For lithiumdoll, who stuck this plot bunny in my head on the way into work. A-Team/Leverage. (And yes, I know the actor who played Hannibal died in '94. Shh. This is fanfic.) Not beta'd. Thanks to Nevada, for feeding my fanfic writing addiction, and for breaking my block on this. Whee! This was fun to write!
Saving Cinderella
by Raine Wynd
PART 1
1997
The well-dressed grifter stood at the side of the road, stuck in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. She'd miscalculated, badly. She was broke, stranded, and lost; all she had was what was in her purse. Lock picks and lipstick weren't going to get her far, not when all she could see for miles was open farmland. If she could find a ride, she could get to Las Vegas, where she had an emergency stash of ID and cash. She should've paid closer attention when her last mark had invited her on a trip...but that was three days ago, and Indiana was a lot closer to Vegas than DC. Her only saving grace right now was that she wasn't wearing her highest heels. She'd already walked several miles, and her feet were beginning to protest.
Sighing deeply, she surveyed the highway. Clearly, it wasn't the most well-traveled of roads; she'd been out here all morning, and there hadn't been any traffic at all. Her hopes were raised when she saw the black van in the distance, headed her way.
Sticking out her thumb, she put on her best smile. The red-striped GMC van pulled over. An older man with white hair stuck his head out the passenger side window, pulled his cigar out, and noted with a grin, "You're in the wrong area to be headed to a ball. What happened, your fairy godmother quit?"
"You might say that," she said, admiring his sense of humor. "I thought we were going to Peru. Turns out he meant Peru, Indiana."
"Where are you headed?"
"West," she hedged.
The man grinned as his driver, a big, black, mohawked man leaned over. "Hannibal, we don't have time for this," he complained. "What if it's a trap?"
"There are better places to spring a trap with a honey pot than here," Hannibal noted. "Not a military post for miles."
Suddenly, the grifter wondered just who her rescuers were, but she wasn't about to be choosy. She could feel a headache coming on from a lack of water; any longer in this summer heat, and she was going to be sick. She couldn't wait any longer.
"Come on, B.A., we can't leave Cinderella stranded in the middle of nowhere," a new male voice added. "What would your mother say?"
B.A. grumbled as the third man pulled open the sliding door. The third man was dressed in a suit and exuded charm as he held out a hand to help Sophie inside. "Come on in. I'm Templeton Peck. My friends call me Face, and you are...?"
She took the hand up into the van, grateful for the support. Templeton pulled the door shut behind her as she took a seat. As soon as she was settled, BA put the van into gear. "Sophie Devereaux," she said decisively, shedding her last identity without regret, "and thanks for the ride," she said as Templeton took the seat immediately behind Hannibal.
Hannibal smiled as he handed her a bottle of water. "Hannibal Smith," he introduced himself. "That's BA at the wheel. Drink it slowly," he advised. "Would hate to ruin such a lovely dress."
"Ain't no one getting sick in my van," BA declared. "You feel sick, you say so."
"We're headed to LA," Hannibal told her. "Any place in between you want to stop and get off, let us know."
Sophie drank the water gratefully. No one said anything as they allowed her the time to recover, and the miles went by. After about an hour, Templeton turned in his seat. "Feeling any better?"
She nodded. "Yes, thank you." She studied her rescuers, wondering what the connection between them was. "I was beginning to wonder if anyone would come along."
"Out there?" Templeton considered it, shrugged. "Would've been awhile, probably." Then he smiled. "So, did you have a particular destination in mind, or are you just...exploring America?"
Sophie laughed. "Not the way I wanted to explore America, trust me! No, I was hoping to get to Vegas. I have friends there."
Templeton looked at his companions in the front of the vehicle. "Vegas? I haven't been to Vegas in a while."
Hannibal narrowed his eyes. "BA? Vegas?"
BA grumbled. "No gambling."
"Of course not," Templeton hastened to assure him, and Sophie heard the falseness in his tone. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized a fellow con artist, and she realized abruptly she'd underestimated him...perhaps all of them.
"Yeah, right," BA said disbelievingly.
"Now, now, BA," Hannibal cautioned. "You'd never turn down money to repair the van, now would you?" To Sophie, he said apologetically, "Sorry. We don't have much, but we try to make it as best as we can."
"I understand," she said. Not anyone I can con, not if I'm not careful, she thought to herself. Maybe I'll get out of this van before they figure out who I am. "I'm a bit short myself."
Hannibal smiled. "Can you drive?"
She could, but a glance at BA's stiffened posture told her she was better off saying no. "No, sorry," she lied. "I'm really not good with cars." She half-laughed. "You should see how many cars I've wrecked."
The three men exchanged looks, and Hannibal chuckled. "We'll trade off in a bit," he said, glancing at his watch. "If you need a pit stop or some food, speak up, else we'll just keep going."
Sophie nodded, remembering the earlier comment about the military. If these guys were on the run, as she suspected they were, they weren't likely to risk staying in a motel. "Thanks, I will." Aware they'd want to know about her, she began doing what she did best: talk to a mark, drawing them out so she could figure out the angles. Within minutes, though, she realized they were doing the same to her — and that the true con artist in the van was Hannibal. She could see where Templeton had learned his skills. For a moment, her poise wavered.
It was the moment Hannibal had been waiting for. "So... this guy who was supposed to fly you to Peru — how much was he worth to you?"
"He cared —"
"Bullshit," Hannibal said bluntly. "You cared about where he could take you, which means you're running from something or someone, Cinderella. My money's on someone. Interpol?"
She hesitated. Honor among thieves, in her experience, was a romantic notion, best left for books and movies. Yet there was something...oddly compelling about the trio. She couldn't put her finger on it. BA was mostly silent, radiating a kind of unhappiness that she suspected had more to do with why the trio was on the road than anything else. Hannibal and Templeton were clearly at ease, but Templeton seemed to defer to Hannibal, almost as if he was the commanding officer. She wanted to know more...and they wouldn't give it to her if she was honest. Yet she couldn't bring herself to break the habit of keeping her secrets.
"I won't ask if you don't," she settled.
"Fair enough," Hannibal decided. He handed her another bottle of water. "Drink up. You're still looking a little pale. Face, make sure she's okay."
Templeton smiled at her. "I'm sure she's just fine," he reassured Hannibal, drawing a sharp frown from the older man. Turning to Sophie, Templeton said, "You'll let us know when you're not, won't you?"
Assured for the moment, Sophie relaxed. Interpol couldn't find her now. She wasn't sure how long it would take to get to Vegas, but she doubted it would be more than a day or two. She'd had worse traveling companions in that last flight from Rome to DC.
2009
The fundraiser was going well — and so was the job. All the fashionable people were in attendance, including the mark, one Martin Holmes. Parker had lifted Martin's access badge; all Sophie had to do was distract him while Parker put it back. Dressed in the black dress she considered her "emergency reserve dress" — while it was a classic style, it wasn't the highest of fashion, and it fit her a bit more snugly than she remembered. If her luggage hadn't gotten lost in transit, she wouldn't have had to pull this one out of the closet. She pushed the worry over the dress to the back of her mind and focused on Martin.
Halfway there, she felt a hand brush her arm. Startled, she turned. "I'm —" Stunned, she stopped. She never forgot a face. He was older, of course, a little more timeworn, but the smile he sent her way was unmistakable.
Pulling her close, he asked, "So who are you with, Sophie?"
Over her earpiece, she heard Hardison panicking. "Sophie, this is not good. Martin is scheduled to leave in ten minutes. You heard that? Ten minutes."
"Problem?" Nate asked.
"An old friend," she answered both Nate and her new companion. "Good to see you, Face. Where's Hannibal?"
Face's eyes dimmed. "Resting. He's not as young as he thinks he is." He sharpened his gaze. "Anything I can help you with?"
She studied him, even as she heard Nate ask for a visual from Hardison to confirm what was going on. "Perhaps," she decided, going on instinct. "How good are you at distractions?"
Face smiled. "Who are you targeting?"
"Martin Holmes."
Face blinked. "Knew there was something off about that man, but it explains why Hannibal wanted me here. What's wrong with him?"
"He's slime," Sophie offered. "Isn't that reason enough?"
Face grinned. "Oh, absolutely. You're a woman after my own heart, Sophie. So what do you need from me?"
"I need to return something someone borrowed from him. You see the blonde server over there? She has it; we just need to distract him."
Face nodded. "Let me lead." As if they'd always worked together, he took his arm around her, talking to her in angry tones that increased in volume as they made their way towards the target. At the precise moment, right in front of Martin, Face turned as if he was going to strike Sophie. Martin blocked the punch as Sophie took the glass of champagne off Parker's tray, tossing it at Face while Parker slipped the card back into Martin's pocket.
"If you're going to make a scene," Parker said sharply, "take it outside." She stalked off.
"I told you, we're through," Sophie said stridently. Taking a card out of her handbag, she offered it to Face, who'd dropped his arm. "This is the number for my lawyer. You can call him in the morning."
Face grimaced, but took the card. Turning to Martin, he began to argue with him, allowing Sophie time to escape.
"Who was that, Sophie?" Nate asked a few minutes later as the team regrouped in the room they'd rented for the evening.
"An old friend," she said simply.
"Old friend, my ass," Hardison said, looking at his computer. "Face, aka Templeton Peck, is bad news. Ex-military, soldier for hire, wanted by the government still even after he and his friends were pardoned. Part of the A-Team. They're vigilantes. We hook up with them, we're instant targets...though rumor has it that they've been keeping a low profile last several years, only pulling jobs for select clients."
"It was five minutes," Sophie pointed out crossly. "And I didn't see a way to distract Martin that didn't make me memorable; all Face did was make himself more memorable. Would you rather have Martin remember me or Face?"
Nate studied her. "This Face guy...he going to be a problem for us?"
Sophie shook her head. "No. I'll meet with him tomorrow to be sure."
Nate nodded. "Take Eliot with you as backup. I don't want you to be alone."
Sophie hid a smile, remembering that long-ago trip. If Nate only knew...Her phone rang, and she excused herself to take it.
"You might be interested to know," Face began, "that Martin owns a warehouse down on Beach. I hear there'll be a fire sale tomorrow."
"No," Sophie said sharply. "You blow up that warehouse tonight, and what you helped me with was for nothing."
She could almost see the shrug. "Hannibal's on the jazz again."
"Let me handle this. We can do this legal."
An amused chuckle met her words. "Legal? Dear Sophie, have you been standing out in the sun again?"
"Why are you involved?" Sophie asked, changing tactics. "I thought you were retired."
"A good man's work is never done," Face said cheerfully.
"Give me the phone," Nate demanded.
Sophie glared at him.
"Fine," Nate decided. "Our timetable has just now been sped up."
Sophie sighed.
"You're not alone in this," Face guessed. "Let me call you back. Fifteen minutes." Without any further notice, he hung up.
PART 2
Nate stared at Sophie, one eyebrow quirking as he waited expectantly.
"He'll call me back in fifteen minutes," Sophie answered, setting her phone down. "Martin's been targeted by the A-Team, probably for the same reasons he's on our list."
"That's not good," Hardison declared. "That's really not good."
"Why?" Parker asked.
"Because the A-Team tends to blow up their targets. They leave evidence, but it's messy. No finesse," came the surprising answer from Eliot. "The Army recaptured them for a while, but it was illegal and unethical, even by black ops standards, and they had to let them go. There are still warrants out for their arrest, though – even a couple of contracts out on them. Be worth some money if we brought them in."
"No. If you didn't go after them before, then we won't now," Nate declared. He paused. "Why didn't you?"
Eliot shrugged. "They go after the bad guys. Guys who'll hold a small town hostage because he holds all the jobs, all the money."
"That stinks," Parker remarked, wrinkling her nose. "Why don't the townspeople just steal it back?"
"We need figure out who's tracking them," Nate went on, ignoring Parker. "Hardison?"
"I'm on it," Hardison said.
"Eliot — if the A-Team is here, we need to find out where they're operating. Chances are, it's not that far. Anything distinctive about them?"
"Vehicles: Red Corvette, black GMC van, unless they've wised up and changed their MO."
"Probably not," Sophie put in. "BA loved that van."
All heads turned to eye her. "Sophie? Something you're not telling us?" Nate asked mildly.
"They picked me up one night when I stranded," Sophie said. "Drove me to Vegas from Indiana."
"And?" Nate prompted.
"And the rest is my business," Sophie snapped. Taking a deep breath, she let it go. In a gentler tone, she suggested, "Look, all you need to know is that if I wasn't a friend, they'd have blown up that warehouse already, if only to draw out Martin."
Nate considered this. "All right. We wait for the call, but –" he turned to look at Parker, who rose to her feet, grabbing the black duffel bag that sat on the floor beside her.
"—Already there," Parker said as Eliot followed her out the door.
A few minutes later, Hardison declared, "Okay. I got them…I think." He increased the volume on his laptop.
"Fox One to Fox 2, over. Roger Cinderella's joined the ball."
"Roger that, Fox One. She brought friends, too," Face said.
"Oh, man, I knew this was going too good," a gruff male voice complained, sounding as if he was on a speakerphone.
"Now, now, BA, it's just a minor complication," a fourth male voice tried to soothe. "No plan survives first contact."
"Damn, I guess this means I'm not needed," a woman's voice noted.
"Maybe not," Fox One said.
"I think that's Hannibal," Hardison interjected.
"Look, all we know for sure is that Martin Holmes has a warehouse that's not filled with just happy teddy bears," Hannibal went on. "Our Cinderella wouldn't target just anyone, or bring friends. She's too classy for that. Call her back, Face. Tell her we want in."
"She's not going to be happy, Colonel."
"Then she shouldn't have left the ball," came the amused reply.
"But if she didn't, then she wouldn't have left behind the glass slipper," the fourth voice said logically.
"Now you've done it," the gruff voice growled, annoyed. "You set the crazy fool off again, Hannibal."
"Easy, BA, easy," the woman said sharply. "You promised not to kill him, remember?"
"That was yesterday. Crazy fool talking logical worse than him talking crazy."
Hardison snickered.
"Did you find them?" Nate asked.
Hardison nodded. "Someone needs to tell them push-to-talk phones aren't the most secure. Face is still in the hotel, but he's on the move. The rest of them are in a parking lot a mile from here."
Nate smiled. "Then let's go. Sophie, you're coming too. When Face calls, stall him." Nate's smile turned wolfish. "They want to meet us. I say we meet them."
PART 3
"I don't like this, Hannibal," BA growled from the driver's seat of the van.
"I don't either," Amy agreed, drawing a surprised look from Hannibal. "This woman you refer to as Cinderella — who is she? For all you know, her friends might be undercover cops."
Hannibal considered this a moment, then shook his head. "She wouldn't."
Amy stared at him, mentally sighing. She'd been a desperate twenty-something when she'd first hired the A-Team to rescue a friend. Now, too many years of involvement with the Team had left its mark. She knew them all too well. Hannibal's trust in his friends was absolute until proven otherwise. A change in tactics was in order.
Before she could start, however, she heard the unmistakable sound of Face pulling his Corvette into the parking space next to the van. Soon, he opened the sliding door of the van and leaned inside. "Change of plans, Colonel," he announced. "The hit on the warehouse is out for tonight."
"Oh, man, I just finished getting the mice to cooperate—" Murdock began, only to be silenced by a look from Hannibal.
"Report, Lieutenant. Why?"
"Sophie is working this with a few friends of hers. They're already working on a different angle to the situation, one with more finesse."
"Explain."
Face shook his head. "She wouldn't say. My guess is that whoever she's working with doesn't want their plans interrupted by the kind of scene we tend to make."
"But why not?" Hannibal wondered. "Gets people's attention."
"Too much," an accented female voice declared, joining the conversation. "You never could do subtle, Hannibal."
Amy looked past Face to see an elegant-looking woman in a black dress had arrived. She stood, looking amused, just beyond the front of the Corvette.
"And you, my dear, don't know what you've gotten yourself into," Hannibal retorted.
"On the contrary," Sophie corrected. "I don't think you do."
"We're just checking out the scenery," Hannibal offered. He gestured to Amy. "Helping a friend do research for a news story she's working on. Sophie Deveraux, this is Amy Allen, correspondent for Fox News."
Sophie didn't move from her position, though she acknowledged the introduction with a nod. "I know your name. You were one of the few female war correspondents during Desert Storm; I wondered why you seemed so unfazed in your reports. Now I understand. Thinking about changing your focus?"
Amy smiled, though it wasn't entirely a friendly smile. "My first love is humanitarian interest stories. I'm just following a tip." Something about Sophie made her distrust her in the same way she'd learned to discount the first words Face said.
"Then perhaps you'd like to trade some information."
Amy looked to Hannibal, who said, "We're listening."
PART 4
THREE WEEKS EARLIER
Boston, Leverage HQ
"Our target is one Martin Holmes," Nate began as the picture of the man filled the screen behind him. "Our client, Doug Stanback, was an accounting clerk at MJ Toys, Inc. Right before the new annual budget was to be presented to the board of directors for approval, he was given a new set of general ledger codes and told to re-assign the amounts. Being a thorough kind of guy, he decided to make sure he understood what the codes meant. What he found was a lot of money going to departments and clients he'd never heard of before. When he showed what he'd found to his boss, he was told to keep his mouth shut. Not swayed by this, he went to his boss's boss, the CFO, Martin Holmes. Doug was immediately accused of cooking the books and fired. He sued for wrongful termination. Holmes brought in the high-priced lawyers. Doug lost the suit. Now he can't get a job."
"Yeah," Hardison agreed, sounding disgusted. "Doug can't even get unemployment, because the lawyers are trying to block that.
"So we need proof that Holmes is doing something illegal," Sophie said, thinking aloud.
"What about the money?" Parker asked, looking at Nate.
Nate shook his head. "Doug said that the reason he was given new codes was because MJ Toys was finalizing its upgrade to a completely computerized accounting and inventory control program. Prior to that, they were part old-school and part computer. All the money dealing with the inventory went on paper. Everything else was computerized. He said they were always looking for the paper ledgers — they were supposed to be locked up, but the cabinet where they were stored could be jimmied open fairly easily. Plus, the codes for the general ledger kept changing — they blamed it on the inventory manager, who wanted new codes for different seasons of merchandise."
"So you could ‘misplace' money and no one would notice," Parker said. "Nice."
"Oh, you'd notice," Hardison corrected, "but unless someone like Doug started trying to figure out what codes to put where with the associated monetary amounts in a computerized system that ties the inventory directly with the accounting system, you'd have a harder time proving it."
"So what, exactly, are we getting for our client?" Eliot wanted to know. "He's not going to want his job back. Not there anyway."
Nate shook his head. "All he's asking for is one year's salary — $36,000. That's barely enough to live on in this economy."
"So how are we going to play this?" Sophie asked.
Nate looked at Hardison, who took the cue. "MJ Toys is a big supporter of children's causes. No surprise, as CFO, Martin Holmes is at every charitable event involving one of those causes. Easy enough to do, too — Canton's not that far of a drive from Cleveland, where the nearest children's hospital is. Google says it's an hour; I say in the middle of nowhere like that, knowing the roads, you might be able to do it in less. "
Nate looked at his team. "All right. Let's go steal a toy company."
SOMEWHERE IN CALIFORNIA, ROUGHLY AT THE SAME TIME
"You swore we were done," BA muttered angrily, even as he packed the newer model GMC van with everything the team would need for a road trip to Ohio.
Hannibal watched him, leaning negligently against the big boat of a convertible that BA normally used for driving in town. "You swore you'd sold all of that," he pointed out, gesturing with his cigar to the stockpile of gear. "Come on, BA," he coaxed. "The guy is slime. We used to take out slime like him for breakfast."
"Yeah, and we paid for that, in spades." BA looked at his leader. "You said we were retired. You lie to me all the time. I'm sick of it."
"Just one more time, BA," Hannibal wheedled. "Come on. You're already halfway committed — you pulled all these boxes out of their happy hiding places."
"Just because I pulled them out doesn't mean I think you're right."
"BA," Hannibal coaxed. "How much lower can you get? The weasel we're after is the biggest employer in town — a toy company — and he's threatened a little girl in a wheelchair, just because her mom overheard something she wasn't supposed to, about an off-the-books shipment."
BA stared at him. "It's one shipment, Hannibal. That don't prove nothing."
"BA. Since when did you become a lawyer? Really. I'm hurt. You don't trust me? So what if we don't know everything yet? We'll do some recon, figure things out, and maybe it was nothing. Maybe we just tip off the local cops that something fishy's going on."
BA growled. "The things I do for you, Hannibal."
Hannibal smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. "You love it," he said knowingly. "Come on, let's get this all packed; Face and Murdock will meet us there."
BA grunted. "Crazy fool better not be flying."
"You know they took his license away," Hannibal assured him.
BA snorted.
"Face is picking him up," Hannibal offered.
The look BA shot Hannibal said clearly that BA knew exactly where his fellow teammates were – and that he doubted Murdock would drive when he'd rather fly.
Hannibal returned the look with a shrug, as if to say, "You'd expect something different?"
Shaking his head ruefully, BA accepted the reminder, disappearing into the rear of the van momentarily as he loaded two large rectangular steel boxes into the vehicle. Like its predecessor, which had given up the ghost years earlier, the van had been highly customized; the steel boxes fit into specially designed slots. One box held rifles and handguns; the other held bulletproof vests and an extremely well-stocked medical kit. More boxes waited to be loaded: several cases of ammunition, portable welding supplies, blankets and camping gear, and changes of clothing for the entire team. A large, currently empty, cooler was also waiting to be loaded; it would be stocked with groceries for the trip just prior to their departure.
Feeling less annoyed now that he'd done something he could control, BA exited the van. Looking at Hannibal, BA asked, "You called Amy?"
Hannibal looked surprised, as if that idea hadn't yet occurred to him. "Brilliant thought, BA. She'd be perfect for this."
With a pang of regret, BA remembered the days when Hannibal tried to his best to keep Amy out of the Team's troubles. Those days had ended when a scheming general had used her as collateral to keep them in line. BA would be surprised if Amy hadn't known about this job for at least the last hour, if not longer. BA had asked only because if she was coming along, he needed to stock the cooler differently.
"I thought you wanted her safe," BA growled, not liking the implication that it was his idea to have Amy along.
"She'll be safe. All she has to do is be a journalist," Hannibal pointed out, in that maddeningly reasonable tone BA hated. "Nothing dangerous about that."
"Yeah, right," BA snorted. Half to himself, he mutttered, "Man's already on the jazz." Truth be told, he was starting to be a bit on the jazz himself, and he'd forgotten just how good that felt.
Hearing him, Hannibal chuckled quietly, hiding it in the rattle of picking up a case of ammo and failing miserably.
PART 5
PRESENT DAY
"We're in," Eliot reported over the comm. "You said the office was on the fourth floor of the warehouse, right?"
"According to the building plans that were filed, yes," Hardison replied. "Why?"
"Because the access badge gave us a different room," Parker answered.
"Damn, I knew I liked companies who spied on their employees for a reason," Hardison muttered. "All the security cameras are on the outside of the building. All right, what did you find?"
"It's not an office, it's a temporary storage area," Eliot said.
"How is that a problem?" Nathan asked, watching Sophie interacting with the A-Team from the relative privacy of a short distance away. Though the church lot was well lit, it was dotted with trees and, based on the sign Nathan saw when they drove up, doubled as a commuter park-and-ride lot – probably one of the reasons the A-Team chose it for a meeting place. No one would notice random cars pulling into the lot…even if it was late at night.
"If this company is shipping teddy bears to South America, then those bears aren't being stuffed with polyfill," Eliot replied.
"Smells funny," Parker added. "Like a hospital."
"More like amphetamines," Eliot corrected her. Nate heard the sound of a box being opened. "Yep. There's more, too. I recognize the pain meds, but there's stuff I can't pronounce — here, Hardison, let me send you this."
A moment later, Hardison whistled softly. "Damn, that's some serious medication. Brings new meaning to the ‘Heart to Heart Bear'. Nate, that's an illegal pharmacy right there. Database is searching…damn, it thinks we've the ingredients for the street drug Spirit. Nasty shit. You feel no pain, you see things that aren't there, and next thing you know, you're jumping off a bridge because you're following spirits."
"Well, that's stupid," Parker said. "People buy this stuff?"
"Takes all kinds," Eliot reminded her.
Nate narrowed his eyes, considering the possibilities as he heard Sophie negotiate with the A-Team. It didn't sound like she was getting very far, though the Team seemed to be discussing her offer between themselves. "Photograph what you can, then get out of there," he advised Eliot and Parker. "Then meet me back at the hotel."
Getting out of the car, he heard Hannibal say, "So far, it doesn't sound like you have much more than we do. Looks like our goals are the same. You want Martin Holmes. We want Martin Holmes. Why don't you let us handle it?"
Sophie laughed. "If I wanted to blow his company up, I would have. I'd rather see him unable to do the same thing elsewhere, to anyone else. You shut his operations down here, he's still free to go elsewhere and do it somewhere else where they're hungry for work."
"She's right, you know," Nate agreed, joining the conversation. "But that's not to say we couldn't work a deal."
"I told you this wasn't right," BA grumbled.
"You're not Prince Charming," Murdock declared brightly.
"Shut up, fool," BA snapped.
Hannibal leaned back, chewing on his cigar. "One of Sophie's friends?"
"Nathan Ford," Nate introduced himself. "And I didn't used to be one of her friends. I was an insurance investigator."
Hannibal's gaze sharpened at those words. "And now?"
"Now, I'm just a guy looking for a little payback. You had plans to blow up MJ Toys tonight. Is it because the toys they're shipping are actually being used to smuggle drugs?"
For a moment, Hannibal looked surprised. "Shawna didn't say what she overheard. Only that she heard something she wasn't supposed to hear, something about a shipment going south, and they threatened her daughter."
Face turned to his leader. "You said you knew what was going on," he said accusingly.
"Oh, not the fire and brimstone plan again," Amy griped. "How many times do we have to do that one before we know the whole story?"
"It works," Hannibal said stubbornly.
His team stared at him grumpily, looking as if they were ready to mutiny.
Sophie exchanged looks with Nate.
Then Murdock broke the tense silence. "Does that mean I don't have to send the mice footmen back?" he asked. "The man at the store said no refunds."
"There better be no mouse in my van, fool," BA growled.
"Of course not, BA," Murdock said. "It's just George and Henry. See?"
Trapped between the two men, Face moved quickly to intercept BA while Amy snagged the mice in question from Murdock's outstretched hand. "They're just stuffed toys, BA," Amy reported, handing them back to Murdock.
BA grumbled, sounding thoroughly annoyed, and Face let go a relieved sigh. Turning quickly to Nate, he said, "Pardon the children," he said with a reassuring smile. "Now," he went on briskly, "you appear to be operating on more info than we have. Perhaps we could come to a suitable arrangement, one that suits our mutual needs?"
Nate smiled inwardly. "I need a diversion." He went on to describe his plan.
Hannibal smiled wolfishly before turning to his team. "Well?" he asked.
"I like it," Face said admiringly.
"It'll be a few hours," BA warned.
"I need some time to get everything set up," Amy added. "I'll take Murdock with me."
"And George and Henry, too," Murdock pleaded. "They'll get smashed if we leave them behind."
Hannibal turned to Nate. "When do you need this?"
Nate checked his watch; it was now almost ten pm. "Midnight work for you?"
"Twenty-four hundred hours," Hannibal confirmed. "We'll call you when we're done."
Nate nodded, then he and Sophie took their leave.
PART SIX
Martin Holmes gasped as he woke abruptly, shocked awake by a bowl full of ice water. Blinking rapidly, he started to rise, only to find he'd been securely trussed to his own Colonial four-poster bed. The last he'd known, he'd been at the very prestigious, annual Center for Children charitable fundraiser, flirting with a very lovely journalist named Amy under the guise of talking about his involvement with the charity. He'd suspected she was a bit older than she appeared, though with hair dye and plastic surgery, he couldn't tell and honestly didn't care. If she was willing, Martin wasn't going to be picky. He knew he wasn't God's gift to women, and that his money spoke louder than his looks.
The question was: how did he get here? The event had been at the McKinley Grand Hotel. Martin's house was on the southeast side of Canton, near the golf course. It was about a fifteen minute drive from the hotel to his house. Martin had never thought getting kidnapped would ever happen to him, but it looked like it…but why would anyone kidnap him to his own house?
Abruptly afraid, he started to thrash against his bonds, but there was not much play in the ropes and he didn't get very far. He couldn't see anything, but found himself suddenly ruing his decision to put up heavy thermal drapes; the room was darker for them. It didn't help that the only illumination was the decorative blue lighting he'd installed in the corners of the vast room.
"Morning," a male voice declared. "Have a nice nap?"
"Who the hell are you?"
There was a hiss of a lighter, then an exhale. From the smell, Martin knew a cigar had been lit. "Just a nosy old man," was the amused reply. "Call me…John. Care to play a game? I ask the questions, you answer them. If I like your answers, I undo the ropes, and set you free. Simple, isn't it?"
"And if I don't want to play your game, John?" Martin asked, sure he'd been given a false name.
"Well, then," John said, "I let the cops find out about that stash of kiddie porn in the hall closet."
"I have no such thing!" Martin roared, deeply offended.
"Really?"
"He's telling the truth, John," a second man said. "No kiddie porn in the hall closet."
"Nope," added another man, sounding smug. "Just a bunch of old books. Looks like a bunch of ledgers. Hey, Face, what's it mean if the books all say ‘Property of MJ Toys' and they're hidden in a closet?"
"Means someone's either using their home as a storage closet, or they're hiding a second set of books," the second man answered. "Personally, I'm betting on the latter."
Martin blanched. He wished he could see his captors; he did better if he could look at the people he was talking to. "Look, if it's money you want, there's a safe in the living room, behind the painting. Combination is 38-26-42. Take whatever you want."
"Oh, we will," John assured him. "I just wanted to ask you a few more questions. Who is your distributor?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Martin said, bluffing.
A snort met his words.
"John, let me release the mice, please?" the second man pleaded. "They're getting restless, all cooped up in their cage. I think they might be hungry."
Martin was not, by any means, experienced in torture. He'd never even lived in a place with any sort of pests; he'd inherited MJ Toys from his father. His idea of filth was the fact he had to go into the warehouse at work if he wanted to check on the status of his special shipments. The sheer thought of mice in his bedroom, naturally, terrified him. Added to that was the fact that he'd drunk several glasses of champagne, and well…he couldn't control himself.
Thoroughly humiliated, Martin lay in the seeping puddle. He shuddered to think what his urine was going to do to his expensive, custom-made mattress, which was already wet from the water he'd been splashed with earlier.
"All you have to do," John said gently after a moment, "is talk. You answer my questions, I like your answers, and you get free. So, do you want to play?"
"Yes, damn it," Martin ground out.
"Good," John said, satisfied. "I knew you'd see it my way. Now. When is the next shipment going out?"
"In two days. Donny handles the shipping. We paid the shipping clerk to look the other way when it goes out. Donny said he'd handle everything else – I just make sure the books are kept straight, so the accounting people don't get too nosy."
"Who's Donny?"
"Donny Guerra. He's my assistant."
"Anyone else involved?"
"No. Well, we threatened Trevor, the CFO. He's the one with the kiddie porn stash, I swear. Trevor will do anything to keep his job."
"Where's the shipment going?"
"I don't know. I don't want to know, I swear! I just make sure that the drugs stay locked up – I don't know where Donny gets them."
"Why do you do this?"
"Donny told me to."
"And what's Donny got over you?"
Martin hesitated. "Nothing," he lied.
He could feel John studying him. "Well, that was five out of six. What do you think, guys? Does he get the gold star?"
"I say no," was Face's vote.
"I don't know, Face," said the third man, "he did cooperate eighty-three percent of the time. You know, when I was in school, that would qualify for a star."
"Oh, same here, but you'd have to get over eighty-six percent for a gold one," Face said. "Anything less in the eighty percent range was a silver star. And look, George and Henry are still hungry."
"You are so right, Face. No gold star." Humming what sounded suspiciously like ‘Three Blind Mice', the other man departed the room.
"Guess you lose, then, Martin," John declared. "But I'm a generous man." He loosened the ropes binding Martin's left foot, then walked away.
The smell of cigar smoke lingered long after his mysterious captors had departed. When the police burst in six hours later, Martin had only managed to give himself a hellacious charley horse in his left leg, trying to point his toes in a manner that might free his other leg.
Somehow, he wasn't altogether surprised when the first words out of the officer's mouth was, "Martin Holmes, you're under arrest for smuggling drugs, fraud, extortion, and embezzlement."
PART SEVEN
"You don't seem surprised to find out Martin had a partner," Hannibal commented when the A-Team met up with the Leverage Inc crew half an hour after leaving the Holmes house. After introductions had been made, Face turned the ledgers over to Hardison and Parker, who quickly began searching through the books to find any useful information.
"That many drugs meant he wasn't working alone," Nate pointed out. "Plus, it was too organized for one single person."
Hannibal sharpened his gaze on Nate, then looked over Nate's team. "You've already set things in motion for the cops," he guessed. "You just needed to make sure we kept Martin busy while you staked out the other likely candidates."
Nate held his gaze. "Something wrong with that plan?" he asked.
"No," Hannibal decided after a moment's consideration.
"What I don't understand," Amy said, "is how you were sure who to target."
"We were listening when you talked to Martin at the party," Sophie answered. "Directional mikes are very useful. You're very good at interviewing people, Amy, but I think you were so focused on what you had to do to keep Martin occupied until the champagne you'd doctored had taken effect, you missed something important. Martin kept saying, ‘Donny thinks' … got us to thinking who Donny might be."
"Plus, I got to wondering where Martin's partners might be if he was at a party," Eliot put in. "Be a perfect time to send off another shipment while Martin was completely oblivious."
Face shook his head in admiration. "Now, if I was Donny, I would've set things up so I would have the company if Martin did something stupid."
"Too bad for him," Hardison declared. "Because now we've got him."
Hannibal stared at him, then began chuckling. To Sophie, he said, "You found some interesting friends, Cinderella."
Sophie smiled. "You set a good example, Hannibal. Why would I settle for anything less?"
Accepting the compliment, Hannibal grinned. Then he turned to Nate. "Anything we can do to help?"
"Take what you need from the stash you brought out of Martin's safe," Nate told him. "You've already earmarked some of it for your client, I presume. We can take it from here — and you don't need to know what we're going to do."
"They can still help, Nate," Eliot offered unexpectedly. "They can stop the shipment that's headed out tonight." To Hannibal, he said, "Hardison's got the details on that truck. Think you can manage a trap for it?"
"Our pleasure," Hannibal said with a grin.
EPILOGUE
"In our continuing coverage, police are still on the scene of a semi rollover crash on I-77 South. The driver of the truck was taken to the hospital with minor injuries, and police have cordoned off the area. Sources say the truck was carrying a shipment of illegal drugs, and that a red Corvette was involved in the crash. The driver of the red Corvette has not been found." The TV screen flashed a picture of a smashed Corvette.
Hardison winced as he sat in the hotel bar, seated at a table large enough to hold most of the group. "Please tell me that was a rental," he said as he turned to Face.
"Registered to Alan Smithee," Face said with a nod. "Oh, look, here's Amy's report on Martin, Donny and Trevor."
"How'd she get that exclusive so fast?" Sophie wondered as she sat on the other side of Face, watching Amy's report on the demise of the top executives of MJ Toys. The screen indicated it had been recorded earlier, though Amy's voiceover at the end of the segment revealed the latest developments.
"I never ask," Face said. "I don't want to know."
"So what happens to the company now?" BA wondered. "People be out of work if the company shuts down."
"That's not good," Parker said. "No work means no money." She looked across the table to where Murdock was apparently introducing a small teddy bear to his toy mice, wrinkled her nose, and decided to leave him alone. "Nate'll fix it."
"Board of directors held an emergency meeting this morning," Nate drawled as he walked up, joining them. "There is a clause in the bylaws of the company that allows for the appointment of a temporary senior executive while a search is conducted for a replacement. Since the only people I could see capable of knowing what was going on were people we knew, I suggested they hire your client, Shawna Jenkins, and our client, Doug Stanback."
Face stared at him. "Did they even know who you were?"
"Of course," Nate nodded. "I'm the designated representative of the legal owner of the company. Amy did get him to sign a release to be interviewed, after all. We just borrowed his signature."
Beside him, Hannibal chuckled. "You should've seen him," he told the assembled party. "He was on the jazz."
"Oh, no, not another one," Amy groaned, walking in behind Hannibal.
FINIS
Feb. 7, 2010
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