Date: Sep 2001


	Hi all!  This is not slash, but it's not het either.  It's really a
	snippet for Val/Robin/Tweetie to make her get well before I complete the
	sequel this is the start of before she finishes the original story.

	Ha, ha, Tweetie!

	***

	Title: Tempus Fugit
	Author: rita (mommacita1@juno.com
	Rating: G - Snippet
	Warnings: Face is missing, but no foul play is even hinted at.  A
	disability is alluded to.
	Summary: Face is missing and much needed by the Team, until a Web
	Information Service comes to the rescue.
	Feedback of all kinds is welcomed, except flames.
	Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team nor do I make a profit from them.  I
	just like to play with them.

	***

	"There's gotta be a better way to get information," Hannibal complained
	as he stripped off the putty nose and the wig that transformed him into
	meek Mr. Sandoval, seeking information about the history of the building
	he rented.

	"Get thrown out again, Hannibal?" BA inquired needlessly.

	"I don't understand it," Hannibal said, shaking his head and patting his
	shirt for a cigar.  There was no cigar and no Lieutenant Peck to give him
	one either.  He sighed.  "Face made it seem so easy."

	"'Seem' is the operative word there, Colonel," Murdock reminded him,
	looking up from the computer screen at which  he sat. "I've tried it,
	too.  I can't make the magic work either."

	Not for the first time, Hannibal regretted his decision to force the
	disabled Lieutenant into retirement.  He shook his head.  How was he to
	know how badly they'd need him, if for nothing more than to tell them how
	to do what he know longer physically could? And if the blond's foolish
	pride hadn't forced him to disappear altogether... well, no use rehashing
	old mistakes, whether they were his own or someone else's.  "There's got
	to be a way to get information, he repeated.

	Both Murdock and BA knew the futility of this conversation. Murdock
	turned back to the computer BA tossed the keys to the van to Hannibal.
	"Go buy yourself some cigars, man; take your mind off it and you'll come
	up with a plan."

	Murdock had already turned back to the computer.  One of those irritating
	little ads was flashing in the corner of the screen.  He'd changed all
	the security settings and paid for the premium service so he wouldn't
	have to see them.  But there it was.  "Need personal or financial info
	fast?  Go to tempusfugit.com - because time flies.  Visit tempusfugit.com
	before it's too late."

	Hannibal had his jacket back on and was halfway out the door, when
	Murdock said, "Hey, Colonel, come and look at this!"

	"Cuban cigars over the Internet, Captain?" Hannibal asked hopefully.

	"Even better!" Murdock exclaimed.  "Least it sounds even better."

	BA wandered over and the two men peered over the pilot's shoulder at the
	flashing ad.  "Sounds too good to be true, to me," BA muttered.

	"What the hell, it's worth a try.  Use a phony name and see if you can
	get information on ... Lieutenant Colonel John Smith, US Army Retired."
	BA and Murdock looked at him as if he had lost his mind.  "Why not?" he
	asked with raised eyebrows.  "We're not wanted anymore.  Lessee if he
	comes up with me being dead, in Venezuela, or something else entirely."

	"What if he comes up with you, Colonel?" Murdock asked.

	BA snorted.  "Fat chance of that happenin'.  Faceman himself set up these
	identities, remember? As a goodbye gift to us."  He frowned.  "Wouldn't
	have to be playin' these computer games if he was still around."

	"I know, BA, I know," the Colonel said in the saddest voice they had
	heard him use in a long time.  "But that's water under the bridge.  If I
	could undo it, I would."

	BA privately wondered if that were true. The Colonel was a good man, and
	BA would follow him anywhere, but he let his pride get in his way and
	wasn't big on apologizing.  Add that to the Faceman's long-held belief
	that he was still one screw-up away from being unnecessary, and you got
	the mess they were in.  Face gone and the Colonel unable to admit he
	couldn't be replaced. 'If Face magically appeared right here, right now,
	would you apologize and beg him to come back?' he silently asked his
	leader.

	"Anyway, to answer your question, Murdock: if he comes up with my real
	information, we hire him on the spot, no questions asked, money is no
	object." He grinned.  "Then we figure out who he is and make sure he's
	working only for us."  He patted the pilot's shoulder.  "Go ahead,
	Captain.  Just don't put out too much money for nothing."

	***

	"What's this?" Hannibal asked suspiciously.

	The Federal Express driver repeated, "Priority One delivery for Colonel
	John Smith, US Army Retired. You'll need to show me some ID, sir."

	Brow furrowed, Hannibal flipped through his wallet looking for
	appropriate ID.  He found his actual Army ID.  'When had that been
	issued?' he wondered.  "This do?" he asked gruffly.

	"That'll be fine, Sir," the driver said after scrutinizing it.  "If
	you'll just sign here?"

	Hannibal closed the door behind the driver and stood holding the FedEx
	Pak in his hands. It was solid and heavy, probably at the limit for using
	a Pak. "No return address or phone number," he said, examining it.
	"That's odd; I thought FedEx required them."  He shrugged and pulled the
	tab opening the Pak.  He pulled out the first page of the tightly packed
	contents, scanned it and turned to Murdock, who was watching a Road
	Runner cartoon.  "When did you query that Internet investigation site?"

	"When you went out for cigars, Hannibal.  I filled out an introductory
	offer form."  He closed his eyes and recited from memory.  "No money up
	front, up to eight hours' work, billable at $500 per hour upon
	satisfactory acceptance by requestor.  One time offer."

	"Sounded too good to be true to me, Hannibal," BA put in from the work
	area he had set up in what should have been the dining room.  "Was it?"
	He and Murdock looked expectantly at Hannibal.

	"Well, listen to this, guys," Hannibal said by way of an answer.
	"Colonel Smith, since your address matches that of the requestor of
	information about you, we have taken the liberty of replying directly to
	you.  If you are not the appropriate recipient, please give it to
	whichever of the two associates currently residing with you at this
	address was the requestor. Since a fictitious name was used, we cannot be
	sure which of your associates initiated the request.  However, initial
	findings indicate it is more probable that the request came from Captain
	H.M. Murdock, US Army Air Corps, Retired, than from Sergeant B.A.
	Baracus, US Army, Retired."

	BA had risen from his workbench and approached Hannibal.  Murdock had
	turned off the TV.  "What's in it, Hannibal?" BA asked.

	Hannibal emptied the Pak onto the coffee table.  Copies of Army
	documents, some labeled "Classified - Eyes Only", spilled across the
	table.  A video cassette with the logo of a national news network fell
	out with a thud. Copies of driver's licenses, social security cards, and
	various company IDs followed. A list of current credit and debit cards
	and bank accounts, including limits, balances, and dates of last
	transaction, was found in a packet of several stapled pages,  A
	black-bordered death certificate floated down on top of it all.

	"My, my," Murdock said, arranging things in date order after noticing
	everything had a "Date of Creation:" label affixed to the upper right
	corner.  In each case a date had been handwritten in bright blue ink.
	"That's pretty much everything that's not public record," he said after
	he finished sorting. "Right up to your current occupation as Low
	Technology Special Effects Coordinator at Industrial Light and Magic, Mr.
	John H. Smith." He handed Hannibal a copy of his employment contract.
	"This is gonna cost us.  But it's worth it."

	Hannibal checked the Pak one more time and withdrew a final sheet of
	paper.  In bold letters it said "Invoice".  "Well, you're wrong there,
	Murdock.  Look at this."

	"Well, I'm impressed," Murdock said. He passed the paper to BA.

	BA read, "Due to the small amount of effort required to process this
	request, there will be no billable amount due.  Thank you for using
	Tempus Fugit Information Services.  Please contact us again with a more
	challenging request."  He scratched his head.  "That mean we don't owe
	'em nothin'?"

	"That's what it means, BA," Hannibal confirmed.  "And they, whoever they
	are, threw down the gauntlet, too.  'A more challenging request,' huh?"
	He turned to Murdock.  "Fire up that damn computer.  Tell 'em to give us
	the current location of Templeton Peck."