I don't know why I hang out with you guys. I'm beginning to lose my grip on reality.
It's about time!
- Face and Murdock, "The Big Squeeze"
Leon, I know you're confused, but the truth is, you don't belong here.
What is this, some kind of dream or something?
No, it's not a dream! I came to take you back, Leon.
Back to where?
Back to 1958. There was a mix-up in an experiment and accidentally, you traveled forty years into the future. You traded places with a friend of mine who's stuck back in '58!
You think I'm stupid?
Would I make up a story like this?
People don't just jump into other people's lives!
Well, my friend does.
- Al and Leon Styles, "Killin' Time"
Chapter 10: Troubling Future
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 26, 1999
ADMIRAL CALAVICCI'S OFFICE
PROJECT QUANTUM LEAP
STALLIONS GATE, NEW MEXICO
8:00PM MOUNTAIN TIME
It had already been a long day for Admiral Albert Calavicci, although he had no idea that his day was about to get longer. He sat within his office currently, behind his desk watching as Senator Diane McBride sat across from him in a chair. She was reviewing a number of papers that were spread out in front of her on the oak desk.
"This is impressive, Al," she said as she leafed through the information that had been presented to her. Each year that the funding of the Project was reviewed, some members of the committee asked for proof, not wanting to believe that Dr. Beckett was indeed Leaping around in time. But now, in her hands, she had much of the evidence that they so craved . . . evidence that would hopefully help to guarantee funding for the Project for a very, very long time. "Although your reports for the finance committee tried to show how Dr. Beckett was Leaping through time, I had no idea just how much of an impact he's made on history."
Al nodded silently and watched her as she continued to read the paperwork intently. In a way, he was glad that she was the one who had to deal with the political mumbo jumbo. He hated all of the red tape and the mess in Washington DC, as well as dealing with people like Senator Joe Weitzman and others that didn't bother reading the reports, and jumped to conclusions too easily when it came to voting on things . . . even voting for the funding of the Project. He may have been a veteran of war, but in a way he admired her. Holding and maintaining a political office was a war of another kind . . . not a physical war that was fought with guns, but a mental war that dealt with words.
"All of these lives that he's changed in some way . . ." she continued to note, with a true sense of admiration within the tone of her voice. Her hands shuffled through the papers as she started to rattle off, "Teaching Michael Jackson the moonwalk, using the Heimlich maneuver on a choking man who turns out to be Dr. Heimlich, correcting the song lyrics of Peggy Sue for a young Buddy Holly, helping Elvis Presley land his first record deal, giving several horror ideas to novelist Stephen King . . ."
The Italian nodded to the Senator, before also chiming in with a couple more notable details . . . ones that he believed were probably the most important ones of all. "And don't forget Leaping into Lee Harvey Oswald to prevent Jacqueline Kennedy Onasis from being assassinated along side her husband, and saving your life and helping you to pass your bar exam."
No sooner than those words left Al's mouth, his attention was instantly drawn to a silent alert on his computer terminal. He typed in a command and pulled up the information, and then read the details on the screen. As he did so, he had to fight hard to hide the shock that threatened to consume him. He definitely didn't need Senator McBride finding out about this . . .
Based on the initial reports, Templeton Peck managed to get out of the waiting room with the excuse of having to use the bathroom. Sami Jo took it upon herself to escort him there, where he promptly got trapped inside when the door allegedly jammed. It likely wasn't jammed, as Corporal Nelson faced no resistance when he tried to force the door open. Caught off guard, Face relieved him of his weapon, knocked him out, handcuffed him to a handicapped railing within the bathroom, and then left to only God knows where with Sami Jo.
But, the main thing that alarmed him was the fact that neither one of them were inside the Project at the moment.
The escape reminded the Naval Admiral of Cham Hoi in Vietnam, and how resourceful the members of the A-Team were when it came to escape plans. This one was no different, since Face used a method of escaping that he certainly hadn't expected, and never bothered to keep it covered with security.
What concerned him right now wasn't just the fact that Face had the MP's gun and he had Sami Jo drive him somewhere, but it was more what he was going to do once he arrived to their destination. No, not just what he was going to do, but what information he was or was not going to be able to find . . .
If his swiss cheesed memory was starting to fill in and he began to remember phone numbers, there was no doubt that Templeton Peck would try to call those numbers in order to contact the other members of the A-Team. He had no idea if any of those phone numbers still worked, but inwardly he prayed that they didn't. Although Verbena had started to work with him, preparing him if they eventually had to tell him the truth, they were still at the very early stages and there was no way that he'd be able to handle the shock if he did manage to get a hold of and speak with one of the surviving members of the unit, or with someone who knew or had some information about them.
He also doubted that he'd harm Sami Jo either, but there was no way to know what he'd do or how he'd react if he were to learn the truth at this stage. All he could do was hope that Sami Jo would have enough sense to keep Face from a computer or anything that had news archives. The last thing they needed, at the moment, was for Lieutenant Peck to learn the truth. Eventually when he was better prepared, maybe, but right now definitely not.
Even though the high wind storm reduced visibility drastically by blowing sand in the air like a dust bowl, he had to go after them. Sam needed the information Face might have that could help him with this Leap, and he couldn't get that if Face wasn't in the Waiting Room. Besides, from what he remembered when Leon Styles escaped, Sam couldn't Leap until Leon was returned to the Waiting Room, which meant that as long as Face remained on the run . . . even in this time . . . Sam would not be able to Leap, even if he managed to save Hannibal's life. There was also no telling where Face would go after he was done with what he needed to with Sami Jo, so he just had to get him back . . . he just had to.
"Al, with this kind of documentation . . . the original history and how Dr. Beckett changed it into what is now reality, I don't see why the financial oversight committee would ever deny funding for Quantum Leap and the heroic undertakings of yourself and Dr. Beckett," Diane noted with a tremendous amount of respect and admiration within her tone.
Hearing the Senator statement was enough to draw the Admiral's attention back to the immediate present. In a way, he was greatly relieved that finally, after years of Sam Leaping around in time, they had managed to gather enough information to guarantee the longevity of the Project. Besides, if funding was cut and Sam was still Leaping around, he'd be lost in time forever, unable to get home, and likely could end up being killed if he couldn't get the information he needed.
He gave her a bit of a slight, apologetic smile, feeling pretty bad about this. This was the second time in a matter of hours that his time with her to discuss things about the Project, as a part of her visit, was going to be unceremoniously interrupted. He wasn't too happy about it, but it had become the nature of the job once Sam started Leaping around in time. "Diane, an emergency just came up that I have to deal with. It's pretty urgent, and can't wait," he reveled, being very selective with his wording as to not alarm her too much.
She started gathering up the papers in front of her as she began to think. They were in facility built into a mountain at the former sight of ground zero . . . the first atomic weapons test . . . and with a high wind storm raging outside that basically made travel next to impossible at the moment due to the extremely low visibility. That left her wondering what kind of an emergency might arise. There was that time with lunch and how Al had to quickly go to the Imaging Chamber and help to prevent Sam from being arrested . . . but what could have happened this time around. "Does it have something to do with Dr. Beckett?" she decided to ask.
'Oy vey,' Al thought to himself as he heard the question from the Senator. The last thing he needed was for her to find out what happened, and start questioning their security. That would definitely put the future of the Project, and even their funding, at risk, setting back the progress that they had made over the years. Senator Joe Weitzman would have a field day with this one, and try to take over the committee from Diane. "No, this is more of a personal emergency," Al began to say, clearly lying through his teeth. "My third . . . no my fourth . . . no, my third ex-wife is suing me for more alimony and my lawyer just called me. He wants to meet up with him at his office as soon as possible."
Diane McBride nodded as she stood from the desk. Her voice showed a tremendous amount of empathy as she expressed, "I understand, Al. We get the same thing all the time in DC as well . . . all of the bills that are brought up for vote at the last minute, lobbyists trying to demand your time and get you to vote the way they want you to, the legal wrangling and proceedings. Besides, with all the information you gave me, it'll take a few more hours for me to go over and then compile it into a presentation for the funding committee."
"Good," he said, feeling greatly relieved with her understanding with all of this, and the fact that she hadn't pressed him further. He felt extremely lucky that Sam did Leap into her husband on their honeymoon and changed history, as he doubted that the guy who originally headed up the committee that oversaw the funding for the Project would have been so sympathetic as Diane was. In fact, until history was changed, it really seemed like funding was going to be eliminated . . . a prospect that had worried Al tremendously. "I'll walk to you your room," he offered.
Al stood up and walked around the desk, joining her by the door. He gave her a bit of a smile as he opened the door and they walked together into the hallway. The news that he just received weighed heavily upon his mind, greatly concerned just how much information Face would be exposed to, and if he'd learn the truth outside of these walls . . . a truth that would most definitely devastate him.
Diane McBride, for her part, could tell that the Project Administrator and Observer was anxious about something even though they walked in silence. From the moment she arrived at the Project, she could tell that he was calm, cool, collective, confident, unflappable, authoritative . . . basically, in charge from beginning to end. The only time she had ever seen him look nervous or worried was when he was attending the funding committee reviews and things looked like they were going to go down to the wire on the decision. For Al to look the way he did while they walked, it spoke volumes as to the seriousness of the emergency that had arisen. He did a good job with trying to hide it, but she could just tell . . .
"Everything okay, Al? I know you mentioned the alimony situation. Is there anything I could do to help?" she wondered, hoping that he'd take her up on her offer to assist him with whatever problems he could be going through.
"Er, uh, no, no, no," he stammered as innocently as he could, almost as if he knew that he was caught within a bold faced lie. He had to think quickly and come up with something that hopefully she'd buy, since he sure in the heck didn't need her learning the truth if he could avoid it. Wait . . . what was that lawyer's name that Sam Leaped into? Maybe he could use that! "My, uh, lawyer . . . Larry Stanton . . . he's handled all of my divorces and has this strict confidentiality thing. I don't think you'd be able to help with this."
"Are you sure?" Diane wondered as they approached the door for the guest room she was given at the Project for the duration of her stay. If he needed help, she wanted to make sure that he knew that she was willing to provide that assistance.
"Oh . . . I'm sure," the Project Administrator again stammered, the confidence rising within his voice as it seemed like she really was buying his story. He had to figure out where Sami Jo went with Face and get to them quickly before any damage could be done. "Diane, this may take a few hours so it'll be pretty late by the time I get back . . ."
She nodded as she took in what he just said, seemingly getting the hint. He had no idea how long this really was going to take, and he didn't want her waiting up for him to continue going over everything about the Project for the funding committee. Even from the first committee review, she could tell how dedicated that Admiral Albert Calavicci was to his friend, but even he had a life of his own . . . and it needed to be attended to now apparently. "That's okay, Al. We can always continue tomorrow," she suggested with a tremendous amount of understanding.
He nodded and watched as she opened the door to her guest room, walked inside, and closed it behind her. No sooner had she shut it, he let out a sigh of relief. In a way, he was glad that she didn't press him much further about what was going on, much less about the story he fed her regarding his lawyer. It only took him a moment to push that thought out of his mind as he remembered that he still had a job to do.
He broke into a run as he raced down the halls of the Project, back to his office. He had only enough time to get something from there before he'd have to race out into the dangerous conditions outside the walls of the facility. But, he had no choice . . . Face left him with no choice. The only thing he could do was pray that he could find out where both Samantha Josephine Fuller and Templeton Peck went, and that he could return both of them to the Project before the unimaginable happened . . . before Face could learn the truth in a way that would destroy him . . .
DR. SAMANTHA JOSEPHINE FULLER'S HOUSE
ALAMAGORDO, NEW MEXICO
8:30PM MOUNTAIN TIME
Face paced back and forth within the tastefully decorated living room, holding the cordless phone to his ear. The phone he held in his hand was similar to some of the Army field radios that he had seen, which looked like an oversized phone handset . . . but how they managed to get all those components into a smaller phone like this and make it available for the general public was beyond him. Then again, with his being on the run, he didn't exactly have the time to hang around in stores or malls and window shop, unless he wanted to risk being recognized by their rent-a-cops who wanted to get in on the reward money.
He had just dialed the first number by memory a moment ago, only to pull the phone away from his ear as he was greeted by the annoying message from the phone company that the number he had just dialed was disconnected. He shut off the cordless phone and looked at it for a moment, almost incredulously, wondering if it was the phone that wasn't working right and not the number he had just dialed.
Had the phone company found out about the line and disconnected it? The scam he had set up to get the private number activated for Murdock's room was foolproof. He had spent months setting up the alias of Richard Donner, credit cards, fake IDs, addresses . . . the whole gambit. There was so much information that he threw at the phone company that it'd likely take them to the next century before they'd come close to figuring out that they were being conned.
Besides, he had just called the number a week ago when they had to arrange to bust Murdock out of the VA for the last job they had just taken. As he thought more about it, he started to remember the scam that he used to secure the pilot's release. It was a pretty ingenious scam that he hadn't pulled before, which . . . for a change . . . didn't involve Murdock supposedly donating an organ or being taken in for some kind of testing.
This plan had him posing as Dr. Michael Wisnewski, a top reporter and publisher for a magazine called Fly Quarterly, who also had a background as a psychiatrist. The whole scam was to get Murdock released into his care while the magazine did a series of interviews about his escape flight from Hanoi in 1969 . . . but they couldn't do it while in the hospital. The publisher for the scam allegedly spared no expense in order to make sure that the famed pilot practically lived in the lap of luxury, and would be fully relaxed and comfortable in order to allow him to share his experience in detail. The hospital staff bought into the story hook, line and sinker.
Letting out a bit of a sigh, he racked his brain for yet another phone number. One finally popped into his head as he dialed it. This one was something he had dialed numerous times before . . . before Murdock had gotten the private line installed in his room at the VA. He just hoped that someone answered there since he really needed to start getting some answers . . .
As the phone rang, he looked around the living room of the house belonging to Dr. Samantha Josephine Fuller. The ranch-style home had a gorgeous red brick fireplace with a cherry wood mantle. Surrounding the fireplace were shelves filled with a huge assortment of books. He walked closer and examined some of the titles. A lot of them were really heavy reading, far beyond his intelligence level. 'Advanced Quantum Physics,' 'Advanced Temporal Mechanics,' and 'Advanced Computer Programming' were among the heavier reading selections that stood out at him. He probably wouldn't understand any of it even if he were to pick up a book and start leafing through the pages.
But, there were a few others that also stood out . . . a couple of books that weren't so new, and in fact looked very worn and haggard. Yet, they were there on the shelf. 'Robin Hood,' 'King Arthur,' and 'Brigadoon' . . . the titles she had mentioned earlier that seemed to fill an emptiness within her life. He had to try hard to hide a smile at the presence of those books.
He admired the admiral blue couch that complimented the cherry wood accent and coffee tables. A maroon rug lay on the floor . . . not covering it completely, but just enough to cover a large portion of the area so he wasn't walking on the hardwood floors. The colors all complimented each other, and contrasted with the light, eggshell white walls, creating a feeling of warmth. It really made this place look and feel like a home.
His attention was immediately drawn from the furniture when he heard a female voice answer the phone, "Westwood Veterans Administration Hospital. How can I direct your call?"
Faces heart practically leaped up within his chest as he heard the voice. The first number he dialed came up with nothing, but this time he was able to talk to someone. He had to fight hard to hide the excitement that threatened to overcome his voice. "Ah, yes. I need to speak with one of your patients . . . a H. M. Murdock."
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before the operator responded, "I'm sorry, sir, but there is no patient here by that name."
Templeton Peck was stunned. How could that be possible? He had only recently busted Murdock out, and they were trying to take him back to the VA when Decker started chasing them. Did something happen on the way back to where the guys couldn't return Murdock to the VA? Could it be related to the fact that he now found himself in New Mexico, and he hadn't even remembered how he got here in the first place?
"What do you mean there's no patient by that name? He was checked out on a pass a week ago. He should be there," Face urged. For him, this would have been so much easier in person rather than over the phone. He could have turned on the charm and sweet talked her into giving him the information he needed . . . or took advantage of a momentary distraction to retrieve the information himself. "Can you check again?"
Again there was a long silence before the voice came back on the phone and reiterated, "I'm sorry, sir, but we simply do not have anyone here by the name of H. M. Murdock."
He knew that he had to act quickly, as there was something within her tone that suggested that she was about to hang up on him. Face quickly blurted out, "Then transfer me to the psychiatric wing then . . ." He tried hard to mask the frustration within the tone of his voice that was rising quickly within him as he fought hard not to get angry. None of this made any sense! Getting angry or upset about all of this wouldn't help him keep a level head, much less figure this out. If nothing else, it'd only cause him to lose control and snap at people like Sami Jo who were trying to help him.
A few moments later, a new voice could be heard over the phone as another woman answered, "Psychiatric wing, Nurse Olson speaking."
"Ah, Nurse Olson, I hope you can help me," Face said, sounding a bit relieved that maybe he was getting closer to some answers. "I need to talk to one of the permanent patients in your ward . . . H. M. Murdock."
There was a slight rustling of papers that could be heard over the phone before the Nurse finally responded, "I'm sorry, sir, but we don't have a patient here by that name in this wing."
What in the world was it with these people? He checked Murdock out for a week, and they're all acting like he never lived at the VA at all! He wasn't crazy, or at least he didn't think so, so what was going on? There was something very, very, very wrong here. "Are you sure?" he asked, incredulously. "Can you check again?"
"I'm very sure, sir. I've checked our records of all patients, on all floors of this wing, twice and there is nobody here by that name," Nurse Olson stressed.
Templeton Peck shook his head and gripped the cordless phone a bit tighter. Could the military finally have figured out that maybe . . . just maybe . . . Murdock wasn't crazy? Face had his doubts sometime about the pilot's insanity, mainly due to all of his fixations and obsessions, but when he didn't pretend like he was someone else all the time, Murdock was as sane as the rest of them were. "He wasn't recently transferred to another section of the hospital, was he?" he questioned, trying to consider all possibilities in terms of what could have happened.
"No, sir," the nurse quickly responded. "If he had been recently transferred, we'd still have a file with his records here in this ward. We do not have that file at all."
"Are you sure the file wasn't lost or misplaced?" Face pushed, still finding all of this hard to believe. First the switchboard operator, and now the nurse . . . they both acted like they had never heard of Murdock ever living at the VA at all. Of course, the military, CIA and other portions of the government could make records disappear without a trace when it was convenient for them. They couldn't be involved with this, could they? If they were, then his chance of finding Murdock on his own just went downhill exponentially.
"I'm very positive, sir," Nurse Olson responded, sounding perturbed by his continued line of questioning. "We keep very thorough records on all patients currently living in this wing, or recently transferred to another ward or even to another hospital. There are no records, sir."
'Think fast, Face,' he admonished to himself, not wanting to give up in spite of her constant refusals. He still needed to figure out what was going on and he couldn't do that if he kept running into brick walls and dead ends.
Wait . . . maybe there was one more possibility when it came to getting information on what happened to Murdock. What was the guy's name . . . his shrink . . . the one they had to rescue that one time with what's her face that kept changing her identity as often as he changed his ties. Murdock had borrowed his limo to play chauffeur to Face when he went to his reunion, and then apparently he took some of his patients to the Beverly Bay Country Club . . . including Murdock.
Richter . . .
Dr. Alexander Richter . . . that was it!
"Then let me talk to Dr Richter," Face quickly demanded, inwardly praying that maybe his luck could start turning around with this effort to get a hold of the guys.
"Dr. Richter?" the nurse parroted for a moment. "Dr. Richter died several years ago of a heart attack. I'm sorry, sir, but I must get back to my patients, and you've wasted enough of my time."
There was an audible click, followed by a dial tone, before Face could even register what was said. She not only hung up on him, but left him with a ton of brand new unanswered questions. Pulling the phone away from his ear, his mind raced. Dr. Richter dead? That didn't make any sense! The psychiatrist, whom they had to save from being held captive by a madman in San Martin, was one of the most important people in Murdock's life outside of the Team. If he had suffered a heart attack and died, Murdock would have been worked into a frenzy and certainly said something.
There was another possibility that Templeton Peck had not considered. What if the guy, who Murdock believed to be Dr. Richter, wasn't really him? Could it be possible that, maybe . . . somehow . . . the guy was impersonating Dr. Richter? Maybe a CIA plant, just like the original psychiatrist assigned to Murdock when he had first been committed to the psych ward at the VA? The guy who kept the pilot so drugged up that he sometimes didn't know which way to turn . . .
One thing about Murdock that he could remember . . . the pilot was always a pretty good judge of character. He could practically read people like an open book before they had a chance to say much, and almost instantly knew if they were going to be trouble or not. It was because of that talent that Murdock easily placed his trust in others, and it often left him hurt when that trust was betrayed . . . when he mis-read a person and they turned out not to be what he had figured.
But if Richter was fake, wouldn't Murdock know? Wouldn't he have said something to the other members of the Team or even VA staff if he suspected his shrink wasn't on the level? Even after ten years of therapy sessions?
Finding or trying to get a hold of Murdock may have been a dead end, but Templeton Peck wasn't about to give up. He still had a couple of other numbers that he could try, although the responses he was given regarding his friend disturbed him. It almost seemed as if someone or something higher up was sticking its nose into things, possibly splitting the Team up . . . although if they were splitting them up, wouldn't they be trying to take them out one by one? Why put him at a top secret facility where people supposedly wanted to help him, rather than kill him?
This whole situation raised his hackles, making him again wonder whether or not the top secret facility he was held at was controlled by the military, and if Dr. Samantha Josephine Fuller was working for them. She seemed like she may have been innocent . . . maybe even clueless to what was going on
Shaking his head, Face tried to clear those thoughts from his mind as he dialed the next phone number by heart. He started to mumble to himself, repeating the numbers as he pressed each one on the keypad, "3-1-0-5-5-5-6-1-6-2."
Bringing the phone back up to his ear, he was greeted with another recording from the phone company. "We're sorry, but you have reached a number that has been disconnected. Please check the number and try again."
He ended the call and again looked incredulously at the phone. There was no way that number should have been disconnected. It was the one to the mobile phone in the van, and Hannibal had gotten Face to scam it so they'd have some way to keep in contact, even when separated. For it to be disconnected, that meant that either the scam was uncovered, or something else happened . . . and whatever that something else was, he was beginning to think more and more and more that he wasn't going to like it.
There was one more number that he could try. A reporter that they had become friends with . . . Amy Allen, that was her name. He wasn't sure why she popped into his head, but from what he was starting to remember, she had worked with them a few times when they had taken clients. She worked for a newspaper . . . what was it . . . the Los Angeles Courier Express? But, wasn't she in another country or something? He didn't remember her being around recently, unless his mind was again playing tricks on him. Well, there was only one way to find out . . .
He punched in the number that he remembered and brought the phone back up to his ear again. He listened as it rang, and breathed a sigh of relief when he heard a male voice answer, "Los Angeles Courier Express newsroom, Zack Goldman speaking."
From the way the voice sounded, the guy who answered could have been a nerd. Face wasn't sure what it was, but there was just something in the few words that he said that gave that impression. "I need to speak with one of your reporters, please. Miss Amy Allen . . ."
"Amy?" the voice responded, almost as if there was some amount of recognition within his tone.
"You know her?" Templeton Peck questioned, trying to probe for as much information as possible. Inwardly, he prayed to himself that this wouldn't end up being another dead end. He just had to somehow get in touch with the guys and let them know where he was . . .
"More like knew her," the Zack noted very somberly. "She followed a story from Jakarta to East Germany and disappeared. Rumor has it that she was killed, but we never got confirmation about that. The state department's remaining tight lipped about this."
Face shut off the phone as the shock of what he heard set in. Amy . . . dead? How could that be? She was always so feisty, so full of life . . . someone who loved to try and find the good in others. She had an innate talent for listening, which is likely what made her a good reporter, as it allowed others to bear their very souls to her. Even he had done so once, and he never regretted it. In fact, it seemed to be a turning point in their relationship, er, friendship. Add to that fact that the rest of the guys were possibly missing? Out of contact? This whole situation seemed more and more like the Christmas classic, "It's a Wonderful Life," only in this case he didn't see an angel named Clarence in sight to tell him that this was all just a bad nightmare meant to teach him a lesson.
This was just all so confusing and seemed so surreal . . . but he just knew, deep down, there had to be some kind of an answer . . .
Samantha Josephine Fuller stood in the doorway leading from the living room to her study, listening and watching Templeton Peck as he attempted to contact his friends . . . unsuccessful attempts, that was. And apparently, he may have gotten some news that was far from pleasant but still confused him even more based on not only his reaction, but also how he started pacing faster. Obviously, his efforts weren't going very well.
Turning, she walked back into her study and sat down behind the cherry wood desk. A few books and papers were piled up on one end of it, and on the other stood her computer monitor, keyboard, and mouse. Thankfully, she had the foresight to turn on the computer the moment they arrived at her house, since it usually took a short amount of time for the system to go through the various start up processes.
Sitting down in her favorite leather chair, she grabbed onto the mouse and clicked on one of the icons on the desktop. A moment later, a new screen appeared upon the monitor . . . a simple screen that only asked for a login and password. It was kept as such as to prevent anyone from figuring out what the program was for, but would still allow people like Sami Jo the freedom to work on their calculations and new lines within the programming from the comforts of their home if desired.
Well, the Leapee certainly piqued her curiosity, and since she currently had the time, she didn't see the harm of logging into Ziggy and learn more about the man that occupied her father's aura. Typing in a series of commands, she sent the request for information to the parallel hybrid computer . . . anything that Ziggy could provide to her about his past, and even pictures of what he looked like. The picture was the most important thing, as it would allow her to come up with some mental image within her own mind, which ultimately would be far less confusing for her.
Within seconds, the information started to come across her screen, starting with the service record belonging to Templeton Peck. Indeed it was just as he said . . . served in Vietnam, promoted to 1st Lieutenant, POW at the infamous Cham Hoi camp outside of Hanoi run by a General Chao. But, it was other things on the record that intrigued her.
Even though he admitted to being an orphan, his file indicated that he had parents . . . and his birth date on his original enlistment papers seemed all wrong as well. It made him out to be much older than the information Ziggy had pulled up in other records. There was speculation that he lied on the initial application and was underage, but nobody could prove it since he was an orphan.
It was more than just that, though. There were a lot of reports where he was thrown into the brig . . . one for filing forged requisition requests, another one for stealing a whole supply load of socks and toilet paper, an incident that involved several cases of alcoholic beverages ranging from beer to whiskey that turned up missing from the supplies and near his bunk, plus there was running an illegal tennis and racquet club, fashioning a lock pick to get out of the brig so he could get a good cup of coffee that didn't taste like mud even though he returned shortly after getting the coffee, and finally for making a pass at a General's daughter.
Then, his record turned around after he was recruited for a unit by Colonel John Smith. There were still some who tried to file charges against Face, but there were also a number of notations in here where the Colonel had countered those attempts by explaining how the Lieutenant was getting those items under his orders. Even though he was still running cons and scams, they were being done for the good of his unit so Colonel Smith became what seemed like a guardian angel and protected him.
She smiled upon reading that, as it brought her some comfort and reassurance that Templeton Peck had at least one friend out there who cared about him and looked out for him . . .
As she continued to look at the information, she was met with a picture of the Visitor and suddenly understood why he had the nickname of Face. He was an extremely handsome man with a million dollar smile, sun-kissed sandy blonde hair, and blue eyes that reminded her of the ocean. The image captivated her . . .
Hearing Face's reaction to one of the phone calls drew her out of her reverie. She tapped a few more keys to pull up information on the information on the rest of the A-Team. It came back with not only the military records and photos for each one, but also an extensive list of newspaper articles detailing how they helped out people in need and took a stand against those who oppressed and terrorized others.
As she continued to read, it was no wonder why he said that Murdock was one of his best friends, although she suspected that the other two . . . Smith and Baracus . . . were right up there with him.
Then, she started to see a series of articles that not only drew her attention, but it broke her heart. Colonel Smith was killed in a shooting. He wasn't even given the honor of a military funeral since he was on the run from the Army, much less any funeral at all. The other members of the A-Team never showed up to pay their respects because Smith's gravesite was watched over by the MPs.
Shortly after that, Face was also killed by a foreign dictator in some South American country. Although he sacrificed his life to save Murdock and Baracus, the US government again refused to try and retrieve his body, much less give any kind of a funeral . . . military or whatever. What the dictator did with Face's remains was unknown.
Then there was another article, but this one about Baracus, mentioning how he tried to stop a gang war in his home town of Chicago and was shot in the back by a rival gang leader. He was paralyzed from the waist down, but denied assistance by the VA because of his fugitive status. The apartment where his mother lived wasn't even equipped to handle wheelchair access, although the article never stated where he ended up living.
And Murdock . . . it seemed like he just dropped off the face of the Earth. There were no articles about him at all, even though he was never wanted by the military like the other three. Not even VA records showed where he went, so either the paperwork was lost or destroyed, or it was intentionally covered up by someone in a high position.
It was like a domino effect, with this one death having such a major impact on the other lives. She couldn't quite understand it, but maybe there was something about this Colonel Smith that would have such an impact, especially on the other men. Why, though? Why did he mean so much to the men in his unit that, without him, they couldn't find a way to get through life and survive?
Maybe that was it . . .
Maybe they were just merely surviving after his death, and not really living in the way that they had prior. It was almost as if they had all lost the spirit, the drive . . . the will to live and were acting like automatons. They were making the motions, but not really getting much out of it. It wasn't that they weren't trying, but there was just something that wasn't there anymore . . .
From where she sat, she could hear bits and pieces of the phone conversation that Face was having. Apparently, he stopped checking with the VA, and was now contacting some kind of a newspaper in order to try to find someone . . . a female named Amy Allen. That named seemed familiar at first, until she reviewed some of the newspaper articles again and realized that several were written by her. She must have had some kind of a connection to the A-Team if she somehow managed to write those stories.
She typed in a few commands at her keyboard to try and pull up information about the reporter from Ziggy. Unfortunately, her efforts met the same type of dead end . . . quite literally . . . as what Face was finding out. According to the records, her articles won her acclaim to where she rose through the ranks and was given a foreign correspondent position in Jakarta. Following that, she wrote a couple of stories from East Germany . . . but after that her articles just ended.
It was almost as if she disappeared off the face of the globe, without a trace . . .
A few people from the paper, including a Grant Eldridge, tried to shake things up at the State Department in order to have them find out what happened to the reporter, but they apparently didn't want to try and investigate it after the whole Iran-CONTRA affair. They didn't want to deal with the bad press that would likely arise from that, as it'd give the political opposition in congress the fuel they needed to try and impeach the President.
But, with the phone calls, just how many answers was Face getting? The whole gravity of the situation seemed to hit her like a freight train. She wasn't sure how he might react if he found out the truth on his own, especially before Verbena had a chance to prepare him for that eventuality of learning what happened to his former Team members, but she doubted that his reaction would be a positive one.
Was he learning of what happened to the Team? The domino effect that Colonel Smith's death brought about? Did he just learn of his own death? Had he been successful in somehow getting in touch with Baracus or Murdock, the two surviving members? Fear started to well up within her as she started to wonder if she should have fought against going with Face, rather than helping him. She began to wonder if maybe she was doing him more harm than good . . . and if he would ever forgive her for causing him so much pain.
Could he even handle what he learned from the phone calls he was making right then and there? Was he strong enough to be able to deal with the tremendous shock to his system if he learned anything of consequence before being fully prepared by Verbena to be able to handle the truth? Would Verbena even be able to make any progress with him at all based on what he could have been discovering during his time on the phone? She had no doubt that the Project psychiatrist was good, but even she likely had her limits as well in terms of what she was able to do if the patient may not have been so willing.
Would she even be able to handle Al's wrath if Face did find out information about what had happened in the years that passed? Would Al even be able to trust her again? It wasn't really so much that Face kidnapped her at gunpoint as she was willing to go with him, wanting to help him. She felt a connection there . . . found things that they had somewhat in common, which made her want to help him. But, was it at too high of a cost?
And what of her father, Dr. Samuel Beckett? He was back there in the past, occupying the aura of Templeton Peck, and trying to save the life of a fellow military fugitive. Over her years at the Project, she had learned of his heroic exploits in the face of incredible odds, facing tremendous dangers, and yet he still managed to somehow fix history and save lives in the process. Could he even do so if Face didn't return to the Waiting Room at the Project right away? Or if Face wouldn't share any more information until he got the full truth of what happened to his friends?
This whole situation was far more complicated than she originally thought that it would be . . . and it brought back memories of her mother's trial in Pottersville. No, this situation was far worse than that, and likely was the worst thing that she had to face within her life so far . . .
Al looked at the signal on the glowing Handlink. He was glad that, following the events with Leon Styles, he had requested that all essential personnel with the Project had their cars upgraded to have alarms, and ones that could be tracked by Ziggy. The signal hadn't moved in a while, which meant that the car was stopped. And based on the location, he had a pretty good guess as to where. He had been there once before for a housewarming party.
All he could do, as he neared the residential area, was hope that Face hadn't discovered too much about his own future, or the results could be devastating . . .
He started to wonder if God, Fate, or Time loved playing practical jokes on Sam . . . and by extension himself. A lot of Leaps were often pretty challenging for both men, but this one certainly took the cake with what would likely be required by the time everything was said and done. It was bad enough that Sam Leaped into someone who had been in Vietnam, but even worse that he Leaped into Templeton Peck of the infamous A-Team . . . not to mention that it was someone that he had personally met.
He drove east on Cherokee Trail as he approached his destination. From what he remembered, the house had tan bricks, a brown roof, a brown garage door, brown trim, and a well landscaped front lawn. The back of the home had a spacious patio, plenty of trees for shade, and a pool . . . a simple necessity to help cool off during the hot New Mexico summers. In fact, due to the grove of trees next to the house, one couldn't see the pool from the quiet cul-de-sac on which she lived, which gave her a tremendous amount of privacy from those that were just casually driving by.
There! That was the street . . . Cree Place. And in the northeast corner of the curve was 3110 . . . the house that belonged to Dr. Samantha Josephine Fuller. He turned left onto the cul-de-sac and drew in a breath as the tension started to blanket the air around him.
The Admiral knew that the headlights of his car were a dead giveaway. They cut through the low visibility and the night sky, and would obviously alert anyone in the house to his arrival. But, with the sandstorm, he needed to see where he was going . . . and he couldn't do that without the headlights. It was too late for that now since he had already turned, so all he could do was hope for the best . . .
He eased the red sports car into the driveway of Sami Jo's house and shut off the engine. He spotted her blue car immediately, even in spite of the reduced visibility and the darkness of night. Although the tracking into her car alarm had led him here, what confirmed it was when she logged into the system from home and started to research the Leapee. Ziggy was kind enough to inform him through the Handlink and, for a change, didn't argue about it. Perhaps the computer's ego was bruised after Leon Styles escaped, and she was wanting to make up for it this time around.
He opened the plastic center console between the two front seats, and tossed the CDs that were in there into the back seat. It made a bit of a mess with how it was all scattered, but he'd worry about that later. He had something a lot more important to take care of first. He put the Handlink into the spot where the CDs had been a moment ago, and then shut the plastic lid.
As tempted as he was to put it in his pocket, he wasn't sure how Face was going to react. If he panicked and they got into a physical fight, he couldn't take the chance that the Lieutenant might knock the Handlink out of his jacket pocket or inadvertently find it. It's not that he'd know how to use it, but he didn't need to see too much technology from this time when he hadn't been prepared for it. He was thankful that Sami Jo's house was relatively normal looking inside and out . . . conservative, and definitely did not boast a lot of the technological advancements that took place over the years. It was bad enough that they had to drive through Alamagordo to get to her place and see just how futuristic that city looked . . .
Reaching inside his black leather jacket, Al pulled out the gun that he had stuffed into an inside pocket before he left his office. He slid back the firing chamber and checked the ammunition inside. Tranquilizer darts . . . a full clip of them with at least nine darts. It'd take only one of them to subdue the Lieutenant if it came to that, and he sure hoped that it wouldn't . . .
Thanks to the lights inside the house, Al could see movement at the front bay window . . . although it was shrouded by sheer white curtains. He cursed silently to himself, again mentally chiding himself for not turning off the headlights as he was about to drive up. He wasn't sure if it was Sami Jo or Face there by the window, but either way . . . whoever it was . . . they knew that he was coming.
There was nothing more than a caged animal with how they reacted, and right now Face likely fit that bill perfectly. If Al made the wrong move, chances were that the con man would react much like the caged animal, that was backed into a corner, and likely attack. He had to be on his guard and prepared for just about anything that could happen . . . prepared for what Face might do . . .
Opening the door, Al got out of the car as quietly as possible. He gently shut the door, trying to keep the noise down. He stuffed the tranquilizer gun back into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, wanting to keep it well within reach in case he needed to pull it out quickly. If he went in there with the idea of appearing to be unarmed, even though he really wasn't, perhaps he could lull Templeton Peck into a false sense of security and talk him into standing down before things got out of hand. Hopefully, with any luck, Face wouldn't see the gun in the jacket and become alarmed.
Approaching the house, he found the doorbell and pressed the button. Now all he could do was wait for someone to answer the door.
A bright stream of light that cascaded through the bay window immediately drew the attention of Lieutenant Templeton Peck. It was enough to snap him out of his stupor . . . his confused state with wondering what was going on . . . and brought his attention back to the immediate present. He got up from the couch and moved quickly to stand on one side of the window. Peering through an opening between the sheer white curtains, he spotted a car that pulled up and stopped within the driveway. The car had some pretty sleek lines to it from what he could tell, and reminded him of a Ferrari or a Lamborghini.
Who was it that just pulled up to Sami Jo's home at this time of night, and especially with a sandstorm raging outside? Could it be the military? No, no MP would ever drive a car as fancy as that around as a regular duty vehicle, much less afford one for their own personal car . . . not with what they get paid. Plus, it looked like there was only one person inside the car. The MPs would have sent several men if they were going to come to arrest him, not just taken a chance with one. If it wasn't the MPs, then who was it? If it was someone that wanted to maybe cause her harm, they would have likely turned off the headlights long before pulling up into the driveway . . . even found a way to kill the engine so they could coast up without a sound.
Every ounce of his being, every survival instinct that he gained while in the jungles of Vietnam, kicked into overdrive. He couldn't really rule anything out at this point, in spite of his first line of thinking. If the car that just pulled up contained someone that intended to harm Sami Jo, then he had to protect her. Where was the gun? His blue eyes quickly scanned the room and he spotted it on a coffee table near where he had been sitting on the couch. Moving swiftly, he crossed the distance within a few steps and picked up the black handgun . . . a Colt M1911. His military training kicked in as he pulled out the ammo cartridge from the bottom of the gun and looked inside the slender object. Immediately, he spotted a full load of bullets within the clip, and slid it back into the bottom of the gun. He then grabbed a hold of the slider on the gun and slid it forward and then let it snap back again to load a bullet into the chamber, and flipped off the safety.
Satisfied that the gun was in order, he drew in a breath. He didn't want to alarm Sami Jo, but he had to get her and let her know what was going on just in case she was in danger. She hadn't fought him like most women would have if they were threatened with the possibility of being kidnapped, and in fact seemed willing to help him. No, not just help him, but she also seemed to trust him almost implicitly. He couldn't quite explain why she wasn't terrified of him, especially since he had brandished a gun. Granted, he didn't aim it at her, but just seeing one would have been enough to cause most women to scream in fear. She didn't do that, and in fact seemed to go out of her way to be as kind and caring as possible, willingly bringing him to her home and treated him like a real human being and not some head case or science experiment to study. She didn't have to, but she did and for that he was grateful.
He still wasn't sure why she was helping him. Although the gun could have been enough to compel her to do so, he never needed to even use it with her. Could it have been due to their conversation while she was escorting him to the bathroom? Had she been captured by his natural charm? But in the same token, he wasn't sure why he placed so much trust and faith in her . . . more than he really should have been affording her considering the situation. There was just something there . . . something about her that just called to him and made him want to believe her. Was it her innocence? How naïve she was and how she seemed to believe in the best within a person, no matter what they did? Either way, because of how she bent over backwards to help him and with how she treated him, the least he could do to repay the favor was to make sure that, if things suddenly went wrong, he could get her to safety.
He rushed over to the doorway of the study and saw her sitting at a desk, looking intently at what appeared to be some kind of a computer screen. When they had first arrived at her home, she mentioned that she needed to do some work from there since they had to leave the facility when she wasn't scheduled. He agreed, but not before insisting that he look at the study first to see what was in it, but also make sure that there were no other entrances and exits where she could slip out without his knowledge, or even phones where she could call for the MPs. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, not after everything she had done for him, but at this point he wasn't sure if he could trust anybody right now.
It was within this room that he had gotten the cordless phone that he had used to make his phone calls since arriving at her home. He took a moment to glance at the computer monitor that sat on the desk, although it was positioned to where he couldn't see what was on the screen. It wasn't anything like the computers he was familiar with, so he'd have to ask about that later. What caught his attention was the look on her face. It was etched with a tremendous amount of worry and fear, almost as if she had been the recipient of some very bad news and wasn't sure how to deal with it.
"Sami Jo, are you okay?" he asked out of concern. He worried that, if her mind was elsewhere, she wouldn't be able to keep her wits about her and get out of danger if the situation turned sour. He glanced back over his shoulder to the bay window and noticed that the headlights for the car had shut off. That meant whoever was inside the car likely would be at the front door any moment now. He returned his gaze to the computer technician as his mind continued to race and wonder who had just pulled up outside.
She looked up as she heard the voice speak to her, brushing a few strands of her brunette hair aside, as she realized that he had just asked her a question. She hadn't expected him to show up in the doorway, especially not with his own concerns that he was dealing with. She quickly moved her right hand over and turned off the monitor, not wanting him to spot what she was looking at. What she couldn't quite compose was her voice as she shakily responded, "Uh, um, yeah, I'm fine. I was just doing some research and came across something sad."
In fact, what she had discovered was a terrible tragedy . . . but one that involved the Leapee and his future. But he couldn't find that out yet. Even in spite of the emotional shield he tried to put up, being an orphan often left a person with issues of abandonment. Even Sami Jo had experienced that herself, to some degree, growing up without a father. Learning the truth here and now would devastate him. Although she could try to support him, it wouldn't be as effective since he barely knew her. Plus, from what she had briefly overheard when he was on the phone, it was a pretty safe bet that he had gotten some bad news. Yet, when she looked into his eyes, she could tell that it wasn't exactly anything that directly dealt with the A-Team. He didn't look crestfallen as he would have if he found out the news. Yet, there was a look of frustration within his eyes, as well as confusion . . . but also something else there too. Could it be worry? What was he concerned about?
Face observed her reaction, which he found a bit strange. It was almost as if he had caught her red handed with something, but she wasn't letting on. Her eyes reminded her of a deer's eyes in a set of headlights. His instincts told him to push her . . . to question her about what she had been looking at, but he knew that they didn't have time for that. There was something else that demanded their immediate attention.
"Were you expecting company?" he questioned, wondering if perhaps she had betrayed him . . . turned him in. He hoped that wasn't the case, since he genuinely liked her. He had taken the cordless phone from the study, which he had been using to make his calls. She couldn't have had a second phone that he overlooked, could she? He had been pretty thorough in his search of her home, and didn't see a second line at all. She was incredibly intelligent, but also very naïve as well . . . and, well, she just seemed so innocent.
"No," she noted, sounding a bit confused. She looked at him a bit strangely, as she started to think there was suddenly more than just his passing curiosity about how she was doing. No, there was likely something wrong, otherwise with everything on his mind he wouldn't be standing in the doorway now. With how he kept glancing back to the window in the living room, that just confirmed that something was going on that likely she was going to find herself in the middle of. "Why, what's going on?"
"Someone just pulled up outside. They're probably going to ring your front door any second now," he told her firmly. Right at that moment, he spun around and looked over his shoulder as the chime from the doorbell filled the air. Damn it, why couldn't he have had a few more seconds to fill her in on what he wanted her to do before the doorbell rang? Well, there was no time to think about that now. He'd have to try and quickly fill her in before she opened the door.
Getting up, she walked around from behind her desk and proceeded into the living room. Face caught her by her arm and held her back from going to the door too quickly. If he was going to try and keep her safe, he had to do this now. "Hold on a second. Before you open that door . . . is there a back way out of here?"
"Kinda," she noted somewhat meekly, not sure why he had even asked that. Was he thinking of escaping before they could answer the door? "There's a door leading to the back yard, and there's a pool out there, but it's all fenced in. The wood fence is pretty high, and there's no way to easily climb over it," she revealed.
"Is there a gate on the fence?" Templeton Peck questioned, trying to consider all alternatives. There had to be at least more than one way to escape from the house, even if it meant busting through a window in order to do so. Hannibal had always tried to instill the concept of observing an area for weaknesses, strengths, and escape routes . . . which he was still trying to consider, even now.
"No but . . . Face, wait . . ." she urged, as she touched the Lieutenant's left arm to hold him back. She wanted to see the car in the driveway for herself. Walking over to the window, she peered out of the curtain. Her eyes widened when she saw it sitting there in the driveway and the sleek lines. There was only one person who would have come after her, especially after leaving the Project while on duty and seemingly at gunpoint, and then for logging into Ziggy from her home computer. He had come . . .
Face swore silently to himself as he watched Sami Jo move over to the window and look out the curtain. He reached out to try to stop her from doing so, but wasn't quick enough, and that action of parting the sheer curtain slightly just likely confirmed to whoever was out there that someone was inside the home. Not only had they just lost whatever advantage they may have had, but now she alerted the person outside of their presence so there was no way they could just sit in there and wait the guy out, hoping that he'd leave. Plus, with a tall wood fence and no gate, they were essentially trapped. What were they going to do? Go out to the pool and hold their breath underwater until whoever it was left? Even in spite of how things were going, he couldn't be too upset with her. She never spent time in Vietnam and lacked the survival instincts that he had.
He watched as he started to move toward the front door, and quickly moved to intercept her. He wasn't able to stop her from getting to the window a moment ago, but this time he was sure going to stop her from reaching that door . . . at least not until he could find out why she seemed so willing to open it. "Whoa, hold on a second," he quickly said, hoping to give her a reason to pause and think about what she was about to do. He needed to point out the obvious and didn't want her rushing into this head first. "You don't know who could be out there."
Sami Jo's brown eyes locked onto his for a moment. "I recognized the car in the driveway. I know who it is," she stated calmly and with confidence. She knew that the longer that she took with answering the door, the more worried that her visitor likely was going to be, especially with how she left work as she did. "Let me answer the door."
His blue eyes studied her carefully as he searched for some kind of sign. She didn't show any fear as he would have suspected in spite of the urgency he had tried to instill, and the look of recognition in her eyes once she spotted the car clearly showed that she indeed knew who just showed up on her doorstep. Whoever it was was likely still unexpected, but she knew their visitor's identity. She had also grabbed his arm, which was also an indication, besides what she said. "Okay, but be careful," he told her.
The doorbell rang again as they both moved closer to the door. Face positioned himself off to the side and out of immediate sight. He may not have been able to see who was at the door when she would open it, but he could keep a careful eye on Sami Jo and make sure that she was okay. Pressing his back against the wall, he nodded to her.
She reached for the door knob and twisted it, and then slowly opened the door. Her brown eyes immediately looked into his as she froze. She wasn't sure how he was going to react, but the look on his face was deadly serious. "Al," she said, using his name rather than his rank. "I didn't expect you to come here."
"Well, you did leave in the middle of your shift," he pointed out in a very plain tone, trying not to get upset at her. Face was a con man after all, so he could be pretty persuasive when he had to be. And if he had a gun, then obviously that would often make someone do something against their will just out of fear that they could be shot or killed if they didn't comply.
"I'm sorry, Al," she apologized. Deep down, she was worried that Al would get angry with Face. In spite of the situation, Templeton Peck did deserve a chance to find out the truth once he was ready to handle it. "I had some research to do and forgot about it. I couldn't do the work at the Project, so I came here."
"So you left the facility, which was under lock down due to the high winds kicking up a sand storm, and drove all the way here?" Al questioned incredulously. It wasn't like Sami Jo at all to suddenly take off like she did . . . unless she was starting to show some additional qualities that she shared with her father besides the intelligence. Although he had to admire that, he had an important job to do himself. "Come on, Sami Jo, where is he?"
Al noticed her glance to her right, past the door, which confirmed to the Naval Admiral that she wasn't alone. He walked inside past the young computer technician and quickly spotted Templeton Peck, who held the gun that he had taken from the Marine during his escape. He had trained it on him the second he walked inside the house. Al realized that he just walked out of the frying pan and into the fire . . . or rather into the line of fire.
Face saw Sami Jo give him an apologetic look. As much as he wanted to give her a look to let her know that everything was going to be okay, he couldn't soften the expression on his face as it'd suggest that he was letting his guard down. He wasn't mad or upset with her at all. In fact, he was grateful for the help she had provided, which seemed a hell of a lot more than anyone else there had been giving him . . . even if it may have gotten her in trouble with her job. Pushing past those thoughts, he had to remain focused on the here and now, especially with the Admiral there in the house standing in front of him.
"Face, put the gun down," Al told him in an authoritative tone. He held his hands up in a gesture like he was being held up in a robbery in order to appear non-threatening. Al least with his hands held up like that, there was no way that Face could see the tranquilizer gun within the inside pocket of his jacket with how it hung on him. Hopefully he wouldn't have to use it, and with any luck the Lieutenant would listen to reason in spite of how crazy the whole situation may have seemed to have been or him. "You put a lot of lives at risk with your little Houdini stunt, including Sami Jo's and yours, and then with having her drive you here in the middle of a sandstorm."
Templeton Peck studied the person that just entered and talked to him for several long, tense moments. His whole body seemed like it was wound up tighter than a spring, ready to be sprung in a split second. He recognized the person who he was now aiming at as the Admiral from the top secret facility. Calavicci? Admiral Calavicci? Wasn't that how he had introduced himself? Sami Jo called him Al, so that likely was his first name, but it was really hard to tell with how much of a jumble his memories were.
What also caught him off guard and made him that much more wary was the fact that the Admiral knew his nickname. It wasn't on his original application when he enlisted. In fact, he never had the nickname until he went to Vietnam and met the cunning strategist, Colonel John Hannibal Smith.
A memory surfaced within his mind . . . one where he had been in the brig for making a pass on a General's daughter. Hannibal had visited him in the brig in order to recruit him into his unit, and one of the first things that he had said was "You know, with a face like that, kid, you could talk anyone into anything." Face had given the Colonel a very knowing look and a huge charming grin as he simply replied, "I know." It was from that point that Templeton Peck had not only joined the unit, giving him a get out of jail free card, but also earned the nickname of Face.
Well . . . no, that wasn't quite true. When they were arrested after emerging from the DMZ and then sent to Fort Bragg, the military files likely had been updated to include the nickname. He was pretty certain of it, since they did ask about all of his other aliases in the past.
What also puzzled him, that much more so, was the fact that he could remember certain things like that exchange between him and Hannibal . . . but why not other things? This was all just so confusing . . .
"With all due respect, I need some answers, Admiral," Face countered, his voice cold and deadly serious. Even the last word was practically dripping with sarcasm, as he wasn't even sure if this Admiral Calavicci really was an Admiral since he wasn't wearing the uniform he had on before. He noticed not only the blue jeans and silver metallic shirt, but also a black leather jacket. Unless given a weekend pass, military officers usually wore their uniform even when going out and about in public.
"Lieutenant, we can give you those answers, but only if you come back with me," Al continued to push, still holding out hope that Face would maybe agree to go back willingly, without having to resort to using a tranquilizer dart and forcing him to go back. Knocking him out with the tranquilizer wouldn't hurt him physically, but it would destroy any chance of getting Templeton Peck to trust him, and possibly being willing to help provide information in the future that could be critical to Sam's efforts on this Leap.
There was something going on that obviously this so-called Admiral wasn't telling him, but what was it? Why was he insisting on getting him back to that top secret facility that he had just escaped from? His blue eyes shifted slightly to see Sami Jo standing behind this Calavicci character, and he noted her body language. She was relaxed around him, which indicated that she had not only known him for a long time, but she had a great deal of trust in him. But, with how he was insisting on taking him back, could he possibly trust this Admiral as well? "Why not here?" he questioned, wondering just what kind of a response he'd get.
"Because out here you're in danger, and back there I've got a good friend of mine risking his life to help you right now," Al countered with an intense look in his eyes and passion in his voice. He really needed to convince Templeton Peck to return to the Project with him, or Sam would never be able to Leap out of there once he finished with saving Hannibal's life. Hopefully, hearing that someone else was trying to help him would be enough to give him pause. "But, I'm gonna need your help to help him, and you can't do that if you're tromping off to who knows where," he continued, trying to appeal to the need to help others that had been a part of Face's life since the escape from Fort Bragg. He could see the hesitation within the blue eyes of the con man, but he had one more ace up his sleeve which he was going to have to play now. Drawing in a breath, Al stated firmly, "If you want to get back to the other members of the A-Team, then help us. Put down the gun, and come back with me now."
Face froze instantly the moment he heard the Admiral mention the A-Team. What did he know of the A-Team? And who was this friend of his that was trying to help him . . . help Templeton Peck? Did it have something to do with the guys? Was he really earnest about wanting to help him get back to his unit, or was he doing so to merely help himself to a promotion?
"What do you know about the A-Team?" Face countered sharply, moving his forefinger from the guard near the trigger closer to the opening. His mind raced, wondering if maybe by escaping, he just walked into a bigger and more elaborate trap. One thing was for certain . . . he wasn't going to allow anyone to harm the other guys, and he'd do anything he could to protect them. Although they each took an oath not to kill upon their return from Vietnam, he'd break that oath in a hot second if their lives were on the line. Hannibal would be very disappointed and wouldn't agree with the decision, but Face knew that he'd at least understand why if it came down to it.
"I know that the A-Team was the best combat unit in Vietnam, but they pegged you with a crime that you say that you carried out under orders," Al quickly pointed out, hoping to diffuse the situation before Face decided to use the gun he held in his hands. He knew, from his records, the Lieutenant was a skilled sharpshooter and could easily hit a target in a distance using a scope . . . so one only a mere feet in front of him with a handgun was a piece of cake. Face was good, but Al had studied the art of the quick draw from Fifi Boom Boom LaRoue, who had an incredible pair of . . . matched 44s. He could quickly draw the tranq gun and use it before Face would even realize it if he had to, but he hoped that it wouldn't come to that. "Since escaping from Fort Bragg, you guys have helped out a lot of lives, and you can still help out a lot more if we can get you back there . . . but to do that, you gotta trust me. Put down the gun, and come back with me."
Templeton Peck had to admit that what the Admiral said was compelling. Even though he could have easily done so, he never made any of this into an order . . . not even with lowering the gun. Heck, the Admiral came out here and wasn't even wearing his uniform almost as if to reinforce that he wasn't trying to give him any orders. It was almost as if he was giving Face a choice, but also providing a sense of urgency with regards to the current situation when he mentioned his friend and how he was trying to help.
Honestly, it was working. The guys in green hadn't shown up once to arrest him, as he assumed would have happened long time ago. As much as that top secret facility seemed like a prison with the room he had been held in, the fact that they hadn't once reared their ugly faces could only be a positive sign. Plus, there was the promise that, if he did return with the Admiral, he could somehow not only get the answers that he desperately craved for, but also be reunited with the other members of the A-Team.
His blue eyes darted over to glance at Dr. Samantha Josephine Fuller, who stood silently behind Admiral Calavicci. Her eyes trembled with fear . . . not fear of Face, but fear that maybe someone likely would be shot, wounded, or killed during this standoff. He recognized the look immediately, but also how her eyes seemed to be pleading for him to trust the Project Administrator.
He thought that he was generally a good judge of character . . . except when it came to anyone wearing a skirt. There were a few times that he had been lured into a trap by a beautiful woman. Sometimes, his loins spoke louder than his brain. But Sami Jo was different, or so he believed. She was sweet and sincere, and generally seemed like she wanted to help.
And she trusted the Admiral . . .
Face realized that he had to make a snap decision to end this standoff. None of them could likely stay where they were forever, and just standing there definitely wouldn't help him with finding or reuniting with the A-Team. He was going to have to take a chance. It was a long shot, maybe, but perhaps the Admiral was being honest and truthful about wanting to help. He just hoped and prayed that he was right . . .
The Lieutenant drew his finger away from the trigger and moved his thumb to flip the safety back on. He lowered the handgun, his eyes still focused on the Admiral.
Al heard Sami Jo let out a sigh of relief as he stepped closer to Face and gently took the gun from him. Although Templeton Peck took a tremendous chance by lowering the gun, he knew that the situation was still precarious and he didn't want to make a move that could be considered as aggressive and cause him to suddenly change his mind or even try to bolt.
"I promise you, we'll get you back to the A-Team," Al reiterated, trying to hopefully help ease any concerns that Templeton Peck may have still had. This likely wasn't easy for him, and Al knew it. It probably seemed too much like defeat, even though he hoped that Face realized that he wasn't in the hands of an enemy. He had people who cared about him here, and even a friend, who wanted to make sure that history could be corrected and he could return back to his own time. All he could do was hope that the Lieutenant would see that was the case and start trusting the people at the Project. "Come on, Face, let's get you back to the facility. Sami Jo, I want to see you back there too. Finish up with whatever research you were doing and meet us there. Drive safely, though, and no speeding. Those winds are still causing low visibility with all of the sand it's kicking up."
Face was pretty surprised by that. In spite of everything that happened, Admiral Calavicci didn't sound upset with Sami Jo at all and even urged her to be careful with driving back due to the visibility outside. Maybe trusting him . . . even if it was going to be very tenuous at first . . . may wind up being the best decision that he made, although he realized that it was likely going to take time to play out and see whether or not he made the right choice. He really hoped that it was . . .
He watched as Al removed the cartridge of ammo, and slipped the gun into an inside jacket pocket. As he did so, he spotted what looked to be another gun stuffed within the jacket. So the Admiral had come armed, but chose not to brandish the gun he had on him. That spoke volumes in and of itself, since he could have easily reached for his weapon, but didn't do so. The Admiral began to make his way to the door and out to his car, and Face followed wordlessly. There wasn't too much for him to say at the moment, and he really wanted to see if this Calavicci guy would live up to his word. In spite of this, he had a feeling that this was going to be a long and uncomfortable drive back to wherever this top secret facility was located . . .
