The A-Team: Murdock, Hannibal, and B.A.

As usual, Face's earlier reconnaissance work had given the team the intel they needed to execute their plan. His disguise still in place, Face had been inside the house attending the lavish party for over an hour, mixing with the guests, and creating a well-timed distraction. Hannibal, in the guise of a valet, sat calmly by the green door, waiting for Face's signal, and positioning the rest of his team for their tactical strike. On Hannibal's orders, B.A. had abandoned his sniper position in the tree, his laser eyes initiating their charge cycle.

B.A. always supplied the brute force for these operations, this time being no exception. Face had hoped to conceal B.A.'s brutishness by dressing him in a fine black suit, complete with white ascot and french cuffs. The ruse was effective. Now out of the tree, no one suspected that B.A. was anything more than a late arriving party goer. Murdock's peculiar manner wasn't so easy to conceal though.

Labeled as "adjudicated mentally defective" years ago by a military tribunal, Murdock was the team's wild card. On this mission, as with all the others, Murdock's insanity wouldn't hold the team back, but instead be used to their advantage. He sat nestled under a picnic table in full camouflage, ready to loudly cough up a hair ball, climb someone's pant leg, or provide whatever other distraction the team might need if things went awry.

With B.A.'s and Hannibal's lasers now almost fully charged and Murdock's hair ball at the ready, the team was bristling with anticipation of their impending maneuver. But they hadn't received Face's signal yet...

...Amidst the revelry, Face reclined on a long divan, his tuxedo shirt unbuttoned, enjoying a plate of shrimp. He had forgotten about the rest of his team after his fourth glass of vintage sparkling milk, which someone had spiked with catnip.