If this another one of your piece of cake jobs that's supposed to go down 1, 2, 3, but remember, there's always 4, 5, and 6.

- BA, "There Goes the Neighborhood"

Chapter 13: Late Night Visit

The night was cold . . . so cold that it seemed like hell itself had frozen over, twice. The lack of a cloud cover allowed the stars in the night sky to shine through, but it also allowed what little warmth from the daytime heating to radiate away into the atmosphere. An icy wind picked up the newly fallen snow, creating miniature whirlwinds that glistened under the light of the full moon and beat at the backs of the four men huddled in the nearly non-existent shelter of the back door to the Museum of Science and Industry.

HM Murdock shivered as a gust of wind found its way through his parka and the layers of his clothing, and down his back. "H-h-hurry up, Faceman, " the Texan pleaded, his teeth chattering like a chipmunk. He hopped from one foot to another as he looked impatiently at the con man, who was kneeling next to the large copper door.

Face looked up irritably, his body visibly shaking from just how cold it was. He'd more than welcome a return to the warmth of sunny California. Just the thought of women in bikinis frolicking in the surf and sand caused a bit of warmth to spread throughout his body . . . but just a bit. It wasn't nearly enough, though. "Do you know how hard it is to pick a lock in the dark when it's so cold that your hands are completely numb?" he snapped.

"Should've worn the gloves, Face," BA giggled. For the burly Sergeant, the cold didn't bother him at all. He had grown up with weather like this, and Chicago winters were sometimes like feast or famine. One year could be pretty decent with not a lot of snow or sub-zero temperatures, but another year could test the patience of any die hard winter aficionado. He had regularly called his Mama to check on her during the blizzard of 1979-1980, when the snow was so high that it literally reached up to the gutters on some garages and kept people snowed into their homes for several days. For him, this was normal weather.

Face let out a sigh and could literally see his breath crystallize in front of his nose the moment he exhaled. It was weird seeing the puff of white waft up into the air in front of him, but served as yet another reminder why he hated just how cold it was. "BA, lock picking is an art that takes an incredible amount of finesse and dexterity. You can't pick a lock when your hands are encumbered by mitts as thick as boxing gloves!" he shot back, trying to keep his teeth from chattering as he raised his voice a bit louder than he realized that he should have. He wasn't angry at the Sergeant, but more this infernal cold weather which he was far from accustom to.

Colonel John Hannibal Smith stood watch a few feet away from the others, fully exposed to the wind, yet he showed no signs of being cold. His ice blue eyes glanced over the Jackson Park Lagoon directly south of their location, which reflected the blackness of the night. Patches of snow and ice floated peacefully on the surface, the glistening white contrasting with the darkness that surrounded them. He hadn't noticed this place here behind the Museum when the first time they were here, but he probably figured that it had to be a majestic sight when daylight sparkled upon the water. His attention was drawn back to his men as he heard the bickering. "Quiet," he hissed, "unless you want the whole CPD swarming us before we can even figure out what's going down tomorrow."

A moment later, a soft click could be heard as Face bore a satisfied look upon his face. He pulled the lockpick out from the door, stood, and then unconsciously using his ungloved hands to brush the snow from his pants. "All clear . . . no alarm," he whispered softly as he took a step back and glanced at Hannibal. "Pretty lax security for a museum."

"Good thing for us," Hannibal noted, shrugging his shoulders slightly before taking a step toward the door. He pulled it open slowly, hoping that it wouldn't creak or make any noises when the massive door swung open, and then peeked his head inside before slightly closing the large copper door again. Turning to the others, he ordered, "Let's get out of this cold. BA, you take point. Face, take the rear."

BA nodded and moved around Hannibal in order to take the lead. He fully understood why the Colonel chose him to take point in this. Among all of the members of the A-Team, he was the only one who knew the Museum well enough to be able to lead them to their destination, even with diminished lighting. The others had only been there with him and his mother during the daytime, when there was a lot more light.

Slowly, he opened the door and slipped inside, his dark eyes cautiously searching for any signs of Museum security that could be lurking within the darkness. Thankfully, there were none, and he swiftly moved off to the east side of the stairs, pressing his back against the chrome wall. He waived to the others, letting them know that it was safe to follow.

He watched as Hannibal followed, and then Murdock, joining him along the wall that led up the stairs. Face was last, but he meticulously took the time to close and use his lockpicks to lock the door behind them. The burly Sergeant thought that was a waste of time, but he understood the reasoning behind why the con artist did that. If a security guard did a sweep of this area and the door blew open due to the winds outside, they could sound the alarm before any of them had a chance to react.

Once Face had joined them along the chrome wall for the stairway, the Ordinance Officer noticed the Supply Officer give a slight nod to the Colonel, signaling his readiness for them to move out. BA then saw Hannibal turn and nodded to him, which was his cue. Keeping his jacket closed, he didn't have to worry so much about the sound of his gold rattling around and attracting attention. He eased his way up the stairs until he was nearly at the top, and carefully raised his head to peer through the darkened Museum.

Still no guards . . .

Maybe Face was right about security being lax. He never would have imagined it, especially considering some of the exhibits that were housed inside and the price some of the items would fetch. But, if they ever needed a stroke of good luck where they could get in, do what they needed to, and get back out, now was the time.

The master mechanic glanced back to the others and then waved to them, indicating that it was safe to follow. He stealthily moved from the top of the stairs to the massive engine that lowered the elevator car for the Coal Mine. Crouching down onto a knee, he huddled against the railing and within the shadow of the tall structure to give the others a chance to catch up.

Once they had joined him by the railing next to the Coal Mine, BA got up and swiftly moved around the Coal Mine toward the Yesterday's Main Street exhibit. He could have gone around the back end of the Coal Mine, by where the elevator car itself ascended and descended, but the extra cover that it would have provided also would have required an extra about a minute or two just to get around it. With no way of knowing when or if the guards were going to show up, they needed to get to the offices swiftly, and that meant taking the most direct route possible.

The Sergeant paused again, dropping down to one knee by the fake storefront that represented the Walgreens Drug Company. During the day, the doors to this mock up was open and people could don feather boas, hats, and other costume items that matched the period and have their pictures taken by a professional photographer. In a way, he was glad that Murdock hadn't seen that when they were going around the Museum a few days prior, or he likely would have adopted a persona like the famous gangster Al Capone, or Elliot Ness, the law officer that pursued Capone, and driven them all crazy for the rest of the trip.

Looking back to the others, he watched them come up and take position behind him. His dark brown eyes met Hannibal's crystal blue eyes for a moment, and then the Ordinance Officer pointed toward the yellow staircase. He could see it clearly from there, but he wanted to provide a bit of assurance that it wasn't too much further to the offices. He saw his Commanding Officer nod in return, an indication that he fully understood where they needed to go.

Again, he looked around cautiously, trying to see if he could spot any guards, and thankfully there were none. So far, their luck was holding up for them . . . but for how long? How long was it going to be until they were discovered? He knew that they'd have to be extra careful, since there was no way of knowing when they might stumble onto one of the guards roaming around.

Getting up again, he silently made his way over to the yellow staircase. The lights that provided strong illumination during the day had been dimmed, but it wasn't totally dark. It was just enough to allow them to see, but reduced the chances of their being spotted provided they stayed out of sight . . . and with taking the point, that was exactly what he intended to do . . . to keep them out of sight for as long as possible. He stayed low as he began to climb the staircase, keeping against the wall as much as possible.

Within a few moments, they had ascended the stairs to the doorway that led to the offices. Hannibal moved around in front of his Ordinance Officer and put gloved hands on the handle of the glass door. He gave it a very gentle tug and surprisingly found that the door was actually unlocked, which was a clear indication that someone was doing some late night work in the Museum. He glanced to the others and then whispered, "BA, stand watch. Signal us if anyone approaches. Face, Murdock, let's see what we can find."

The Sergeant nodded, his features barely visible within the dim light. He instinctively moved to a place where he could clearly see the hallway outside the offices, along with the yellow staircase, which meant that he would easily be able to see anyone approaching well before they got close enough to risk their search. He just hoped that Hannibal and the others could find something within those offices that could help protect his Mama.

Face unzipped his jacket and pulled out his set of lockpicks again. He chose a slender, black pick and knelt down next to the lock for the door that belonged to Mrs. B, and by extension Spencer Jackson. His fingers, now much warmer, deftly inserted the object into the door and he began to maneuver it around a bit. Within seconds, he was rewarded with a soft click and he eased the door open.

Quietly, Hannibal, Face, and Murdock slipped into the office belonging to Mrs. B. Nothing had to be said as all three men go to work. They all knew what was at stake, and were determined to find something . . . anything . . . that could give them a better idea of what Spencer Jackson was up to so they could stop him.

Templeton Peck immediately moved over to the filing cabinets. He opened each drawer, one by one, flipping through the various files inside. His blue eyes appraised how neat and orderly the files were, which really stood as a testament on how detail oriented Mrs. B was. He hyper-extended the drawers, checking behind it to see if there were any hidden areas, and then looked under them just in case there was something taped underneath. He kept going through the drawers like that, one by one, hoping he could find something . . .

HM Murdock was standing by a bookshelf, examining everything placed on here. He meticulously pulled out the books, one at a time, and flipped through the pages to see if something had been hidden in them . . . even a small piece of paper carefully stuffed inside. He had also heard about fake books, that actually hid a small safe in there to secure valuables. In his search of the bookshelf, he also moved items around, trying to see if maybe something could have been hidden behind the books, or around the hand-crafted and ornate figurines that adorned some of spaces that would have been otherwise empty. His creative mind was working overtime, thinking about some of the classic TV shows and movies where one moved an object, or pulled a book out, and it activated a secret switch that led to a fake room or something of that nature. Not that he expected to find that here, but with how amazing this Museum was during the day, he couldn't totally rule it out. This place was full of surprises . . .

John Smith quickly got to work around the desk. He examined the chair first to make sure nothing was hidden in or under it, or under the small rug that the chair sat on. Satisfied that there was nothing there, he then started pulling out the drawers and going through the papers and other items inside, even removing the trays to see if anything could have been hidden under there as well. He even went so far as to remove the drawers, checking for false backs, secret panels, or if anything could have been taped up or hidden from plain sight. He knew that, whatever it was that Spencer Jackson had hidden in her office, it had to have been in a place where Mrs. B wouldn't see it during her normal everyday duties.

He replaced the drawers, and straightened the desk to make it look like it hadn't just been thoroughly searched. The last thing they needed was for someone to walk in, see something out of place, and raise the alarm that there were intruders in the building. Once he had done that, he started to examine the painting on the wall behind the desk. He recognized it immediately as an image from Grant Park as it looked beyond a gorgeous field of flowers . . . one of the many colorful and beautiful flowerbeds in the park during the summer . . . north toward the Amoco building, Prudential Plaza, and Stone Container building. He even recognized the steps that led up from Lake Shore Drive to Buckingham Fountain. His gloved fingers pulled the painting slightly away from the wall as he looked at the back of it, only to see nothing there that would constitute a clue.

He glanced over to Face and Murdock to observe their progress, and saw that they were also still searching, but obviously hadn't had any luck yet. After hearing that recorded conversation, he was absolutely certain that there was something here that could help them figure out what was going on . . . but where was it?

Hannibal was about to examine the paneling on the wall when he heard a low-pitched whistle from outside the office. He froze for a moment and looked at the other two men. It was clearly obvious that they had heard it too.

BA . . .

Someone was coming . . .

With the set up of the office area, they all knew that it'd be impossible to sneak out of there before whoever it was that was approaching would be practically on top of the door. They only had a matter of seconds to find a hiding spot, and then just pray that they wouldn't be discovered. The Colonel watched as Murdock put a book back on the shelf, and Face closed a filing cabinet drawer, and the two men scramble to try and locate some place that would conceal them.

He didn't have time to make sure that they got out of sight, as he chose to duck down under the desk belonging to Mrs. B. He could already hear the voices echoing from down the hallway as he pressed himself into the opening where she normally rested her feet. He was thankful that the desk was a solid design, and didn't have legs that elevated it or allowed a view underneath, or their whole plan would be blown.

Reaching forward, he grabbed a hold of Mrs. B's chair and pulled it toward him, hoping that the leather-baked seat would further conceal him from view. He pulled his hands back in as he heard the voices stop outside of the door to the office. A key scraped in the lock, followed by the sound of footsteps. A moment later, the room was suddenly flooded with light as someone flipped the light switch. The presence of light caused the strategist to crouch further into the shadows beneath the desk, not even daring to breathe.

"Scarlotti's no dummy," a voice that Hannibal recognized spoke. Spencer Jackson. The white-haired leader froze as he saw the Head of Security round the desk and come into sight, and turned to look out over the desk. "We won't see hide nor hair of him until after the demonstration tomorrow, if then."

Hearing that bit of information was troubling to the West Point trained strategist. Could Face's information have been wrong . . . or at least a little old? Was there a chance that Scarlotti could have left Italy and flown to the States to personally acquire whatever it was that they were going to be demonstrating?

His cold blue eyes watched as he saw Spencer turn around and walk to the wall behind the desk . . . the very wall that he had been about to examine before the Director of Exhibits and Security decided to make an appearance. "Now, where is that latch? I always forget. Ah . . . here it is," Mrs. B's beau muttered.

A soft click almost seemed to echo through the quiet office, and from his perspective under the desk, Hannibal could see a panel open up in the wall. Sooooo . . . there was a spot within Mrs. B's office to hide stuff in after all, and she didn't even have a clue. He had to fight hard to stifle a grin that threatened to spread across his face as he could just imagine her reaction once she found out about what they were learning. She had once said that BA got his fighting spirit from her and, frankly, he could totally believe it. Refocusing his attention on his present situation, he tried to shift his position in order to get a better view of what was being pulled out of the concealed vault. The angle was wrong, giving him a view only of the back of Spencer's legs and part of his back. His body hid whatever it was that he removed from the opening.

"Kramer should be here any minute now. Is everything ready?" Spencer asked as he moved closer to the desk again.

Hearing the new name caused Hannibal's eyebrows to rise out of curiosity. Who was this Kramer, and what was going on that they had to meet well after visiting hours? He was itching for action, and had to remind himself that the whole reason why they were there was to learn information, not go off half-cocked and threaten anyone until they learned more. If they couldn't catch Spencer red handed, it could jeopardize Mrs. B's job.

"I sent Baker and Thompson to the school group door to let him in when he arrives," a second voice responded. The name of this man hadn't been revealed, but if Hannibal could fathom a guess, it was probably one of the guards assigned to the night shift at the Museum. And since Spencer was Director of Exhibits and Security, it'd make perfect sense that the guards would follow his every order. "Everything else is in place for the exchange."

"Good. We need to finalize our plans for tomorrow's demonstration," Spencer noted grimly as he moved around from behind the desk. The sound of his footfalls was a clear indication that he was getting closer to the door, and the second man was joining him. "I'm going to take this down to the basement. Let me know the minute Kramer arrives."

"Yes, sir," the second voice responded.

A second later, the room was plunged into darkness as the light was switched off. Hannibal blinked his eyes to help them adjust to the change in illumination, and heard the door to the office close. He waited until the sound of the voices, as they faded down the hall, fell silent for several moments before pushing the chair aside and crawling out from behind Mrs. B's desk.

As he emerged, he could see Face and Murdock also coming out from their hiding spots. Based on the grim expressions on their faces, it was obvious that they had overheard the conversation as well and likely had the same concerns he had. A slight tapping sound on the door to the office drew their attention. Murdock immediately recognized the silhouette on the other side of the door, and quickly went over to open it for the menacing figure of BA Baracus.

"What's the plan, Hannibal?" the muscular sergeant asked simply. He watched as the eyes of his men settled upon him expectantly.

Hannibal could tell, even from BA's expression, that he had overheard some, if not all of the conversation within his mother's office. The problem was that their search had turned up nothing so far, and while they had a new name to consider, they were still no closer to piecing the puzzle together than they were when they first started the search. He had a choice to make, although it wasn't a very clear one at that. They could stay and finish their search of the office, which might not turn up anything, or they could follow Spencer and hopefully discover what he was up to. Or, they could split up . . .

As much as he hated splitting them up, it seemed more likely that they were going to accomplish a lot more that way. It was a major risk, but he relished in the risks that they had to take. It gave him the edge he needed to survive, and to also keep the others alive.

"Our friend, Spencer, is taking something down to the basement to meet up with someone named Kramer and go over the plans for their demonstration tomorrow. We need to find out what it is that he's going to be demonstrating and, more importantly, what he plans to do with it," Hannibal said thoughtfully, recapping the situation in case BA had missed any of what Spencer had said. He turned to his Lieutenant, deciding to draw upon his strengths for this. "Face, I want you to stay and finish the searches of these two offices. If we're not back by the time you're through, take whatever you can find and head for Mrs. B's apartment. We'll try to meet up with you there." The Colonel saw a nod of understanding from the con man, and then turned to the Sergeant and the Captain. "BA, Murdock, we're going to figure out one and for all what's going on around here . . ."