Heheh, I just love picking locks. Hand-eye coordination, you know. Invaluable tools.

- Face, "Say it With Bullets"

Chapter 15: Discoveries

For Templeton Peck, the search of the offices belonging to Mrs. Baracus and Spencer Jackson was unending. He had gone through everything again, much more thoroughly this time compared to when they had first snuck into the office, yet it seemed like whatever secrets were contained within these walls wanted to remain hidden. There was absolutely nothing that he was able to find, so far, that would indicate that Spencer was doing anything more than his job as the Director of Exhibits and Security for the Museum.

He had found the hidden switch in Mrs. B's office for the panel in the wall . . . the one that was opened while Hannibal had hid under her desk. Whatever had been in there was cleaned out when Spencer had entered into the office and nearly caught them a bit earlier.

"Odd," he murmured quietly to himself. "No safe in the Security Chief's office?" That was something he found to be very hard to believe, especially if Spencer Jackson was possibly up to his neck in dealings with the shipping company that had ties to Scarlotti. There just had to be something here somewhere . . .

Looking around, he spotted a large painting on the wall of the Museum and the Jackson Park Lagoon, almost hidden in the darkness behind a fake tree in the corner. In fact, of all the pictures in the two offices, that was the only one that featured the Museum. The rest showed the magnificence of the city skyline itself. It couldn't be that simple and obvious, could it?

He moved over to the painting and reached up to grab a hold of the ornate gold frame. Carefully lifting it from where it was mounted, his blue eyes beheld a black square with a silver tumbler and a metal handle, recessed into the wall. Face just shook his head as he remarked, "Behind a painting . . . how very cliché."

He unzipped the parka that he wore and reached inside into the suit coat underneath. He pulled out a small black leather case and quickly took a hold of the zipper. He pulled it around and then opened it up, revealing some of the tools of the trade . . . lockpicks, a small audio amplifier, and a few other things necessary in order to pick any lock or crack any safe.

Pulling out the amplifier, he set the case with his tools down and then unwrapped the small cord. He put the one end in his right ear, and the other end . . . which looked like the end of a doctor's stethoscope . . . he pressed it against the black metal safe next to the tumbler. He began to spin the dial around, very slowly at first, as he became acclimated to the sound of the clicks that he picked up. Then, there was one louder click . . .

He looked at the dial and noted the number. 50 . . .

From what he knew about safes, one such as these generally had four numbers, and there was usually a certain pattern on how to turn the tumbler as one went from one number in the combination to the next. He had one number down, and three to go . . . and with the direction that he turned the tumbler to get to that first number, it told him everything he needed to know in order to get the rest of the turning pattern.

He turned the tumbler in the other direction until he again heard a loud click through the listening device . . . 80. And now again in the original direction until . . . there it was. 35. And finally back again for the final number. This time around, he knew that he was almost there as he could feel the tension start to build within the tumbler. He kept going until it hit the final number, at which point it felt like he couldn't turn the tumbler any further. 80 again. "Sheesh . . . with a simple combination like that, it's a wonder that the man can keep any secrets," Face commented as he pulled the listening device out of his ear.

He returned the device to his tool case, and then zipped it up. His fingers deftly slipped the case back into his suit coat before reaching for the handle. Turning it, he eased the door to the safe open and was rewarded with the sight of a bunch of papers stacked inside. Pulling them out of the safe, he walked over to Spencer's desk and set them down.

He again reached into his suit coat and pulled out a small, slender pen light and turned it on. He guided the light from the small device to where he was able to read what was on the papers and began to look them over. Sensitive documents regarding some changes to the Museum, possible upcoming exhibits and contracts of agreement for the future exhibitors . . .

Muttering in disgust, he flipped the pages aside one by one, finding nothing on any of them that yield the evidence they needed in order to put him away. There were also contracts in there that hired the security guards that he used, although he wasn't sure if those would be helpful or not. Without being able to run a background check on each man, there was no way of telling if they were on the level or if they were a part of his crooked scheme.

He pulled out a small camera from the other inside pocket in his suit coat. The silver camera was tiny, maybe no more than three inches long and an inch and a half wide. There was no flash, but in order to take a photo one would have to slide one end of the camera toward the lens. He wedged the pen light between his teeth in order to still shine some light on the papers while freeing up his hands. Using both of his hands, he started snapping pictures of the security guard contracts, flipping through each page and then taking another photo, and another . . .

The con artist should have known that Spencer wouldn't be dumb enough to keep anything incriminating in such an obvious location in his office, especially not when the rest of his office was clean. The man was so paranoid that he used his secretary's phone when making phone calls regarding his shady activities, for goodness sake! He was about to gather up the papers and put them back in the safe when a flyer on the bottom caught his eye. Frowning, he pulled it out and his blue eyes scanned the page.

"Block 37 Ice Rink Dedication Ceremony?" he read off silently. The flyer had an image of a figure skater in mid jump, and it looked like the ceremony was partially sponsored by the Museum of Science and Industry. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he had an instinctive feeling that something like that didn't belong in a safe. Shrugging his shoulders a bit, he folded the flyer up and put it in the pocket of his parka, and then gathered the papers up in order to return them to the safe.

He walked back over to the corner and put the papers back into the wall safe neatly and meticulously, so it wouldn't look like it was disturbed in any way. He then closed the door, and put the painting back on the wall to hide the safe again from view. After he did so, Face removed the light that was wedged between his teeth and turned around in frustration. After everything they found out, that couldn't be all the guy had hidden, could it? There had to be another safe, or hidden location where he hid information, documents . . . anything really that documented his illegal activities. If he was involved with that shipping company that had ties to Scarlotti, there had to be fake or modified shipping manifests somewhere. But where?

He glanced down at the floor for a moment and froze. Why hadn't he noticed it before? The other offices that they had walked past and seen all had carpeting in them. Even Mrs. B's office had carpeting from wall to wall . . . so why did Spencer's office have hardwood floors? Personal taste? That didn't seem likely since office areas such as this generally didn't have one carpeted and not the other. No . . . there had to be something more, which he missed the first time around.

What also stood out was the rug on the floor, which Spencer's desk and chair rested upon. That was a bit unusual as well, as one would think an area rug would be placed in such a location as to provide coverage for the center most part of the room . . . in this case, where others would sit across from Spencer at his desk. Normally, he'd make sure he'd work as quietly as possible as he snuck around . . . but in this case, a bit of noise was called for in order to confirm his theory.

As he moved back toward the desk, he started occasionally tapping the floor with his shoes . . . not too hard, but just enough to where he could listen to the sound. Once he got behind the desk, the sound changed, and it wasn't due to the rug muffling the sound. It was distinctly hollow, almost as if there was an opening beneath the floorboards. Templeton pushed the chair to the side and pulled the rug back to expose the floor underneath. Sure enough, there was a panel in the floor. He mentally berated himself for not thinking of searching for this earlier. He should have known. The man was one big cliché . . . mysterious phone calls late at night, a safe hidden behind a painting in the room, and now a hidden storage area in the floor.

Grinning, he found what he was looking for on the panel . . . a finger hold in the board which, upon casual inspection, looked more like a flaw within the woodwork. Digging his fingernails into the depression, the panel opened like a trap door, revealing the opening beneath it. Chuckling with glee at his discovery, he pulled the papers out of the hidden opening and placed them on the desk to investigate his find.

As he read them over, he recognized what looked like lists of security classifications for various items being shipped into and out of the Museum. Several items had been highlighted in yellow. Again wedging the pen light between his teeth, he started taking snapshots of the documents with the miniature camera. This would only add to the evidence that could help to put Spencer Jackson in prison . . . but it still wasn't enough. They needed something more, something bigger that would not only show the ties to Scarlotti, but they could make it stick like a wet noodle.

As he continued to take pictures and shuffle through the papers, he found three documents that caught his attention. The first was a letter, addressed to a man named Kramer, and was signed and notarized. It offered payment for his unique services for a special demonstration, with an amount of money pledged up front and the rest upon completion. The second item he found was a check, which matched the amount of money that was promised once this Kramer finished the job. And the third really caught his eye. He took pictures of each of these sheets, and then grabbed the last one as he moved over to the filing cabinet. Opening the drawer, he leafed through the files until he found what he was searching for.

"So, that's what you're up to, Mr. Spencer Jackson," he murmured softly around the pen light as he scanned the contents of the file. He snapped pictures of the documents contained within the manila folder, and then grabbed those papers and bundled it with the others of note. He took a moment to put the empty file folder back into the cabinet and then moved back over to the desk. He needed a smoking gun, so to speak, to take to Hannibal and Face was pretty sure that he had found enough to provide one.

There were still a few more papers on the desk that he needed to take pictures of, and he did so as diligently and swiftly as possible. He was acutely aware of just how much time had passed since he started searching the offices, and he knew that he needed to meet up with Hannibal . . . or if they couldn't catch up with each other, he needed to get the evidence out of there and somehow get it to the police.

As he thought about it, he couldn't walk into a police station himself. That'd be rich. "Hi, I'm a wanted fugitive, but I have information here on a planned assassination that someone else is about to commit which also involves the Italian Mafia." If he delivered a line like that, they'd not only lock him away, but they'd likely put him in a straightjacket and have him room with Murdock! He could ask Mrs. B if she could do it. She'd likely be madder than a hornet's nest anyway once she learned the truth.

Just as he finished photographing the last document, the office was filled with the shrill sound of an alarm. Looking up in surprise, Face glanced around him quickly and ducked down just in case any guards decided to show up and investigate . . . but as he thought about it, he was certain that he hadn't triggered any alarms. If he had, it would have gone off long ago and the guards would have swarmed the office area by now. No, the others must have run into some sort of trouble . . .

If they were in trouble, that meant that their escape from the Museum was going to be a major challenge . . .

He quickly gathered the papers from the desk and jammed it back into the opening in the floor. He then took the diligence to close the panel in the floor, and put the rug and chair back in order as it had been. The last thing he needed was to leave any evidence behind that he had just conducted a thorough search of the offices. Easing himself over to the door, he checked to make sure that no guards were waiting for him before slipping out into the hallway outside the office. Muttering fiercely to himself, he ran down the corridor in the direction of the yellow staircase and the door they had come in . . .