THE MULE KICKS BACK
Part Two:
A Hole in the Plan
"Hurry up, Face!"
Peck let out a long sigh. "Sheer artistry takes time, Colonel," he muttered through clenched teeth, his eyes never once moving away from the safety deposit box on the rickety table in front of him. Into its lock he twisted and wiggled his pick violently and with more than a hint of desperation.
"Haven't got time!" Murdock interjected as he rushed into the small room, gun in hand. "Bad guys coming down the corridor, Colonel. We gotta move now."
"Face!" Hannibal pressed urgently.
"Just a little more …." Face hissed.
The sudden staccato rhythm of gun fire spat into the quiet expectation of the room and preceded BA Baracus' entrance by only a few seconds. "Suckers coming in the back," he growled.
"And the front," Murdock added.
"Which means we got no way out, Hannibal!" BA finished.
Smith rolled his eyes. "Exciting isn't it?" he beamed.
"No!" BA snorted. "We trapped."
"Done it!" Face exclaimed as the box clicked open.
"Too slow, Face," Murdock shook his head critically. "You're losing your touch."
Peck threw him a withering glare but then turned his attention back to the box.
"What's in there, Face?" the pilot asked.
Peck looked up again. This time his perfect features were crumpled in confusion. "Nothing," he said. "Not a damn thing!"
"But…." Murdock began.
"What do you mean, nothing?" BA growled over him, glancing back up the corridor. "What we doing here, man?"
"Damned if I know," Face muttered.
His eyes still flashing brightly in the dim light, Hannibal chuckled, "I think we're about to find out."
It had been a long day already, since they started to enact Smith's latest plan. It was just over a week since their return from Argentina and they had started this case almost immediately.
An elderly couple, the Watsons, had sought out Mr Lee complaining that a wealthy store owner was pressurising them to sell their home to him so he could build a new retail complex in the area. The Team had checked the couple out in the usual ways and everything appeared to be above board. They had found out the name of the businessman was JB Rees.
Today's escapade had been the result of Mr Watson informing them that he thought the plans for the new shopping centre were being held in a safety deposit box and Rees was going to pick them up this morning but Watson did not know where. Hannibal had been a little suspicious about the information but he had no reason to doubt the client and the plans would be useful to have.
They had intercepted Rees' hired limo and Face had taken on the role of driver, persuading Mr Rees that his regular driver had been taken ill. In preparation and after much whining Face had swallowed a tracker so that the rest of the Team could follow at a safe distance. Much to Peck's growing impatience Rees had made him drive around aimlessly for most of the day and it was well passed five o'clock by the time Rees gave him the instructions he had been waiting for. On arrival at the storage facility on the outskirts of town, Face had overpowered Rees and left him tied up in the limo. The rest of the Team had arrived and Face had talked their way in, gotten the box number from the guy at reception but not the key, so had had to break in to the box and use up precious time. It was only once they were inside with Murdock stationed at the front and BA out back that they had begun to realise all was not as it seemed.
"Throw out your weapons, now!" Came an authoritative voice from outside in the corridor.
The Team exchanged glances. Supremely confident, the Colonel smiled around his cigar. "Guess we won't find out until we do as the guy says, boys."
"It was a stupid plan," BA growled. "Why are we all in here anyway?"
"I'm hurt, BA," Smith retorted as he carefully dropped his M16 out into the corridor so it slewed out of reach. "It's a brilliant plan!"
"Brilliant!" Peck scoffed. "It's got holes in it as big as the Grand Canyon!" Still in his black chauffeur suit, with the hat pushed back on his head, he didn't have a gun to throw out so he simply fiddled with his tie nervously.
"There are holes in the information that we have, Lieutenant," Smith countered. "And the only way to fill them is to flush out the vermin that's making them!"
Face just rolled his eyes in exasperation and looked over to Murdock who was standing pensively by the door. "Here they come," the pilot warned.
Into the already cramped little room came six large, muscled men. Each wore a black suit, touted an automatic machine gun and a scowl to match their close cropped hair while hiding their eyes behind the cowardly anonymity of dark sun glasses.
Hannibal snorted dismissively. "Whatever happened to villains with individuality?" he espoused philosophically.
The suits with sun glasses filed around the room, guns pointing forebodingly at each member of the Team.
"Gentleman," a sleazy nasal voice came from the doorway. It belonged to a shorter, weasel-like man with a narrow pallid face emphasised by his own pair of large framed sun glasses that he sported. He wore a similar suit to the others but on his gangly and awkward frame it looked badly cut and creased out of shape. Apparently unaware of the less than inspiring figure he cut, the newcomer continued, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
Smith sniffed insolently. "I know."
"I am Cuthbert Grondyke and you must be the A Team."
The Colonel's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you want?"
Grondyke chuckled and the sound was one of the least endearing that Smith had ever heard. "What no small talk, Colonel?" he teased. "Cut straight to the point, eh?"
Smith curled up his upper lip in disgust. "I make it a habit only to rap with people when I can see their eyes," he said. "What's wrong – do you think I'll see the fear there?"
Grondyke seemed to hesitate, and then a slimy smile crossed his lips. "Very well; I don't have time to make friends, anyway. Stand together by the wall," he indicated to a point by the far wall and the sun glasses moved to push the Team there.
"Careful," Face whined, as a particularly big goon took hold of his arm. "I bruise easy!"
"Mr Rees!" Grondyke called.
Into the room came the businessman. Face groaned as he realised he had not succeeded in putting him out of the game earlier. To add to his woe Murdock intoned solemnly. "Sloppy, Faceman, very sloppy."
Rees was carrying a strange machine that seemed to be some sort of measuring device, like a Geiger counter. On its top was a series of green lights and a large dial, while attached to its side by a wire was a form of scanner device. It was emitting a dull humming sound.
"Do it!" Grondyke ordered.
Rees nodded and turned the dial so the lights began to flash and there was an audible increase in the volume of the noise. He stepped forward and pointed the scanner towards Colonel Smith. Hannibal stared at him, his features set in an indifferent glare. There was no change to the lights or the noise.
Rees licked his lips nervously and moved to stand in front of BA. The big guy growled menacingly. Two pairs of sun glasses and matching suits hovered close to restrain him if necessary. BA clenched his fists but Rees lifted the scanner regardless – the machine continued with the same pattern.
Next Rees pointed the scanner at Murdock. The pilot immediately let out a long, high pitched squeal and began to shiver violently. The machine, however, continued on the same behaviour mode as previously.
"Quit it, fool!" BA snarled.
Murdock stopped instantly. "You know how I get nervous when somebody points something at me, BA!"
Rees shook his head and moved on to Peck, the last in line. As soon as the machine scanner turned towards him the lights changed to red and began to flash; the sound ratcheted up a good number of octaves that could easily be described as ear piercing.
"Jackpot!" Murdock whistled through his teeth.
"Why is it always me?" Face asked forlornly.
"Your magnetic personality?" Hannibal suggested with a wink.
"Cuff him!" Grondyke ordered.
"Ow!" Peck whined as the two goons nearest to him took a hold and pulled his arms out roughly. "Hey, watch my suit! My tailor wouldn't like it if…." He was stopped in full moan mode by an unexpected and exceedingly vicious fist to his jaw which sent him down to his knees, head lowered and spitting out blood.
At that moment the rest of the Team surged forwards. BA took on the nearest two goons to him, his gold rattling as he moved. Murdock and Hannibal waded in too but not soon enough to get to Peck, who was being lifted to his groggy feet by the goons.
"Take him!" Grondyke ordered.
He followed them out with Rees at his heels. "Kill them!" he ordered over his shoulder to the rest of the goons.
Face was still stunned by the power of the blow – he normally got a lot further into his rant before the patience of his target ran out. The result, this time, was he had been taken by surprise and been unable to mitigate for the blow as he normally would have, thus his jaw was throbbing horrendously. He was dragged up the corridor, his hazy eyesight was further hindered as they stepped out into the fading but still brighter than inside evening sunlight. The open trunk of a big Cadillac beckoned.
"No!" Face managed to gasp, trying to turn in the constricting arms. "I get car sick!"
His whine fell on deaf ears as he was forced into the trunk and everything went black as the lid was thrown down with a ominous thump.
Back at the fight the rest of the Team though outnumbered, were struggling manfully and at last appeared to be gaining the upper hand. BA landed a bejewelled right hook to the face of the last goon and he fell limply to the floor.
"Where's Face?" Murdock asked.
"They got him," Hannibal responded. "You both OK?"
Murdock nodded as BA flexed his fingers, banging his fist into his other hand menacingly. "Be better when we get Faceman back," he growled.
"It's getting late – be going dark, let's get back to the van," Hannibal commanded as he bent down to pick up his gun.
Once there, Hannibal took a long draw on his cigar. "So what we got?" he asked.
"Tracker coming through loud and strong, Colonel," Murdock reported, the receiver gripped tightly in his hand. "Like a buzzy little bee leading us straight to his buzzy little hive!"
"OK, keep on it, BA," Hannibal said.
"Why'd they take Face, Hannibal?" Murdock asked. "They knew he had a bug, surely?"
Hannibal nodded. "Makes you think they want us to follow doesn't it?"
"A trap?" put in BA.
"Decker?" the pilot said.
"But why?" Hannibal mused. "They had us all together, why take only Face and want us to follow? Unless…. Unless…"
"Unless what, Colonel?"
"They didn't want us, only Face and they don't know about the bug."
"But that scanner, it showed it up," Murdock replied.
"Did it, Captain? It showed up something but how do you know that's what they were looking for?"
"But if not the bug, what, man?" BA asked.
Hannibal let out a deep sigh. "I wish I knew, BA. I wish I knew."
Face lay in the trunk of the car. Thankfully they seemed to have progressed over the bumpy road of the industrial site which had caused Face's spine to bang against the spare wheel painfully. He took in a deep breath, wrinkling his nose at the smell of engine oil and sweaty shoes. He shifted position and managed to move off the pair of smelly sneakers that he had been lying on.
"Jesus!" he muttered. "Some people just have no conception of style!" He pushed the shoes as far away from him as his handcuffed hands would allow.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe in deeply. It had been a difficult week, what with the Argentina trip and getting into this case so soon. At least his head wound was almost mended with little damage to his hair style. For a moment he enjoyed the relaxation but he knew it wouldn't last. Hannibal would not be far behind. The Colonel would be working on a plan to get to him but it didn't do to simply lay there and wait for rescue particularly as he was getting hotter in the claustrophobic confines of the trunk. It shouldn't be airtight surely – but he really should try something himself.
He rolled over thanking God that it was a big trunk! He hitched his feet until they were close to the tail lights and he proceeded to kick the cluster out. Fresher air came in and Face moved position again to get his head as close as possible to the hole. He tried to see out, to get an idea of where they were going but they were moving at such speed that everything flashed by – they must be on the freeway at least.
He sighed, wandering what the hell was going on. If he couldn't get out, he would have to think of something else. It just didn't make sense; why had they taken him? The same discussion that the rest of the Team were having in the van swirled around Face's head in a series of thoughts. He came to a similar conclusion: it just did not make sense!
So, if he couldn't get away and he couldn't work out what they wanted, there was only one other thing for him to do and that was to be patient and wait. He had been in a similar situation to this so many times that he wasn't particularly worried. Experience had taught him that an opportunity would come up, all he had to do was wait, guard his strength and make sure that he took full advantage when the time came.
Still he was taken by surprise; the now gentle rocking of the car was quite soporific and he had missed out on some sleep recently, when the trunk was opened and the evening sunlight was strong enough to momentarily blind him. Brawny but rough hands grabbed him and pulled him upwards while he was still blinking the glare from his retinas.
"Jesus! Look what the little shit did to my tail lights!" A gruff voice spat. "I'll….."
"No, not yet," An authoritative voice came – Grondyke.
Peck was forced to sit down and, as his sight came back to him, he thought he really ought to press his point home. "Look guys, you got the wrong person! I'm not who you think I am. I mean all right I set off your bleeper but it must have been my pacemaker. I got a terrible weak heart and all this excitement .. I could keel over at any minute. I'm really quite fragile."
Grondyke bent close to him. "Shut up!" he spat. "It's not important anymore whether you're dead or alive."
Peck pouted. "Not to you, maybe."
"Let's get on with this!" Grondyke ordered. "Why do I always get the ones with the smart mouths?" he muttered as he turned away.
Face felt a push from behind and realised that he must be sitting in a wheel chair. He tired to stand up but the barrel of a gun was pressed into the back of his neck.
"I don't know what you…." He began.
"One more word," Grondyke spat. "Just one more and I will blow you away!"
Peck gulped, he looked at the man next to him, sizing him up. Noting the tenseness in his body, the muscle flicking impatiently at his chin; Grondyke was close to the edge, barely holding on to his control. Peck knew he could get a further reaction if he tried but what would that response be? Too much and even the slightest push could be fatal, so Peck decided to button it, at least until he had a better feel for what was gong on.
"Quickly!" Grondyke pressed. "I want this over with."
They approached a large building and entered through automatic doors, heading straight for the elevator. Face noted the uniforms of the staff rushing past – they were in a hospital. He smiled at the pretty, young nurse who inadvertently stepped into the elevator behind them as the door closed. Instantly he felt the gun pushed deeper into his back.
Ignoring the gesture he rolled his eyes and gave the nurse his most startling smile to which the nurse responded with a wide grin. She was blonde and young and sort of shy but she giggled and seemed thrilled by his attention. Peck lifted his hands a little, noting the nurse's eyes widen as they fell on his handcuffs. Face contemplated his next move, not wanting to put this pretty girl in danger but desperately hoping to find a way to alert her of his predicament.
Too quickly the doors opened and Face was pushed out into an empty corridor. Grondyke threw a challenging stare at Peck as the doors clicked shut behind them, leaving the nurse to continue her journey alone.
"What?" Face said, the picture of innocence. "A smile costs nothing!"
Grondyke shook his head. "Keep it up, wise guy," he muttered. "Just keep it up."
"Look, like I said before," Peck decided to try again. "You got the wrong guy. Hell, I haven't got any medical insurance so I'd never afford treatment in a place like this… if there was anything wrong with me, which there isn't!"
"What about your heart condition?" Grondyke questioned, his eyes sparking at his own quick wit.
"Oh, I live with it, you know!" Peck replied seamlessly changing his argument when his words of minutes before were thrown back at him.
They were moving down a brightly lit corridor, through a number of doors and then into a large room that smelt of cleanliness and antiseptic.
Peck gulped – his internal alarm bells had been increasing in volume and he really did not like what he was seeing. As if to emphasise his disquiet, the gun was pushed into his back again.
"Get on the bed," Grondyke ordered.
"Look, I don't think….."
"Put him on the bed!" Grondyke's brittle patience snapped.
Peck fought as the goons grabbed him, but his hands were still restrained and he knew it was going to be ultimately useless. Eventually he found himself sprawled on the operating table, his cuffs taken off but the two goons holding his hands brutally above his head.
Face strained to see what was going on. It appeared that a number of other people had entered the room; they were dressed in theatre blues, their features hidden behind masks. A surge of panic washed through Peck then and he began to struggle violently.
Grondyke was beside him. "That's better," he mocked. "Now you're beginning to get an idea of what's in store for you, smart ass!"
"What are you going to do?" Face demanded, unable to free himself from the goons' tight grip.
"You got something of ours," Grondyke said. "We're going to take it back."
"I haven't got anything of yours!"
Grondyke smiled evilly and reaching out his skeletal fingers, took hold of Peck's chin and turned his head. He stroked the area behind his ear where the almost healed wound was. "But you have, asshole!" he said. "How does it feel, a member of the famous A Team duped into being our mule? How does it feel to be conned?"
"What?" Face gasped. "I don't…."
A gowned figure loomed up before him and his right arm was pulled out straight. Face watched mesmerised, his bowels freezing as the figure raised the hypodermic needle. "No," he gasped and tried to struggle but he was held fast.
He watched completely helpless as the needle was forced into his arm and the drug was injected into him.
"Have a rest," Grondyke said. "It'll all be over with very soon."
"No," Face repeated, trying to hold on to his wits as they slipped and slithered relentlessly into oblivion. He gulped and blinked as he felt his arms released. Now was his chance! He wanted to run, to get out; his mind was screaming at him to move but he could not respond, could not even lift his head.
Fighting it desperately he grasped out blindly trying to force his deadening limbs into action. Clutching hold of Grondyke's arm he was vaguely aware of a ripping. Face glanced down as the blackness loitered threatening at the edge of his vision, saw something revealed by the ripping of that awful suit sleeve…. a tattoo on Grondyke's arm …. Peck recognised it but the foggy haze engulfed him, chasing away the imprint of the memory. He collapsed back to the bed.
His very last sense was the noise of a razor. "Not my hair," he tried to say but his mouth would not move and his brain ceased to function. He could not stop his eyes from rolling upwards into his head, he was letting go as the nothingness claimed him as one of its own.
TBC