I love kids.

Yeah, well, they seem to like you too. I guess they're not fooled by that scowl you're always wearing.

Look, lady, the way I am is the way I am. If I scare people, it gives me room.

- BA and Amy, "Mexican Slayride"

Chapter 9: Christmas Angel

The climb up the yellow staircase to the Museum's offices was a short one from Yesterday's Main Street. For anyone not paying attention, it was easy to miss the entryway that led to the offices, since it was literally off the beaten track. It was situated in between the main floor and the second floor, where one wouldn't expect to find a doorway. In fact, while most of the entrances opened up toward the direction of the grand rotunda on the various levels, this one didn't.

Mrs. Baracus opened the glass door that led to the series of offices inside, and held it open for the two men before she followed them. Once they were inside, she allowed the glass door to close and shuffled over to an oak door with a glass window. Gold letters that were painted on the window practically glistened as it read, "Spencer Jackson, Director of Exhibits and Security." She pulled out her keys and unlocked the door, ushering Scooter and Hannibal inside. "Who do you need to call, baby?" she wondered as she closed the oak door behind her.

"There's a little girl at the center I help out at. She's got the lead part in a holiday show they're puttin' on to raise money, and she'll get real nervous if I don't talk to her," BA admitted with a soft smile. He locked eyes with Hannibal for a moment, neither one of them having to utter a single word as the glance they exchanged confirmed the second reason why they were here in these offices.

Hannibal immediately took a moment to survey the office, noting with a small smile how much the décor reflected the woman who worked there. The desk, all of the shelves and cabinets were kept neat and tidy. If he had to guess, he probably wouldn't find a speck of dust on the highly polished oak furnishings. Numerous plants sat around the room, some bearing flowers, giving a comfortable and homey feeling to the place. A large poinsettia plant sat on the corner of her desk near the phone. A large cork bulletin board behind the desk was covered with various drawings that were etched with different colored crayons . . . probably gifts from the children that she spent so much of her time with. There was another door in the back of the room, this one affixed with a gold nameplate that bore the same wording as the glass door in the hallway. It was a pretty safe bet that this was Mrs. B's office, where she did her work as a secretary, and beyond that door was the private lair of her beau.

"You could use the phone on my desk," Mrs. Baracus offered, indicating the telephone neatly placed near the festive red holiday plant. She picked up the handset on it and was prepared to hand it to him.

"I don't know, Mama," BA said doubtfully, hoping that she'd believe him. The phone call was legitimate, but there was also something else . . . something more important that he had to do. And, if Hannibal's plan was going to work, he needed access to a certain area. "She'll probably get nervous if she hears you all talkin' in the background while I'm talkin' to her. I gotta make this in private."

Mrs. Baracus paused for a moment as she looked around the office. Her brown eyes spotted the door for Spencer's office as a thought suddenly filled her mind. It couldn't hurt anything, could it? After all, it was just a simple phone call and he was supposed to out at meetings for most of the day. "Why don't you use the phone in Spencer's office?" she suggested. "He probably won't be back for a while, and I don't think he'd mind. You can close the door behind you and get your privacy."

"Good idea. We'll wait out here for you, BA," Hannibal said brightly, realizing that this would give the Sergeant the opening they both were looking for. His eyes practically twinkled like the Christmas lights on the small four-foot tree that was located in the corner of the office. Turning to Adele, he gently put an arm around her shoulders as he suggested, "Mrs. B, tell me again how you started working here . . ."

Bosco Baracus stepped through the connecting door from his Mama's office into the office belonging to Spencer Jackson. He shut the door behind him and immediately took a look around. It was a spacious office, much more generous with floor space than his Mama's. Expensive oak paneling lined the walls, stretching from the ceiling to the floor. There weren't any windows, but numerous pictures of Chicago's magnificent skyline and the Museum of Science and Industry made up for the lack of them. Had this been any other time, he would have taken a few moments to admire the photos, but right now he had a job to do.

He continued to look around the office, and examined the oak desk. Papers were spread out on it, but it also contained a phone and a computer. If Face had been here, maybe he could have hacked into the computer and taken a glance to see what was on it . . . if there was anything incriminating that could help them with what they were trying to do. But, Face wasn't with him, so the muscular Sergeant still had to do what he needed to. He also didn't have a lot of time to do this before his Mama was going to start wondering what he was up to.

There were a couple of tall standing plants, along with a couple of tall black filing cabinets. He walked over to them and grabbed a hold of the silver handle. He gave it a tug, only to find out that the drawer didn't want to move.

Locked . . .

He moved back toward the desk and looked at the picture mounted on the wall behind the desk. The ornate gold frame of the picture served as an accent for the image, which showed Chicago's lakefront with the city itself in the background. He instantly recognized a few of the tall buildings in the sweeping picture, including the Sears Tower, the John Hancock building, the Amoco building, the red CNA building, and even the diamond-shaped Stone Container building.

His skilled fingers reached forward and fingered the edge of the frame, lifting it slightly away from the wall so he could look at the back of it. His dark brown eyes spotted it instantly . . . a small tear in the fabric that served as the backing for the picture.

He reached into the pocket of the green camouflage pants that he wore and pulled out a small box. Flipping the lid open, he spotted his creations . . . two very small listening devices. These tiny bugs were no bigger than the eraser on a pencil . . . much smaller than anything he had ever made before and were a challenge to create, but he found a lot of satisfaction in making them, especially considering the circumstances.

From what he recalled of Hannibal's plan, he knew that one needed to remain in this office at all times, while the Colonel wanted the other one to travel with Spencer. The first one would be easy since he had spotted that tear. He pulled out one of the two bugs and slipped it into the torn backing, confident that Spencer wouldn't find it there . . . unless he had a way to sweep his office for bugs and did so regularly.

One down, one to go. BA knew that planting the second bug was going to be the real challenge, especially with how Hannibal wanted this one to pretty much go with Spencer anywhere he went. What could he find around the office that Spencer might carry with him most of the time?

He glanced over at the expensive cuckoo clock hanging on the wall and took note of the time. He had been in Spencer's office for just under two minutes already. BA realized that if he didn't make the call soon, they'd start to wonder why he was taking so long.

The Sergeant moved over to the desk and lifted the handset from the cradle, and then punched in the phone number to the youth center from memory. As the phone began to ring, his thoughts drifted to the Challengers Club, Booker, Cynthia, and all of the kids. Whenever Hannibal didn't have him and the other guys helping a client, BA spent as much time as he could lending a hand around the center. He loved being around the kids, some of whom were former gang bangers trying to break free of the violence and drugs, and others were just homeless and had nowhere else to go.

"Hello?" the female voice answered.

A slight, almost shy smile crossed BA's lips when he heard the familiar voice answer the phone. He recognized the voice instantly as Cynthia Wilson . . . but if she was answering the phone, that meant that meant that her husband, Booker, was likely at yet another council meeting, trying to fight for last minute funding for the club to keep it afloat just in case they couldn't get enough donations. "Cynth . . . it's BA Baracus," the gruff mechanic spoke in a gentle voice.

"BA, I'm so glad that you called!" Cynthia said somewhat frantically. Her voice clearly indicated just how much she was on the verge of panic. "The holiday show is tonight, and Violet won't go on with you not here. She's the lead angel."

The shy smile faded and the face of Bosco Baracus contorted into a worried frown. He knew that the reason for Cynthia's panic was because the holiday event was the biggest show of the year, and brought in a lot of families, friends, and other supporters for the club in order to raise money to keep it going. The money that Booker got from the city wasn't nearly enough, and they were often scraping to try and get by and keep the center open for the kids. But, this time of year was always stressful for the Wilsons with not only running the center, but having to transform the place into a virtual theater complete with a stage, curtains, and holiday lights. One of the kids from the center had gotten into trouble, and he insisted that the guys help the kid out and also pitch in to set up for the show before they left for Chicago.

"Calm down, Cynth," BA said gently, but firmly. He didn't want her to totally panic, because if she did, then the kids would pick up on that and it would affect their performance for the show. It wasn't good to let the kids know just how bad off the club was sometimes when it came to money. They needed to have as much of a normal childhood as possible, knowing that there were people like Booker and Cynthia who would be there for them, no matter what it took. "I know how much this show means to ya, and raisin' money to keep the club goin'. Let me talk to her."

"Hold on, BA. Let me go get her," she said before setting down the phone.

Although he could hear the hustle and bustle in the background, with Cynthia going to get Violet, BA's attention returned to the office and trying to hide the last bug. He scanned the desk and spotted a couple of expensive ink pens. That'd be too obvious, and if he had to replace the ink cartridge, he'd easily find it. Besides, there was more than one to select from, so there was a good chance that Spencer could choose the one that wasn't bugged.

He crooked the phone between his ear and shoulder and searched the desk, keeping a close eye on the door. Although he knew that Hannibal could keep his Mama distracted, he still couldn't risk anyone walking in on him unaware. He just had to find something . . . anything that would work for the second bug and Spencer would likely keep with him most of the time.

"Hello?" the quavering voice of a little girl came through the phone, drawing BA's attention back to the conversation.

Violet was only six years old and had a face like a little angel with light brown curly hair . . . the curls weren't as tight as Shirley Temple, but it made her look that much more adorable. Her warm brown eyes captivated a person, and actually reminded the burly mechanic of Murdock's eyes. She was incredibly shy, and had never really been comfortable around anyone at the center and usually found her own quiet little corner to sit in and watch everything that was going on. She had immediately taken to BA Baracus, though, and her quiet shy persona had just seemed to melt away like ice on a day above freezing whenever he was around her. He had even been able to convince her to take part in the Christmas pageant the Challenger's Club was putting on. Another small smile crossed his face as he remembered watching her audition for the part of the lead angel in the production. When she first got on stage, she completely froze up . . . until her eyes caught his and he had nodded in encouragement to her. Just that small gesture was enough to bring her out of her shell, allowing her personality to shine through and help win her the coveted role. Now, with the show just hours away, she sounded close to tears.

"Hey, Violet," BA answered, his voice taking on the soft and gentle tone that he always used with her and other small children. In spite of his gruff and intimidating appearance, he was like a big teddy bear when it came to little kids. They just had a way of wrapping themselves around his heart, especially little Violet. "What's wrong, little Mama?"

"I'm scared, BA. I don't wanna be an angel if you're not here," her tiny little voice sobbed into the phone. Even though thousands of miles separated them, BA could almost see her brown eyes fill with tears and her little lower lip start to tremble. It just broke his heart to hear that, and he really wanted to be there for her, but he couldn't when he was so far away and needed to be here for his Mama.

As he listened, BA opened the drawers on the desk, one at a time, sifting through them to try and find something that could be used to hide the second bug that Spencer would likely carry with him most of the time. Just some more pens, a couple of loose papers . . . nothing that could be used to hide a bug and he'd definitely carry with him. Drawing in a breath, he returned his attention to the little girl on the other end of the phone and gently suggested, "It'll be okay, little Mama. Your mommy and daddy will be out there watchin' ya. Don't you wanna do it for them?"

"Yes," Violet answered in a very meek voice as her sobs began to dissolve into an occasional hiccup. No matter how upset she was, his voice always seemed to help calm her down. It was starting to work . . . but only just starting.

BA closed the last drawer, trying not to get frustrated, much less allowing that frustration to seep through over the phone. He didn't need Violet to hear that within his tone, especially since it could undo the progress he had just made with her in trying to ease her fears. Children were usually very perceptive, and she'd easily be able to pick up if there was anything wrong. Besides, he was able to hear a change within her voice, which meant that he was getting somewhere with her. "Don't worry, baby. I talked to Cynthia before I came to visit my Mama, and she's gonna videotape it so I can watch when I get back. We can watch it together. Would you like that?"

The last of the sobs faded away, and the young girl's voice started to regain some of the sparkle that had endeared her so much to the large man's heart. "Yeah . . . I'd really like that, BA," she told him. "You really gonna watch it with me?"

"Soon as I get back from Chicago," he told her gently as a small smile appeared upon his lips again. In a way, he couldn't help it. When Violet smiled, it was an infectious smile to where he couldn't help but to smile with her. Heck, it seemed like the whole world smiled when she did . . . that was just how cute she was when she did so. He absent-mindedly started to finger the gold chains around his neck before he remembered, "Violet, do you remember the chain with the teddy bear on it I gave you?"

"Yes. I've got it . . . I've been keeping it safe, just like you told me to," Violet told him, a bit of determination within the tone of her voice. One thing about the little girl that appealed to the Sergeant . . . when she set her mind to something, she didn't give up easily, much like the rest of the A-Team.

"You hold on tight to that while you're up on that stage, as the angel, and it'll be like I'm right there with you, okay?" BA suggested, trying to further reassure the young girl. He wasn't sure if it would work, but it sure sounded pretty good to him if he had been in her shoes.

"Okay," Violet responded, her voice brimming with confidence thanks to the master mechanic.

BA glanced at the time on the cuckoo clock on the wall and noted how many minutes had passed since he had entered the office. He hated to end the call with Violet, but if he didn't get moving, he wasn't going to find a place to plant that second bug before his Mama came to check on him. The last thing he needed was for her to walk in while he was planting the second bug. "Violet, I gotta go now, little Mama. You gonna be okay?" he wondered, trying to be sure.

"Yes. BA, will you be coming back soon?" she asked in an almost pleading voice that showed just how much she missed the big, burly mechanic.

Hearing that question wrenched at the big Sergeant's gentle heart. She sure had him practically wrapped around her finger, although he didn't mind with how cute she was. "As soon as I'm done seein' my Mama, I'll be back. I'll be thinkin' about you. You listen to Cynthia and Booker, okay?" he told her gently.

"Alright. Good bye, BA. I miss you," Violet said before hanging up the phone.

Once the line went dead, BA returned the handset to the base of the telephone. He paused for a moment and allowed the smile on his face to linger a bit before the smile faded into his usual scowl. He still had one more bug to plant, and not a lot of time to do it. His trained eyes fell upon the black high-back leather executive chair behind the desk and the suit jacket that was draped over it.

He moved closer and examined the jacket, spotting a name badge attached to the pocket with a clip just large enough to hide the miniature listening device. If he was going around the Museum, he'd obviously have it with him . . . or would he? Mama did mention that he was at meetings, yet he left the jacket here with the name badge. It wasn't guaranteed to follow him around everywhere, but it was the closest they were going to find without sewing it into his clothes or finding a way to have him swallow it.

His fingers moved surely and quickly as he slipped the bug into the clip, making sure that it was both hidden and secure. The last thing they'd need was for the bug to fall off and be left behind somewhere, or to be discovered. That'd ruin the plan in a major way, and could ultimately give Spencer something to use against them. The last thing they needed, right now, was to have this jerk turn his Mama against them.

No sooner had he finished securing the clip and smoothed the jacket out to make it look like it hadn't been disturbed, he recognized a new muffled voice, intermixing with his Mama's and Hannibal's, through the oak door from the outside office . . . Spencer Jackson.