The A-Team

Not long ago, a highly skilled four man Commando Unit was sentenced to prison by a military court for crimes they claim they didn’t commit.

These men promptly escaped and wanted by the government they disappeared.

That's where journalist Amy Allen re-enters their story months after covering their arrest and and conviction.

Now she finds a new story about the so-called A-team, might present her with a chance to find them. Then the guilt or innocence of the four former soldiers, their fate, freedom or returning to prison could be in her hands.

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Author's note

Pity the fool who doesn't read this bit.

1. Triple A

Amy Allen sat in the orthopaedic chair at her desk in the office of the Los Angeles Courier Express newspaper. Working late transcribing the notes of her last story into a full article.

 

She was struggling with it as she had done with a lot of her most recent work since being demoted from the Los Angeles Sun Times to the Courier, another cog in the media empire of billionaire Charles Leftcourt.

 

These so-called Human Interest stories she’d been reduced to writing, lost pets finding their way home, people who claim to have seen images of Jesus in a slice of toast, lottery winners and a dozen other puff pieces. She saw as being punishment handed down for the series of real journalistic pieces she had investigated and written.

 

Even now after numerous cups of coffee and being halfway through a third can of diet coke she still found it a joyless slog to write-up something of no importance to simply be used to fill space in the morning edition.

 

If she didn't have the 3am deadline she would have already gone home rather than remaining in the office by herself without even Esme the Mexican cleaning woman to occasionally chat with.

 

The sound of her stomach rumbling interrupted her rather self-pitying train of thought realizing she hadn't eaten anything since the Turkey on wholemeal bread sandwich she had as a late lunch around 4pm.

 

That hunger reminded her of Zach her ex sure he might, well no might; she said to herself. He was an arrogant son of a gun who believed he was a better writer and better investigator than her, but he was a great cook and always insisted they eat a proper meal and often had leftovers he could whip up into a nice lunch she brought to work the next day.

 

Still she missed the food knowing she wouldn't make dinner herself, she might make a sandwich or go as far as to heat up a tin of soup when she got home. More likely she’d just pick up one of the many take out menus on the counter next to the phone and order in.

 

If she was going to do that, might as well just stay here, have something delivered to the office and finish these notes. She said, again talking to herself.

 

Still she knew not eating wasn't just a symbol of her being busy if her current workload didn't hold the same appeal as her previous work had done.

 

And her having spent all day writing up notes on three stories was a cover as well or rather a delaying tactic to avoid doing something possibly misguided at best or simply downright reckless, maybe even career ending.

 

Still she rationalized being stuck in a career cul-de-sac chasing her lead was for better or worse her only visible way out.

 

One story had led to something unexpected a chance to redeem herself in the eyes of her bosses and maybe this time they’d go to bat for her with Leftcourt and just maybe she could put her job back on course.

 

The lead had fallen into her lap, after everything that happened to her after writing about them the first time, she might now get a shot at finding and reporting the capture of the A-Team.

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