Chapter Twenty-Nine

Murdock found himself out in the compound in the moonlight—again.

The young pilot was perched precariously upon the heavy, wooden ladder, which Lin Duk Koo had so kindly left leaning up against the cross pole of the 'clothesline' for him.

Colonel Smith's moonlit body hung, motionless, beside him.

"Colonel? Colonel, it's me…Murdock!" the Captain called out for the nth time, and for the nth time got no reaction what-so-ever from the unconscious officer.

He knew now why Lin wouldn't look him in the eye. Lin didn't want him to see the look of hopelessness, which he knew would be reflected in his mirrors.

Murdock was about to acknowledge the hopelessness of his midnight mission himself, when he suddenly got an idea. He splashed some of the icy water from the cup in his hand into the passed out prisoner's impassive face, and poured some of it down the back of his neck.

Voila! The now semiconscious Colonel began gasping and moaning and tossing his hot, sweaty head from side to side.

The young pilot repeated the procedure. Then, he pressed the cup up to his fellow prisoner's parched lips and forced a swallow or two down the panting man's equally parched throat. "Colonel Smith? Colonel, are you in there?"

Hannibal choked and coughed and groaned and—at the sound of the Captain's voice—snapped his eyes open. He blinked his blurred vision clear and riveted his groggy gaze upon his moonlit visitor. "Wha—" he swallowed hard and made an attempt at clearing his throat. The cup was pressed to his cracked lips again and he took several more swallows of its cool, refreshing contents. He choked and coughed and groaned again, and then made another attempt to clear his throat and communicate. "What're you…doing here?" he wondered, in a barely audible whisper. "Too…dangerous…You...shouldn't have…risked it…" his whispered words trailed off and his steadily drooping eyelids closed completely.

"Colonel? Colonel, you still here?"

Hannibal managed a slight smile and nodded. "How's…the wrist?"

"Broken," his visitor glumly replied. "But, better—thanks to Mr. Koo and his 'keep away' concoction."

"Better go...easy on that stuff, kid," the Colonel advised, "if you care at all…about the life expectancy…of your liver."

"Why-y?" the 'kid' nervously inquired. "What's in it?"

"I've never seen the lab reports…but you can bet the recipe reads something like…eye of newt…wing of bat…acid of battery," his voice trailed off again and he managed another slight smile.

Murdock forced a sad smile himself. "The General didn't seem to care too much for your apology, Colonel."

The Captain's gross understatement caused Hannibal to grin outright. "There's just no pleasing…some people."

Murdock's smile broadened for a moment. But then, the kid's expression quickly sobered. "Thanks for savin' my life, Colonel. Lyn told me what that apology meant to you."

"It didn't mean anything…to me, Captain," the Colonel corrected and continued to smile. "But, it meant enough to the General…to keep me alive…all this time," his smile faded fast. He winced in pain and began gasping and groaning and tossing his hot, sweaty head again.

Captain Murdock poured the last of his reviving elixir down the moaning man's throat and the gasping stopped—for the moment.

"They were…They were going…to beat me to death," the Colonel quietly explained. "All that apology did…was buy me some time…some time…to come up with…a plan." His eyes slowly reopened. "How much time?" he wondered in a whisper. "How long…has it been?"

"Seven weeks, today," his fellow prisoner reluctantly informed him.

The prisoner's tired, moonlit eyes filled with amazement. "Seven weeks?…Too long," he sadly determined, "…too long," he repeated and his burning eyes closed.

Murdock blinked his own blurring vision clear and quickly changed the subject. "Lyn also told me what you told the guards. You know, about me and the my coo?"

The Colonel's slight smile returned. "I trust it didn't lose too much…in the translation?"

"Colonel, I come from a long line a' Methodists."

Hannibal's slight smile broadened into a grin, again. "Yes…well…even Methodists can be a real menace…if you get 'em mad enough."

The kid gave the Colonel's manacled wrists a glum glance. "Oh, I'm mad all right! Howlin' mad! As in angry—not as in insane. You don't really believe the Captain has gone most crazy in his head, do you, Colonel?"

"I told you, it doesn't matter what others be—"

"—It matters, Colonel. Maybe not what others believe. But, it matters what you believe."

The officer's eyes fluttered open. "In that case…I believe, Captain Murdock…that when it comes to escaping…and getting out of tight spots…I believe that you could teach the great Houdini himself…a few things." His slight smile reappeared. "You were positively brilliant, Captain…and Billy didn't do too badly, either."

The 'positively brilliant' young pilot looked positively radiant. He gave his companion a look that was a combination of admiration and respect. "Must be the company I keep, Colonel," he reasoned lightly.

Hannibal returned the look. "Thanks for not talking."

"Thanks for talking," the Captain quickly countered. Then he balanced the empty cup on an empty rung and used his freed good hand to pull a chunk of freshly baked bread out of his sling. "I came out here tonight to see if I could convince you to try some of this," he proclaimed and held the mouth-watering morsel up to the dangling man's mouth.

The Colonel winced and closed his eyes—to block out the very sight of it.

His companion gasped in frustration. "C'mon, Colonel! You've got to eat something!"

"Sorry…But I believe the batteries…just went dead…in my hearing aid."

Murdock exhaled another exasperated gasp. "Plea-ease?"

No response.

"Pretty plea-ease?"

Still nothing.

"Pretty please with sugar on the end of—?"

"—Save your breath…I couldn't eat that…Not even on a bet…And I have been known to eat…just about anything…on a bet…When I was nine…Bobby Lexington bet me his crystal crockie…that I couldn't eat…a live earthworm…Before the day was out…I had half the marbles in town…Of course…I did have to give half of them back…because I couldn't…keep…them all down…And afterwards…I was sick for a—"

"—COLONEL?" the Captain interrupted, sounding every bit as perturbed as he appeared to be. "This is serious! Now…You've got to eat, to keep your strength up!"

"I have no strength left…to keep up…And, I have no appetite…I can't eat that…and I can't climb topside anymore…to answer the call of natur—"

"—Then you've got to eat, to get your strength back!" the young pilot impatiently interrupted.

The delirium fled from Hannibal's face, for the moment, and his eyes snapped back open. "Oh really?" he cautiously inquired. "And why is that?"

"Because we're both getting out of here!"

The hanging prisoner's sad, tired eyes watered again. "You're right there, Captain," he softly agreed. "We're both getting out of here, all right…We'll just be taking different routes, is all," he sadly added and allowed his drooping lids to drop once more.

Murdock's vision was blurring again, too. "No, Colonel! You can go the same way I go! We can leave together!"

"Forget it, kid…I'm helping…not hindering…your escape…remember?"

But, the 'kid' was as determined as his fellow prisoner was stubborn. "I'm not givin' up on you, Colonel. And I'm not gonna let you give up on yourself, either. You've hung on for so long and come so far…if you can just hold on a little while long—"

"—Sometimes circumstances get beyond our control, Captain…We don't always get to pick and choose…our routes and destinations…Believe me…this wouldn't have been…my first choice…or second…or third…or—"

"—Who's determined your route for you, Colonel? I mean, you haven't seen a doctor, have you?"

"You don't need a psychiatrist to tell you you're crazy…and you don't need a doctor to tell you you're dying…Besides…we all have to travel that route…sooner or later."

"Yeah? Well…then you'll just have to travel it some other time! Cuz, you ain't dyin', yet! Not here! Not like this!"

"I'm already dead."

"You are, most definitely, not 'already dead'! You're still breathin'! And you are, most definitely, not an 'empty shell'! Cuz Jack's not dead, either! He's just hiding—right in there," he tapped the Colonel's chest a couple of times.

John Howard Smith's eyes fluttered open.

Murdock saw that the old man's mirrors were once again filled with an unbearable sadness. "That's right," the Captain quietly continued. "Jack is alive. In fact, he was just here the other night. I heard him quoting Shakespeare. Jackie's in there, too. I could see her reflection in your mirrors…every time you spoke about her. You can make it through this, Colonel! You just gotta hang in there…just a little while longer."

Hannibal closed his sad, burning eyes. "I'm dying…You're dying…Everybody's checking out of the big supermarket of life…But when you start coughing up blood…and your head starts throbbing two beats faster than your heart…which isn't beating quite right…and when every breath…starts lending new meaning…to the word excruciating and…your body can't decide whether it wants to sweat or shiver…so it starts doing both at the same time…Well…that's when you start to realize…you're standing in the 'Express' check out lane…10 items or less…cash only…and no waiting."

The Captain exhaled another gasp of utter exasperation. "Then pretend there are twenty people in line ahead of you, because I just found us some 'brawn'! And now, we're only one rainy night away from vacating Charlie's 'hotel'!"

Hannibal swallowed hard. "Bra-awn?"

"Yeah! A whole team of it!"

"A whole team?…Exactly how many guys…are in on this plan, Captain?"

"There's just the four of us, Colonel."

The feverish officer winced. "Just the four of us?" he numbly repeated. "The plan was designed…for an individual, Captain…Not a whole team…of individuals."

"Don't worry, Colonel. Your plan is like a finely tailored suit. It can take a few alterations and still keep its basic shape."

Hannibal was forced to smile. "Yeah…well…Keep it up…and you're going to have to…commandeer a bus…instead of the girlfriend's…tiny, little sports ca—" he stopped speaking, as series of muscle spasms racked his badly dehydrated body. He grimaced and gritted his teeth. "Last one to escape…is a rotten egg!" he challenged, between gasps and groans. "Vaya…con dios…Captain," he wished, in a whisper. Then his feverish head fell forward and he was motionless once more.

"Colonel?…COLONEL?" the Captain shouted a second time.

But the guy hanging in the 'Express' check out lane of the big supermarket of life could no longer hear him.

Murdock looked up into the moonlit sky and started praying for rain…and, for a four-way tie for first, in the 'rotten egg' contest.