How's it going, Jack?
Yeah. John! What are you doing here?
We'll talk later.
But Colonel Decker will be here looking for ya.
Hm. I'd be disappointed if he wasn't.
- Hannibal and Jack Harmon, "Blood, Sweat, and Cheers"
If I'd have known I'd have to do this much running, I would have worn my cross training shoes.
- Al, "Unchained"
Chapter 7: Escape Plans
MONDAY, MAY 12, 1986
WADSWORTH VETERANS ADMINISTRATION HOSPITAL
WESTWOOD
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
8:43PM PACIFIC TIME
A light breeze drifted through the air, adding a chill to the late spring evening. The skies had already darkened, overtaking any remaining sunlight that had tried valiantly to remain visible. The lights from the city cast a reddish glow along the horizon, drowning out the twinkle from all but the brightest stars that hung within the night sky.
The lights within the parking lot cast a stark contrast to the darkness of the surrounding area, cutting through it like a knife. Cars, of various makes and models, sat within the lot and seemed to glisten underneath the artificial glow almost as if it was an outdoor car showroom. But, it was one car in particular that remained the center of attention . . .
Hannibal lowered the binoculars and glanced at the face of his watch on the inside of his left wrist. Setting the binoculars on the dash, he reached into the back of his waistband and pulled out his Smith and Wesson 639, checking the slide on it and then double checking the ammo that was already loaded in it Letting out a breath that he didn't realize that he had been holding, he murmured, "Two minutes. He's got two minutes, and then I'm going in after him."
BA nodded as his muscles tensed, the scowl on his face deepening. He was worried, just like Hannibal was . . . but the muscular Sergeant was never one for patience. Hannibal had always tried to encourage him to embrace it as there were plenty of times when timing was everything and one had to be patient in order to make sure that something happened at just the right point for things to work as planned.
Then again, most of Hannibal's plans never really worked exactly as he had envisioned it . . .
Due to his nature, BA would rather just go in and bust some heads rather than waiting around as they were doing now. In this case, there wasn't anything to fight . . . except for maybe Murdock's demons. Why Hannibal was even giving the pilot's crazy talk any kind of weight was beyond him, especially when it came to Face.
Then again, Face was acting a bit strange . . .
"I don' like this, Hannibal," BA expressed, his own concern growing to where it was very apparent through the tone of his normally gruff voice.
Hannibal gave a slight nod and then sighed, "I know, BA". Checking his watch again, time seemed to creep by slowly . . . slower than normal. Then again, time was a funny thing. When one anticipated something, it often seemed like time could stretch on forever. On the opposite end of the spectrum, when someone was working on something and not paying attention to the time, it often flew by . . . often much faster than expected.
Fortunately, time seemed to be on their side . . .
From where they sat, they had a clear view of a line of green sedans that pulled into the parking lot. The artificial light danced upon the vehicles as they rolled to a stop, surrounding the Corvette belonging to Templeton Peck. Each car bore a marking on the door indicating that the vehicle belonged to the military police, and there was a set of mars lights perched across the roof.
The doors to the vehicles opened, and several men stepped out into the light. Each one wore olive drab uniforms, which was instantly recognizable. Most wore helmets, emblazoned with red and white stripes, with the letters MP clearly stamped upon it. They moved closer to inspect the red-striped Corvette.
"Sir, it's Peck's car alright," one of the MPs shouted loud enough that they could be heard from BA's van.
As soon as those words were spoken, two more car doors opened from a remaining green sedan. Two figures emerged from it, wearing green uniforms. But, instead of the MP helmets, they each wore a green hat upon their heads that looked similar to a baseball cap. One was an African-American with a mustache, and the other was an older Caucasian. They both made their way towards the 'Vette before the older man called out in a grovelly voice that Hannibal clearly recognized, "Set up a perimeter. Nobody gets in or out of the lot. Washington, Anderson, Thompson, you're with me. We will make a sweep inside the VA itself."
"Oh great," Hannibal moaned dismally. "Decker. Fulbright must have gotten him replacement vehicles faster than I thought."
Thankfully, the ten minute deadline that Hannibal had set up for Face hadn't passed yet. If it had, and he tried to go after the con man to find out why he was paying a late night visit to Murdock, he realized then both he and Face would have been in danger of being caught.
"Faceman's gonna be a sittin' duck. Decker'll catch him for sure. What are we gonna do, Hannibal?" BA questioned.
"Simple. We give him a new target . . ." Hannibal mused thoughtfully with a distinct sparkle in his eyes. He was on the Jazz, and it was very apparent when he glanced over to the Sergeant
"Right . . ." BA droned. A small smile crept across his face as he knew full well what the Colonel had in mind. His hand automatically grabbed the key for the ignition and turned it, causing the engine to roar to life. The burly mechanic then shifted the van into gear and stomped on the gas pedal, causing the tires to smoke before it finally got enough traction to accelerate.
The van took off like a shot, screeching through the parking lot and right past the MPs who seemed to be pretty startled by the sudden appearance of the A-Team. "After them, men!" Decker ordered as everyone scrambled to get back into their vehicles and chase them, hoping that this time they'd have more luck in capturing their elusive foes and not have any more wrecked vehicles.
From off in the distance, another green sedan waited in the shadows. The passenger in the front seat lowered his binoculars after he watched the A-Team van speed out of the parking lot, followed by Decker and his men. "Idiots," Fulbright remarked, sounding pretty disgusted at the turn of events. He hoped that Decker would have left at least one unit behind, but that wasn't the case.
Now it was up to him . . .
From what he had seen, Peck had left his Corvette in the parking lot and gone toward the building before Decker even showed up . . . but it never appeared as if Peck had returned to his vehicle or gotten into the van. That could mean only one thing. The A-Team wasn't all together in the same vehicle. He wasn't sure if that was done on purpose, or by accident, but if it wasn't on purpose that could only mean one thing.
Templeton Peck was likely still somewhere in the VA hospital, and probably visiting Captain Murdock just as they had suspected. It also meant that Peck was alone, without the help and support of the rest of the A-Team . . .
"Sloppy, Peck . . . real sloppy," Fulbright commented on the situation in general, trying hard to suppress the grin that threatened to appear upon his face at their seemingly good fortune. He never would have expected the A-Team to become so complacent that they were now at risk of being put behind bars, permanently. He wouldn't have expected it from the suave, elusive Lieutenant Peck, and certainly not from a cunning strategist like Colonel Smith.
That poor performance from the con man, especially, could turn out to be his undoing as it left him exposed and vulnerable. He'd never know what'd hit him until he was in cuffs and on his way to Leavenworth. Even though Decker just raced off after what he presumed was Smith and Baracas in the van, he didn't want to move in too quickly. If Peck heard the sirens, he wanted to give him a false sense of security in the sense that nobody came after him immediately before the Bull would charge in.
"How soon do we move in, General?" his driver asked.
"We move in five minutes. I want Peck to think that he's not in danger before we drop the hammer on him," Fulbright indicated, shifting slightly where he sat in the front passenger seat of the military police vehicle. This all seemed like it was going to work out after all, in spite of Decker not having some of his men case out the VA to search for Peck.
If the supply officer was still there as he suspected, and they could capture him, then that would effectively divide up the A-Team. Once Peck was in custody, then they could use him as the bait they needed to easily apprehend Smith and Baracas. He knew that, once Peck was arrested, they would try to free him at all costs . . . and it would be just like a moth to a flame . . . they'd be so focused on that they would fall into his trap.
In a way, he did have to give Decker credit for this. Once he had spotted Peck's vehicle in the parking lot of the VA hospital, he had devised this plan and related it over the radio. It was quick thinking, but that's no less than he expected of Smith's adversary dating back to the days of Vietnam.
Colonel Decker shifted within the passenger seat of the sedan he sat in, his steel blue eyes locked onto the GMC Vandura van that belonged to the A-Team. Even at this time of night, the darkness of the vehicle didn't prevent it from being spotted under the street lights as it skidded around a corner and into an alley.
Wordlessly, the Sergeant within the driver's seat turned the sedan to follow. Decker glanced over to him for a moment. The kid had to be no more than 19 or 20, with red hair, green eyes, and freckles. His slim build and overall appearance reminded him of Howdy Doody. Apparently, Roderick wasn't the only one who made that connection, as others had given Sergeant Robert Smith the nickname of Howdy.
He was young, recently assigned to help in the pursuit of the A-Team due to the increased number of men that Fulbright approved . . . and likely highly inexperienced based on how nervous he looked. Howdy looked like he was about to blow chunks right there.
For a moment, he regretted splitting himself up with Captain Crane, and each of them taking separate vehicles. Marcus had been with him for a while, and was a talented driver, but if they had any chances of capturing the A-Team this time around, he knew that they needed to be in separate vehicles. He just hoped that the kid sitting behind the wheel had what it'd take to get the job done.
The A-Team van skidded again as it took a left hand turn from Sepulveda Boulevard onto Venice Boulevard, with the line of MP cars following close behind. Stores were closing up, so traffic was thankfully light, although that still didn't prevent them from having to swerve around cars that traveled along the road at that time of night. The driver of a red sports car nearly hit the line of sedans as they screeched around the corner, coming to a stop just in time and sounding his displeasure through a long blast of the car horn. Decker didn't even flinch at that, keeping his attention on the elusive three-toned van.
"Colonel, we seem to be gaining on them," Captain Crane's voice noted over the CB radio.
Decker picked up the hand held microphone on the CB that rested in the center of the dash of the sedan he was seated in. Depressing the button on it, he talked into the mic, "We've had them before, Captain. Don't lose them this time."
The seasoned officer took a moment to observe the pursuit, only to realize that Marcus Crane was right. They were gaining on the A-Team van, which was something they hadn't done before. For that to happen, it meant only one of a few things. Could there be a mechanical problem with the van itself? Could the traffic on the city streets be slowing them down more than anticipated? Could someone other than Baracas be driving the van? And, more importantly, could the A-Team be slowing down a bit on purpose to make him think that they were going to be successful in finally apprehending them before making another daring and improbable escape?
Roderick had to consider all of the possible explanations as to why they were closing in. He immediately ruled out the mechanical problem. If there was one, chances are the van would be spewing smoke or have difficulty with accelerating or handling the turns.
He also ruled out the thought that someone other than Sergeant Baracas could be driving the van. From what he remembered on the file he had read, Baracas was the A-Team's primary driver . . . even back in the jungles of 'Nam, and then was pretty insistent upon assuming that role to the point where he purposely intimidated others. It likely would take an extreme set of circumstances for him to relegate control of that vehicle to another member of the unit. Plus, when they had made the left turn onto Venice, he could clearly make out the muscular form of the Sergeant behind the wheel.
For a moment, he considered the traffic in the area. Since escaping from Fort Bragg, Decker noted how the A-Team often took extreme precautions to make sure that civilian lives would not be lost. Their actions could sometimes be considered as reckless and dangerous, even causing traffic pile ups as cars swerved to avoid them, but never were they the direct cause of an innocent life being lost. Even with all of these bleeding heart cases they took on, they took steps to make sure that those that were engaged in illegal activity were brought to justice. They could have killed a lot of these men outright, but they never did, which really spoke volumes in terms of how they operated.
Tonight, though, there was no major sporting events within the tri-county region. Both the Dodgers and the Angels were on the road, which thankfully meant that traffic was fairly light. Most of it would likely be confined to other streets closer to the downtown Los Angeles area or around popular tourist attractions, rather than by the 405 San Diego Freeway. When all of it was considered, it meant that traffic likely wasn't a factor either to explain why they were catching up.
That left only one possibility . . .
From where he sat, Decker saw the A-Team van take a sharp right. It almost looked, for a moment, as if they were doing a 180 degree turn to come right at them, but instead turned down Culver Boulevard. His men didn't figure on such a sharp turn, and wound up having to take a wider swing through the intersection in order to resume the pursuit. Unfortunately, that cost them precious time and ground.
He glanced over Howdy for a moment and told him in his deep, grovely voice, "Son, if you don't put that gas pedal to the floorboard in 5 seconds, you'll be eating your stripes for breakfast! I am not about to lose the A-Team this time."
Howdy tried not to flinch at that threat, but he did push down harder on the accelerator as the line of cars raced past the Sony Pictures Studio lot. There was another left turn that sent the van and the sedans skidding around the bend, and onto Overland Avenue.
Decker could see the van speed up and gain some distance between them, which confirmed his doubts about there being any mechanical problems with the A-Team vehicle. Smith was playing a game with him all throughout this chase, and likely relishing it like he normally did. That thought made him curse under his breath, infuriated at the fact that they fell for such an obvious rouse.
Through the darkness, he could see the approaching fenceline that kept wayward citizens from walking down the steep concrete embankments into the Los Angeles River. For a moment, he wouldn't put it past Smith to try and find an access road, crash through the gate, and continue the chase down there in that man-made canyon that snaked through the city . . . but instead, the A-Team van continued to pick up speed as it not only crossed the bridge over the river, but kept going to the southeast!
Picking up the mic for the CB radio, he pressed a button as he ordered, "Stay alert, men. Smith's up to something. Don't lose them, no matter what." He put the mic back and steadied himself as they followed the A-Team van in a right turn onto Jefferson Boulevard.
'What is Smith up to?' he thought to himself as they sped down Jefferson, quickly heading to where it would merge into Sepulveda. They were pulling away . . . not too far, but at the way the distance was increasing, he was starting to wonder if Sergeant Baracas had done something special to the engine of the van to allow the increased speed. If they got too far ahead . . .
He tried to squelch that thought, even though he highly suspected that was going to happen. As a student of strategy and tactics, much like Colonel Smith, he could anticipate several different possible outcomes. He may not like all of them, but he wasn't going to stop the pursuit . . . and he'd be darnned if he'd let the A-Team get away easily.
The A-Team van took another right hand turn back onto Overland, this time heading to the southwest. From what Roderick remembered of the greater Los Angeles area, if Smith was going to do anything at this point to escape, it would be in this area. Overland, Sepulveda, and Slauson Avenue formed a triangle near the 405 San Diego Freeway . . . and if there was one spot where it'd be very easy to lose one's pursuers, it would be here.
He looked sternly at Howdy as they swerved to avoid hitting a station wagon, wondering just how much of a rookie this kid was when it came to chasing another vehicle. Military training, even for enlisted, was pretty thorough, but it didn't always prepare someone for high speed chases in urban areas like what they were doing. This was likely a new experience for him, and he'd have to keep that in mind if the A-Team escaped. But, it also made him regret the fact that he didn't get behind the wheel himself. That way, he'd be able to take responsibility and not potentially have to demote someone who clearly hadn't been through something like this before and developed the skills for it.
The pursuit took another right onto Slauson, sending them east toward downtown Los Angeles again . . . but what surprised Decker was the fact that Smith didn't lose them. They were still pulling away, putting distance between themselves and the MP vehicles but he could still see them ahead.
'He's up to something,' Decker mentally confirmed to himself. Colonel John Hannibal Smith wouldn't keep the chase up this long unless . . .
A realization finally hit him!
Peck!
He had to have been back at the VA. It was the only possible explanation as to why Smith was dragging this out for so long. The Lieutenant was likely visiting Captain Murdock, and Smith was protecting him . . . or at least trying to. A smirk appeared upon Decker's face, knowing that he may have one-upped his adversary in that regards, especially with splitting the squads up and suggesting that Fulbright and his units move in on the VA in a second wave.
What happened next surprised Decker. The A-Team van took a left into the Holy Cross Mortuary. No sooner had they made the turn, he heard Captain Crane's voice over the radio as he asked, "Colonel, what are they doing going into a cemetery at this time of night?"
"Maybe they're just dying to get in," Howdy joked, trying to relieve the tension a bit.
Decker glared at Howdy, but ignored the comment. Under any other circumstance, he may have found the humor in that line, but now was definitely not the time to be making jokes. Grabbing the mic from its holder on the dash, Decker pressed the button along the side and responded, "Colonel Smith just made a major mistake. This whole area's wide open, and there's nowhere to hide."
Even at this time of night, he could see how sparse the number of trees were, which allowed a greater field of distance. His mind practically reeled at the thought . . . Colonel Smith, the ever-elusive leader of the A-Team that had foiled Decker's attempts to capture them for so long, finally making what may have been the biggest mistake of his life.
And Roderick was determined to make sure that he capitalized on that mistake, seeing them in cuffs and on the first flight to Leavenworth.
"Keep on them," Decker ordered to Howdy, trying to make sure that they kept the A-Team van in sight. Even with how open the mortuary was, they could likely keep eluding them for hours on these multiple winding roads, or even escape through one of the other exits that existed. Or, they'd likely find a place to hide around the mausoleum, even though the doors would have been locked hours ago.
He couldn't put anything past Smith at this point. He was just like a tiger . . . dangerous when on the loose, but even that much more so when he was backed into a corner and about to be caged.
"Colonel, should we split up to try and cordon them off?" Captain Crane asked over the radio.
Still holding the mic in his right hand, Decker depressed the button on the side and told him, "Negative, Captain. Stick together. I don't want to risk having us picked off one at time."
Putting the mic back in the holster on the dash, Decker looked over to Howdy. "Are you waiting for a personal invitation? Catch up to them!" he ordered.
"Yes, sir," came the response, a bit of a quiver within the tone indicating that the Sergeant was starting to fear that he wouldn't keep his rank for much longer. Pressing down on the gas pedal, the sedan picked up even more speed . . . but not enough to close distance with the A-Team van.
Although the tri-toned van took several different routes, it was becoming evident to Roderick that their adversaries weren't totally trying to lose them . . . at least not yet, but they were putting more distance between the themselves and the line of MP cars that followed. Smith was likely still enjoying this a bit too much, playing a game with them. But, he had a suspicion that was going to be drawing to an end soon with how the chase was leading closer and closer to the mausoleum. They were only a couple hundred yards away, and closing in fast on that location.
The back of the van kicked around as they took another turn at a high rate of speed, disappearing behind the white brick building. The MP sedans followed . . . but what surprised them was when they turned at the same spot as the van.
It was nowhere to be seen!
The military police vehicles slowed to a stop within the parking lot on the back side of the building that served as the final resting place for many. The headlights and mars lights from their vehicles cut through the darkness, yet provided no clue as to where the elusive A-Team had gone. It was almost as if they had vanished in thin air!
The men started to climb out of their vehicles as they looked around, hoping that maybe the A-Team had hidden their vehicle behind a building or another vehicle. So far, everything was coming up empty.
Captain Crane made his way over to Colonel Decker, w ho was now standing next to the vehicle he had been in, as Roderick demanded, "Where the hell did they go?!"
"They disappeared, Colonel. I don't know how, but they did," Crane noted softly, knowing he was walking on egg shells himself with how upset Decker was. He was liable to demote someone on the spot if they said the wrong thing, much like what General Harlan Bull Fulbright did frequently.
"Find them! I want those men!" Decker barked out with such force that a few of the men literally jumped. If the others hadn't been convinced that Decker was upset, the tone of his voice just then clearly showed it.
"They couldn't have gotten far, sir. We didn't see them leave from around the mausoleum," Crane pointed out.
As Crane moved away to start issuing orders to the men, Decker slammed his fist hard onto the roof of the green sedan, leaving a dent on the metal. What he and the others failed to see within the darkness was the black, gunmetal grey, and red van driving along an access road in the distance toward another entrance for the mortuary, without headlights and covered by the darkness of night as they escaped the threat of capture.
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1999
PROJECT QUANTUM LEAP
STALLIONS GATE, NEW MEXICO
1:30PM MOUNTAIN TIME
Admiral Calavicci carried a tray from the kitchen over to one of the tables. A couple of salads rested upon the tray, along with two cups of coffee. The cups were freshly poured from the warmer, as steam was still visibly snaking up into the air above the liquid. Still wearing his white dress uniform, Al took a seat at a table that already had a couple of ladies that were already seated.
Senator Diane McBride also sat down at the table, across from Al and then also looked at the two ladies that they had just joined at the table.
The first was an older woman, who wore her black hair up in a bun. A couple of strands cascaded down from it, but overall it made her look sophisticated. Her dark brown eyes shone with incredible intelligence, and she wore a cream-colored pant suit that gave her an air of being a professional business woman. Dr. Donna Elesee, the wife of Dr. Sam Beckett, always seemed to carry herself with an air of authority and often handled a lot of the external relations to keep the funding flowing, except in rare instances where Al had to also appear as well.
The second was a younger woman with brown hair wavy hair that flowed down like a waterfall toward her shoulders. She bore brown eyes as well, but her eyes hid the incredible intelligence that she possessed . . . the genes that allowed that intelligence to be possible had been inherited from her real father. She wore a hot pink blouse, blue jeans, and a white lab coat. Samantha Josephine Fuller was a natural genius, just like her biological father . . . Sam . . . but her talents had almost been wasted if Sam hadn't changed history for her mother, Abigail, and broke the curse that haunted her family for generations.
Al grinned at both of them and began his introductions, first turning to the older woman seated at the table. "Donna, you already know Senator McBride . . ."
"Of course I do," Donna smiled, putting down the fork she held in her right hand. As the wife of Dr. Samuel Beckett, after Sam had changed history to first fix his own marriage that hadn't happened, and then to save a newlywed Diane McBride from being killed, she and Al often took the responsibility of appearing before the annual funding committee. "It's a pleasure to see you here, Senator."
Al turned to the younger woman and introduced her as well, "And this is Dr. Samantha Josephine Fuller, who is working on the retrieval program to try and bring Sam home. Sami Jo, this is Senator Diane McBride who is head of the committee that annually reviews the funding for the Project."
"It's a pleasure, Senator," Sami Jo greeted her warmly, with a gentle smile touching her lips.
"Please, call me Diane," the Senator requested as she reached over to pull the salad and her drink from the tray that Al had carried.
Once she had grabbed her food from the tray, Al turned the tray around so he could grab a fork. He poked at his salad as he mentioned, "Diane's going to be stuck with us for a couple of days due to a sand storm that kicked up. Visibility outside is down to zero. I've already got a set of guest quarters lined up for her."
Diane nodded and then added onto what Al just stated, "The extra couple of days actually will allow me to get to know all of you better, see how everyone works at the Project, and hopefully go back to Washington with enough information that could help secure funding for a long time."
"Admiral Calavicci," the sultry voice of Ziggy rang through the air.
Al had just taken a bite of his salad and tried hard to stifle a sigh in front of the ladies. The hybrid computer that kept track of history and ran the project sometimes had the worst timing. One would tend to think that maybe, a computer that kept track of so many timelines, would at least have the courtesy to give him a heads up much earlier that something needed his immediate attention rather than providing things last minute as Ziggy normally did. Could the artificial intelligence find some humor doing this to him regularly?
"What is it, Ziggy?" Al called out, hoping that Ziggy's usual pattern wasn't going to hold this time around.
"Admiral, I'm sorry to interrupt your lunch, but I project a 89% chance that Dr. Beckett will be arrested by the military police within five minutes," Ziggy informed him.
"What?! Five minutes? How?" Al questioned, totally stunned by this development. With what was going on with this Leap, he knew that Sam wouldn't be able to save Hannibal if he ended up behind bars before he barely had a chance to do anything to fix history. To say that this news had the worst timing was a major understatement right now . . .
"Time is in flux, Admiral. Recent developments, not in the original history, are taking place that has prompted this new projection. Dr. Beckett has also gone back to the Wadsworth Veterans Administration Hospital," the computer explained.
"Oi vey," Al murmured, realizing just how close they were cutting this one, before ordering the computer, "Ziggy, have Gooshie fire up the Imaging Chamber and get the Handlink online. I'll be up there in less than 2 minutes."
Standing up from the table, he offered a weak smile to the three ladies that were supposed to dine with him. "I hate to do this, but I'm going to have to take a raincheck on lunch. I need to get to Sam and let him know what's going on," he said apologetically.
"Go ahead, Al. Do whatever you need to in order to help Sam. We'll be here once you're done," Dr. Donna Elesee reassured him, knowing that Al hated to blow off stuff like this . . . especially when he had to attend to anything related to the business end of the Project.
Sami Jo nodded an affirmative as well, letting Al know that she fully supported him without saying anything. Diane also nodded as well, before adding, "I'm in good company, Al, and I'm sure that Dr. Elesee and Dr. Fuller can answer any additional questions I may have while you help Dr. Beckett."
"I'll be back as soon as I can," Al informed them before taking off in a run for the elevator. Thoughts raced through his mind as he stepped on board the elevator, and hit the button for the control level. Could Sam's presence be the reason why things were changing as they were? Why didn't Ziggy catch this sooner? Could there be other elements at work here, that even he wasn't aware of? He knew that sometimes Sam speculated whether God, fate, or time itself controlled his Leaps, so just about anything was possible.
To Al, it seemed like the ride in the elevator took forever, even though it was no longer than usual. But, what made it seem that way was the fact that his best friend was in trouble. Al was so determined to get to Sam that he tried to squeeze past the doors before they could fully open. He rushed into the Control Room, where he saw Gooshie standing behind the control table, filled with colorful cubes used to initiate the various functions associated with Project Quantum Leap.
"Is the Imaging Chamber online, Gooshie?" Al asked, grabbing the Handlink from its cradle without even stopping. The Handlink was very similar to the control table, filled with colorful cubes that lit up . . . but it was an essential part of what he did, providing a data link to Ziggy, where he could retrieve the information Sam needed about a Leap. The colors and the layout of both reminded him of a bunch of gummy bears, even though the technology behind it was unparalleled.
"Yes, Admiral. We'll be able to re-establish the lock on Dr. Beckett as soon as you are in the Imaging Chamber," Dr. Gushman responded as he saw Al make his way up the ramp.
"Then hit it," Al instructed him, pushing a button on the Handlink to open the Imaging Chamber door. "Sam's in trouble, and we have no time to lose." He walked inside and pressed another button to close the door. A swirl of images appeared in the center of the room, and Al stepped inside the vortex. The moment he did so, everything snapped into focus as the lock was established . . .
MONDAY, MAY 12, 1986
WADSWORTH VETERANS ADMINISTRATION HOSPITAL
WESTWOOD
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
9:05PM PACIFIC TIME
Sam and Murdock both looked up as they heard the Imaging Chamber door open within Murdock's room, and saw Al walk through there almost as if he was in a hurry. "Sam, thank God!" Al exclaimed.
"Albert?" Murdock inquired, his brown eyes widening with a bit of surprise. It was obvious that he wasn't used to seeing Al enter this way, and it was likely going to take a bit to get used to it for as long as Sam was still occupying Faceman's aura.
"Al, what's wrong?" Sam asked from the window, looking carefully at his holographic friend. Al usually didn't make a comment like what he did unless there was some kind of immediate danger, and the Observer was afraid that he was a bit too late with alerting him.
"You have to get out of here!" Al emphasized, waving his arms wildly toward the front of the building. "The MPs are on their way, and if you don't get outta dodge, you're going to be arrested in two minutes!"
Sam was stunned by this news. "How can that be possible, Al? We got away from them hours ago," he pointed out, hoping that maybe he was wrong on this.
Al glanced at the plastic slab that bore colorful cubes that reminded him of gummy bears. "Decker got some new vehicles to replace the ones that were wrecked when you guys got away from them earlier. And General H . . ." Al started to read, pausing as the Handlink glitched and didn't give the full name. He smacked the side of it hard, resulting in a squeal of protest, before it spit out the rest of the information for him. "Harlan Fulbright is helping him out too."
"I heard sirens earlier," Sam realized, not knowing at the time that it possibly could be the MPs.
Murdock looked at his flying buddy from Vietnam for a moment, taking in all of the information that had just been presented before looking at the time traveler. From what Al had told him before, he had a pretty good guess that Sam wouldn't be able to fix history if Decker or Fulbright arrested him. "Go on, Sam. You can call me later from Face's place," the A-Team pilot encouraged.
"Sam, move! They're gonna be here any minute!" Al reiterated, waving his hands that much more wildly. Italians were known to be expressive, and used a lot of gestures when they talked, but in this case Al was doing that just to get Sam to do something and not just stand there.
Sam nodded stuffed the map back into his pocket before scrambling away from the window and running back to the parking lot as fast as he could. It didn't take too long for him to cross the distance from Murdock's window to the lot, where he saw that Al was already 'sitting' in the passenger seat of the Vette. He didn't even bother opening the door to the convertible as he jumped inside and pulled out the key. Sirens could be heard as he put the key in the ignition and started up the car, causing the engine to roar to life.
"Go, Sam, go!" Al told his friend.
"Just tell me where to drive so we won't get caught," Sam said hurriedly as he shifted the car into drive and stomped on the gas hard, causing the tires to smoke before the sports car sped away within the parking lot.
The sound of the sirens could be heard over the screeching tires, growing closer with every passing moment. Wind whipped through Sam's hair as he pulled out onto Wilshire and headed east towards the heart of Los Angeles itself.
Al looked back behind the Vette as he spotted a line of four green sedans, all with mars lights on the roof of the vehicles, and all of them following him at a high rate of speed. "Floor it, Sam," the hologram told his friend. "Take a left at the next intersection, and then a right."
Sam didn't even respond, trying to focus on controlling the car at a high rate of speed and also following the directions that Al had just given him. He stomped down even harder on the gas pedal, putting it to the floor whenever he didn't have to turn. He glanced briefly into the rear view mirror, and saw the sedans closing in behind him.
The tires protested against the high speed turns by letting out a loud squeal, which was just barely louder than the sirens. The Vette skidded around the corner onto Manning Avenue, and then found its traction again as Sam again stomped down hard on the accelerator. His heart, at this point, was racing just like the engine of the Vette, due to the danger he was in of being caught. But he trusted Al implicitly, and knew that he would give him driving directions that hopefully could put some distance between him and the MPs.
Following the right turn onto Linbrook Drive, Sam again stepped on the gas as he realized, "Al, this place is residential. We need to get out of here so we don't hurt any innocent bystanders."
Al read the information on the Handlink and quickly told Sam, "Left quick onto Westholme! Ziggy's sending us to Uc . . ." He paused as the display froze again, hitting the device hard, only to get another squeal of protest. "Oh, UCLA! That whole place is a maze, and a game is just about to let out, so there should be some heavy traffic to buy us a bit of breathing room."
"Al!" Sam started to counter, only to have his partner cut him off.
"It's the best bet that Ziggy can come up with. Besides, you went to UCLA for one of your doctorates, so you should know the campus like the back of your hand," Al pointed out, waving his hand a bit in the direction of the road in front of them.
At this point, all Sam could do was hope that Al was right. With his swiss-cheesed brain, there was a pretty good chance that he wouldn't be able to elude the MPs on that campus . . . but he still had to try. If he didn't, Hannibal was as good as dead.
Westholme eventually came to a point where the road ended, and one could only go left or right. "Which way, Al?" Sam asked urgently, needing to turn in a few seconds if he needed to keep up this rate of speed.
"Left!" Al directed, looking at the information again to make sure that wasn't a glitch or a mistake from Ziggy. The Handlink sometimes froze on information, and often at the worst times. It'd usually take a good whack or two to the side in order to get the data to start feeding properly again on the display. If there was anything that Al wish that they could fix about the Project, that was it. It annoyed him to no end.
Sam turned the wheel sharply as the Corvette threatened to skid, but quickly corrected it as he turned onto Charles E. Young Drive. "How much further, Al?" the time traveler asked, getting more nervous with every passing moment.
"Keep going, Sam. I'll tell you when to turn," Al tried to reassure him, glancing back at the MP cars that seemed like they were closing in. He had to admit that the Army drivers were good . . . better than he expected, but they didn't have the advantage that Sam had. They didn't have the information on what was going to happen in the future, which the Observer could provide. "Floor it, Sam! They're catching up!"
"What do you think I'm doing?" Sam shot back, weaving around a car that was in his path as they sped past the medical center. He could hear the horn of the car he had just raced around, fading as they raced away. "Where's this game, Al? When do I turn?"
"Take the next right, and then a left after that," Al instructed, keeping him on the drive as it drew closer to the track and field stadium. They could already see people walking down the sidewalks . . . the beginning of the crowd that was leaving. Ziggy's timing may not have been perfect, but it was close enough to where they would have a chance . . .
Sam complied and turned the wheel, and again the Corvette threatened to skid with taking the turns at such a high rate of speed, but he managed to keep it on the road and going in the direction where he wanted. "Al . . ." Sam pleaded.
Just as Al had said, a crowd of students started to stream out of the stadium as Sam approached it. He shot past them, but they started crossing directly in the path of the MPs. The crowd was so thick that the MPs had to slam on their brakes and come to a sudden stop, while Sam was free to drive away . . .
"That was . . . that was too close! Al, someone could have been killed!" Sam protested as he slowed the car down, now that they had gotten away from the military police. He was breathing, almost in a way that made it seem like he was trying to catch his breath . . . just as if he had actually run that distance rather than drove. "How in the world do these guys do this, and nobody gets hurt?"
"They've been doing it for years, Sam," Al reminded him with a bit of admiration in the tone of his voice. Even though the government branded the A-Team as criminals, knowing what he did about the integrity of these men, the Naval Admiral never once believed that they would willingly rob that bank unless they were under orders. "That's why they're so good at it."
Even though they were out of danger for the moment, Sam's heart still felt like it was racing. "Please tell me that we won't have to do that again," he pleaded, clearly not looking forward to continuing this Leap if he had to keep eluding authorities like he just did, especially when others could be put in danger in the process.
"I can't promise you that, Sam," Al started to say, looking up from his Handlink for a moment, giving his friend a half-smile. "Well, look on the bright side. At least by losing them back there, they won't bother you for the rest of tonight."
"Just for tonight?" Sam rolled his eyes, wondering just what he was getting himself into with this Leap.
