Every Thought Captive

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

Chapter 50 A Small World

Jackson opened the dark wood door of the café and scanned the interior before raising his hand in welcome to someone waiting for them in a side booth.

"Captain Murdock, I would like to introduce you to Glen Hanson. He is Senor Cazador's personal assistant. He'll be going along for the ride when you fly Mister Cazador to the site."

Murdock offered his right hand in greeting and nodded. As the assistant took it, he felt a strange tingling warning go through his mind as if transferred there by the man's touch.

Somethin' ain' right 'bout this guy.

The pilot focused his attention on the man's eyes and mannerisms. If Hanson was nervous or something else was going on, Murdock figured his sixth sense would pick up on it.

Never failed me yet. I almost got th' idea this guy's CIA. But what would he be doin' helpin' out a shady businessman like Cazador? 'N' what's Cazador been doin' that's got a Company spook watchin' him? 'Less he's an inside plant.

Jackson sat and opened a menu, encouraging Murdock and Hanson to do the same. "We have about a half hour before we should leave for Cazador's ranch."

Hanson's analytical gray eyes pierced Murdock and made him uncomfortable.

He smiled up at the waitress who came to take their order but the pilot noticed the smile seemed artificial. "Coffee and a side of buttered toast for me. Whole wheat."

Jackson nodded at the sound of Hanson's order. "That sounds good to me, too. Slide an over easy egg to the side of the plate, okay?" He handed the waitress his menu and settled back on the red vinyl upholstery of the booth seat.

"And what'll you have, sugar?" The young blonde turned her attention on Murdock and poised her pencil over the pad.

"Nothin' but coffee fer me, ma'am. Thanks." He swallowed and removed the half-empty pack from his shirt pocket. Fumbling a new cigarette into his mouth, he flinched slightly when Hanson flicked his lighter and held it out for the pilot. Those intense gray eyes bored straight into Murdock's brown ones as he held the flame on for the pilot. As soon as his cigarette was lit, the Captain drew on it and hoped his suspicion was not as glaringly apparent as he thought it might be.

The waitress grinned at Murdock. "That accent you have. Texas, right?"

He nodded, hoping their conversation would drown out the alarms ringing in his head about the man who would be with him and Cazador on the plane. There seemed to be no basis for him to be apprehensive . . .

. . . 'n' yet I am.

"Where abouts?" She blushed as she realized how intrusive her question might seem and hurriedly added, "My folks live in Texas." She eyed with curiosity and sympathy the blistered sunburn over much of Murdock's face. When the pilot put his hand up to his cheek as if to hide the worst of the sores, she reddened even more. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to stare. That's a real bad sunburn."

He was about to answer when Jackson coughed to get her attention. "We need to get on the road in about a half hour, so if you wouldn't mind getting that order up, miss?"

"I'll be right back with your coffee, gentlemen." The young woman gave Murdock a shrug and smiled again before retrieving three cups from under the counter and filling them at the coffee pot.

After she placed the cups in front of them and returned to the counter, Jackson leaned forward to address Murdock. "I put together a résumé for you with enough truth in it to impress Cazador. I didn't mention where you've lived the past ten or so years for obvious reasons. I also didn't mention your association with Henderson or your Air America work, again for obvious reasons." Jackson pushed a file folder across the booth table to the pilot.

He opened it and briefly scanned the contents. His gaze darted to Hanson. The man had an undisguised sneer on his face. The fact that Hanson seemed to know about all of that and probably much more unsettled Murdock. He took a gulp of coffee and met the other man's stare but didn't feel the bravado he was trying to show.

So I'm right. Th' dude's likely a mole in Cazador's organization.

Murdock's stomach roiled at the thought of what the Company could be up to with someone like Cazador. And he realized that he could get burned. He should have known it from the beginning. After all, he was just a mental health patient with no known family and, since their deaths in Hurricane, no more friends or associates that would care.

He had a sneaking suspicion that Jackson had not told him everything that was going to happen during the mission.

The waitress came with food for the two men and a pot of coffee as Murdock continued to scan the file. Jackson gave him a pointed look as if to tell him to put it away while she was there.

"So, where in Texas?" the young woman asked, tilting her head to one side and refilling the pilot's cup.

"Huh?" Murdock frowned up at her. He was trying so hard to make sense of all the information and suspicions drifting around in his mind that he didn't even notice she had paused beside him.

"Texas? Where from?" she repeated, a lovely smile brightening her face.

"Oh, uh, Beaumont area. A li'l town by th' name o' Sour Lake a few miles west o' there." He gave her a searching look and wondered if it were possible to somehow enlist her help . . .

. . . but for what? I don' know for sure there's anythin' that's gonna happen t' me . . . 'n' what would she say 'n' t' who?

"Well, how about that? My folks retired and bought a small house in Lumberton. That's not very far from Sour Lake, is it?" Her full attention was on him. He could try to say something that would make her suspicious, but what?

Colonel Jackson's eyes were on him. Hanson set his mouth in a firm threatening line.

"Only 'bout twenty or so miles. Small world, ain' it?" He glanced at his two companions and shrugged. Taking another draw from his cigarette, he carefully stubbed it out in the amber-colored ashtray.

He didn't want to endanger the life of this pretty young woman and somehow he knew any more personal conversation with her would do just that.

In the end he decided he couldn't ask her to help if he didn't know what he needed her to help with.

As the trio left the café, Murdock gave her a wistful smile. "Thanks for th' friendly service, darlin'. Sure was nice t' talk t' you."

"To you, too. Make sure and stop in again when you're in Sonoita. Ask for me. My name's Meg." She blushed a deeper shade of red as he nodded and tipped his cap to her.

If I'm ever in Sonoita again. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

"Coming, Captain?" Hanson growled on his way out.

Murdock nodded and cast a long sad look at the waitress before walking through the door to the outside.

oooooo

Jackson gestured with his head for Murdock to get in the truck with Hanson for the trip to Cazador's ranch. He would follow them in the rental car.

As the Colonel drove he thought about what he had read in Murdock's mind during their time with Hanson in the café. The pilot suspected things were not as they seemed. He knew Hanson was linked to the CIA. He tried to keep the waitress engaged in conversation to let her know something was wrong. Lucky for her, Murdock realized he didn't know what was bothering him so much and decided to drop it.

For good reason, Jackson had not allowed Murdock to know everything about the mission. When the time came, he would send a powerful thought wave to start the program which would lead to Murdock crashing the plane, destroying the weapons and killing Hanson, Cazador and himself. Stafford may have intended for the neuroelectromagnetic device in Murdock's brain to run on the radio transmissions with their underlying subliminal tones but Jackson had reprogrammed it to work just as well with a single thought command from himself.

And the time for issuing that command was drawing near.

oooooo

The police are looking this afternoon for anyone who can offer information about the body of a man found in a red 1980 Ford pickup, Arizona plates NDC 748, on an ATV trail in the vicinity of the East Gardner Canyon Road. The man, identified as Jesse Michael Warner of Sonoita, was a pilot for Cazador Enterprises, headquartered in Tucson . . .

Amy moved restlessly in her seat, the name of Cazador reminding her of her nightmare. "Face?"

The Lieutenant frowned at the radio and then at Amy before looking in the rearview mirror at the three men in the back seat. "Hannibal, think that news report has anything to do with Murdock?"

"Well, what about it, Doc? Is this part of Jackson's plan?" When Stafford clamped his mouth tightly shut, Hannibal nodded at B. A. The black Sergeant gripped the doctor's shirt collar with one hand and drew back and clenched the other as a threat.

"Colonel asked a question, sucka. You'd better have an answer he likes or I'll have to introduce your face to my fist."

Stafford's eyes widened as he gasped for air.

"I think he gets the point, B. A. Let him have a few breaths of air and maybe he'll tell us." Hannibal blew a cloud of cigar smoke toward the doctor's face.

Coughing, the medical man sputtered his reply. "Warner was Cazador's personal pilot. They needed to get him out of the way so that he would have no alternative but to look for a last-minute replacement. The idea was that Jackson would meet with Cazador's personal assistant somewhere nearby and they would escort Captain Murdock to meet Cazador at the ranch."

"If the pilot was from Sonoita, maybe they were going to meet somewhere there?" Face glanced back at them. "What about it, Hannibal? Should I drive on to Sonoita and see?"

"Well, Doc?" The Colonel pushed his face close to the doctor's. His eyes had become like blue steel, as threatening as the black man's fist.

"I don't know exactly where they were going to meet. Just that they were going to meet. It could have been Sonoita. I don't know." The medical man wheezed out the words quickly, then slumped back in the seat.

"We ain' got no other leads, Hannibal. But if we miss 'em . . . " B. A. didn't want to think about that but it was a very real possibility. They had been one or two steps behind Jackson and Murdock all along since Hurricane.

"You're right. It's the only lead we have. Sonoita is a small enough town. They would have met in a coffee shop or maybe a bar. When we get there, we'll start checking it out." Hannibal leaned back in his seat and looked past Amy's shoulder at the passing countryside.

The occupants of the van were silent during the remaining minutes of travel on State Highway 83. Sonoita was as small as the Colonel said it was. Passing the landmark wind vane on their right and a fire station on their left, they came to the intersection where State Highway 82 crossed the road they were on.

Hannibal glanced to the left through the driver's window. "Turn down there, Face. It looks like there's a few more places to choose from. We'll start our search down that way."

The Lieutenant turned the van in at the first building that looked like it could be a restaurant.

"You're coming with us, Doc. If you're good and don't try to tip off the staff, I may even buy you coffee." The Colonel opened the side door and got out, stretching as he did.

The five travelers had no trouble finding an empty booth big enough for all of them in the café. A young blonde-haired waitress came to their table with a tray laden with five glasses of ice water. After presenting them menus, she smiled at each of them, her gaze lingering on Amy's sunburned and blistered face.

For a moment it seemed as if she was going to say something to the reporter. Then she thought better of it.

"Good afternoon, folks. My name's Meg. Will this be separate receipts?"