Duty Is Color Blind

Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.

Chapter 3 Grisly Delivery

"Faceman, you gotta let me try to talk to Bartholomew in private before we say anythin' to the Colonel. Promise me." Murdock gripped his friend's shoulder so tightly Face winced.

"Okay. Okay! I'll say nothing unless it begins to compromise our safety. Fair?"

Murdock glared into Face's eyes, unsure whether to trust the promise or not. Then he relaxed and nodded, releasing his friend's shoulder.

None of the four men spoke on the trip back to Bartholomew's airfield. Hannibal noted the piercing glances Face shot in Murdock's direction. The pilot ignored the looks and seemed to be steeling himself for something he had to do.

Something was being kept secret between them. Hannibal didn't like secrets. They could come back to bite the team when they were least suspecting it. They almost always did.

Knowing that neither man would release the reasons for his behavior without quite a bit of questioning, the Colonel decided to wait for a more opportune time. They were nearing the airfield anyway.

Bartholomew was pacing up and down in front of the hangar when B. A. parked. He clutched a small cardboard box in one hand. Taking a new cigar from his jacket pocket, Hannibal approached the man. The rest of the team left the van and stood a few feet away.

"Colonel Smith, I called you because this was just delivered." He shoved the box into the Colonel's hands and swiped one anxious hand over his face. The man was sweating, his eyes panicked.

Murdock scrutinized Bartholomew and felt a pang of sympathy for the man. How would he feel if he had a son and his safety depended upon three strangers and a man he despised?

Hannibal opened the box lid, glanced at the contents and just as quickly closed it again. His jaw muscles twitched with anger over what he saw. "Okay, so we know how serious they are. Have you given them any reason to suspect you have contacted us or anyone else for help?"

The ex-gunner shook his head as if he were dazed and had not heard the Colonel's question. "If they could do something like that . . . " and he motioned toward the box, "then what chances does Jermaine have? They could've removed the ring and sent it. They didn't have to do that." He fiercely swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and took the box back.

Murdock stared down at the ground, realizing what the package contained, wanting to help but knowing any words he could say would likely be rejected.

"Again, Mr. Bartholomew. Do they have any reason to suspect you have contacted anyone?" Hannibal made his tone intentionally harsh. He had to break through the man's shock and get information.

"No. Unless they have someone watching this place, they know nothing about you."

"Good. Let's try to keep it that way. Now, you're going to let them know that you've changed your mind about the special Mexican trip. You're sending one of your tour pilots, someone you trust to keep quiet." Hannibal glanced at the Captain and made eye contact with the client, making sure the man knew exactly what he intended.

"I guess it'll have to be that way." Bartholomew scowled at Murdock. The pilot shrugged and scuffed his foot in the dirt.

"You said they tried to get you to fly down to Mexico before this. Who made contact with you?"

"The name's Jefferson Whitman. He owns an import business, supplying gift shops with cheap pottery, pinatas, serapes, stuff like that, from Mexico. It didn't make sense to me that he would come to a small business like mine to bring a shipment into the country. We're strictly rentals and tourism."

"Which means what he wants hauled needs to be under the radar." Hannibal reflected a moment before asking, "Do you happen to know where we might be able to find Mr. Whitman?"

"His main office is on Perez Road in Cathedral City. He calls his business Tesoro de Mexicana Imports."

"Good. Face, B. A. and I will drive to Cathedral City and see what we can do about finding the location where they are holding your son. Mr. Bartholomew, I want you to fill Captain Murdock in on what you know about Whitman, the job he wanted you to do and whatever else you feel will prepare him to take your place on that trip."

Murdock squinted toward the client, looking for some sign of acceptance even if it was begrudging assent to Hannibal's orders. The black man returned the look with a frowning glare. At least he would get some opportunity to speak to Bartholomew in private . . . maybe. That was, if his ex-gunner was willing to talk about Nam.

The hostile glance the client gave his pilot was not lost on the Colonel. He wondered again what the man had against Murdock. It could become a problem.

Hannibal walked over to the Captain and slung an arm around his shoulder. "I have complete faith in this man's ability to pick up the goods and keep them out of the reach of Mr. Whitman."

I know Murdock doesn't need to hear that. He knows how I feel about his aerial skills. Bartholomew needs to know he can trust him because I do. And if Bartholomew trusts this part of the plan, the rest of it should come together nicely . . . I hope.