If Murdock gets us out of this, as far as I'm concerned, he can have anything he wants as long as I live.

I don't know. I gotta think about this.

- Face and BA, "Firing Line"

Chapter 22: Ace In The Hole

"Ouch!"

Templeton Peck's protest echoed within the musty jail cell. Although it was well illuminated, the place looked like an absolute dump, with plenty of filth and grime on the walls, and mold growing in the corners. The bunks that were attached to the walls bore minimal bedding, and the meager amount that was there looked like it had been riddled with moth holes. The whole area reeked of sweat, old booze, and urine . . . definitely not a pleasant combination of odors, even for the average, everyday man.

If these conditions bothered the three members of the A-Team, none of them showed it. They had all endured worse, and for a longer duration, when they had been held as a prisoner of war in the VietCong camps.

Hannibal watched as Face weakly tried to bat his hand away, even though both of them knew that he needed to tend to the graze on the con man's head. From what his ice blue eyes could see, the wound had stopped bleeding, but the blood had dried, leaving an untidy mess around the broken flesh. He was glad there wasn't a mirror in the holding cell where they had been taken, otherwise Face would have had a fit.

"Hold still, Lieutenant," the Colonel admonished. "We need to take care of this before it gets infected."

Due to the time of night that they were arrested, the police had a couple of choices. They could either split them up by taking Face to the University of Chicago Hospital, which was practically right there, or they could keep all of them together. Since they found out who these men were, they realized that splitting them up increased the chances that they'd be able to escape . . . and that was the last thing they wanted before the military police could show up and cart them off to a cold, dark cell at Leavenworth.

The wound that Face had suffered wasn't very serious, and they were provided with a first aid kit . . . although anything that could have been used to provide a tool in their escape had been removed, including the tweezers and scissors. Even in spite of the removal of those materials from the kit, an officer stood just on the other side of the iron bars like a looming shadow, watching the A-Team members like a hawk to make sure they didn't try anything.

He reached into the kit and tore open a package with sheets of gauze. The Colonel then pulled out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, removed the cap, and drenched the gauze with it. Peroxide was a great anti-bacterial liquid and could kill any number of germs that could have been left behind by a piece of fabric, gunpowder, or other elements . . . but when pressed against a wound, even a small cut, it often hurt like hell. Face wasn't going to like it, but that wound needed to be cleaned.

With sure, steady hands, John Smith reached forward and started to clean up the dried blood around the wound, and clean the wound itself. The con artist hissed as the peroxide began to burn, but at least he held still and didn't try to wave his Commanding Officer off. Hannibal wiped away the excess peroxide, and then pulled out a small patch of gauze and pressed it up against the wound. He held it there with his left hand, and with his right he pulled out a roll of white medical tape. He tore off a couple of strips, and then used the tape to secure the fresh gauze against the side of Face's head.

Sitting back, the Colonel surveyed his handiwork. If they had been given all of the necessary tools, then it would have looked a lot neater than some haphazard patch job. Still, it would do the trick until they could get out of there and Hannibal could redress the wound.

He packed up the unused supplies into the white metal box, and then passed it back between the grey, iron bars to the cop waiting on the other side. He flashed the officer one of his thousand megawatt smiles that could practically disarm a bomb. The patrolman didn't smile back. Instead, he simply took the kit, checked to make sure that Hannibal hadn't taken anything out of the kit other than the supplies he had used, and then walked out of the holding area.

Once they were alone, Face leaned his back against the wall and let out a sigh. He hated this situation . . . being in jail, and unable to do much of anything but wait. It was made even worse by the fact that he didn't have his lockpick tools on him. If he had even one of them from that kit, he'd be taking advantage of the fact that the guards had left them alone and tried to open the lock to the jail cell. He glanced over at his Commanding Officer and asked, "What are we going to do now, Hannibal? Spencer told the cops who we are. You can bet a new pair of boots that their first call, once they got us behind bars, was to our favorite grinch. Decker's probably already caught the red eye, and is on his way here as we speak."

Hannibal simply gave a knowing grin, almost as if he was counting on this fact. "It wouldn't be any fun if there wasn't a chance that he'd show up," he admitted jovially, clearly looking forward to yet another game of cat and mouse with his long-time adversary. It would definitely pose a challenge for them to pull the plan off before the MPs could show up, but the A-Team's Commanding Officer relished challenges like that.

BA had been sitting on one of the two cots bolted to the wall as Hannibal tended to Face's wound. He didn't like being in jail any more than the next guy, but they couldn't sit in here considering what was going to happen at the dedication ceremony. He looked directly at the Colonel, who took a seat next to Face on the other bunk. "If we don't get outta here before morning, we won't be able to stop that killa and Spencer will get away clean," he stated grimly. He growled at that thought . . . of Spencer getting away with it and not being put behind bars, where he rightfully belonged. The muscular Sergeant wanted nothing better than to get that piece of garbage and pound him into the ground.

Hannibal looked first at his Lieutenant, and then cast his gaze to his Sergeant. Even in spite of their current predicament, the cloud of gloom never even came close to enveloping the Colonel. His face still bore a huge, bright smile and the tone of his voice was confident and reassuring. "C'mon, guys. We've been in worse situations than this before and managed to escape." His ice blue eyes twinkled merrily with the Jazz as he continued, "We still have one ace in the hole they don't know about."

"Murdock?" the muscular mechanic asked with a tone of disgust within his voice. The pilot didn't know his way around the Windy City, which meant that he likely wasn't going to be able to find this particular police precinct that they were being held at, much less scam up stuff like the con artist could within short notice. He moaned as he continued to make his thoughts clear, "Oh, Hannibal! If we gotta rely on that fool, we're dead."

"Now, BA," Hannibal started to say sternly, almost like a father chastising a child for doing something wrong. "Murdock has gotten us out of a lot of scrapes before. Remember that time he recruited the bums to save us from those militants?"

Face grinned as he recalled that particular rescue. Thankfully, Murdock had been wearing the watch that BA had created back in Vietnam. It was pretty ingenious, a step ahead of its time from what he recalled. All of them had one, and they had developed a code that they could use among them to tell what was going on whenever the watch received a certain signal. All they had to do was turn the hands of time until the watch emitted a low tone, and that would tell them specifically what time code they were using. When they got to LA, they rigged up a relay in the van which could transmit the signal across greater distances. "The expression on those guys' faces when the winos opened fire on them was priceless," he chuckled slightly.

"Yeah," Hannibal let out a hearty laugh as he glanced over to the con man. "And remember the time we had to deal with Garber? Murdock and Amy hijacked that military transport and barreled in to free us, right under Decker's nose. He was so furious when we locked him up in that shed," he added with another hearty laugh before looking to his men. He could see that Face was still smiling, and even BA had nodded his head a bit as they both recalled that particular instance.

Each man slipped into their own thoughts, which hung over the jail cell like a thick, wet blanket. There was no doubt among any of them that, in spite of the odds, Murdock would find a way. They likely wouldn't know how or when, but he just would. He had never let any of them down before, and he made sure he always stuck with his unit. After a moment, Hannibal added with complete and total confidence, "Murdock will come through for us. I know he will . . ."