PREVIOUSLY ON QUANTUM LEAP:

Sam has leaped as himself into the small town of South Bend, New Mexico. He meets Angela, an angel from another leap, who takes him to a bar from another leap: Al's Place! Everything about the bar is the same - from the Bartender himself, to the lettering on the front window, to the visions of people he has known on previous leaps - except the bar is in South Bend, fifty years after he first leaped into it back in 1953. Sam plays the bartender's jackpot game once again and wins! Just as he is about to get his answers on why he is leaping through time, there is a scream from outside the bar and Sam runs to investigate. Sara Perkins, the 5 year-old daughter of Moira McCloud and step-daughter of her husband, Brad McCloud, has been kidnapped off the street and unless she is found within the next 24 hours, she will be murdered. There is a 30 million dollar ransom note on her head...the exact amount of Sara's trust fund. Angela helps Dr. Beckett to pose as Sam Beederman, a FBI agent, and he begins to head up the kidnapping investigation with Perry Mason, a local police officer. As Sam and Detective Mason get statements from Sara's mother and stepfather, Al Calavicci follows Angela into Al's Place where the observer asks a few questions to the bartender, who can see him. No answers are given yet, but when Al returns to the project control room, Angela has followed him in! She gives some advice and soothing words to the project staff about the possibility of Dr. Beckett's return someday and then leaves  through the imaging chamber door and passes into Sam's reality! Al tells Sam that Ziggy predicts that there may be clues to Sara's kidnapping on the road where her body is going to be found unless Sam can prevent the murder. Still waiting on ransom instructions from the kidnapper, Sam, Mason, and Angela venture out to search for anything that might lead them to Sara.

PART FIVE
Thursday, November 27th, 2003
4:26pm
South Bend, New Mexico
NM Highway 380

"Is so hot out today!" Angela complained as she shifted her weight around inside the heavy coat she wore in the desert sun. "Is November, no? New York was much nicer!"

Sam and Mason winced at each other. The trio had been walking down a 1/2 mile stretch of Hwy 380 for about 15 minutes without a trace of hope in finding Moira's missing daughter. There appeared to be nothing out here except a very long, straight slab of asphalt that had not yet begun to cool from the afternoon heat. Even the detective had started to adjust his shirt collar from the sweat being forced underneath it.

"Try taking off the coat," suggested Sam. "You shouldn't be wearing it anyway. You could die from heat exhaustion out here."

"Die?" grinned Angela. She let out a jovial laugh before saying, "I can not die. I'm an angel!"

Mason gave Sam a side look. "So you said... twice... on the way over here. Tell me, why do you think you are an angel?" Mason grinned. 'This is gonna be good', he thought to himself.

"Oh, I don't think I'm an angel. I know I am!" She paused for a moment as Mason grimaced. "He," she said as she pointed upwards toward the cloudless New Mexico sky, "made me so."

"Sam," asked Mason as the detective turned away from Angela, "are you sure we need her out here with us? I mean...I know you two have worked together before, but this is just weird now."

Sam shot Angela a curved brow before answering the detective. "She may be eccentric, but I have a feeling she may be a big help in solving this, Detective."

They continued down the road as they exchanged words. "Thank you, Sam," said Angela. "Mister Perry here is beginning to remind me of your friend Al." She glared over at Mason, who was avoiding any eye contact with her.

"Al?" asked Mason. "The bartender?"

Sam shook his head. "No. By best friend... er... partner back at the FBI."

Mason nodded. "Will he be joining us on the investigation as well, Sam?"

Angela interrupted, "Unfortunately." She shifted her coat around on her body again. "Hmmmph."

Sam ignored her and gave his own reply. "Al supplies me with information from the main...uh...the main office. But you won't get to meet him."

Mason smiled, half-joking, "well if he and I have the same feelings about this...woman, then I feel like I already know him well."

Angela murmured something to herself as she tried to keep up with the pace of Sam and Mason. She glanced at the sky, finally saying, "Oy!"

"Well, I don't know if Al was right on this one, Mason," said Sam. "We've been walking along the milepost Al gave me and there's nothing out here at all. Maybe we should turn back."

Mason frowned. "How would he know where to look for Sara anyway? Kidnapping just happened a few hours ago."

Sam stumbled for an explanation. "Well, we at the FBI have our sources. I think Al  is just following up on it. And here we are."

"I've known Moira since she was born, Sam. She's a wonderful woman," continued the detective, "and a friend to so many people in this town. So if your friend says this might help, I'll do it. Let's keep walking."

Angela sighed. She began to wish that she had paid more attention to her diet when she was alive. All this walking was killing her feet!

"Mason," asked Sam, "you ever deal with anything like this before?"

"Many times," Perry replied. "I mean... not exactly like this, but it comes with the job. Had a boy here just last year that went missing for a day. Turned out he had fallen into some sort of ventilation shaft just a few miles outside of town. But we found him and saved him." A smile crossed Mason's face as he continued, "Had a few lost dogs here or there... always found them too. Saved a girl from drowning in the river back in 2002. Only lost one life here on my watch."

"Moira's previous husband," Sam realized. "His name was..."

"John Perkins," Mason said, finishing Sam's statement. "He was a good man. Loved his daughter, loved Moira. He let Moira be herself... let her follow her dreams. He is the whole reason Moira got into teaching. She loved helping kids with special needs in church, but funds are real limited for a good program like that in a small town like this."

"I know about that," Sam said. "Special grants are sometimes hard to come by."

"John worked for the state government and knew people. He got the school a grant to begin a special needs program and they hired Moira to take the position over it. Some of those kids would never have made it to high school if it wasn't for her. She had also begun a support program for families of kidnap victims. Moira's cousin was abducted from her daycare center some years ago, so she decided that people hurt by that sort of situation could use a program to get financial and emotional help. But without John around... she wasn't able to get the money she needed to get the program off the ground."

Sam commented, "They sure need that program now. I wish she had been able to continue her work."

Mason stopped walking and faced Sam. "I was never able to discover who killed John... I don't think I can handle losing this battle too. Moira's uncle was with the family when he was shot. He saw the shooter and tried to stop the man, but it was too late. He never forgave himself for failing Moira and I'll never forgive myself if I fail her this time. I hope we can help her, Sam."

"I hope so too," Angela interjected as she was finally able to catch up to the two men ahead of her. "I've seen many, many lives touched in so many different ways. I've saved some and lost some. I hope we don't lose this one. I was told by the big guy that this girl is very special."

"Here we go again," said Mason as he began moving forward down the road again, shaking his head.

Sam quickly interceded, "We all want this to come out right in the end. Let's just agree on that and try to work together, okay?"

Suddenly the police radio on Mason's belt screeched and an alarmed voice began speaking. "Detective Mason, come in! Over!"

Mason unclipped the radio and quickly replied, "Yes, I'm here! What's going on? Over."

"Officer Davies is here and just got a call from your kidnappers! Over!"

The voice on the radio was familiar to Sam, though he couldn't reason why. Wait... A flash of memory overtook his mind...

Clip #7   

Sam hugged Annie, who wore a blue "number 3" T-shirt, and who also wore tears in her eyes. They were kneeling on the kitchen floor. Sam was in a blue dress as Dr. Ruth Westheimer. "The important thing is... that you get away from this man. Okay? Before he hurts you or you hurt yourself."

Annie, confronting her emotions, said, "How can I get away? He's my boss!"

Shrugging his shoulders, Sam replied, "So what? It's just a job... you quit."

"I can't," said Annie. Her red hair shaking along with her head.

"All right... all right you don't quit. We'll file a complaint against this guy. All right?"

They stood up and Annie said, "I don't know..."

Sam offered, "Well, I do. Now what do you say?" Sam turned Annie toward him and looked straight into her eyes. "I'll help you clean out your desk in the morning. Come on."

Annie asked, "Why would someone as famous as you care about someone like me?"

Sam replied, "How do you think I got to be so famous?" Annie smiled as Sam continued, "Besides, helping people is what I do for a living."

Sam said aloud, "Annie Wilkins?"

"No, it's Julie, the station receptionist," said Mason to Sam as they began running back down the highway toward the cruiser. The detective continued into the radio, "What happened? What did they say?"

"The man asked for Moira. We got her on the phone and the man said he would call again at 6pm! We didn't get a trace, but we have one more shot. Moira has to be at the payphone where Sara was abducted to take the call. He said he would give her further instructions then. Over!"

"Tell officer Davies to get a tap ready on that payphone! We're on our way!" Mason yelled into the radio.

"Wait for me! You loco!!" screamed Angela as Sam and Mason hurried ahead of her.

"Why don't you just use your angel wings and fly ahead of us?" teased Mason as they kept running for the car.

Angela mumbled something, but Sam and Mason couldn't hear.

"What was that, angel woman?" teased Mason.

"I said," yelled Angela at the top of her lungs, "I am too heavy! They won't give me my wings!"

Mason wanted to laugh, but the matter at hand kept him from continuing on with her. Instead they kept on running, quickly approaching the vehicle. Angela finally caught up to the two men and tires squealed as they sped off towards town.

In their hurry, they didn't notice the fresh sandy road that began only 200 yards behind where the police cruiser had once rested. And a small shack  just beyond the sightline with two men staring out the windows in relief that it was now gone.

Joey and Carlo stepped back from the windows. Joey, the taller man walked over and sat down in his wooden chair, ready to finish the partially burned cigarette that was curling it's smoke up toward an unfinished ceiling. Carlo stayed near the window, not wanting to relax just yet.

Carlo glanced back toward his partner. "That wasn't the plan, Joey."

"I had to do something," the other man replied, exhaling a breath of smoke. "And it worked... they left."

"We were supposed to wait until we got the word!" shouted Carlo as he shoved Joey backward in his chair, sending the smoking man crashing to the floor.

Ashes sailed through the air as Joey sat up on the wood planks that lined the floor. He didn't rise, just sat there stunned. "What if they had come down here, Carlo? Huh?! Then the plan would have gone to hell! Do you want to lose five million dollars? Is that it?!"

"The man said that if we screw this up, we get nothing. He said no one makes a move without his knowing. He's gonna be pissed."

"So what if we made the first call an hour early?" Joey said, finally climbing to his feet. "Big deal! He'll get over it. He's getting twenty-five million out of this deal! We are only getting five mil for risking our asses out here with this girl."

"Only five million? Only five? That's a helluva lot of money, if you ask me."

"I think we should up the deal on the bank, now that I think about it. We could do the take 50-50. What's he gonna say about it?"

Carlo turned slowly to his partner, a rage in his eyes. "You want to change the deal! Risk everything?! Maybe you want all the money now... yeah just take it all and leave the man with nothing! You forgot he knows where we are? He could just call the police and have us arrested right here with our pants down?!"

"You're right," replied Joey.

"Damn right I'm right."

"We should take all the money. We can kill him! We don't need him, Carlo..." Joey had a big grin on his face as he paced around the small, dim enclosure.

"You're crazy... I didn't agree to kill anyone, Joey! That wasn't in the deal!"

"DON'T EVER CALL ME CRAZY!!" screamed Joey in a deranged rage.

Carlo backed away from Joey. "Hold on, man... be cool..."

Joey's whole body was shaking from the anger inside him. He hated that word. Crazy. No one called him that. No one. Smoothly he asked, "You don't like the deal I have in mind, Carlo?"

"I'm not gonna be a part of killing. This is just about the money for me, man." Carlo shifted towards the door. "I'll leave you on your own if there's gonna be killing."

"Oh there's gonna be killing... ." Joey pulled his gun out from it's resting place in the waistband of his jeans and pointed it at Carlo. "So I guess I will be on my own."

He fired three rounds into his former partner as Sara screamed from somewhere under the house.

PART SIX
Thursday, November 27th, 2003
5:27pm
South Bend, New Mexico

'We had stopped by the station first to listen to the recording of the kidnappers' phone call. The voice on the line was muffled... like a glass had been placed over the mouthpiece when he had given the instructions to the receptionist, Julie Magrez. I couldn't hear Sara, but from the sound of a cigarette lighter in the background, there was at least one other person there. Moira was to wait for further instructions by the payphone outside Al's Place, where Sara had been abducted. If anyone besides Moira picked up the phone, they would kill Sara. On top of this, I couldn't help but stare at Julie... I had once saved her from a sexual predator at her job and now here she was... alive and well. But it wasn't really her. She just looked like her. There were still so many unanswered questions and as we walked back into the crowded bar, I was anxious to get the answer I had won from the bartender just a few hours ago. We picked up Brad and Moira and took them with us to wait for the call.'

"We're Back!" exclaimed Angela as she hobbled behind the bar. "Did you miss us, Al?"

The bartender grinned. "I knew you'd be back sooner or later." Watching Sam and Mason make their way around a group of men standing there talking, the bartender said, "Hello Sam. Hello Perry. Moira and Brad not coming in?"

"They wanted to wait outside where it's a bit less noisy," explained Mason.

The bartender gazed over the crowd through the front window where he could see Moira and Brad waiting by the payphone. "Got any leads on the kidnapping?"

Angela began to wash a sink of dirty glasses as Mason answered, "That's classified, Al. You know I can't discuss police business." Mason smiled at the bartender and found himself a seat at the bar.

"What'll it be, gentlemen?" asked the bartender.

"Sweet tea for me," said Mason. "Sam and I are on duty."

"Sweet tea it is, then. And Sam? What's your pleasure?" the bartender asked, his neutral expression unchanging.

"The same," Sam smiled broadly. "And the answer to my question."

"What question?" asked Perry.

"Well," smiled the bartender, "Sam's question is very much like one you asked me a long time ago, Perry."

Perry shifted on his barstool. "Oh?" He looked to Sam and then back at the bartender.

The bartender answered, "Yes, in fact. You know... the purpose of life, what does it all mean, why are we here... that sort of thing."

Sam sat up straight on his stool with anticipation in his expression. Sam's reflection stared back at him from the mirror behind the bar, wanting the answers just as much as he did. "That's exactly the question, Al. Now... you gonna give me what I won fair in square?"

Perry stood up from the bar. "I've gotta go. Al? May I use your restroom?"

"You know where to find it," replied the bartender, motioning toward the rear of the bar. "You're not going to stay for the answer to Sam's question?"

"I already know the answer." Mason paused as Sam stared at the smiling detective for an explanation. "But, according to the supreme bartender here, the answer is different for everyone. So why I don't I leave you two for a moment to discuss your answers, Sam. I have to answer mother nature right now."

Dr. Beckett gave the chuckling detective a half-smile and nod as Mason made his way toward the back of the bar around a table of four men who looked a lot like the members of a rock group he somehow knew. 'King Thunder?' He shook off the feeling of deja vu and returned his focus to the bartender. Angela was passing a beer to someone on the other end of the bar and was cackling with laughter. "Why haven't I been able to leap home, Al? You say I control my future. You say I can just accept that I am leaping myself through time and I'll be able to leap home whenever I want. But I want to go home now. Why can't I?"

"Sam, it's not that you can't. It's that you won't. It has always been up to you."

"No, no, no... not this again!" Sam quickly stood and leaned on the counter. "You are the one leaping me! I know you are!"

"Sam…" The bartender paused for a brief moment to think. An idea came to mind and he began, "Sam, suppose that I am the one leaping you through time."

"I know you are," said Sam.

"All right then. Suppose I said you may go home. But you have to go right now. There's no turning back. This is your one chance to return to your own time and resume your normal everyday life. All you have to do is walk out that door and say, 'There's no place like home,' three times in a row."

Sam smirked. "I forgot my ruby slippers back in the accelerator chamber. Al, tell me the truth!"

The bartender looked dead into Sam Beckett's eyes. "I am. The choice is yours. I made it interesting, yes. But that is all you have to do. You can leave all this behind and no one will think the worse of you for it. Everyone here will forget you and life will go on as usual. I'll even have Angela stick with the detective so that he gets some inside help on this case. Maybe this time things will turn out right."

"This time?" asked Sam.

Ignoring the question, the bartender continued, "The choice has always been yours, Sam. Your life will return to normal. You'll finally be home."

"Home," Sam whispered softly, his mind talking him elsewhere.

"Yes," said the bartender with a sympathizing stare. He looked back over his left shoulder to the clock on the wall. It was 5:55. "You have five minutes. The offer ends at 6pm."

"Al!" shouted Angela as she motioned to a man at the end of the bar. "Come and talk to Julian! He hasn't seen you in years!"

"Five minutes, Sam…" The bartender smiled as he left Sam's position at the bar and walked down toward the man and Angela. They shook hands and began talking like old friends.

Perry came up behind Sam. "What's the word, Sam? Did you get your answers?" the detective smiled and laughed.

"Yes. Yes I did, Perry." Sam was solemn.

"What's wrong, Sam?" asked Mason. "What did the 'ol guy tell you?"

"I just need some air. I'm gonna go outside for a moment," said Sam.

"Want some company?" asked Mason.

"No, thanks. I need to be alone," said Sam. "Give me about 5 minutes… then come on out and see if the phone rings. It's almost six o'clock."

Perry glanced up at the clock. "Yes, it's almost time! I'll be out in a minute, just gotta talk to Al first."

Sam gave a forced smile. "Thanks, Perry."

Dr. Beckett turned and walked slowly toward the exit as Perry edged around the crowd at the bar. The bartender gave Sam a smile, as did Angela, while he made his way through the mass of people who had gathered here this thanksgiving afternoon. He passed a couple that looked an awful lot like Tom and Peg Stratton from his first leap back in 1995. They were sitting near the pinball machine at the table where-- yes… "This was the table where Stawpah leaped!" Sam said aloud to himself. The memory of it came flooding back…

Clip #8    

Sam watched, dumbfounded, as Stawpah turned blue and then shattered into streams of electricity which then vanished into the crowded bar, leaving the table with an empty bottle and nothing more.

Surrounded by the celebrating miners, Sam asked,"The guy who was sitting at that table… where did he go?"

Tonchi, along with the other confused miners asked, "What are you talking about?"

Sam began moving toward the empty table. "He was sittin' right there. Then he was...  surrounded by some blue light, and then then... electricity passed all though his body and… then he disappeared."

"Whatever Sam's drinkin'… I'll have one!" shouted a miner in the crowd causing everyone to laugh.

"He leaped," said Sam. "That must be what it looks like to leap. Stawpah… Stawpah was a leaper!"

The vision faded as someone bumped him. "Excuse me," said the man as he hustled by on his way to the bar. His breath was horrible.

"Gooshie?" Sam remarked.

The man didn't stop. Sam thought to himself, 'No… Gooshie… Gooshie died." His memory started to flood back like a tidal wave. "Donna… Sammy Jo… oh my God!"

Sam rushed out the door and stood in front of the bar as the bartender had instructed. He faced the street, closed his eyes and said, "There's no place like home."

Moira turned from Brad, startled by Sam's abrupt exit from the bar. "Agent Beederman?"

Sam swallowed hard. Again he recited, "There's no place like home."

The sun was setting and reds and oranges lined the evening sky. Sam opened his eyes for a brief moment. He was still here. 'Just once more. Say it once more,' he thought to himself.

Brad eased over to Sam. "Beederman… What's going on?"

Sam opened his mouth to say the last line, but was startled by the ringing payphone next to him.

One ring…

Sam didn't move. He closed his eyes tightly shut.

"The call!" exclaimed Moira.

Two rings….

'Come on, Moira. Get the phone!' Sam said in his mind.

"Sam, what do I say?" she frantically asked.

Three rings…

Sam opened his eyes and turned toward the window of Al's Place. Perry was dashing to the door towards him, but he stumbled in the crowd, falling to the floor.

Four rings…

Brad grabbed Sam's arm, turning the leaper toward him. "Sam! Do something!"

Five rings…

Moira pushed between her husband and Sam. "Tell me what to do!"

Tears began to form in Sam's eyes. His confused emotions overwhelmed him.

Six rings…

Sam shut his eyes. He shook his head. "There's no place like…"

"Please, Sam! Please help me…" Moira started to cry.

Brad shouted, "For God's sake, man! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Tears rolling down his cheeks, Sam looked up at Moira, took her hand, and rushed to the phone.

Seven rings…

"Just say hello and listen to what he tells you to do. We have a tap on this phone and will try to get a trace but you have to try and keep him on the phone as long as possible."

Eight rings…

Moira quickly picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

Perry burst through the tavern's door, almost out of breath. Sam motioned for Mason and Brad to be quiet as he and Moira listened to the muffled voice on the phone.

"Moira McCloud?"

Her voice trembled. "Yes… this is Moira."

"Write this down."

Sam took the pen from his shirt pocket and got ready to write on the cover of the phone book hooked to the booth.

"You will transfer thirty million dollars into a Swiss account at WIR bank. Swiss clearing number is 8391. Account number 019470910201. This will take place at exactly 10am tomorrow morning. If you do not comply, I will execute your daughter. Do you understand?"

Moira shuddered. "Y-y-yes. I under… understand."

"Do not…I repeat…do not attempt to forge the transaction in any way. Are we clear?"

Sam covered the mouthpiece and whispered, "Tell him you want proof that Sara is still alive."

"How do I know that Sara is not already dead?" Moira asked carefully, trying to hold back her tears.

There was a pause. She and Sam could hear footsteps followed by the creak of a hinge.

"Are you still there?" she asked.

A voice shattered the silence. "Mommy…"

"Sara! Oh Sara are you ok baby?"

"There was a loud bang and--"

"Sara? Sara are you there baby?" asked Moira, frantically.

"There's your confirmation, Mrs. McCloud. I will expect the transfer tomorrow morning. Once the wire is confirmed, Sara will be returned within one hour. Do not be late."

The phone clicked and a dial tone emerged.

Moira just held the phone to her ear and looked at Sam. Brad and Mason looked on as she collapsed into Sam's arms; her emotions making the world go dark around her.

The sky was darkening and for the first time Sam realized that he was already home. The desert skyline revealed in the distance the Project Quantum Leap mountain top.

PART SEVEN
Thursday, April 15^th, 2004
1:50pm
Stallions Gate, New Mexico
Project Quantum Leap

"Papa? Wake up, Papa."

The man lying in the hospital bed slowly opened his eyes; the dim light overhead seemed to sting his eyes. The pain in his chest was overwhelming. He whispered, "Hello, Son."

"Papa, I'm still praying. I'm praying every day."

"The Lord hears, you, Son. He'll take care of you." He forced his hand over to his eleven year-old son.

The boy took his father's hand in both of his own small hands, a tear beginning to form in his left eye. "But I want you to take care of me, Papa. And Sissy, too."

"My boy, the time is coming near when I won't be with you any longer. I need you to be strong." He grasped his son's hand and pushed a smile onto his face. "I need you to tell your sister that I love her and that I'll always be with her in her heart."

The boy stood up quickly, still holding on to his father's hand. "No, Papa! You can tell her yourself! I've been praying and you said that if I prayed everything would be okay, remember? God will make everything okay…"

The man coughed coarsely. The pain from the sudden movement of his chest shot through him like lightning turning sand into glass. "Son, the Lord works in many ways. He is calling me home to him now. My body is wearing out, but my soul… my heart… will always be with you. Always watching you."

Falling to his knees beside the bed, the boy cried, "No, Papa! He can't take you! Me and Sissy need you! I don't wanna go back to the orphanage. I don't want you to go!"

The pain was beginning to subside. It was numbing… for the first time in months he felt calm. "My boy, believe me when I tell you that I love you. I know you will make me proud, my boy. My handsome boy… you'll knock the ladies dead one day." He smiled. It didn't hurt to smile anymore. The only pain he now felt was the pain in his son's eyes.

"Papa… please don't go. Please, Papa." Tears rained down as his father's hand lost it's grip and slipped down the side of the bed.

Young Albert Calavicci lay down on the cold tile floor, crying, and knowing that he would never see his father again.

"Admiral? Admiral Calavicci?"

Al suddenly came back from the dazed sleep at his desk as he heard Donna calling to him from across his office. His eyes felt wet and Al realized now that he had fallen asleep in his chair - again - and had been dreaming. He hadn't dreamed of his father in a long time. Al's back was to Donna as the Admiral sat up in his chair.

Mrs. Beckett repeated again, "Admiral?"

Wiping the glaze from his eyes, Al responded, "Yes, Donna?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Al, but we are due for the hourly meeting in the control room in 10 minutes."

Al turned his chair toward the door where Donna stood and began to shift papers on his desk, making every attempt to avoid eye contact with her. He could still feel a tear hiding behind his eyelid, ready to escape from its duct at any moment. "Have you had any luck getting Ziggy back on track?"

Donna replied, "No, Admiral. She is in a state of chaos. Tina says she'll get back to work on her after the meeting."

"Thank you," replied Al. "I'll meet you there."

Donna nodded and turned, shutting the door to Al's office behind her. The light in the room was dim and the feeling of airy confusion from the dream quickly emerged into wonderment as Al recalled the photo of his father and the mysterious bartender that he had seen in the Al's Place tavern just a few hours ago. Al stood up from the desk and called out to the voice that was always there… always listening… "Ziggy…"

"Yes, Admiral Calavicci?" replied a surreal female voice.

"I need you to give me some information about my father, Renzo Calavicci."

"Taking a trip down memory lane, Admiral?"

I'm taking a trip, all right. I'm just not sure where… yet."

The female voice offered, "Very well. Renzo Calavicci: Born February 13^th, 1906 in Tortoreto, Italy. Father: Otto Calavicci. Mother: Candelora--"

"Ziggy!" Al interrupted.

"Yesss, Admiral Calavicci?"

"It would be easier if I told you exactly what information I am asking about, don't you agree?" Al gave a twitch of his eye to the ceiling of his office where Ziggy's voice seemed to emanate from.

"I am not programmed to have an opinion, Admiral. I may only postulate based on known facts and probabilities as--"

"Ziggy! Just find out if my father ever visited Cokeburg, Pennsylvania or South Bend, New Mexico."

A short silence stunned the office as Ziggy accessed her databanks. Al began to unwrap a cigar from it's paper wrapper when Ziggy offered the results of her search. "From his birth on February 13^th, 1906 to his death on November 19^th, 1945, Renzo Calavicci never visited either town, Admiral."

"Damn," Al said aloud. He thought for a moment. "Ziggy, cross reference any information about my father and a bar called Al's Place between 1925 and 1944."

"Processing data now…"

Al lit his cigar and began to pace around the room, waiting for something that could explain the relationship between his papa and the bartender. The bartender wasn't exactly forthcoming with information and Al needed answers now. So many questions had erupted in his mind as he took a puff of the delicious cigar.

"No match found, Admiral."

"Why am I not surprised?" Al exclaimed, more to himself than to Ziggy.

"Admiral Calavicci, the woman Angela who accompanied you from the Imaging Chamber told me something that may assist you in your inquiry."

"Angela?" asked Al. "You remember her?" Upon returning from the Imaging Chamber after Angela's visit to the project, Al discovered that no one remembered that she had ever been there. He recalled her explaining long ago during Sam's leap into the cab driver that whenever she had completed an assignment and left the time she was in, people in that time would forget about her. And that appeared to be the case, but after her visit, he felt a more upbeat and hopeful glow from the members of the control room staff. It was as if she had made a real difference in their view of a project that for nine years had not succeeded in it's objective to bring Dr. Sam Beckett home permanently.

"Yes, Admiral," confirmed Ziggy. "I remember everything that has ever occurred on any timeline. And besides, who could ever forget that woman?"

"Good point," Al remarked.

"She whispered the information to me while you were with the others in the control room."

Al turned toward the door to his office. "Well, don't hold out on me, Ziggy! What did she say?"

"I can't tell you."

Al erupted, "You can't tell me? You can't-- What do you mean you can't tell me?"

"It's a secret."

"Ziggy!" Al fumed from the top of his lungs, "I am your commander-in chief and demand to know what she told you!" He couldn't believe that a computer had just told him that it was keeping a secret. He took a long puff of his cigar.

"I'm sorry, Admiral. That information has been locked in my databanks until the proper code is issued."

"Ziggy," shouted Al to the ceiling as he turned himself around the room looking for someone who wasn't there, "if you do not produce the information Angela gave you this instant, I'll have Gooshie cut off your link to the Discovery Channel!"

"Dr. Gushman is dead, Admiral Calavicci. You must be experiencing a slight memory loss."

Al stopped moving. It had been three years since his friend had passed away trying to save the project. A feeling of sorrow overtook him for a moment before he continued speaking. "I meant... You know what I meant, Ziggy!"

"While I would dearly miss my favorite television show, your request is not within my control, Admiral." Ziggy sighed. "I'm getting depressed."

"Damn it, Ziggy!" Al glanced at the neon clock on his desk. It was 2:10pm. "I'm late for the meeting. We will continue this conversation when I get back!" Al walked to his desk and put out the cigar in the ashtray.

"Have a nice meeting, Admiral Calavicci," said Ziggy.

"Gee, thanks." Al grabbed the yellow hat that matched his designer shirt and started for the door muttering to himself, "Angels and bartenders….sheesh."

"Excuse me, Admiral. Repeat, that please?" asked Ziggy as Al pressed his thumb to the plate that opened the office door.

"I said, 'Gee, thanks.' It's called sarcasm."

"And what did you say directly following that, Admiral?"

Al, frustrated, paused as the aluminum door to his office slid open. "I said something like 'Angels and Bartenders.' What about it?"

The computer monitor on his desk beeped and lit up as Ziggy responded, "Code accepted, Admiral."

Al rushed to his desk and focused on the image that now appeared to him. "Oh my God…"

"On November 13th^th, 1975," the female voice informed him, "this photo was taken in Boone, North Carolina. This is the information Angela gave me. I hope it helps, Admiral."

Al just stared at the computer screen. It was the same photo that he had seen in Al's Place. But this photo wasn't torn. He could see now that the bartender and his father, Renzo Calavicci, were standing in front of Al's Place with the Blue Ridge Mountains illuminating the skyline behind the bar. "Wait… 1975?" asked Al.

"Confirmed, Admiral. The ice cream parlor on the right side of the photo was built June 23^rd, 1975. However, no information on the bar called Al's Place could be found in my databanks."

"Scan photo for any signs of tampering," Al commanded.

The screen began to zoom in and broke the photo into millions of pixels. Al didn't remove his eyes from the monitor until Ziggy's voice returned with the results and the photo was reassembled. "Scan complete. No digital enhancements have been made to the image."

"How can this be, Ziggy?" asked Al in an utter state or astonishment. "This photo was taken… it was taken 30 years after my father died!"

"That's the second part to what Angela whispered to me, Admiral."

"What was her explanation?" asked Al.

"Quoting Angela," Ziggy simply remarked, "That's the way it is."

PART EIGHT
Thursday, November 27th, 2003
8:35pm
South Bend, New Mexico

'Perry had driven me and the McCloud's to the home of the town judge, who, by the way, happened to look exactly like Laszlo Panzini from another leap. Moira explained that she needed an early release on her daughter Sara's trust fund and, after learning the reasons, the judge issued a writ granting the request. He made a few phone calls and ensured us that New Mexico State police would be sending several officers in to assist us by morning. Mason and I volunteered ourselves to provide a watch over Brad and Moira, so we all went to their home just outside of town. Al still hadn't come back with any new information and I was getting worried. I had given up my chance to go home once again and now I just hoped that it wasn't in vain.'

"More coffee, Agent Beederman?" Brad McCloud offered a pitcher to Sam, who nodded his head affirmatively. Sam moved his cup forward on the coffee table as the four people sat in the living room of the conservatively decorated home. A fire crackled in the fireplace nearby, warming them from the cold desert night.

Mason sat next to Sam on the white sofa across from Moira, who was stretched out on the matching loveseat. She looked calm, yet her expression lacked relaxation. Her eyes were puffy from the many tears shed this day and she nursed her own cup of coffee slowly. Brad poured Sam's cup full and topped off Mason's as well.

"That's an impressive collection of automobiles in your garage, Mr. McCloud," said Mason to Brad. "I haven't seen a '67 Mustang Fastback since… well since I can't remember when!"

"Thanks, Detective," Brad replied. "I've worked on her for about 10 years now. It's just a hobby really. I used to work in a garage back in high school, so I know cars inside and out."

Sam, through his swiss-cheesed memory somehow recalled that his sister's husband had once owned that same car, although he couldn't remember having ever ridden in it.

"Thank you again for your assistance tonight," said Brad, sitting down in his recliner. "But it really isn't necessary. I know you both have places you'd rather be."

Mason replied, "It's no trouble, Brad. Just doing our jobs. We're gonna bring Sara back safe and sound."

Moira shifted her body around on the loveseat uneasily. "I can't believe this is happening. I just can't believe this could ever happen to anyone."

"We'll get through it, honey," offered Brad. "Sara will be okay. We'll just do as they ask and we'll get her back. Right, Perry?"

Mason looked up at Moira. "Of course. They just want the money. They have no reason to harm her as long as they get what they are after."

"I wish my uncle had never left me that money," said Moira. "This would never have happened."

"You can't think that way, Moira," said Mason. "Everything happens for a reason. I've found that in my line of work, things can be changed for the better as long as people are willing to believe. I'm sure your uncle wanted you to be happy and surely not regret any of it."

"I know, Perry. He was the sweetest man. His death came as a shock to us all. When I found out about the inheritance, I was so relieved. I knew that my family would never have to worry about being taken care of financially ever again. I could see us living a healthy life, reaching our goals and helping to make the world a better place. But now…"

"Now…" Sam interrupted, "now you can still make that happen even if you don't get to keep the money. Perry tells me that you managed to get funding to help special needs children in your school. That's a good thing, right?"

Moira smiled lightly. "Yes, but…"

"You can do a lot with a little faith and a lot of hard work. It doesn't take a genius to see that you have the heart and the spirit to do some great things for other people."

The sound of a beeping handlink imposed on the room as Al appeared behind Moira's loveseat. "Well, it may not take a genius… but at least she's got one helping her. Sam, we gotta talk."

"Thanks, Sam," smiled Moira. "But my spirit lies with my little girl. When she's back with me, I'll be back to normal."

Sam stood from the sofa. "I need to use the, er, you know."

Brad pointed over his shoulder to the hallway adjoining the living room. "Third door on the left."

"Thanks," replied Sam.

"Sam," groaned Al, "the bathroom? This house must have 15 rooms and you choose the bathroom again? Sheesh."

Sam smiled uncomfortably to the group. "I'll… be right back."

Brad stood up as well as Sam crossed the room. "I need to make a call." He patted Moira's leg as he started to head towards the hall behind Sam.

"Who are you calling?" asked Moira.

"Just business, hon. I'm going to call Mike back again and make sure he meets us early in the morning so we can set up the transfer connections. Judge Foster said that the State guys would be in to try and tap phone lines and follow the wire transfer in case it were to be rerouted, so I need to make sure everything is set."

As Brad turned into a room just behind him, Sam closed the bathroom door and turned to his friend. "Al, where--"

"Where have I been, you ask?" said Al, holding a stack of papers in one hand and a cigar in the other.

"It's been hours since you left. Moira took the phone call from the kidnappers and you weren't here to help get a trace!"

Al tucked the cigar in his mouth and punched at the handlink. "No… no that phone call isn't supposed to happen until 8:45pm tonight."

"Well, it happened at six o'clock, Al. What's going on with Ziggy? Do we have anything that can help find Sara?"

"Nothing yet, Sam. I'm sorry. Ziggy is going through a state of panic. She says there has been a ripple in time that she can't understand."

"A ripple in time?" asked Sam.

Al showed one of the papers in his hand to Sam. It was the picture of the bartender and Al's father that Ziggy had shown him. "Recognize this?"

Sam reached for the picture but his hand passed completely through its holographic form. He smirked and Al held the picture straight for him. "It's… it's Al's Place. Who's the man next to the bartender?"

"It's my father, Sam."

"Your father?"

"Yeah. Kick in the butt, ain't it? This was taken in 1975… 30 years after Papa died."

"Oh my God, Al. It's just like Stawpah…"

Al smiled cautiously. "My uncle… yes I know. And there's more, Sam. Look at these." Al showed Sam the rest of the photos he had brought to the Imaging Chamber. "Each of these were taken in or around Al's Place tavern; all in different times and locations." Al stopped on one photograph that was taken inside the bar. "This one shows the bartender in the background behind my cousin Velton. Velton died in 1958 but this was taken in 1981!" Al shuffled through the photos again and came to one taken in front of the bar's window. "Do you see the background in this one, Sam?"

The skyscraper lining the background revealed to Dr. Beckett that this was taken in Chicago. "The Sears Tower?" marveled Sam. "And the woman in the photo… that’s--"

Al interceded, "You got it… that's Maggie Dawson! She was killed in action in Vietnam, remember? But this was taken in 1986!"

"Al, what the hell is going on?" Sam exclaimed as he turned to the bathroom mirror.

"I dunno, Sam. But it's causing Ziggy to overload. She can't think straight." Al removed the cigar from his mouth. "When I dug the rest of these photos out of her memory banks, about halfway through she started spouting off at me like a hyena at dinnertime. She didn't know where the photos came from and when she tried to center me on Al's Place just a few moments before I caught up with you out there in the living room, she gave Tina a shock that sent her to the floor of the control room! She has been working on Ziggy all day without any luck at all. Ziggy swears that the place never existed here on November 27^th, 2003 but, at the same time, she has confirmed that it does exist in the same space and time."

"Al, that doesn't make any sense!" Sam took a long look at himself in the mirror. "How can a place exist and not exist at the same time?"

Al took a breath of his cigar. "Ziggy calls it a mirror expression. Something that is perceived as being there, but really isn't."

"What… like a mirage?" asked Sam.

"No… more like a memory or a vision," replied Al. "When you look in a mirror, you see a reflection of yourself. The reflection looks real, is three-dimensional, and moves in sync with the rest of the world around you. But the reflection is not really there. You can't touch it… you can't reach inside the reflection and grab hold of it. Yet the reflection does exist."

Sam shook his head. "But I have touched the bartender. I have sat down on the barstools there and I have been inside the place. It does exist, Al."

"Ziggy can't explain it any better, Sam. I can't get her to elaborate on it because she starts spitting out computer papers and faxes all over the Control Room that say 'That's just the way it is' over and over and over." Al bit down on his cigar. "Ziggy's flipped her big neon lid!"

Sam turned away from his own mirrored expression and said, "That's the way it is? I am so tired of hearing that around here, Al!"

"Yeah, tell me about it. The only thing rational that I have been able to get out of Ziggy was that there was supposed to be a phone contact with the kidnappers at 8:45pm tonight. But you say that has already taken place, so now I'm lost." Al pounded the handlink, staring hard at it. "What the hell?" He jabbed at the colored contraption again with a confused look on his face.

"What is it, Al?"

"Ziggy is saying that the kidnappers are currently making contact on the home phone line here, Sam." Al banged the handlink on his knee and took another look at the display. "That's not right… she says that the call should already be in progress."

"Al, tell Ziggy that she is wrong. The phone hasn't even rung one time since we got here and--" Sam stopped short. The scene played back in his mind suddenly from earlier today.

Brad had said to Mason just after the kidnapping on the street, "It was an '88 Pontiac, detective. A silver one. There were two men in it and…"

"No," Sam had interrupted, "it looked to me like an '82 Nissan Sentra."

Then, in Sam's mind, another recollection followed from just a few minutes before…

Brad, pouring coffee had mentioned, "I used to work in a garage back in high school, so I know cars inside and out."

And finally, a third memory came forth to top it off:

"I need to make a call," Brad had said as he started to follow Sam down the hallway from the living room.

"Who are you calling?" Moira had asked.

"Just business, hon."

"Sam, what is it?" asked Al, who was standing there looking very confused at his friend.

"There is a call going on right now, Al!" Sam began to whisper. "Try and get a trace on it!"

Al frowned, "But you said--"

"Nevermind what I said… just do it!"

Al began to punch at the handlink as Sam quietly opened the bathroom door and crept down the hallway towards the living room. Mason and Moira were talking softly as Sam approached the telephone near the sofa.

"Moira," said Sam, "I need you to be very quiet and not say a word no matter what. I know you won't understand right away, but you must trust me, okay?"

Moira sat up on the sofa and nodded; her face shrouded with confusion.

Mason spoke up, "Sam, what are you doing?"

Putting a finger to his mouth signaling for the detective to lower his voice, Sam instructed, "without saying a word, pick up that receiver and just listen."

Perry carefully lifted the telephone from its resting place on the sofa table and pressed the 'talk' button. Bringing it to his ear, the conversation on the other end continued.

"That wasn't the deal!" shouted Brad as quietly as he could into the phone. He sat on the edge of the bed looking close at the floor.

"Deals change, pal," laughed Joey. "Now I want the whole spread or the girl dies."

"No… no you can't kill Sara. That's my wife's daughter!" Brad gripped the telephone so hard that a small crack began to take shape in the handset.

"You only married that pretty little thing for one reason, man. To get the money… least that's what you told me when we set up this little venture. Heart gone soft for the little lady, has it?"

"I've planned this for two damn years, Joey. Two years of shopping malls and ballet lessons. You're not going to weasel this money away from me!"

"I don't think you're in much of a position to be telling me what you are and are not going to do, Brad."

"Are you forgetting that I have a police detective and an FBI agent here at my house right now? I can go out there right now and tell them where you are and you'll get nothing!"

"Yeah, yeah I thought about that. So me and the girl moved." There was a short pause. "That's right, Bradley. You don't know where I am anymore. I control this situation now."

"Where's Carlo? Let me talk to the voice of reason over there!" demanded Brad.

"Oh, well see… Carlo didn't much like the idea of killin' a little girl either, so I let him out of the deal… so to speak." Joey began to fall into a fit of horrific laughter.

Brad softly said, "You killed him. You bastard…"

"Now, now… let's not be name-calling. You killed your wife's husband so you could move in on her money, so don't be name-calling me. No… now you just keep everybody on the right track and I'll make sure Sara comes back to you and the wife safe and sound. No cops, no FBI, no problems."

"And if I don't?" challenged Brad.

"If you don't," growled Joey, "right after I tear out Sara's little eyeballs from their sockets, I'll make sure I give you a matching pair. Be a good boy now, Bradley."

The phone went dead. Brad just sat there on the bed, stunned at what had just taken place and thinking to himself. He had gotten so close. Everything had worked just the way he planned. The money was going to be his. But now… now he would get nothing. Joey would surely turn him in anonymously if Brad went against him. The Feds would eventually track the Swiss account to him and it would be all over. If they didn't fry him for murder, they'd at least get him for kidnapping and extortion. But what if he turned himself in now? Sure, Sara would die, but at least he wouldn't risk the death penalty. No one knew about his role in the death of John Perkins, Moira's previous husband. Yes… that's what he would have to do.

"He's going for the door, Sam!" Al shouted as he observed the room Brad had been occupying.

Brad had stood up from the bed and was headed for the door. But as he reached for the knob, he was suddenly knocked to the floor by a tremendous amount of force as Sam kicked in the door.

Mason rushed in right behind Sam and pinned Brad on his stomach. Perry tossed Sam a pair of handcuffs with one hand and Sam latched them to Brad's wrists tightly.

Moira cried from the living room as she heard Mason begin the traditional ceremony. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…"

To Be Continued