Chapter 4

"Kid in a candy store." Hannibal muttered, smiling as Murdock bounced around the warehouse like a crazed pinball.

"Look at this! And this! Oh my god, is this real?" He held up a street sign, it looked a little rusty and battered but the words 'Abbey Road' were still very clear.

"Yes, it's waiting to be restored for a collector in Australia." Chris said.

"So put it down, Murdock." Face said. He looked around at it all, shaking his head. All along one wall were red telephone boxes, along another red pillar boxes and other mailboxes. There were large straw filled boxes that held street name signs and road signs. One corner held several sets of traffic lights, another a small forest of parking meters. Park benches took up a lot of the remaining floor space.

Murdock popped out of one of the phone boxes. "I love these!"

"They're the biggest sellers," Chris said, "And they just announced they're going to start ripping them out and replacing them with modern ones, so suddenly everyone wants one before they disappear forever."

"Ripping them out?" Murdock was horrified. "Who? Why?"

"British Telecom. Because they're bloody vandals, that’s why." Chris answered, rather bitterly. "Come on through here," he went on, more cheerfully. "This lot is all for collectors, through here is the stuff that gets hired out to film and TV companies for set dressing. And the vehicles. I don’t sell or hire many vehicles, that’s a specialist field, but now and again one comes my way." He pressed a button to raise a shutter into another part of the building, ducked underneath and switched on the lights. They revealed more of the same, but also, in the middle of the floor…

"A bus!" Murdock's delight reached its highest point yet. He leapt onto the boarding platform and swung on the pole.

"A 1961 AEC open topped Routemaster." Chris said. "When people think of London buses this is what they are thinking of."

Murdock found the conductor's cord and pulled it, they heard the bell ring in the driver's cab. "Fares, please, any more fares," Murdock called, in a British accent.

Chris grinned. "Everyone does that," he said. "This one's not in good enough condition for a collector, but it's fine for TV and film work."

"Can I take a look at the engine?" BA asked. He was trying not to display the same childlike enthusiasm as Murdock, but his eyes were sparkling.

As Chris showed BA the engine Face and Hannibal looked around.

"So what do you think, Hannibal?" Face asked. "Why are they after this place?"

"Well, there's gotta be… what's that?" He stopped suddenly. They all shut up at the sound of voices. "Chris, anybody working here today?" Hannibal asked quietly.

"No, not on a Sunday. It's coming from the workshop." He pointed at a door.

"Okay, you stay here, get outta sight. Guys." Hannibal tossed aside his cigar and led his men over to the workshop door. There were definitely voices coming from the other side, and they were moving towards the door. At Hannibal's signal Face and BA took position one side and Hannibal and Murdock on the other.

"… telling ya, there's nobody 'ere. We got all day." A cockney accented voice came through the door as it opened, followed by four men. The one leading them did a double take as he spotted the men waiting for them.

"Bloody hell!" He yelled as the Americans pounced.

The A-Team had the advantage of surprise, and though the men were tough looking characters they simply weren't ready for the fight they found themselves in. They did well considering, Hannibal admitted, but were soon in a heap on the floor. Their spokesman, a skinny, rat-faced man said. "Who the 'ell are you?"

"No, you're the one's who just broke in so that's our line." Hannibal said. "Chris, you seen any of these guys before?"

"That's one of the ones who came with the briefcase of money." Chris pointed at one of the men, who looked slightly more respectable than the others, though only in the sense that most of his tattoos were spelled correctly.

"He must be their PR guy." Face said.

BA was searching the thugs. He found several coshes and knuckle-dusters in their pockets and tossed them at Hannibal's feet. One of them had also dropped something as the fight started, a long piece of equipment and BA picked it up and examined it, frowning.

"Okay, listen up, fellas." Hannibal said. "You go home to your boss now and tell him Mr. Stewart is very, very sure that he doesn't want to sell. If any of you shows up here again they'll get more of what you just got. Capiche?"

They were a little puzzled at the 'capiche' but seemed to get the message. They looked at each other speculatively, and then rat face said, "Sod this for a game of soldiers." Warily they got to their feet. "We can go?" Rat face asked.

"If you don't we'll just kick your asses again." Hannibal said, pleasantly.

"Alright, but you're in big trouble, yank. You don't know how much bleedin' trouble you're in." They ran, back through the workshop and the outer door.

"You're just letting them go?" Chris was baffled. "Why didn't we take them to the police?"

"They're just low ranking muscle," Hannibal said, "but they won't squeal either, not to the cops. If we want the top man we have to draw him out." He took out a fresh cigar. "What you got there, BA?" He asked after Face lit the cigar for him.

"It’s a metal detector," BA said. "They brought it in with them."

"Metal detector?" Hannibal said. "Well that confirms it."

"Confirms what, Hannibal?" Murdock asked.

"My theory." Hannibal said. He walked back through to the collectibles storage area, stood surveying it, puffing on his cigar. The others followed him.

"And your theory is?" Face prompted.

"That there's something here. Something you…" he looked at Chris, "…don't know about. Something hidden. They don’t know where it is, that’s why they brought that." He nodded at the metal detector. "And it's inaccessible. That’s why they want to buy the place so they have the time and privacy to get at it once they do find it." He took out the cigar and blew out a stream of smoke. "There is something here," he repeated. "And whatever it is it's worth enough to them that they were prepared to put up the money to buy the place to look for it."

They all looked around at the big, high space.

"Gonna take a while to search this." Face said.

"So we'd best get started." Hannibal said.

"What about our new friends back there?" Murdock asked, "They'll be back and I suspect they'll be bringin' their shootin' irons."

"Good point, Captain." Hannibal said.

"Guns?" Chris looked pale.

"Yes. Actually I was going to ask you about that. We need to get hold of some guns ourselves. Don't worry." He said at Chris's look of alarm. "We don’t shoot anyone with them, we just point them at people in a very… ah... convincing manner."

"Well, I don't know anything about guns," Chris said. "We don’t really have them in this country the way you all do in the states."

"I know automatic weapons or handguns are probably out of the question, but I was wondering about shotguns…" Hannibal was pleased when Chris immediately smiled.

"Actually, I think maybe I could help you there, or at least I know a man who can."

"So you're going to pretend to be from Texas?" Chris asked, somewhat dubiously.

Hannibal smiled. "Sometimes I just like doing these things in character." Chris drove up the driveway of what could only be described as a stately home. "So this guy collects telephone boxes?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes. He's one of my best customers." They got out of the car and went up to the door, rang the bell. The butler who answered it looked like he'd stepped out of one of the movies Chris hired out set dressing to.

"Mr. Stewart to see Lord Harcole." Chris said.

"Certainly, sir." They were led into a sitting room and a middle-aged man dressed in tweeds rose to greet them.

"Christopher, how absolutely splendid to see you. How is that lovely family of yours?"

"Very well, thank you, Alan. I hope I haven't disturbed you, I was just passing and thought I'd drop in the list of my latest acquisitions." The peer shook Chris's hand enthusiastically, and then turned to Hannibal.

"And this is another one of my customers, Mr. John Smith from Texas."

"Texas, my word!" He shook Hannibal's hand. "I hope you're enjoying your stay, Mr. Smith."

"Ah sure am, your lordship, this here's a beautiful country. Chris tells me you collect those red telephone boxes he sells."

Lord Harcole needed no more prompting and he was soon showing off a long line of phone boxes that to Hannibal looked identical, but that apparently all had subtle but important differences. After expressing his enthusiasm for about the fifteenth time Hannibal gave Chris a meaningful look.

"I'm sure Mr. Smith would appreciate your other collection too, Alan. Could he take a look?"

"Of course, old boy. Just through here, Mr. Smith."

The room they went into was oak paneled. Deer heads lined the walls and in glass fronted cabinets around the room were shotguns. Alan opened the largest cabinet. "Of course you Americans appreciate your guns."

"Yes, sir." Hannibal said, "Ma daddy always said you could judge a man by the guns he owns and how he keeps them. He'd have liked you, sir." He spotted a beautiful Winchester and carefully took it down. "He'd have liked you a lot." He almost lost the accent as his voice hushed. Lord Harcole didn't seem to notice.

"You have a good eye, Mr. Smith. I think that's the best one in my collection. I was using it only a few days ago. Superb weapon." Hannibal looked at him as if surprised. "Oh yes, they’re all in working condition, I use them for shooting parties. Don't see any sense in them just being museum pieces."

"That reminds me...." Chris sounded slightly nervous and Hannibal gave him a tiny nod of reassurance. "I was planning a little shooting party of my own, down by the warehouse. The fields outside are just overrun with rabbits."

"What tremendous fun," their host said. "Wish I could join you, but I'm off to Monte Carlo this weekend."

"Oh that's a shame." Chris glanced over at Hannibal, and then went on. "I'll be wanting to hire some guns. I don’t keep any myself of course, with children in the house. Can you recommend anyone for that?" He gave a winning smile.

Fifteen minutes later they were placing six of Lord Harcole's very expensive shotguns into the back of Chris's Volvo, each one in its own padded leather bag.

"Alan, you really are too generous."

"Oh, I insist, old chap. Always good for them to get an airing. As long as they're back in time for the Twelfth, you know."

"Of course. We'll take good care of them."

After Chris took a few photographs of 'Mr. John Smith of Texas with a real live English Lord', they left.

"Nice job, Chris." Hannibal said, seeing the rather nervous look on his client's face. "You're a natural." He grinned. "Put you in Face's hands for six months and you'll be able to scam the Crown Jewels away from the Queen. And don’t look so worried, we'll get those guns back to his lordship as good as new."

Chapter 5