Author's Note: This one is less Murdock-centered, sorry! But we're getting somewhere at least. Wow airport security sure was lax in the 90s!


Chapter Two

Face and Murdock crouched behind a luggage cart wearing identical tarmac uniforms. They were positioned on the runway of LAX, trying to decide which plane to lift. Normally they would have stolen a military plane, but the president was speaking at the base that day and security was too tight even for the A-Team. Commercial jets were the only other planes that could fly such a long distance without refueling.

Murdock seemed to be feeling better, and although he still looked pale to Face his energy was high.

"Let's get that one Face!" He said, pointing to a sleek SAS plane. The dreary face of some famous Norwegian poet stared back at them from the wing.

"Why that one? This one's closer," Face gestured to the Alaskan Airlines jet that was unboarding right before them.

"Aw Faceman SAS is just a much nicer airline, you of all people ought to recognize the value of amenities," said Murdock with a grin.

Face grimaced; it was nighttime and the cold night air was freezing him over.

"Let's just get the first one that empties out, I'm tired of waiting around."

The first jet to unload all this passengers was a clunky looking Delta. Hannibal, who had been waiting in the airport, radioed Face that the plane was finally empty, and at his words Face and Murdock scrambled across the airfield to get to it.

"Excuse us please!" Face called up, climbing up the stairs leading up to the plane's cabin. "We need to speak to the crew briefly, my name is Roger Harrison with the department of aviation maintenance," he flashed a fake badge at the bewildered crew. "This here is my colleague, Smitty Locke," he gestured to Murdock who was wearing a fake moustache.

"What's the matter?" The pilot demanded, emerging from the cockpit.

"This is flight 4208 flying direct from Atlanta, is it not?" Face asked, citing the information Hannibal had given him.

"Yeah," the pilot said hesitantly.

"We have recently received word from the command center in Atlanta that a possible contaminant was present in the airport and may have been exposed to citizens within the building from the hours of 9am Tuesday morning all the way up til about 4 hours ago when the contaminant was identified."

"What kind of contaminant?" Asked the copilot.

"It's a doozey of a virus," Murdock said with wide eyes. "It's a new strain of flu; seems that the swine flu and the bird flu have been interbreeding," he cringed with disgust and horror. "Now we got ourselves a possible epidemic. They're callin' it the Flying Pig Flu." He nodded matter-of-factly. Face had to use all his willpower to keep from laughing.

"What we need to do, ladies and gentlemen if you'd be so kind," said Face as the crew's eyes widened. "Is detox the plane for a couple of hours, fumigate you know. Passengers on your next flight have been notified of the delay, and you all can take a nice little break, have some real food in the airport if you like." Face flashed his charming smile and ushered the crew out of the plane before donning a face mask. Murdock followed suit. The two scammers waved goodbye to the crew, who were all glancing back nervously.

"If you start to feel a bit feverish, check yourself into quarantine immediately!" Face yelled out, and all the stewardesses whipped their hands to their foreheads.

"Nice going Faceman," Murdock said, grinning as he and Face prepped the plane. Hannibal joined them soon, having changed into a crew uniform in one of the airport men's rooms. He was pushing an unconscious BA in a wheelchair and whistling a tune.

"Think this bird'll be up for the trek?" Hannibal asked as he and Face eased BA's hulking form into one of the first class seats.

"She's all fueled up and ready for a hasty take-off, Colonel," Murdock called from the captain's seat. Hannibal positioned himself in the copilot's seat and Face stood behind the two as Murdock started the jet.

As the plane began to taxi, Face noticed angry security guards rushing towards them on the tarmac.

"Guess that story didn't last long," he muttered as slowly they began to speed up and finally the familiar weightless feeling of ascent hit him. He stared below at the twinkling lights of LA before they passed beyond it and he could see only the blackness of the ocean.


Murdock hadn't taken any of Davie's pills, naturally. He had been feeling better for a little while, but most of his energy had been mustered with great effort and now, sitting at ease at the pilot's seat with nothing but a long stretch of water ahead, his body began alerting him to the various things that were wrong with it. Stupid body, he thought, feeling the cold sweat bead on his forehead again. After all I do for it, it goes and betrays me like this. Course I do tend to run it through the ringer awful bad…he lost himself in thoughts of remorse for all the unfair things he'd put his body through: POW camps, bullet wounds and one excruciating Jane Fonda work-out to name a few.

"You alright, captain?" Hannibal asked, breaking the hour-long silence. Murdock hastily wiped his forehead, hoping Hannibal hadn't really noticed a change in him. He didn't make the decision consciously, but in situations like this one some alien part of his brain took over and forced him to use his trademark coping mechanism.

"I don't think I am, Hannibal," he said quietly. Slowly he turned his head to face the Colonel, eyes wide. "Hannibal, I think I'm a robot."

Hannibal grinned, but put a hand to Murdock's forehead anyway.

"Well for a robot you sure have a high fever," he said cautiously, his smile fading.

"That's just my hard drive, I keep it up there," he knocked his head. "It's working overtime, spinning like crazy."

"Interesting choice of words," Hannibal said, cocking an eyebrow. "Why don't you go er, power down for a few hours Murdock, I'll make sure we keep on course."

"You may refer to me by my mechanical name, V799Mur," Murdock said haughtily, but followed Hannibal's advice and crept into the cabin. There Face was sleeping in the row behind the unconscious BA. Murdock crept quietly to the furthest back row in first class, pulling a thin blanket over him and trying to ignore the increasingly agonizing pains wracking his mainframe.