Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.
Miller's office, Murdock thinks as he looks around it, is the epitome of luxurious comfort bought with ill gotten gains. As he pulls surreptitiously at the ropes binding his hands while trying not to attract the attention of the one guard Miller left in charge of him, he wonders how long it will take him to escape.
The mass exodus Miller instigated on learning the car had been tracked down can only work to his advantage. If he were the guard left behind, Murdock muses, he'd be pretty pissed at being left behind to babysit. Of course, if Miller had been thinking straight, he'd have ordered Murdock back down to the cellar where he would have been back at square one.
But he didn't and now Murdock needs to turn this to his advantage. He's battered and bruised and, if truth be known, getting a little anxious. The guys should have got Annabelle away but it sounds like Miller's ahead of the game. He's worried that Hannibal, BA and Face won't have time to come up with any form of defence; the van, after all, is sitting uselessly outside complete with all their weapons and communications.
He lets out a long sigh, putting just enough pain into the sound to make the guard turn and glare at him.
"What?" he demands of the pilot.
Murdock just raises his eyebrows quizzically at the man. "What, what?" he responds.
The guard frowns as if he's trying to work out what Murdock's talking about. He appears to think for a few seconds longer then turns away from the pilot again.
Murdock smirks. Winding this guy up is just going to be too easy. He's clearly not the person who should have been left in charge of a slightly off balance soldier. Looking around the study for any ammunition he can get his hands on Murdock takes in the open fire. It's not lit but that doesn't matter. There's a solid brass set of companion tools – poker, brush, tongs, spade – all useful in more than one way.
He edges over towards the fireplace, eyeing the guard all the time. He's almost there when the man turns around.
"Where d'you think you're going?" he demands.
Murdock's eyes widen, all innocence. "To the fire," he replies as though it were obvious. Which it is. "I'm cold," he clarifies.
"Fire's not lit, idiot," the guard says, his own eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"But I'm cold," Murdock insists. "And Billy here is starting to shiver and when he starts to shiver, you know the cold's gonna get you."
The guard frowns as Murdock nods towards an empty space to his left.
"There ain't nothing there," he points out.
"What?!" Murdock cries. "Of course there is! He's sitting right there, shivering to his bones. What d'you mean there's nothing there?" He takes another step to the fire and shakes his head sadly. "Billy," he says, "that man over there can't see you. Are you just going to sit there and take that?" He pauses, listening to Billy's reply. "No," he says, looking up at the guard again, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
The guard glares at Murdock and the pilot stops talking, looking up at the man.
"You're more trouble than you're worth," the guard growls, stepping forward menacingly.
"You have no idea what I'm worth," Murdock retorts and lunges forward, wondering absently if he's about to make a massive mistake. He ducks his head low and rams the guard in the stomach, knocking them both off balance.
But the guard has the clear advantage and he recovers quickly, throwing a punishing left hook into Murdock's ribs.
It hurts, but it's what the pilot was hoping for. He rolls with the punch, curling up in mock agony by the fireplace. The guard steps forward, his fist raised and face pinched in ugly rage.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Murdock gasps, putting a little more dramatic effect into his words than he actually feels. "That was stupid. I won't do it again – I promise!"
The guard seems to think about his words briefly before nodding, "You'd better not," he advises and Murdock drops his head in a show of defeat as the man steps back towards the window, fast losing interest in his captive.
Murdock smirks inwardly. This is all going perfectly to plan.
BA and Hannibal are unceremoniously bundled out of the car they've been travelling in. Hannibal supposes they should be grateful that they were at least in the same car although communication between them has been impossible.
Miller is standing on the driveway to his mansion, deep in conversation with one of his men – one Hannibal doesn't recognise from their reconnaissance or the fight at the warehouse. He watches as Miller turns and glares at the two team mates and can't help but grin and nod at the man. If his hands were free he would give him a cheery wave.
Hannibal is in his element despite the vibes from his companion. BA is just one big heap of indignation at the moment and Hannibal reckons he can use that later. He turns to the sergeant and smiles his most winning smile.
"See, BA?" he says. "I told you if we waited long enough we'd be invited to the big house." He turns back to Miller and raises his voice. "Nice place you have here. Are you going to ask us in?"
Miller stops his conversation just long enough to glare at Hannibal and BA before apparently dismissing them as an inconvenient distraction. The colonel uses the time to take a really good look around, assuming that BA is doing the same. The house is big and if the number of windows is anything to go by there are a lot of rooms they could have stashed Murdock in.
He wonders where the van is but a place this size probably has just as many garages to hide it in. Sparing a glance in BA's direction, Hannibal wonders what he'll go for first – the van or their pilot. He knows that in a life or death situation BA would never let anything happen to Murdock but the van is his pride and joy and woe betide any man that tries to come between them.
Lost in thoughts of strategy, Hannibal doesn't notice that Miller has moved forward until he's only a few feet away. He's clever, Hannibal thinks. He doesn't come too close, certainly not within arm's reach and his bodyguards are clearly armed.
"You're not going to get away with this," he informs Hannibal.
"Well," Hannibal retorts, "I'm glad you told me that. Saves a lot of time all round. We'll just be leaving then. Just as soon as you return my friend to us."
Miller laughs at this, actually out loud laughs.
"You'll see your friend soon enough," he replies. "To be honest, I'll be glad to be rid of him."
Hannibal nods sagely. "Yeah, he can have that effect on people. It's a talent of his."
"His talent is going to get him killed if he's not careful," Miller opines.
"Tell you what," Hannibal replies brightly. "We'll take him off your hands and be on our way and we can all enjoy what's left of the day."
Next to him BA sighs and drops his head. The colonel wishes he could give the man a consoling pat on the shoulder but that's out of the question right now so he just keeps on grinning at Miller.
Miller has had just about enough of this jackass and his team. The Marvellous Mungo has had his time and now it's all business as far as Miller is concerned.
He orders his guards to bring Hannibal and BA up to his study where he left the madman and a guard and stomps off ahead of them. He can hear some arguing going on behind him but quite honestly he doesn't care anymore.
As he reaches the door to his study he stops, not sure of what's alerted him to a problem but he's got a sudden sense of foreboding. In an ideal world he'd let one of his lackeys go first but the Marvellous Mungo and this Hannibal character have got him so riled up that he's not really thinking straight.
He opens the door and stops, taking in the scene with an increasing sense of disbelief. The first thing he notices is the breeze coming through the now open window. No, not open. Smashed.
Then he spots the disarray on his desk – files, pens, papers everywhere. He's meticulously neat, almost obsessive about it, but now there's no order to anything.
And then, finally, he realises the room is empty.
Spinning on his heels he yells out for Ellis who, it turns out, is just inches behind him.
"What the hell happened here?" he demands as the remaining guards push their captives into the room.
Ellis looks briefly panicked. Miller simply glares at him. He relies on his head of security to pick out the best of the best but right now it seems that a lunatic has got the upper hand and that isn't acceptable.
In the background he can hear the colonel laughing.
"Looks like he got away," he taunts and Miller can feel the heat rising in his face.
"Fool's done it," the other man is muttering and shaking his head slowly. "I can't believe the fool's done it."
Meanwhile, Ellis has moved past Miller to examine the window but he stops before he gets there. He standing behind the desk, looking down at something. Then he lifts his head and looks directly at Miller. Whatever he has to say, Miller realises, it's not going to be good.
"He's gone," the security man says and Miller feels his eyes narrowing.
"You think?" he asks, sarcastically. "What gave it away?"
Ellis, clearly used to bearing the brunt of Miller's wrath bends down and when he stands up again he's holding the poker from the fire. Miller can see that the end of it is coated in blood. Ellis looks down again.
"He got Robbins good."
"Is he dead?" Miller asks, because if this man has cost him a guard then he will know fury like no other.
"No, but he's not going to be doing much for a couple of days."
Miller spins round to Hannibal and BA. "Where is he?" he demands.
The older man just shrugs. "You said it yourself," comes the answer. "He's gone. He's a little crazy so he could be anywhere by now, wouldn't you agree BA?"
"Fool's crazy alright."
"We could track him for you, if you like?" Hannibal offers and Miller seethes at the man's arrogance and smugness.
"Oh, you'll find him, alright," he replies. "But maybe not in the way you're thinking." He turns to Ellis. "Get rid of these two, I don't have time for them right now. And make sure your men do a better job of keeping hold of them this time."