When you live on the edge, you learn to make fast evaluations. Your life depends on it.

- Hannibal, "Bad Day at Black Rock"

Chapter 14: Interrupted Plans

The basement of the Museum was huge, as large as the entire footprint of the building itself along with the different arms that branched out from the main heart of the structure. Boxes and crates lined the room, preserving some of the items that had previously comprised the exhibits on the main floors. A few items had not been packed away into crates, including what looked like a huge washing machine that had been filled with water, and women had swam around inside of it to show how it worked.

Chains and hooks hung from tracks that stretched along the ceiling and led toward a very large freight elevator. It was a complex system and likely served as an easy way for the staff to move the crates around, and even move pieces to and from the elevator for display in the Museum itself.

The whole basement was dimly lit, like the rest of the Museum. A single light bulb shone brightly over a table that bore a map and a set of blueprints across the surface. A couple of chairs were set up around the table, with Spencer Jackson sitting in one of them. He seemed to be carefully scrutinizing the map as he patiently waited for his visitor to arrive.

Hannibal, BA, and Murdock peered out from their hiding spot behind some crates in the shadows. With the open layout of the basement, this was the only place that Colonel could find for them to observe whatever was going to take place at that table without being out in the open. It provided the perfect vantage point to see and hear what was about to go down.

The silver-white haired leader turned slightly as he heard footsteps descend the open metal stairway behind them. He crouched down even further into the protection of the darkness around them as his ice blue eyes observed four men making their way down the staircase that he and the other members of the A-Team had descended a few moments ago. Three of them were guards, based on their grey uniforms and dark ties. The fourth person was immediately unsettling to the Colonel, just as Spencer Jackson instinctively was the moment that they had first laid eyes upon him.

He watched as the group made their way around the various crates and to the table where Spencer was. He rose as the group approached him, and seemed to ignore the guards, focusing his attention on the man that accompanied them. He extended his right hand in anticipation of his guest greeting him with a handshake.

"Kramer," Spencer said, giving a crocodile smile filled with false cheeriness. I'm glad you could make it."

The person identified as Kramer looked steadily at Spencer and ignored his efforts to shake his hand, making it obvious that he just wanted to get down to business. He was a short and skinny Caucasian man, with mousy brown hair. His face wasn't very handsome, but it was far from ugly. He just looked . . . ordinary, like the sort of man that one would overlook in a crowd. He could blend in and disappear with relative ease, which likely served as his calling card. There was nothing to suggest that he was anything other than a businessman heading home from work, right down to the conservative and tailored black suit and red tie that he wore.

However, there was a sharp alertness to the stranger that was readily apparent to the three members of the A-Team that observed the interaction. It was obvious that Kramer was not a man to fool around with, which meant that they'd have to be on their guard.

"Hired killer," Hannibal muttered under his breath as he looked to BA and Murdock. They each gave him a slight, almost imperceptible nod as they agreed with the Colonel's immediate assessment of Spencer's guest.

"What have you got for me?" Kramer asked evenly as he saw Spencer lower his hand once he realized that he had no intention on shaking it. It showed just how much Kramer trusted the man that was hiring him, which obviously wasn't very much at all Even Kramer's voice was ordinary and unremarkable . . . definitely not a baritone, but not quite a tenor either in pitch. There was a hard edge to it that made Hannibal's ice blue eyes narrow. The more he observed Kramer, the more he did not like this man.

It soon became clear that Spencer Jackson apparently felt the same way. Kramer's dark eyes practically bore into the man like a drill through bedrock, causing him to squirm under the assassin's gaze. He turned his back on the disturbing little man and moved over to the table. "Yes, well, we wanted to make sure that everything was set up for tomorrow." Spencer started to mention. He pulled the map over top of the blueprint and mentioned, "This is the skating rink where the ceremony will take place."

Kramer followed him over and examined the map as their voices dropped to a quiet murmur. Apparently, neither one wanted any of the guards in the basement to overhear the plans that were being discussed, even though they were clearly loyal the Museum's Director of Security. Spencer pointed out various vantage points around the rink, and Kramer said very little, grunting a bit every now and again and then interjecting with a question or a comment, which led to something else that Spencer pointed out on the map. This continued for a bit until Spencer stepped back, reached under the table, and pulled out a brown, leather briefcase. He placed it on top of the table, in a spot that wasn't covered with the map or blueprints, and opened it.

Hannibal lifted his head slightly and could see that it was filled with money . . . lots and lots of money. The bills were stacked in neat bundles, with paper bands that bank tellers often used wrapped around the center of each stack.

"One hundred thousand now, as we agreed upon," Spencer announced. There was a slight tremble to his tone of voice, almost as if he was a bit nervous about something, as he watched Kramer reach into the briefcase and grab one of the bundles of money. He flipped through it, almost like flipping through the pages of a paperback book, and then put it back into the briefcase. He repeated the process with a second stack, almost as if trying to make sure that the money was all there and it was legitimate . . . that he wasn't being cheated. Kramer then closed the lid to the briefcase and snapped it shut as Spencer continued, "You'll get the rest of the money after the job is done."

Kramer pulled the briefcase off the table and set it next to his right leg before looking at Spencer once more. "Where is the weapon?"

Spencer reached under the table once more and removed a larger, silver clam-shell case from the shadows. He put it on the table, where the briefcase had been a moment ago. He pressed a button on the two locks and then lifted the lid . . .

And then Kramer moved around in such a way to block the view of the A-Team members from seeing what was inside the case. Hannibal maneuvered himself further into an opening between a couple of crates in an effort to try and get a good look at what was in the case. They needed to know what kind of weapon they were dealing with, and he needed to look at the blueprints as well. Something was going down, and they were still a long way from knowing what it was.

All three men were so focused on what was going on at the table that they forgot to monitor the movements of the guards. One of the three guards, who had the last name of Baker, thought he saw movement within the shadows. He tapped on the arm of Thompson his supervisor, Richardson, and pointed in that direction so they would know what was going on. He then withdrew the gun from the holster and slowly circled back around to try and investigate what he had seen.

Moving silently, Baker crept up behind the three men hiding behind the boxes. His heart thumped in his chest, not out of fear, but excitement that in all of this time he managed to finally catch some intruders and this could finally earn him a promotion that he had craved. He raised his gun and aimed it at them before shouting, "Freeze!"

Chaos erupted!

BA, who was closest to the guard, whipped around with more speed than it looked like the burly Sergeant was capable of. He grabbed the hand holding the gun and thrust it up in the air just as the guard pulled the trigger. Gunshots rang out, echoing throughout the expansive basement.

The other two guards in the basement were instantly startled by the sound of the gunshots. They both fumbled to draw their revolvers and started running over in the direction where they had heard the gun go off. It was hard to see in the darkened Museum, which was going to make it that much harder. Neither Thompson or Richardson figured that Baker would have found anything since there had never been a break in at the Museum before, which is why this situation was so alarming.

Spotting the two other guards move in, Murdock instinctively took action. He climbed up on a pile of crates with the gracefulness of a cat and glanced over to the table where Spencer and Kramer were. They both had looked in the direction of the gunshot, and hurriedly started to pack up the two cases. He barely managed to get a look into the one case with the weapon and saw what was inside before the case was closed up. Returning his attention to the approaching guards and launched himself at them, flying through the air until he landed on top of both of the guards.

A tangled mass of bodies hit the ground as a result of Murdock's actions. The lanky Texan scrambled to his feet and pulled up one of the two guards, who was already staggering in shock, by the front of his shirt. He landed a solid punch to his jaw that further stunned his opponent.

Hannibal rushed over and picked up the second guard that Murdock had tackled. Balling his right hand into a fist, he delivered a hard right hook that sent the guard staggering backward. A follow through with a strong left hook, and the guard crumpled to the floor. The silver-white haired leader then looked over to BA, who had just delivered a solid punch of his own and rendered the guard he was dealing with unconscious.

As soon as the guard fell, he immediately looked back over to where Spencer and Kramer had been. His blue eyes watched them as they hurriedly packed up the cases and grab for the papers in order to make an attempt to escape. It was clear that they hadn't expected to have had their late night plans interrupted, but now that they were, they obviously didn't want to get caught. "BA, Murdock, get those cases," he shouted to his men. "Don't let him get away!"

BA looked up from the guard he had just knocked unconscious. His dark eyes flashed with anger as he saw the assassin close up the briefcase with money and the silver clamshell case that contained the weapon and began to flee toward the open staircase. That was the same staircase that they had descended down to sneak into the basement and spy on the proceedings. He jumped over the body of the unconscious guard and ran after him.

Murdock looked up and saw BA starting to run after Kramer. He threw one last punch at the guard he was fighting, sending the man spiraling into the depths of unconsciousness. Releasing the man's shirt, he allowed him to fall to the ground before darting off after the big Sergeant. The Texan knew that the stakes were high, and they couldn't afford to allow the hired killer escape.

Pausing only long enough to see his men run after the hired killer, Hannibal jumped over a couple of boxes and raced toward Spencer, who was still trying to stuff the maps, blueprints, and papers into a third briefcase that he had hastily pulled out from under the table. He climbed on top of another box and jumped . . .

Spencer Jackson looked up just in time, from trying to put the papers in the briefcase, to see the Colonel flying through the air directly at him. He barely had time to react. Rather than moving, he vainly tried to draw the gun that he had tucked into the back of his waistband. The force and momentum of Hannibal's jump when he hit him sent both men sprawling to the floor. The Director of Exhibits and Security lost his grip on the gun, which skittered across the basement floor.

Spencer yelped in alarm before rolling on the floor, trying to gain dominance in this fight. He struggled under the gloved grip of the silver-white haired leader until he finally managed to briefly get the A-Team's leader off of him. Springing to his feet, he lunged at Hannibal, who had also just managed to stand up as well. A well placed punch threatened to connect with the Colonel's jaw, but Hannibal was a bit too fast for him. He ducked and drove his fist squarely into Spencer's midsection. As Mrs. B's beau doubled over in pain, Hannibal grabbed his collar and forced the African American's face to connect hard with his knee, causing him to fall to the concrete floor, stunned.

Hannibal acted quickly in order to take advantage of the current situation. He raced over to the table and grabbed the blueprints and the map laying on top of the stack of papers in the still open briefcase. His head whipped around as he heard shouts from the stairway. More guards . . .

If they were coming down the stairs, then he had only one route that would take him back to the main floor, and ultimately to the other members of the Team . . . the freight elevator that he had seen earlier. Securing his grip on the papers within his black, leather gloved hand, he ran toward the doors for the elevator. Upon reaching it, he jammed the up button and then looked back at the stairway. The guards had made their way down the stairs, which meant that they'd be at Spencer's side within seconds. It wouldn't take them long to figure out what was going on, especially if he regained coherency.

Luck was clearly on the Colonel's side as the doors to the elevator opened almost immediately. The ding from the elevator car echoed loud through the basement, causing him to wince. Although the guards were tending to their boss, he knew that the sound would not only alert them to his presence . . . which they had thankfully ignored to that point . . . and cause them to start chasing after him. Moving quickly, he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the main level of the Museum, and then pressed the closed button. Right as the doors began to slide shut, he watched the guards leave Spencer's side and start to run toward the elevator to try and stop him.

He couldn't resist it. The Jazz was flowing wildly through his veins and he loved every second of this plan so far. His crystal blue eyes twinkled with merriment, and a huge thousand megawatt smile spread across his face as he gave the approaching guards a small wave. The doors to the elevator slid shut seconds before they could reach him, leaving him safely alone within the elevator car. Games of cat and mouse like this excited him, and it was always fun to see just how long he and the rest of the A-Team could hold out before making their big escape. He folded up the blueprint, maps, and papers with his gloved hands and then stuck it into his jacket pocket. Bouncing impatiently on the balls of his feet, he waited as the elevator slowly ascended from the basement . . .

At the top of the stairs leading from the basement, Murdock finally caught up with BA. He immediately recognized this area as being on the lower level of the Museum, not too far away from the cafeteria. In fact, they were right by the huge Paul Bunyan house, which took up a large part of the area in the middle of the lower level. The house itself looked like a large log cabin . . . well, large was hardly the word for it. Everything about it was gigantic . . . the windows, the doorway, and the face of Paul himself that seemed to peek out from inside the cabin.

"C'mon, foo'! He's gettin' away!" BA called out after the pilot as he continued to run after Kramer. He wasn't sure how the assassin was able to keep a few steps ahead of him, especially with carrying the two cases, but he managed to do so. Still, the master mechanic wasn't about to give up. Hannibal wanted them to intercept the hired killer and those cases, and hopefully put a permanent wrench in Spencer's plans.

Murdock's long strides as he ran helped him to quickly catch up with the Sergeant. They were about to round the corner by the blue staircase. "He's heading for the Circus," Murdock mentioned, his Texan drawl thick with concern. He remembered that area of the Museum from earlier. It was the third space that included some kind of a movie screen . . . only this one showed a regular film of a trapeze act, and in dramatic fashion. If Kramer managed to get to that section, they'd lose him for sure.

They didn't manage to get too far before they ran into three more guards. They were running for the staircase that led to the basement after hearing the gunshot a few moments ago, and were taken by surprise to see two intruders within the Museum. They stopped short, stunned momentarily, before rushing toward the trespassers.

BA was the first to react, immediately letting out a low, threatening growl as he advanced on one of the guards. The man he was squaring off with was on the larger side, a bit taller than the electronics expert was, but with almost as much muscle mass. The Sergeant landed a solid punch on the guard, who barely looked like he was fazed by the hit, before landing one of his own on the Ordinance Officer.

Murdock focused his attention on another guard and ran toward him, practically tackling the man. He didn't quite knock him down, but he could tell that the guard was stunned by the sudden onslaught. Unfortunately, the Texan didn't have much time . . . every second he spent dealing with this one guard meant that Kramer was going to get away. He delivered a couple of quick jabs to the guard's face, which caused him to fall to the floor, unconscious. Glancing over to BA for a moment, he could see that the big guy had his hands full.

His spotted Kramer heading into the Circus exhibit . . . but the other guard that had run into them was running for a panel on the wall. His warm brown eyes widened as he realized what the third guard was trying to do. A Museum such as this had to have had an alarm, and that guard was running straight for one the panels that would allow him to activate it! If he did that, then all hell was going to break loose and their element of surprise would be totally and completely gone! If it was hooked up to the police department, they'd descend on the Museum like a wet blanket and unless Hannibal could come up with a brilliant plan, they likely wouldn't be able to get out of here alive.

In a split second, the decision was made. He started sprinting for the guard that was about to sound the alarm. In spite of his long strides, he wasn't able to reach the guard in time. He watched with horror as he jerked open the metal box and jammed a button inside. Instantly, the entire Museum was filled with the wail of an alarm! Murdock bit back a curse and flung himself at the guard, slamming the man's head against the wall. He slumped to the floor, unconscious, allowing the pilot a chance to see how BA was doing . . .

The muscular Sergeant delivered another solid punch to his opponent, sending the larger guard stumbling backwards. BA didn't let up, either. He kept at it, delivering a left jab, followed by a right cross, and then another left hook. The final blow was enough to not only spin the guard around, but caused him to practically fly head-first into the hard log cabin of the Paul Bunyan house. He then looked over to Murdock and asked, "Where'd Kramer go?"

"Dunno, big guy, but we better split up," the pilot suggested. "We'll have a better chance of findin' him if we do." There was also another reason for going in different directions, besides trying to increase their chances of finding the hired assassin. By going in their own separate ways, it also meant that the guards would be much more spread out with trying to look for the members of the A-Team that were within the Museum.

"Be careful, foo'. Don't go gettin' caught," BA cautioned him sternly. Even though Murdock got under his skin regularly, he still almost considered him like a brother. He was more like an annoying little brother most of the time, but still definitely a brother in arms. Even though he hated flying, he wasn't sure what he'd do if Murdock would be captured or hurt in any way.

"You too, BA," Murdock noted with a huge, quirky grin, before they each started running in separate directions. The Captain carefully scanned the hallways and alcoves as he proceeded through the Museum, searching for any sign of the escaping assassin. Hannibal was not going to be happy if they lost him . . .