Mommy, mommy, it's the Aquamaniac!

Hi, how ya doin'?

I ain't stoppin' for no autographs, Hannibal.

- A fan, Hannibal, and BA, "Mexican Slayride"


Is that ethical? It can't be ethical.

No, it's television.

- Sam and Al, "Moments To Live"

Chapter 12: Contacts

TUESDAY, MAY 13, 1986

MARINA DEL RAY

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

8:15AM PACIFIC TIME

Even though it was still the heart of rush hour, being back in Los Angeles brought back all of her old skills . . . including how to navigate the city to get from one place to another, quickly, and avoiding most of the congestion. As a result, it didn't take Amy Allen long to drive Zack's car to what was a familiar warehouse.

Even though she knew that she was taking advantage of the momentary use of his car, she recalled this particular warehouse and knew that she at least had to check it out. It had belonged to her friends, and they had met several clients inside of it. Plus it also served as a storage place for their weapons, ammo, and more. She was likely one of the few that knew about its existence.

Ultimately, she knew that driving so openly out in the public after that shooting was a tremendous risk. She had no idea where the shooter or shooters had gone, much less if they even followed her. In spite of the risk that she was taking, she knew that she couldn't just sit around and wait for the phone call to come in as a result of the ad. She had to try and at least look for the guys.

She pulled up to the back of the warehouse, careful to make sure that no other cars had followed her or were around. The intention was to get into the building quickly, see if the guys were inside or if there were any clues on where she could find them, and then get out. She twisted the key in the ignition, silencing the engine, and then quickly slipped the keys into her right pants pocket. Amy then reached for her purse and opened it up, pulling a small canister of film out and putting that in her left pocket before returning the purse to where she had hid it under the seat.

Gently, she opened the driver's side door of the red convertible and then closed it quietly, careful not to make a sound. Now . . . how to get into the warehouse? Her brown eyes scanned the area for any sort of entrance that could be unsecured. There was a back door, but that likely was locked so she immediately ruled that out. She would just have to find another way.

A glint of metal caught her attention. As she looked at the source, a smile came to her lips as she spotted the object . . . a fire escape. Maybe luck was starting to finally swing in her favor. She'd have to climb onto a couple garbage cans in order to reach the bottom of the ladder, but her past taught her that she had to be persistent and creative in order to get the resolution that she sought. It was something she had learned from the guys and really took it to heart.

Moving swiftly, she crossed the distance to some of the things that were piled up below the fire escape. There were a few crates, plus a garbage dumpster with a metal lid. All of them were piled up perfectly, almost as put there on purpose to give another way to scale the distance to the fire escape ladder. Even though it almost seemed as if luck was on her side, she still had to be careful. If any of the guys were inside, sneaking in this way would likely be enough to point a rifle in her direction . . . but she needed to do this. She had to.

She hefted herself up onto the first crate, which wasn't very tall so it didn't take much to get up on top of it. Then she followed with the next one and the next until she was able to step on top of the closed metal lid for the dumpster. She then grabbed onto the cold steel of the ladder and began to climb up it to the first platform. Even though she had been overseas for a while, she had made a point of keeping physically fit and active in preparation for a return, just in case she could help the guys again. What had happened in Jamestown when dealing with Reverend James was a pointed reminder of how important that was. Right now, it was paying off and allowing her to move with ease and silence.

It didn't take long for her to reach the top landing, where she found an open window. After what had happened this morning, it really seemed like luck was on her side. That was something she was extremely thankful for since, after everything that she had been through, she could use some luck.

Carefully, she gripped the bottom of the window and pushed it further open. It slid open with ease . . . no resistance at all. With the increased opening, it gave her a chance to climb through into the building. She found herself on a walkway above the open layout of the warehouse, which contained a few crates. That's when her eyes spotted it . . . a plain brown work table that she had remembered sitting at years ago. The top of the table was a bit faded from use over the years and there were a few papers on it, but seeing that was a very positive sign.

At the end of the walkway, she spotted a set of stairs that would allow her to descend to the main floor of the warehouse below. Quickly, she made her way over to the stairs and hurried down them, hoping that this was the right place. She'd have to find and go into the office. If this really was their warehouse, then she would need to see if the office contained a locker . . . one filled with weapons and ammo. From what she had recalled, it was kept relatively hidden from view, but if she could find it then it would confirm that this was where they stored things when they didn't need them on missions.

After she reached the floor, she looked around. Immediately, her brown eyes spotted the office . . . the area that she needed to search more thoroughly just to confirm what she suspected. Catching her breath within her throat with the growing anticipation of being able to hopefully confirm that this was the place, she hustled over to the office. It didn't take her long to cross the distance and thankfully the door was ajar. Cautiously, she eased her way inside and started to look for the locker.

She spotted what looked like a tall black metal cabinet with two doors that swung outward. She reached for the handle and gripped it to see if she could look inside, but when she tried to turn it there was resistance. Locked. She had to figure that they would have locked away the weapons just in case someone did sneak inside to try and steal something. That idea was now ruled out as a way to confirm that this warehouse still belonged to them.

As she turned around, her eyes briefly caught a glimpse of something familiar on the single desk within the room. There was an ash tray on there . . . and what looked like the remnants of a cigar. She stepped over to the desk and gently picked it up out of the ash tray to examine it. It wasn't smoked down too far and it looked to be Cuban. There was only one person that she knew of that smoked Cuban cigars, and he often did so when he was coming up with a plan . . .

The presence of the cigar could have been just a coincidence, along with the secured locker. She needed to find something else to confirm that this was the right spot. And she had to do it quickly, just in case she did sneak into the wrong warehouse and someone else did business out of this location. She continued to look around until she spotted something else.

There was a folded t-shirt that was resting on the seat of one of the chairs within the office. She made her way over to it and grabbed the fabric, carefully unfolding it. As she did so, she could see that the front of the shirt said, "I hate it when the voices in my head go silent. I never know what they are planning." That brought a smile to her face. Even though it could have been a coincidence that it was there, it was another piece of confirmation for her that this warehouse was still used by the guys.

Carefully, she folded it back up and put the shirt on the seat of the chair where she had grabbed it. She then made her way back to the desk that had the cigar on it and noted a telephone. At this point, it was probably a good idea to call Zack at the paper and check in with him, to be on the safe side. Things would have certainly calmed down by now after what happened earlier.

Lifting the handset, she dialed a number that she knew by heart. She heard it ring a few times and eventually there was an answer, "Los Angeles Courier Express."

"I'd like to talk to Zack Goldman, please," the reporter requested.

"One moment, please," the female operator requested before the line went silent.

A few seconds passed and she waited anxiously for someone to pick up the line. The operator was pretty efficient with transferring calls into the news room and straight to the desk of reporters when someone didn't dial a direct line into the reporter's desk. But, right now, it was the only phone number that she remembered. All she could do was hope that Grant didn't pick up the line.

"Zack Goldman," the familiar voice responded.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Amy then drew in a breath and said, "Zack, it's Amy. How are things going over there after this morning?"

Just as much as she was relieved, she could hear the intense relief in the tone of his voice. "I'm glad you called. Things have been going crazy here since that shooting this morning. Grant got spooked. He's sending everyone out in the field so they don't have to hang around the building and be targets for the shooter, or letting us go home for the day with pay."

She was absolutely stunned to hear that. In all of the time she had worked at the paper, the editor in chief had never done something like that before. Then again, she highly doubted that he had ever faced a situation like this before. Shootings happened all over Los Angeles, but this was likely the first time that it happened at the paper itself.

"Need me to swing back and pick you up?" she questioned, realizing that Grant would likely get upset if he did stick around.

"Yeah, if you could that'd be great," he informed her.

She mulled it over in her mind for a moment. Zack had been there for a while now and who knows when Grant decided to send everyone out in the field or home for their own safety. As much as she wanted to try and close the window that she had climbed in through, she knew that she just had to get back to him as quickly as possible. "Okay, give me 20 minutes," she noted. Even though it was a bit of a distance, she knew that rush hour traffic was pretty much done so she could easily get there within that time frame.

She hung up the phone and grabbed the keys to the car from her pocket. Moving quickly, she made her way to the back door so she could go get Zack . . .


UNIVERSAL STUDIOS

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

9:45AM PACIFIC TIME

Sam waited near the costume trailer within the Universal Studios lot. The morning sun was vibrant and shone down brightly upon the area. With how intense it was already, it seemed like it was going to be a hot day. At least the Santa Anna winds were kicking up a bit, providing a bit of relief . . . and yet it was still early, so far from the peak afternoon period of heating.

Inside the trailer was Colonel John Hannibal Smith, who was busy getting into his costume. Sam had no idea what the A-Team's Commanding Officer would come out wearing, so he had to brace himself for anything. He could come out wearing anything from tights, to a clown costume, or some kind of a monster outfit. With movies, it seemed like the grander the costume the better the film performed at the box office.

Truthfully, he never really understood the fascination that people had with monster movies, much less horror flicks. He never understood why people wanted to go to the movies in order to become scared. There was enough violence out in the real world – robberies, shootings, battery, and so much more – that all it would take is someone on the street in the bad part of town, at the worst possible time, to come face to face with fear.

What Dr. Beckett really relished was a good sci-fi movie or TV series . . . especially one that either involved time travel or presented viewers with tales from another period of history. These were the tales that inspired creativity. For a scientific mind like himself, what he saw on the big and small screen was a challenge . . . to create something that begged to become reality and only dreamed about in the future. It was movies like Back to the Future, Star Trek, Star Wars, and more that fed the imagination and made it seem like what was impossible now could be possible at some point in the future.

That was probably why, among all of the movies that he watched, Back to the Future had to be among the top of his favorites. It dealt with time travel, after all . . . but to think that it could be done in something as small as a car, instead of in a huge lab and controlled with a sophisticated computer? That sparked his imagination. Although he was unable to complete such a small unit like the flux capacitor, he was able to still accomplish his dream of time travel through everything he did a t the project including the creation of the world's first parallel hybrid computer.

His thoughts were drawn back to the present time as he looked around the area by the trailers. There was movement all around him . . . from various cast members, crew, and actors for the movie. After the close call he had last night, he needed to be alert and aware of his surroundings just in case the MPs decided to drop in unannounced. The last thing that he needed was for them to show up while Hannibal was still in the costume trailer.

Inwardly, he wondered if it was like this all the time for the members of the A-Team . . . constantly having to be on alert, living life on the edge, not knowing if the MPs were going to be around the next corner ready to arrest them. Well, all of them except Murdock who had to deal with other mentally unbalanced patients and doctors who wanted to get into his mind in the psychiatric ward of the VA hospital. Just from what he was able to observe, even though the pilot was locked away, he was the most free of all of them. His mind was free . . . free of the pressure of being wanted by the MPs, but also free to be as imaginative and creative as he wanted.

What was it that Al told him once when he had Leaped into Magic, the person that had served in his brother's unit? Ah, that's right. When he found out that his actions had caused Al to be kept captive a year longer in the POW camp, Al shrugged it off and referred to his mind when he said, "Up here I was always free."

Maybe there was something to that . . .

Just as he wanted to ponder that further, his green eyes spotted a familiar figure walk through the wall of the costume trailer that the Colonel was in. He was wearing a pair of tan khakis, a black shirt accented with colorful triangles, a metallic red tie that shimmered with practically every movement, matching red shoes that also appeared to be metallic, and a red fedora that seemed to be made out of the same material.

Albert Calavicci looked completely star struck.

"Sam, do you know what's going on in there?" the Observer asked excitedly. His eyes were wide with astonishment, not fear, almost like he was a kid that just experienced his first Christmas morning with a ton of presents under the tree all meant for him.

The time traveler shrugged, not understanding why his best friend was so ecstatic after emerging through the trailer. "Hannibal's scheduled to shoot a movie and he's changing into some kind of a costume," he noted, not really giving it too much thought. After all, this was apparently something Hannibal did outside of the missions that the A-Team took on. He was just along for the ride, so to speak.

"Some kind of a costume?" Al parroted incredulously. He could not believe that Sam was so nonplussed about this and didn't share in the same excitement that he felt. Then again, he had to remember who he was talking to . . . the same person that would have had his nose buried in a book or be locked away in some lab for days at a time without taking time for himself. If anyone embodied the term work-a-holic, it was Dr. Samuel Beckett. "That isn't just some costume. They've got the Aquamaniac costume in there, Sam!"

"What's the Aquamaniac?" the quantum physicist questioned, still not sure why Al was so hyped up over what potentially could be some crazed creature that lives underwater if the name provided any kind of a clue.

"What's the Aquamaniac?" Al parroted, still befuddled by Sam's lack of knowledge. They had discussed the movies in the past, yet his friend's Swiss cheese memory probably did a lot to keep him from recalling those films. "It's only the biggest horror movie creature of the 1980s. The films rank right up there with the all time classic horror creatures like Dracula, Frankenstein, and the Wolfman. I have all of the movies on tape and Tina and I watch them while we're . . ." he trailed off with a lecherous grin spreading across his lips.

"Al!" the brilliant scientist snapped. The last thing he needed to listen to right now was for his friend to start going into one of his stories about his romps in the bedroom. He was totally flabbergasted that the Observer even decided to go there. "Don't you think about anything other than sex?"

Hearing that question was enough to cause Al to pull the cigar out of his mouth and give the Leaper a curious look. Didn't Sam remember everything he was responsible for at the Project? As he thought about it, probably not with the way his memory was Swiss cheesed from the Leaps. "Of course I do. I think about helping you and keeping the Project running," Al countered, the expression on his face becoming serious for a moment before a Cheshire cat type grin tugged at his lips. "But everyone has to have a hobby for their down time."

Sam couldn't help but to shake his head upon hearing that. He had to admit that his best friend was consistent, which was one of the attributes that made him the perfect Project Administrator and Observer. That, along with his impressive military credentials, really made a huge difference with securing funding for the Project. Quantum Leap would never have become a reality without the dedicated involvement from Rear Admiral Albert Calavicci.

Right now, he had to try and get his friend back on track. Hannibal gave him a job to do while he was in the trailer, and he was likely going to ask about it when he emerged wearing whatever costume he was donning for this apparent movie shoot. Still holding the newspaper within his left hand, he held it up and pointed to the classified, "Al, look at this."

The Rear Admiral walked up to Sam and cast his gaze upon the classified that his time traveling friend had indicated. He wedged the cigar he was carrying between his teeth as he read what was written. He relished the rich flavor from the cigar and then exhaled a puff of smoke as he considered what he was looking at. After a moment, he pulled the cigar out and mentioned, "This fits. Some of those who wanted to get the A-Team's help didn't know where to begin to find them, so they would take out classified ads in various papers in Los Angeles."

For his part, the Nobel Prize winner was incredulous. People seriously did that? "Hannibal wants me to call this Triple A, or whoever it is, and set up a meeting," Sam revealed. As he thought about it, it did make sense that if someone was really desperate enough for help, they would probably do anything it took in order to contact the A-Team. Considering what Al had revealed about what was going to happen to the Colonel, even though they had no details on the circumstances, he had to err on the side of caution. "What if this is a trap? He wants me to call that number because this . . . Faceman . . . that I Leaped into should be able to tell if the person on the other side is trying to set us up."

"So? What's the problem, Sam?" Al asked, somewhat mystified at his friends reluctance. He couldn't understand it. Sam knew the rules . . . he had to do everything he could to try and make sure that everyone around him believed that he was Templeton Peck. "With 7 doctorates, this should be a piece of cake for you."

"What's the problem?" the time traveler parroted. The Observer wasn't getting it . . . he wasn't understanding the point, and it was starting to frustrate him. He used his free hand to slap the paper, which gave a slight crack when the back of his hand made contact. "The problem is, Al, if you put a con artist and a normal person right in front of me, I wouldn't be able to tell which is which."

"That's what you have ME for," Al emphasized as he pointed his thumb toward himself. A smug grin filled his face, knowing full well that he could easily coach his friend through the process. He looked around and spotted just what they needed. It was maybe about 20 feet away, but still in view of the trailer. He pointed over to it and told his friend, "There's a pay phone over there. Try calling from that."

Sam's gaze turned to where the Observer had mentioned and he also spotted the pay phone as well. Even though it was close, he had no idea why his friend made the suggestion. "Al, why should I use the pay phone? I saw a car phone in the Corvette," he pointed out, still mystified.

The Project Administrator had to try hard to stifle a sigh. "It's obvious, Sam," Al started to reveal. "Protection. The call could be traced back to its source. If you make it from Face's Vette, the MPs could be on to you faster than a hooker on a high roller."

The Quantum Physicist couldn't help but to roll his eyes at that sexual reference. "Al!" he blurted out, almost disgusted at how he had managed to work that in.

"Hey, it's true," the former POW pointed out. He realized that he needed to explain it in a way where the scientist would understand his logic. For some reason, he just wasn't getting it . . . but then again he wasn't thinking like Templeton Peck would have. "Think about it, Sam. If you make the call from a pay phone and they try to trace it, it'll wind up being a dead end."

As much as he tried to come up with a counter argument for what Al had just said, Dr. Samuel Beckett was unable to do so. Considering the lifestyle that Face lived, what he said made sense. Being part of the A-Team was a dangerous position, and there was always the constant threat of being caught or arrested by the local police or the military police. Even though technology was still developing in the 1980s, it was still very possible to tap into someone's phone and listen in to their conversation. He started to make his way over to the pay phone as he asked, "What kind of information does Ziggy have on this Triple A?"

Al reached into the pocket of his pants and fished out the colorful Handlink. Still holding the cigar in his right hand, he poked at the glowing buttons to try and see if the hybrid parallel computer could come up with any details on the identity of the person who placed the ad. A shrill, almost sickening sound emanated from the device before the Observer shook his head. "Sorry Sam, Ziggy's got zilch. Of all of the databases around the world that she has access to, none of them have information on someone using that alias."

Sam couldn't help but to sigh at that revelation. It meant that he was dealing with a totally unknown variable. Science was the art of trying to make sense of the unknown in a way that was logical and could yield documented and verifiable results. It required a lot of careful calculation and finesse, but it also meant dealing within a set of established parameters so one could get the expected outcome. It was all about control.

Not knowing who the person was that he was about to call, he felt far from being in control. He understood why the Colonel wanted to do the meeting at the restaurant, but he wasn't sure that was going to be enough to establish the control that they needed, especially if this did end up being a trap. Because Ziggy had little to no information, there was no way of telling what events led to Hannibal's premature death.

Reaching into the right pocket of the pants he was wearing, he fished out a quarter. He walked up to the pay phone and lifted the receiver from the cradle, holding it up to his ear. His green eyes spotted his friend pop in next to him, a clear sign that he didn't have to go through the phone call by himself. He gently slid the coin into the slot before his fingers moved down to the keypad and dialed the number that was printed within the classified. As he heard the electronic ring, he drew in a breath almost as if uncertain if there would be an answer.

"Oooh, Sam!" Al started to say, almost as if he just made a huge realization. It had just dawned on him, and it made perfect sense. With how they had to be careful, he needed to advise his best friend to do this in order to avert any potential recognition. "Disguise your voice."

The brilliant scientist looked at his friend like he had two heads for a moment. Disguise his voice? He wasn't sure why his friend made that recommendation until it dawned on him that the person on the other end . . . if they answered . . . would be hearing the voice of Templeton Peck, not his own. In case this was a trap, it would make sense to disguise his voice.

He didn't have time to think about it before the ringing on the phone stopped and he heard someone pick up the phone. After a moment, there was a female voice that answered, "Hello?"

Only one word was spoken, but right away he was able to make an assessment based upon hearing her voice for the first time. He hadn't seen her face, but her voice was rich and pleasant. It wasn't too deep, but it wasn't too pitched to where it made her sound like one of the stereotypical California valley girls. Either way, she sounded somewhat youthful . . . perhaps in her late 20s or very early 30s at the most.

"Is this Triple A?" Sam asked, using the first accent that popped into his voice . . . Transylvanian. He inwardly cringed, fearing that she might think he was Dracula or something like that based on the accent. His green eyes darted over to Al, who was practically grinning ear to ear with amusement.

"Yes, this is Triple A," the female voice responded with confidence, although there was a slight bit of trepidation. She was sure of herself, but was there some doubt? Was she also being just as cautious in case this was a trap? What was going on in her life to be that desperate to seek out the A-Team for help? "Are you calling about the ad I placed in the paper?"

For a moment, it almost looked like Sam was a bit lost. Based on that expression, the person on the other end of the phone . . . this Triple A . . . must have asked a question which he likely had no clue how to answer. He quickly interjected, "Just tell her where to go, Sam . . . and that she shouldn't be followed."

The quantum physicist looked at his friend a bit strangely for a moment, but quickly complied. He drew in a breath and then directed, "Just listen. Be at the Golden Pagoda restaurant at 6:00pm this evening. Tell Mr. Lee that Al Brennan sent you. Come alone and make sure you are not followed. If you are or if you are late, you will not hear from us again."

Sam hung up the phone before the woman on the other line could say anything. After he did so, he let out a huge breath almost as if he had been unconsciously holding it all along. "Al, I can't believe how hard it was to do that," he commented, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He had never had to do anything like that before, and he hoped that he wouldn't have to do anything like that ever again.

"You did great, Sam," Al complimented with a smile, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Even though he was reluctant, his friend certainly had the ability to adapt to just about any situation including this one. "I couldn't have done any better myself."

Before Sam could say anything else, he could hear the door to the costume trailer open. A gigantic green bi-pedal lizard emerged through the door, its head bent forward slightly in order to clear the low threshold. The green scales were prominent throughout the entire creature, along with the green paneled ribbing down the front. As the creature straightened to full height, he could see a huge fin stretching down the center of the back, and he also had a better look at the webbed feet and three claw webbed hands. The face bore a sinister smile of sharp teeth, as the creature looked like it could devour anyone that stood in its way. The eyes seemed to bore into a potential victim like looking into the depths of their very soul, and more fins sat on the side of the neck.

A cleverly disguised panel rested in the Adam's apple area of the costume. It was currently swung open, revealing the black and tan mesh fabric on the inside of the costume that allowed the wearer to see through from the inside and carry out their scenes. Through that opening, he could see the grinning visage of Colonel John Hannibal Smith. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought that the creature swallowed him whole.

He sauntered down a couple of stairs and made his way over to where Sam was standing. There was a gleam of amusement in the eyes of the cunning strategist, almost as if he was getting a huge kick out of being in the costume. "Hey, Face," he greeted warmly. "How did the phone call go with the client?"

In a way, the time traveler had to be impressed with how the Colonel wasted no time in trying to find out what happened while he was in the costume trailer. When he wasn't relishing in what was going on around him, he seemed to be a fairly straight shooter . . . wanting to get to the heart of the matter without wasting too much time. "It went okay," Sam responded, not entirely sure what level of detail he needed to respond with.

Hannibal looked a bit disappointed at that brief answer. He fully expected Face to reveal more about the person who he had talked to on the phone while he had been in the costume trailer. "And?" he quizzed, pausing for a moment before continuing, "Come on, Face . . . what did the client sound like?"

"Well . . . it was a woman," he started to say, still trying to figure out the exact details that the A-Team's Commanding Officer was looking for. He wasn't sure just how much he wanted to know, and he racked his brain to try and remember the short conversation with the person on the phone. "She still sounded a bit young, maybe in her late 20s. There was a little hint of hesitation and nervousness when she spoke."

He paused for a moment before starting to make his way over to Face's Corvette. He mulled over what was revealed. What was concerning to him was Face's hesitation to divulge any details from the phone call. He knew how important it was that they try to stay one step ahead of the MPs. One slip up could land any or all of them in the brig, which is why it was important to screen their clients carefully.

Could there be a reason why he didn't openly share the information from the call? Did he recognize the voice of the caller, or could it be something else? The Lieutenant had been known in the past to fall for or be taken by a girl that was a plant. It happened once with the MPs, and then another time for Douglas Kyle and his group.

"C'mon, Face, gimme my tail. I have to be on the set in 10 minutes," Hannibal directed. Although he would need to focus on his scenes, this issue was far from over. He hated the idea of confronting his Second in Command over this issue, but with everything that had been happening since yesterday afternoon, it gave him a reason to have doubt in the young con artist.

Sam followed the Colonel over to the Vette, and then complied without an argument by reaching down to grab the rubberized tail. With how the Commanding Officer had quickly changed the subject, that wasn't a very good sign. He was obviously displeased that he hadn't openly shared the details over the phone call. He handed the tail to Hannibal, and watched as the costumed man deftly opened the door with the claw that was where his hand was, and then climb in almost as if he was completely unencumbered. He then moved around to the driver's side and got in. His hand reached forward and put the key in the ignition, and he twisted it. The fine tuned vehicle roared to life before he silently drove the actor toward the set.


ZACK'S APARTMENT

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

Amy gripped the handset for the phone for a moment. Even though the line had gone dead, her mind reviewed the instructions that she had been given. Golden Pagoda . . . 6pm tonight. She could easily get Zack to drop her off, but the challenge would be trying to convince him that he didn't need to stick around and give her a ride back once everything was done. She didn't need him encountering the guys, since that would result in a ton of questions that she and they wouldn't want to have to answer.

She hung up the phone as she recalled the voice that she had heard on the other end. It was clearly disguised in a bad European accent, but it wasn't Hannibal . . . at least she was fairly certain that it wasn't. She had heard him disguise his voice a few times when he had to sneak into a place to meet with a potential client, or when they had to run a scam on a target. Granted, it had been a couple of years since she had last heard his voice, but unless major damage was done to one's vocal chords, voices didn't change too drastically over the course of two years.

If it wasn't Hannibal's voice, then whose was it? It couldn't have been Murdock, could it? From what she recalled, he was very adept at accents and impressions . . . but he never usually made first contact with clients, especially not within the VA. If anyone sought him out there in the mental ward, he apparently would call Hannibal, but beyond that he was normally not part of assessing the client. The guys tried not to run scams to get the pilot out of the VA until they needed him, mainly to protect his cover.

There was no way that it could have been BA. He could be soft spoken when he wanted to be, but outside of that his tone was pretty gruff . . . intended to try and cause people to quake with fear, especially those that may try to intentionally cause harm to innocent lives. His voice would have been the hardest one to disguise, plus she had never heard him use an accent of any type.

Then there was Face . . . but like BA she never recalled him using any kind of an accent before. He was someone that tried to maintain an air of high class about him, even when he was dressed down and not wearing a suit and tie as he normally preferred to do. He didn't seem like someone who was prone to wear a disguise, unless absolutely necessary. She hadn't even recalled hearing him try to disguise his voice in any way. It couldn't be him, could it?

Could it have been one of the MPs? Even though it had been a while, she was certain that she would have been able to recognize the voice of Colonel Decker and Captain Crane. It couldn't be General Fulbright, could it? Even while overseas, she tried to keep up on the A-Team's exploits through the various wire feeds so she became familiar with the military officer who had taken over the pursuit of the A-Team. She recalled how relentless Decker had been in his quest to capture the A-Team, and from what she had discovered through her research it seemed as if Fulbright was just as bad, if not worse.

For a fleeting moment, her mind entertained the possibility that it could have been someone connected to Colonel Lynch, although she quickly discounted that idea. She recalled what his voice sounded like, and the accent she heard wasn't even close. Then again, she also remembered that he was a complete and total moron if one were to compare him to Decker and Fulbright. The one time that he had managed to catch the A-Team, he couldn't hold onto them and got the rug yanked out from under him by the CIA. A more competent military officer wouldn't have backed down so easily.

Could it have been one of Kruger's men? She was absolutely certain that one of them . . . Karl Schutz, that was his name . . . that he had been following her since she left Germany. She had to do a very quick disappearing act in the airport after the plane had landed in order to escape capture. Unless he knew of her alias, Karl may not have caught onto the ad . . . unless they somehow found out about her past association with the A-Team. Unfortunately, with the money and resources Kruger had available to him, that was a probable certainty.

It was also that same money and resources of Kruger that posed the greatest danger to herself. She knew that he would spare no expense to keep her from leveling her claims against him. If the information she had was thoroughly investigated, it was certain to put Kruger behind bars for a very long time along with all of his associates that gained position of power. It was like a house of cards, waiting for someone to pull the first one and cause everything to come crashing down around them. And Amy Allen practically had her hand on that card that was guaranteed to cause it to all come tumbling down with one yank.

If it may not have been the military or one of Kruger's men, could it have been someone trying to make a quick buck off of her? The US was in an economic recession, so it was hitting people's pocket books hard. It wouldn't be too far fetched for a complete stranger, who may have heard about how some clients advertise for help from the A-Team in the papers, to intercept their effort to get help and scam an innocent person out of their money. In her case, though, it wasn't like the guys would have asked her for money if they took on this mission, especially with all the times she had helped them get clients in the past.

Either way, she just couldn't identify the source of the accent. The more she thought about it, the more it sounded like it came from a bad Dracula movie, which prompted her to roll her eyes slightly. Well, no matter who was on the phone, she was going to have to be extra careful. With the information she possessed, she was a target, plain and simple. She wasn't going to be safe until she was back with the A-Team again. The sooner that happened the better since anyone that was with her was also a target. Although she has tried to protect him by not sharing too much Zack, he almost found out the hard way earlier when they were both nearly shot in the archive room at the Courier Express. He tried to hide it well, but she could tell that he was still clearly shaken by what had happened. The most dangerous thing he ever had to do prior to that was to break into louvered windows to try and gain information from the home of Al Massey when he went missing in San Rio Blanco.

Almost as if on cue, Zack walked into the living room. His apartment wasn't luxurious by any means, but it was still nicely decorated. There was a brown tweed couch, along with a couple of individual brown tweed chairs that sat around a sandalwood coffee table. Across from the seating arrangement was a moderately sized television perched within a wooden bookcase, which had a lot of books covering different subjects. The white walls added some brightness to the room, as did the light that poured in through the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony outside. He spotted Amy looking at the phone, which rested on a sandalwood end table that sat between the couch and one of the chairs, which confirmed it had indeed run as he thought he heard. "Amy, who was on the phone?" he wondered.

That question caused the female reporter to pause. He obviously overheard the phone ringing, although he had been courteous enough to allow her to answer the phone and have a complete uninterrupted conversation with the person on the other end. Because of the timing, she had no way of being able to deny it. "It was someone calling about the classified ad you helped to get into the paper for me," Amy shared.

"So soon?" he asked with surprise. "It just ran this morning." He clearly hadn't expected that there would have been a response so quickly. He didn't really pay attention to who the ad was directed to, but it did pique his curiosity. Were they expecting it to have been placed, or were they just that responsive? Either way, he hoped that he would be able to find out for himself, especially since Amy was being so mysterious.

Inwardly, she couldn't help but to sigh. He reminded Amy of herself . . . extremely inquisitive, and wanting to learn as much as possible in order to score the next big story that could not only make the front page, but potentially be Pulitzer material. Zack's forte rested more with research than reporting the human emotion within a story. Right now, she needed to try and keep him from asking too many questions at satisfy his curiosity. "Zack, I need one more favor, and it'll be the last one. I promise," she noted, hoping to get his mind off of the phone call.

"Sure, Aim," he responded immediately. His voice indicated just how eager he was to help her out, and without any kind of hesitation or second thought. "What is it?"

"I need a ride. I have to be at the Golden Pagoda restaurant in Chinatown by 6pm tonight," she shared, hoping that he would be willing to do this one last favor for her. If all went as she had hoped, then she wouldn't need to bother him again for a ride since she would be back among old friends. She just hoped that they wouldn't turn her down. If they did, then she would have to figure out something else, but considering how high the stakes were she doubted that they would deny her.

He looked at her curiously, and then badly joked, "You have a yen for some Chinese food?" Even though she hadn't said anything outright, he could tell that she was worried about something. Whatever it was, it had to be something big and he really wanted to help her get through it. Granted, the pun was probably bad, but even a little bit of levity could sometimes make a difference.

It took a moment before she realized what Zack was trying to do. Letting out the breath she was holding, a small smile crept across her lips as she responded cryptically, "Yeah . . . something like that."


FORT IRWIN, CALIFORNIA

There was a soft sound as the receiver was placed back on the handset of the phone. The blue eyes of General Harlan Fulbright looked up into the icy blue eyes of Colonel Roderick Decker. Not a word had been said since the General hung up the phone, but the look between the two men spoke volumes.

They received the news that they were waiting for . . .

After a moment, the superior officer announced, "That was a call from your man on the inside. Smith and Peck just arrived at the movie studio."

Both were fully aware of how the crafty Colonel was fond of playing costumed parts within the movies since it afforded him a chance to hone his skills as an actor while remaining relatively anonymous. For Fulbright, this brought about mixed feelings with how he regarded his adversary. Although taking on the costumed parts was likely a smart move since it obscured him from being recognized, it was still foolish and predictable since Smith was not in costume when he arrived to the studio and could lead to recognition as it did today.

As much as he hated to admit, Decker certainly knew Smith's patterns even as unpredictable as they could be. Then again, Decker's methods were just as unorthodox as Smith's which is probably why he had been allowed to remain on the case for so long.

"Both Smith and Peck?" Decker asked, a little surprised by that. He had full confidence in what his informant had said, and with good reason even though it still was a bit shocking.

Fulbright nodded before adding, "Apparently. That's what he claimed. You know your informant better than I do." Even though he admitted that, he hoped that they could trust Decker's contact and he wasn't sympathetic and would tip off the two members of the A-Team.

Even though he didn't show anything openly, he wanted to plaster a smug grin on his face. Good old Dan Parsons. Dan had served with him in Vietnam, and they ran a few missions together. Outside of Captain Crane, he hadn't known anyone more loyal than him. When others wanted to ostracize him for blowing up Viet Cong hospitals under top secret orders, Dan wouldn't hesitate to defend his efforts. Dan had also been with him when they had gotten into the tussle with Smith at the DOOM Club, so if anyone would know what the A-Team's Commanding Officer looked like, it was him.

Roderick had always wondered what happened to him after he had shipped stateside . . . until one day, out of the blue, he had gotten a call from Dan. That's when he found out that he had gotten a job as a security guard for a movie studio, and he had seen Smith show up from time to time. Unfortunately, learning this had come too late since the military decided to reassign him to Bangor, Maine for all of his failures to capture the A-Team. Now, he had another chance and he did not intend on wasting it.

This report was hopefully the breakthrough that they needed to arrest two critical members of the A-Team. Once they could be captured, then Baracus wouldn't be too tough to grab. Although he was a talented driver, he wouldn't have the luxury of Smith's cunning strategy to keep him from being caught.

"Assemble your men and go after them. I want Smith and Peck in the brig before the end of the day," Fulbright ordered. Confidence swelled within him that, with this information, they'd be able to arrest the two members of the A-Team who would have been completely off guard.

"Smith will be on set for a while. My men and I will leave within the hour," Decker responded just as assured that this time would be different . . . . that this time would be successful. Smith was like a cat who had nine lives when it came to escaping through his clutches. Hopefully he had used up his last of the nine lives with that that last escape, and his luck would have finally run out.

"Dismissed," Fulbright ordered, not waiting for Decker to leave before returning his attention to the paperwork that rested upon his desk. Even with the Colonel back on the case, there was still a ton of reports and documents when it came to the A-Team. It almost seemed as it was never ending, but they couldn't ignore or overlook anything that could be used against the unit once they could be brought to justice. Even though the reports were filled with news of how they helped innocent civilians who were oppressed by criminals, the more they could get for a military tribunal the better the chances of adding onto the existing charges and putting these men away for a very, very long time.

Decker stood and exited the office. After closing the door, he readjusted the position of his hat upon his head and then looked to his right. There he could see the stalwart figure of Captain Crane who appeared to be ready to act upon whatever command was issued. Even with everything that happened, he was impressed with Crane's loyalty and how he remained committed to the cause.

"Get the men together. I want to be on the road in 30 minutes," Decker ordered. "We're going after Smith and Peck."

Marcus Crane was momentarily stunned by that revelation. Smith and Peck without Baracus? He didn't question it, but realized that this was a golden opportunity. He snapped off a quick salute as he acknowledged, "Yes, sir." Turning on his heel, he then double timed it down the hallway to follow the orders he was just given.