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 7 The Jazz Is On
While on their way back to the airfield, Face listened in on ear buds for phone calls Whitman made from his office. Hannibal monitored the tracker screen for movement of Whitman's car.
Murdock's call had the Colonel worried. A nervous client could jeopardize the mission and put their lives as well as his own in danger. Bartholomew's reluctance to use the Captain for the Mexican pick-up and the hatred the client had for Murdock continued to bother Hannibal.
Ten minutes passed in silence, each man hoping their combined surveillance would produce results.
"Pay dirt, Hannibal!" Face grabbed a note pad and pen. "It's Whitman calling someone at the Bermuda Dunes warehouse." He frowned after a few moments. "Uh oh."
The Colonel clamped down on his cigar and glanced back at the Lieutenant. "Tell me."
"Bartholomew has taken off on his way to the warehouse in Mexico. Whitman must have had someone watching the airfield after all. I can't believe we didn't check that out before our visit. Murdock and Bartholomew went into the hangar together but only our client came out."
"Speed up, B. A." The Colonel cast a troubled frown toward the burly driver.
"Got it, Hannibal."
Face wrote something on the pad and handed it to Hannibal. "The cargo will be delivered to the Jacqueline Cochran Regional airport in Thermal. It'll look like a small shipment of boxes of Mexican party pinatas. Arrival time approximately three and a half hours from now. There will be a Tesoro de Mexicana Imports truck waiting for the cargo when Bartholomew arrives. The boxes with the special merchandise will have a red dot on the outside somewhere."
Hannibal smoked his cigar in silence for a few seconds. "Well, guys, I believe Whitman's next step will be to move Jermaine from the hiding place to the Bermuda Dunes warehouse. Most likely, they'll be taking Bartholomew and the shipment there after they receive it at the airport."
Only a few minutes went by before Face spoke again. "Another phone call coming in, Colonel. Whitman to someone called Lotario, telling him to get the kid ready." Face looked up. "You were right. They're going to move Bartholomew, Jermaine and the shipment all to the same place."
A series of moving blips on the tracker screen in front of Hannibal drew his attention. He took in a deep breath. "Whitman's on the move. Any bets he's going to the place they've hidden the kid?"
"So what do we do, Colonel? See what Bartholomew did with Murdock, follow Whitman or go to the airport?" Face knew what he wanted to do but wants were not always practical during a mission.
"With the trailing device on Whitman's car, we'll locate him wherever he ends up. We have roughly three hours to prepare a welcome for Bartholomew at the airport. The welcome I have in mind will require our pilot." Hannibal stared out the window in thought.
"That is, if the sucka didn't get hisself killed," B. A. muttered, tightening his grip on the steering wheel and accelerating even more.
Face and Hannibal exchanged uneasy glances.
B. A. braked hard beside the airfield hangar. Before Face or Hannibal could open their doors, the driver was striding toward the wooden door. He didn't slow down but with one kick splintered the door. It fell off its top hinge and hung crazily to one side.
The Colonel and Lieutenant followed in B. A.'s wake to find the black man already using a pair of wire cutters to free Murdock.
"I've never been so glad to see you, you big mudsucker." The pilot pushed himself into a sitting position, examining his bleeding wrists and flexing his numb fingers. He gazed up at Hannibal with a rueful expression. "I tried to reason with him, but Bartholomew got the jump on me. He's armed. Probably gonna try to rescue Jermaine by himself after the Mexican pick up."
"Then he's more of a crazy fool than you are," B. A. grumbled. He held out his hand to lift Murdock to his feet.
"Thanks, Big Guy." Murdock shook his head in sympathy. "Bart ain't thinkin' straight, that's all. He went nuts when his kid screamed over the phone. Guess I woulda felt the same way." The pilot leaned against a workbench trying to get feeling back into his hands and feet. His gaze flickered up to the Colonel's face. "We still gotta try to help him."
B. A. shook his head in disbelief. "After pullin' a gun on you, leavin' you here like this, 'n' you still wanna help him? Mebbe you are the bigger fool."
"No, B. A., Murdock's right. We were hired to do a job and even if the client gets nervous, we need to do what we do best." Hannibal put a hand on the pilot's shoulder.
"What's the plan, Colonel?" Face walked over to stand beside Murdock. He grimaced at how deeply the wire had cut into his friend's skin. Like B. A., he wasn't sure how much he wanted to help Bartholomew anymore. The son, yes; the father . . .
"That depends upon our timing and whether Murdock can fly that chopper out there."
"Just get me in 'er and I'll getter flyin'. Where to, Hannibal?" The pilot, all attention diverted away from his injuries, grinned at the thought of taking to the sky.
"Jacqueline Cochran Regional Airport. You have a shipment of pinatas to pick up." Hannibal's eyes got a mischievous glint and he smiled around his cigar.
"Faceman, Colonel's on the jazz again." B. A. scowled a second time at the backs of Murdock and Hannibal as they walked together toward the shattered hangar door. "We in for a ride, man. They both got that look."