from the bed was a dresser, and also a TV. In front of the television, he could see a small table that had an old Atari game console with a couple of joysticks. He inwardly smiled at that, recalling some of the old games from that system fondly like Asteroids, Space Invaders, Pong, Barnstorming and Breakout. He could also see three standing arcade cabinets, including air hockey, Pac Man, and another space game as well.

The light from the TV across the room danced playfully across the gentle features of Murdock's face, his curiosity filled eyes wide, greedily taking in the images presented. Sam instantly recognized the theme song to "Time Patrol," the classic series from his boyhood that chronicled the adventures of Captain Galaxy and Future Boy, and inspired his pursuit of time travel. That brought a smile to the physicist's face.

After a moment of indulging within a blissful memory that had not been purged from his mind by the swiss cheesed effect, Sam snapped out of his reverie. Not wanting to be overheard by the rest of the VA staff, he called out in a loud whisper, "Psst . . . Murdock."

The pilot's head turned toward the source of the new sound, stunned, but still very cautious. After being on the run for so long with the rest of the guys, he had ample reason for acting in such a fashion. Springing up out of bed, he made his way over to the window until he noticed who had called his name. "Hey there, Sam. I wasn't expectin' to see you so soon. Don't tell me that Hannibal already has a new assignment for us . . ."

"Uh, no. Actually, I came to talk to you alone," Sam pointed out as he watched the pilot remove the grate that covered the window and normally was designed to prevent patients from escaping. Inwardly, Sam grinned at this, realizing that Murdock likely had several ways to escape, even on his own if it became necessary. Despite the darkness, he could clearly make out the lettering on Murdock's t-shirt, which boasted, "This Space is Unoccupied."

The look on the Captain's face changed from lightheartedness to one of fear and defensiveness intermixed with concern. "You don't have to worry about me blowing things for you. Al explained everything . . ."

It was obvious to the Nobel Prize winner that Murdock had jumped to the wrong conclusion. "No, no, no . . . that's not it. I came because I need your help," Sam corrected.

"My help?" Murdock parroted. The holographic Albert Calavicci had told the pilot that Sam was going to need his help if he was going to get through this Leap, but he hadn't expected the person wearing Face's aura to show up so soon.

"Yeah . . . I'm a bit lost. Hannibal wants me to pick him up at his place in the morning and take him to a shoot, but the problem is that I don't know where he lives, or even where Face lives. Al went to check on some information, and I didn't ask him," Sam revealed.

"Do you have the map that's in Face's Vette?" the pilot questioned.

"I've got it right here," the physicist replied, pulling it out of the inside jacket pocket. He handed it over to the Captain, who immediately spread it out across the window sill.

"Faceman told me about this map. This M here is for me," Murdock noted, referring to the point on the map where the VA was. He then pointed out other notable locations as he continued, "He puts down a letter for each of us, along with a street number, for each place where we're staying. H is for Hannibal, B for BA, and F for Face. If there's an A and another number, that's the apartment or room number. An S is for a place where Face is currently running a scam, usually followed by what it is or an alias that he's been using. A phone number has the letter P in front of it, and the number to the mobile phones in the van and the Vette start off with CB and CF. Any numbers or locations that have an X over them are no longer being used."

Sam couldn't help but to roll his eyes. "Seven doctorates, and a Nobel Prize in quantum physics, and I couldn't figure that out," he remarked out of frustration at himself.

"It's something that we developed among ourselves during our time in Vietnam. The closest that the Army has to this are coordinates. To anybody looking at the map, unless they knew what things meant, there'd be no way they could figure out what all the numbers and letters stood for," Murdock explained, shrugging his shoulders a bit since this was something that seemed like second nature to them.

"Well, it certainly worked," Sam remarked.

"Most of the time, we don't even need it since we got all the numbers and addresses memorized . . . but Face keeps movin' 'bout, scamming different places to live, so he keeps this updated for himself," he added with a shrug of his shoulders. The Army pilot smiled, feeling some amount of satisfaction that the code still did as was intended. Now that the guys weren't around, and after what Al had told him, his curiosity was peaked. "Sam, what is it like . . . Leaping into other people and being them for a while?"

"It's kind of weird, actually. To everyone else around me, I appear as the person that I Leaped into . . . but I'm still me, Sam Beckett. I end up stumbling my way through most things," the physicist started. "I guess the times that it's the hardest for me is when I Leap into a woman."

"Al was telling me about some of those," Murdock noted.

"He would . . ." Sam shot back, not at all surprised by that. He knew that his holographic partner never failed to rib him about those particular Leaps, so he likely would have shared that information with the institutionalized A-Team member as well.

"I tried asking Al about this, but he couldn't explain it very well. Why is it that some people can see you as you, but others see you as the person you Leaped into?" the pilot wondered.

Sam shrugged his shoulders as he launched into an explanation, "The only ones who Al and I know can see me for me, and can also see and hear Al, are small children, animals, and those with mental disorders. Ziggy thinks it has something to do with the brain's Alpha state . . ."

"Which allows people to comprehend along a much higher plane of thinking, seeing things for what they actually are," Murdock completed.

The quantum physicist looked totally shocked at the response from the crazed pilot. The flash of brilliance that he just demonstrated was far from expected. "How did you know that?"

Launching into an English accent, the pilot commented, "When you've been here as long I have, dear boy, you come to have an understanding of the human psyche that some doctors are unable to master." Switching back to his normal Texan accent, he questioned, "So, what did Albert tell you about the Faceman?"

"A few details, like my name . . . his name is Lieutenant Templeton Peck," Sam corrected, finding it strange to be revealing this to a man who had been declared insane by the state. "He's second in command of the A-Team, supply officer, a wizard in math, an orphan, and a con man who's legally changed his name five times."

"What else did he tell you?" Murdock asked.

"He mentioned the Corvette, and this black book that Face apparently has with the names and numbers of his female acquaintances . . ." the physicist started, trailing off as he realized that there wasn't a whole heck of a lot of info. "Um, there's really not much else that he told me, at least not about Face."

"Let me clue you in on a few things about the Faceman. He is definitely a ladies' man," Howlin' Mad admitted with a bit of a smile. "If a woman ever turns Face down, you have to wonder if she's got water on the brain or something. Anytime he wants anything, all he has to do is flash his smile, turn on the charm, and people just melt right into his arms. Face can think quickly on his feet, changing course at the last possible second to accommodate what a mark is doing, which is part of what makes him such a good con man."

"I don't know the first thing about how to scam someone . . ." Sam tried to protest.

"Don't worry about it. When that time comes, the guys would have busted me out, so I can help you," Murdock noted, trying to reassure Sam as much as he possibly could. He could see, in his eyes, just how uncertain that he was . . . that he'd be able to pull this off. He paused for a moment and then continued, "Faceman loves wearing suits . . . he wouldn't be caught dead in jeans and a t-shirt, unless he can find some way to make that look stylish and high-class. He tends to complain, even whine, whenever something he's scammed for his own benefit winds up being used by the Team."

"Whine?" Sam parroted, trying not to roll his eyes at that one.

"Uh, yeah," the Texan admitted before continuing with his explanation, "but he's got a good reason though since we've ruined a few of those scams, getting him kicked out of some of his penthouses. He really complains when his expensive suits gets ruined or Hannibal has him put his Vette in the middle of a situation where it can get shot up. He very rarely lets Hannibal drive the thing . . . that's how protective he is."

Something still didn't quite add up, at least in Sam's mind. "Why shouldn't I . . . or doesn't Face let Hannibal drive the 'Vette?"

"Well," Murdock chuckled a bit. "Let's just say that Hannibal drives even crazier than I fly. He doesn't even have to be chased by the MPs, and he'll try to get a car up as fast as he can. He's gotten the 'Vette up over 140, just with a run to Hamburger Heaven."

"Gives a whole new meaning to the term fast food," Sam remarked with a bit of a grin. Inwardly, just hearing that about Hannibal's driving kind of made him wonder who was really the crazy one in the unit . . . if it really was Murdock, the institutionalized pilot that he was talking to, or maybe if it was Hannibal. He had a strange feeling that he likely was going to find that out first hand before he'd end up Leaping out.

Murdock caught onto the pun that Sam had threw and couldn't help but to laugh. For a guy to hold seven doctorates, as Albert had told him, he thought the guy was going to be stuffy and uptight, not capable of the humor he just displayed. Not only did it catch the Texan off guard, but it really struck him as being funny. It made him realize that just as Sam had to learn a lot about Face, he had a lot to learn about Dr. Samuel Beckett.

Once he had regained his composure, the pilot added, "Oh, make sure you carry around plenty of cigars."

"Cigars?" Sam parroted, curious as to why he needed to have cigars on him. Al hadn't mentioned anything about Face smoking cigars. "Why cigars?"

"Ol' Hannibal loves cigars. It helps him think," Murdock grinned, before shrugging his shoulders a bit. "We've been 'round him so long that we hardly even notice the smell, but we sure do notice how his plans don't work as well when he isn't smokin' one."

Sam simply nodded. "Al told me that Hannibal was the one who got him started smoking cigars. How'd you two meet up, anyways?"

Murdock went over to sit on the edge of his bed, but still could see Sam at the window. "It's, uh, a bit of a long story. Albert and I both had a weekend pass, and, well, I was in a bit of a mess . . ."