Johnny, I want 30 seconds underwater, 30 seconds after action. You're popping up like the rubber duckie in my kid's bathtub.

I gotta stay down two minutes for the water to get still. You want 30 seconds after that? You gotta be nuts!

Hey, pal, that's the job! The guy we had in Aquamania One stayed down four minutes.

Then why isn't he doing it now?

He had a little brain hemorrhage or something, I don't know. Anyhow, let's go. Come on, lets get this sucker in the can. Back in the drink, chickie.

- Jerry and Hannibal, "Mexican Slayride"


What're you talkin' about, Sam? You're on the set of a low-budget disaster movie, Disco Inferno. . . with lights, camera . . . plenty of action. You know, I think I saw this movie once on cable. We're talkin' two thumbs down.

- Al, "Disco Inferno"

Chapter 14: Lights, Camera, Action

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1999

WAITING ROOM

PROJECT QUANTUM LEAP

STALLIONS GATE, NEW MEXICO

9:00AM MOUNTAIN TIME

Diane McBride sat at the desk within the room that she was given at the Project. Her fingers of her right hand were wrapped around a black metal pen as she scribbled some notes into a leather black bound book. It was clear that her entire focus was being poured into the words that she was writing, especially with how she hovered over the pages with such intensity.

She set the pen down for a moment and leaned back slightly. She reached up with her left hand and removed her reading glasses, which were perched upon her nose. A sigh escaped her lips before she ran her right hand through her brown hair. Al Calavicci was kind enough to show her the facility, and in the short time she had been there she had seen quite a bit . . . far more than she could have even imagined based on what was put down on paper during the funding requests. It was all extremely impressive, and she could now understand why they had consistently asked for so much money.

The majority of the money obviously went toward hardware and the upkeep of the parallel hybrid computer that was at the heart of the Project. It was an amazing creation, and there was no other computer like it in existence. Looking at the specifications and a list of all of the equipment on the reports couldn't even compare to seeing it in person, and listening to when Ziggy interacted with the Project staff.

She lightly fingered the edges of her metal framed reading glasses as she mulled over everything. With what she had seen within the last 24 hours, and hearing of the impact that Dr. Samuel Beckett had to change history for the better, it was clear that the funding should continue until such time as when the staff at the Project bring Dr. Beckett home.

Even though Al provided her with the details on Sam's exploits, she knew that eventually some of the committee members would grow tired of even her crusading in favor of the Project's funding. Senator Weitzman was actually one of those who she knew would consistently lobby hard for definitive proof. He had pushed hard to try and cut the funding during the early stages, and she recalled just how fierce their debates could get.

Those debates were practically infamous, and it almost seemed as if Weitzman was trying to push to take over the chairmanship of the committee that reviewed the funding for Project Quantum Leap. She dreaded to think of what would have happened if he had managed to be successful in wrestling control from her. If that had happened, chances were that the Project would have been shut down, stranding Dr. Beckett in the past with no lifeline to help him with his Leaps.

Thankfully, he hadn't been successful in trying to get control. She retained that position, but she had to be careful. Weitzman would no doubt continue to try and press the rest of the committee, convincing them that they need more solid answers and proof before agreeing to continue the Project's funding . . . and even go so far as to try and wrestle control of the committee away from her. As long as Sam was trapped in the past, that was something that she couldn't allow to happen. Even with the evidence that Al provided, which Weitzman would likely claim was doctored, how much longer before he made his move?

She leaned forward again and picked up the pen from where it rested next to the pages of the book before her. She began to write once more, trying to finish the entry that she had started on this morning. The Senator needed to complete this, and then communicate with her office back in Washington, D. C. to see what messages were waiting for her as well as what other work she needed to address. She'd also have to see if she could use the computer in the suite that she was given within the Project in order to review some upcoming bills and funding requests.

So many things to do, and the sandstorm outside that reduced visibility to practically zero certainly didn't help matters. Sandstorms apparently could last for several days. At night, they weren't as intense but they were still strong. Combined with the darkness, it made the visibility just as bad as when the daytime sun intensified the winds, which is when sandstorms were at their strongest.

A knock at the door almost caused her to jump due to how focused she was on her writing. "Come in," she called out to whoever was on the other side of the door. She watched as the door opened, and dark brunette haired Dr. Donna Elesee walked past the threshold. She moved with an incredible elegance and grace, which made it very clear why she often helped to represent the Project along with Admiral Calavicci at various Washington events, committee meetings, and formal reviews.

"Hello, Senator," Donna greeted warmly. There was a gentle and friendly smile upon her face, just as there would have been if she had greeted an old friend. Of course they had met through the committee hearings, but this was different since it was outside of the official pomp and circumstance required by the government. "How were your accommodations? I trust you slept well?"

Diane nodded and smiled. "Good morning, Dr. Elesee," she returned the greeting as she set down the pen and closed the black leather book. Letters were emblazoned on the front, in gold print, which read "Diary."

"Please, call me Donna," the wife of Dr. Beckett mentioned, the gentleness of her tone never leaving her voice. She could see that the Senator was wearing a red blouse with a dark grey pair of slacks. She also had on a red pair of low heeled shoes that matched the color of the blouse.

"Only if you call me Diane," Senator McBride responded, wanting to dispense with the formalities since they weren't in any official hearings at the moment. The sandstorm was a major inconvenience, but she wanted to make sure that the staff at the Project knew how grateful she was with how they were going out of their way to accommodate her. "The room was very comfortable, and I slept better than I would have at any hotel."

Donna nodded, a few stray hairs flowing around and framing her face. The rest of her hair was done up within a very loose bun. She wore an elegant yellow shirt, which was similar to an off the shoulder style. It bore a slight shimmer, almost as if there was a hint of gold woven into the fabric. She also wore a pair of black pants, and a pair of heels with straps that kept it securely on her feet. "I was wondering if you might like to join me for some breakfast from the cafeteria?" she inquired.

Truthfully, Diane had not even thought about breakfast. She had been too focused on making sure that she had written her entry in her diary, before she forgot what she wanted to detail in there. That, and she had been thinking about some of the things she had to do for her seat in Washington. Her stomach started to quietly protest, almost as if on cue. "Breakfast sounds lovely. Afterward, I'd like to see if I could use the phone and the computer. I need to contact my office in DC and try to get some work done."

Donna smiled warmly. She had not expected the Senator to ask permission to use the phone, much less the computer, in order to get her work done. The sandstorm was probably a huge inconvenience, so being able to communicate with her office to keep up on her work made perfect sense. Even when Dr. Elesee went to Washington to try and secure funding for the Project, she made sure that she could get to a computer and tap into Ziggy to get updates on what was taking place while she was away. "Of course you may, Diane. Our resources are at your full disposal for the duration of your stay," Donna shared.

Diane stood from behind the desk and moved around it. "Thank you, Donna," the Senator acknowledged. Although it was courteous and polite to ask about using the phone and the computers, since she was a guest, it was a huge relief to hear the authorization given by a senior member of the Project staff. "I appreciate everything that you and Admiral Calavicci are doing for me while I'm here. I just hope that I'm not a terrible imposition," she mentioned.

Sam's wife made her way to the door, with the Senator right next to her. Her dark brown hair flowed around her shoulders as she looked at Diane. "Believe me, it is not an imposition at all. We're glad to have you here, Diane," Donna shared as they entered the hallway. "If there's anything else you may need, please let myself or Al know and we would be more than happy to accommodate you."

They were both still engrossed in conversation as they made their way toward the elevator, and eventually the cafeteria.


TUESDAY, MAY 13, 1986

UNIVERSAL STUDIOS

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

3:30PM PACIFIC TIME

The drone of rubber tires on the roadway could be heard with each passing car on the nearby Hollywood Freeway. The major thoroughfare rested along the southernmost boarder of the Universal Studios complex. Hundreds of cars traveled this stretch of highway on a daily basis, with the drivers unaware of what was being filmed just a few hundred feet away.

A stretch of road called W. C. Fields Drive ran next to the highway, providing back gate access to the studio. Within the guard shack at the gate sat a figure in his mid-30s. He had well groomed jet black hair, which rested beneath a tan baseball cap. A black mustache rested above his lip, and was also neat and trim. His tan, short sleeved uniform did nothing to hide the nervousness as he fidgeted, glancing back and forth between the roadway and the time on the watch that sat upon his left wrist. It was clear that he was anxious, waiting for something.

The unmistakable sound of car engines filled the air as a line of green sedans pulled up to the gate. The guard stood from within the shack and opened the door. Stepping outside into the warm late-spring air, he approached the driver's side window of the first vehicle. "Can I help . . ." he started to say as he leaned down.

He stopped speaking the moment his dark brown eyes caught sight of the person sitting in the front passenger seat. It was almost like seeing a ghost from the past, although he kind of expected him to show up after he made that phone call hours ago. "Colonel! It's good to see you again, sir," he stated as he stiffened to attention and offered a crisp salute.

Roderick Decker climbed out of the car and made his way around the front of the olive green sedan to where his former subordinate was standing. He returned the salute, and then extended his hand as he greeted him warmly, "You don't need to salute me anymore, Dan. Vietnam's over and you got your honorable discharge 10 years ago."

Dan Parsons lowered his hand, but still remained at attention out of respect for his former Commanding Officer. "Sorry, Colonel. Force of habit," he apologized.

"Old habits die hard, Dan," Decker acquiesced. Even he knew how hard it was to break old habits. During the time that he had been assigned to that flea-bitten assignment in Bangor, Maine, he was practically ready to pounce with every report of an A-Team sighting. His initial instinct was to call for Captain Crane and arrange for transport so they could pursue them, but he had to keep himself from doing so since General Fulbright had not only removed him from that assignment, but personally took it over.

"Well, I remembered that you had been chasing the A-Team, so when I saw Smith and Peck you were the first person I thought to call," the former Lieutenant admitted. Although he was aware of the Robin Hood type antics that the A-Team had employed since returning to the United States and escaping from Fort Bragg, their helping innocent civilians did not excuse robbery and treason.

"Smith and his monster movies . . ." Decker mused almost gleefully. He knew full well how the A-Team's Commanding Officer had made a career for himself by donning various creatures within monster movies. It gave him a great way to maintain relative anonymity while still being able to move around. It ironic that something that Smith found such amusement in would be the source of his downfall.

Even though there was a potential that they could get the drop on Smith, Roderick Decker had another concern. Dan had been with them during the fight at the DOOM Club in DaNang. If there was any chance that Smith realized who the guard was, then they would lose their advantage as Smith would have to figure that the MPs would have been alerted. "Did he recognize you?" Decker inquired, hoping for the best but almost dreading the worse.

The security guard shook his head slightly. "I don't believe he did, Colonel," Dan pointed out honestly. He certainly didn't seem to notice a look of recognition on the face of Colonel Smith, but he also wasn't sure how good the man was with hiding his emotions most of the time.

"Good," Decker responded with a slight bit of relief. He knew that Smith was generally alert for any signs of the MPs, but if Decker's men could sneak up on him in a way that was unexpected, then maybe they could be successful. And it wasn't just Smith that they could manage to bring in this time, but Peck too. And with those two out of the way, then Baracus would be easy to capture. "Where is Smith filming?"

"They're over at Park Lake, near Courthouse Square," Dan mentioned. He walked over to the guard shack for a moment and pulled out a studio map. He pointed a finger toward a spot on the map. "This is where we're at, and this is where they're filming scenes from the Aquamaniac movie. If you take this road, you can get there in about 20 minutes . . . where if you take this route," he stated as he pointed to another road on the map, "it may take an extra 10 minutes, but they won't see you coming until you're on top of them."

"Thanks, Dan," Decker said as he took the map and folded it up. Had he still been with the military, Roderick would have certainly suggested that Dan Parsons get a promotion for his quick thinking and effort to try and secure the capture of the A-Team. Unfortunately, his honorable discharge prevented that . . . but, at least he would be eligible for the reward money if they were successful in capturing Smith and Peck.

Dan Parsons nodded and then cautioned, "Be careful, Colonel. Smith has been filming movies here for some time, so he knows the backlot like the back of his hand. If he hears sirens, he's going to know you're coming and take off before you have a chance to capture them." The A-Team's escapes were practically legendary and covered on the news. In fact, he had been working at the studio when Colonel Lynch had tried to surprise the A-Team years ago, and they drowned his vehicles in the parting of the sea attraction at Jaws Lake.

Rod gave a very brief nod and then moved back toward the passenger side of the olive green sedan he had been riding in. He opened the door and climbed back inside, closing it firmly behind him. Dan's advice made perfect sense. He knew the movie lot far better than they did. The fact that he divulged that information was a perfect example of his loyalty. He turned to the driver and ordered, "Let's go."

The MP sitting in the driver's seat shifted the car into gear, and then put his foot on the gas pedal. They drove into the heart of the movie studio and toward the Aquamaniac filming location . . .


PARK LAKE

UNIVERSAL STUDIOS

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

3:50PM PACIFIC TIME

"Quiet on the set!"

The order pierced through the natural ambiance, as well as the din from the crew. Immediately, silence settled over the commotion like a thick, consuming blanket. The only thing that dared to pierce that veil was the occasional chirp from one of the birds in trees that surrounded the peaceful lake. All eyes were on the surface of the water, which was as still as a sheet of glass.

"Roll camera!" the director called out, who was sitting in a chair on a platform attached to a boom arm. Jerry was a scrawny Caucasian who sported thin cut brown hair, which bordered on being red, along with a closely trimmed beard and mustache. He wore a black baseball cap that bore the word "Aquamaniac" in decorative red script. It contrasted with the eggshell white pullover cardigan sweater that he wore. Under the sweater he had on a red plaid shirt. He wore tan slacks and white sneakers. A lens dangled from a cord around his neck.

Next to him, behind the 35 millimeter Panasonic movie camera, sat the camera operator. He wore blue jeans, a white shirt, and a brown collared windbreaker. "Rolling," he announced.

Silence again clung to the air again as light seemed to sparkle off the calm lake water. A light breeze drifted through the trees that surrounded the lake, causing the green leaves to rustle and dance around on the branches with the air current.

"Marker!" Jerry called out.

Another crew member, dressed in blue jeans and a red polo shirt, ran out onto the shore in the view of the camera. His blonde hair moved slightly as he held up a black slate that was topped with a black and white stripped clap board. He swung open the top of the clap board, which was held on a hinge to the bottom portion and to the slate, as he announced, "Aquamaniac Strikes Back, scene 11, take 3." He then swung the marker closed forcefully, which resulted in a resounding clap. He then quickly dashed out of the view of the camera.

The moment that he was clear from the view of the camera, Jerry then yelled, "Action!"

Within seconds, a dark silhouette started to appear below the surface of the lake. It seemed ominous, growing larger with each passing moment until finally it emerged. The green scales glistened under the sunlight, as water trickled down from its monstrous form. It lumbered menacingly out of the water toward the shore.

Explosions in the background created large fireballs that highlighted the creature's green fins that had almost a slightly golden shimmer. The beady, malicious eyes seemed to be set on the actors that stood on the shoreline. The mouth was open in what looked like a wicked grin, and the teeth looked ready to devour anything including a human being. The three-fingered clawed hands of the sub-aquatic creature thrashed about with every step, almost as if the monster was trying to hit something that wasn't even there.

The onlookers watched with horror in their eyes and plastered on their faces as the creature came toward them. They seemed too stunned to move until a woman let out a blood-curdling scream of terror. That cry was enough to cause panic to erupt as the citizens tried to dash away to safety.

"Cut!" Jerry called out.

Most of the crew looked relieved to get a stop in the action, although it was clear from the expression on the faces of some of the extras that they were pretty annoyed. The costumed John Hannibal Smith showed no sign of frustration. He was used to this . . . stopping a scene because it didn't look right to the director, and then having to reshoot it all over again.

A beautiful brunette assistant ran up to the green scaled Aquamaniac. She was stressed in a tight shirt and shorts that revealed every curve. She grabbed the rectangular piece of rubber over the Adam's apple of the creature and swung it open, revealing the white-haired, blue-eyed actor inside. She held a lit cigar in her hand and gently placed it within Hannibal's mouth. "Thanks, doll," he said with a grin on his face and an approving look in his eyes.

He looked over and watched the boom arm with the movie camera as it was slowly lowered, bringing the director back toward the ground. Drawing in a breath, he looked at the brunette and mentioned, "Excuse me, sweetheart. I gotta have a little chat with the big cheese," Hannibal informed her before starting to saunter over toward the boom.

As he approached, the Colonel watched as the director unfastened the seatbelt that kept him securely positioned in the director's chair when the boom was held aloft. He saw him glance at the papers within his hand. No, it wasn't just any papers, but a copy of the script. One he got close enough, he asked, "Jerr, what's wrong this time?"

The director let out a sigh as he raised his right hand to his head for a moment, and then lowered it. "Johnny, chickie, there's nothing wrong with you," Jerry explained, hoping that the costumed actor wasn't too upset with the delay. "It's the damn blocking the AD set up. A two year old could do better with a set of Lego blocks!" It was clear, based on the intensity of his words with the last couple of sentences, he was absolutely fuming. He looked around and spotted one person that made the scene less than viable. "Frankie!"

Hannibal watched as a tan-skinned Latino jogged up to the director. He wore black jeans, a blue shirt, and a black leather vest. His black hair was greased back and drawn into a short pony tail. All of his mannerisms said the same thing . . . the kid was cocky. "What can I do for you, boss?" he asked, his accent a combination between a Latino and someone who came from the Bronx in New York.

"Frankie," Jerry began in a tone that clearly indicated that he was admonishing the crew member. "I thought I told you that I wanted those pyros to go off the moment the Aquamaniac popped up out of the water. They're going off way too late. My kid could do better with firecrackers and sparklers!" It was very clear that the director was not happy with how things were going for this scene.

"Wouldn't it make more sense for the sparks to start flyin' once Johnny's actually gotten on shore, not while he's in the water?" Frankie countered, waving his hand toward where Hannibal had just emerged from the lake. "You want it to look like the Aquamaniac is downing some power lines. If he does that while he's in the water, you're talking one cooked lizard."

Hannibal couldn't help to grin, his eyes twinkling even through the open flap in the Adam's apple of the Aquamaniac suit. He had to admit it. Frankie "Dishpan" Santana was new to doing the special effects for the movies, but he certainly knew what he was talking about. The whole franchise seemed to be almost the same storyline with each movie, just told in a slightly different way. As a result, it was running out of steam and the box office profits were dwindling with every new release. They brought him on board because he had earned a reputation of being one of the top special effects men within the movie business. The producers figured that Frankie would be able to bring in some bold new ideas that would really fire things up and bring the audiences flocking back to see the creature form the deep once more.

"You know, Jerr," the costumed actor started to say. He put a rubberized arm around the shoulders of the special effects artist as a sign of support. "Frankie's got a point. It'd make more sense for the pyros to go off once the Aquamaniac is further on shore and knocking down things like electric poles, flipping cars, and smashing buildings."

As they continued to talk, Dr. Samuel Beckett could hear everything from where he stood nearby leaning against the white and red-striped Corvette. He was greatly relieved that the Colonel had emerged from the lake once more with no signs of distress or trauma. He practically held his breath every single time that he had gone underwater before emerging for the next scene. If this was what actors did in order to create a movie, he was glad he had become a scientist instead.

A moment later, Sam's attention was drawn by the Imaging Chamber door as it slid open. His holographic partner and best friend stepped through. Al Calavicci looked as if he had almost seen a ghost. That wasn't a good sign at all as an ominous feeling settled into the pit of his stomach.

The Handlink in Al's right hand squealed almost violently, causing the Project Administrator to deliver a strong whack to the side of the small, colorful unit. A moment later, he adjusted the grip on his cigar as he pulled it from his mouth and announced, "Sam, you and Hannibal have got to get out of here . . . now!"

The time traveling scientist was stunned by this outburst. He trusted the Observer completely and knew that he wouldn't be so animated about something or tell him to get out of there right away unless there was a reason behind it. He looked at the hologram and asked, "What's going on, Al?"

The Rear Admiral looked at the Handlink for a moment, almost as if to confirm the information he had discovered at the Project. He tapped the colorful buttons, which squealed in response, before he looked up and met Sam's green eyes with a look that indicated just how serious he was about this. "Colonel Decker just showed up at the movie studio with a whole bunch of MPs. According to Ziggy, if you don't leave here in the next five minutes, there's an 83% chance that you and Hannibal will both be captured and sent to Leavenworth," Al urged.

Sam looked at Al almost as if he had two heads instead of one. With his Swiss-cheesed brain, he couldn't remember what Leavenworth was, or if he had heard that name before. There had to be something significant about it, though, otherwise Al wouldn't have mentioned it. "What's wrong with Leavenworth?" Dr. Beckett questioned, still not knowing.

"What's wrong?!" Al blasted, waving his hand around that held his cigar. Even though he knew of the holes in Sam's memory, he was surprised that he had no clue about the place he had just mentioned. He drew in a breath and narrowed his eyes slightly as he stressed, "Leavenworth is the federal slammer! If you guys get caught, you'll be sent there. BA will be caught soon after you guys, and Murdock won't be able to rescue any of you. Incarceration will be like death to Hannibal."

"Okay, okay," Sam stated as he held his hands up in almost a defensive posture. If Decker really was coming, and there weren't too many times that Ziggy was wrong, then they really did have to get going. They didn't have a lot of time to spare. "I get your point. Just tell me how to get us out of here so we won't get caught."

The Rear Admiral pressed a few buttons on the Handlink, which initially let out a few squeals, before it began to squawk in violent protest. He hit the side of the device, trying to get it to respond, before trying again. A frown spread across his face as he shared, "Ziggy says that she can't predict the route because these studios change the sets on back lots pretty frequently. A map from one year might not be good the next."

"Terrific," Sam commented sarcastically as he threw his hands up. This situation almost seemed to be getting worse by the minute, but he knew that he had to do something if they had any hopes to escape before Decker showed up.

From where he stood, the Colonel immediately spotted Face and saw that he was talking to himself. Could he be working up lines for new scams? The A-Team's commanding officer had never seen Face do that openly before. He couldn't recall a time where Templeton Peck talked to nothing but thin air, period. Seeing that the crew was starting to break down the gear for the day, he waddled over within the costume. He put one of his claws on the Lieutenant's right shoulder and asked, "Hey, kid. So, what'dya think?"

Sam was so focused on his conversation with Al, and worrying about how they were going to get out of there, that he hadn't noticed that the Colonel had approached him. Feeling the touch of the rubberized claw caused him to whip around. His heart was practically racing as he exclaimed, "Oh my . . . jeez! Do you always sneak up on people like that?"

"Sorry, Face," Hannibal apologized with a slight chuckle. It was clear that he found a bit of enjoyment out of giving the con artist a bit of a fright. "It's kind of hard to resist when you're busy having a conversation with yourself." He removed the claw from the shoulder of the Supply Officer before he began to state in a tone that indicated that he was almost as lost in thought as his Lieutenant, "Besides, I wanted your honest opinion on the scene we just did. I'm trying a new approach . . . to give more insight as to why the Aquamaniac wants to kill everyone . . ."

Sam again looked to his holographic friend, hoping that Al may have gotten any new details from the parallel hybrid computer. The Rear Admiral shook his head ominously before revealing, "Ziggy still has nothing on how to get out of here. You've got less than three minutes before Decker's breathing down your neck."

Seeing that the Lieutenant seemed distracted once more, Hannibal cleared his throat. "Face, weren't you listening?" he wondered. It wasn't like him to not watch his performances when he was hanging around the set, much less listen when he tried to explain the Aquamaniac's motivations. It was very, very clear that something was bugging his Second in Command, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. They all faced death with every dangerous situation that they encountered, but he had never known the younger man to be so shaken by a close call before.

"Hannibal, we've got to get out of here, now," Sam urged, blurting it straight out. There was simply no other way to put it, outside of being direct. He just hoped that the Colonel was willing to listen and go with him. He shuddered to think what would happen if they waited too long.

The A-Team's Commanding Officer looked at him skeptically. "What brings this on?" he wondered, hoping to find out why his Lieutenant was urging that they leave in a hurry. He didn't have a hot date, especially when he knew that they had to meet a client, could he?

"Decker's coming," Sam stated firmly, hoping that sharing the name of the Colonel's nemesis might spark some action. He just hoped that Hannibal wouldn't ask how he knew, since that was going to be next to impossible to explain.

The cunning strategist looked at the young Lieutenant, wondering exactly what prompted that. He looked around and didn't see any of the MP cars, and he didn't hear any sirens, so why did Face say that Decker was coming? Even though they all had developed strong instincts over the years, since they first came together as a unit in Vietnam, he had never known the Supply officer to have some foreknowledge. "Are you sure, kid?" he asked skeptically, still not sure if he should believe him.

"Quit stalling, Sam! You've got to go now! You've got a minute before Decker shows up," Al emphasized, waving his hands. He didn't want to think about what would happen if Decker caught them. But, unless they started racing out of there soon, that's exactly what was going to happen. He heard the squawk of the Handlink and punched at the colorful cubes. He disappeared from where he was at and reappeared in the back seat of the Corvette.

"Absolutely," Sam told him with conviction. He knew that if he sounded confident in what he was saying that maybe he would go along with him. With what Al said and how frantic he was acting, it was clear that time was running out.

Hannibal regarded Face for a moment and saw that he firmly believed that Decker was about to show his ugly mug any second now. He had no idea why the con artist firmly believed that, but he couldn't take a chance . . . especially not with how the MPs had recently stepped up their efforts to try and capture them. Thankfully, they had just finished shooting for the day. He didn't know if his acting career could survive any more write ups considering how many times he had to leave a movie set to take on a new assignment or to escape the MPs. He'd just have to return the costume later. "Good thing we're done shooting my scenes for the day. Give me my tail . . ." the Colonel stated.

The quantum physicist did what he was told, grabbing the long rubber tail and bringing it around for the actor to hold. He watched as the Colonel grabbed it within his clawed hands and then waddled the rest of the way to the passenger door of the Corvette. Sam was amazed by the speed in which the Commanding Officer moved within the suit, and the agility he used in order to climb into the passenger seat of the car. The finned head of the Aquamaniac stuck up through the opened sunroof of the vehicle. He rushed over to the other side and shook his head slightly. "I must be crazy . . ."

Grinning wildly through the open panel in the costume, Hannibal's disarming smile seemed to glow like a thousand megawatts. "At least you don't have to room with Murdock at the VA," he commented jovially. The remark wasn't just a joke, but also a way for him to see how Face was going to react in light of his late night visit to the A-Team's pilot.

Sam glanced to Hannibal for a moment when he heard what he had said. Did he somehow know about the visit he had paid to Murdock last night? It was very possible that he was able to find out, considering all Al had revealed about the Special Forces unit. He reached forward and twisted the key in the ignition as the engine of the Corvette roared to life. His green eyes glanced up as he spotted the front of some green sedans approaching at a high rate of speed, heralding the arrival of Colonel Decker. With the MPs this close, it meant getting out of the studio lot was going to be a lot harder than he hoped for. Quickly, he shifted the car into gear and sped away . . .