Encounters
Day Four:
Déjà vu
Murdock stared at the ceiling. It was stained by smoke, dust and age, and the light from the window cast interesting shadows. There were lots of different shapes and designs, but like the hated inkblots, he couldn't make out any patterns.
That seemed to be the way his mind worked lately. Lots of input, but little coherence. Every time he closed his eyes, he'd see bubble-headed bug faces with his own distorted reflection staring back at him. Dancing behind them would be a bunch of pretty lights doing sparkler designs on the dark background of his mind's eye. One had a menacing feel, the other brought with it a sense of awe. When he tried to separate the images, or push them away, or even to get a closer look at them, they would mix horribly, so that even the emotions he associated with them became confused.
Murdock wanted to talk about the images. He needed a sounding board to sort out memory from fantasy and folklore. He wanted some pattern to the bits and pieces which floated so tantalizingly close to the realm of answers. But he wasn't prepared yet for the teasing and disbelief he knew would come with discussing bug faces and floating lights. Murdock knew the others didn't mean any harm by it. They couldn't help being skeptical about some of things Murdock talked about. He made so many wild conjectures, and believed in so many things, sometimes even opposing ideas on consecutive weeks. There was a reason he was called crazy. Still, Murdock's belief in UFOs as something other than human was more than a passing fancy. Yet he had the niggling feeling there was something distinctly earthly about the images.
Murdock sighed. His game of seeing how long he could stare at something in order to make himself go to sleep wasn't working. His eyes burned, and his eyelids slid closed on their own. There appeared bulky green figures and wobbling colorless lights, accompanied by the mixed feelings of dread and anticipation. His eyes snapped open.
When his bladder made its presence known, Murdock was glad for the excuse to get up. Anything to add variety to ceiling watching. Not wanting to wake up Face, he tried to move slow and quiet. The bed had other ideas. The slower Murdock moved, the louder the bed creaked. With a sigh, he gave in and stood up at normal pace. Thankfully, the floor remained silent as he made his way to the bathroom and closed the door before turning on the light.
On his way back to bed, he repeated the procedure in backwards order, light off before opening the door. Murdock hadn't allowed himself a moment for his eyes to readjust to the dark. So when he saw the movement, all he could make out was a vague upright shadow.
Murdock swallowed hard. "Uh, Faceman?" he asked hopefully.
"Murdock?"
Murdock was greatly relieved to hear the familiar voice coming from the direction of the shadow, and not the second bed.
The shadow moved. There was a low thud, followed by an, "Ow!"
Thus warned, Murdock had his eyes closed when Face switched on the light.
"Sorry, muchacho." Murdock blinked at Face's unhappy features. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't scare me," Face said, absently rubbing his thigh where he had hit the dresser. "You just... startled me."
Awakened by strange noises, Face had found Murdock's bed empty. He had a bad moment, thinking that Murdock had gone again, and Face had slept through it all. Face still couldn't understand how Murdock could have disappeared to… wherever Murdock had disappeared to, without disturbing him. Face knew he had been tired, but he was never that tired. The war made light sleepers out of them all, and Face hadn't lost the habit. Or so he thought.
"Gonna keep the light on all night?" Murdock asked as he returned to bed. The bed was still made, though the standard motel issue bedspread was badly crumpled. Another turn or two, and Murdock would unmake the bed without laying a hand on it.
"Disturbing you?" Face asked, more for conversation value than concern for keeping Murdock up. The dark coloring under his eyes and the tell-tale tapping of his feet together were signs that Murdock hadn't been sleeping much anyway.
"Naw." Murdock put his hands under his head. "Not tired, anyway." A wide yawn belied his words.
"Probably too warm," Face said, hiding his smile.
"Probably."
Face checked the window. It was opened as far as it would go. The screen was marginally cooler under his hand, but there was no hint of a breeze to provide relief.
He could feel Murdock watching him. He had been too quiet, lately, his attention someplace else. Face recognized the preoccupation, Murdock's way of trying to sort through something before talking about it. The waiting was going to drive Face nuts if it kept up much longer.
"It's cooler outside," Face said, pulling on his pants. "Join me for a walk?"
Murdock stared at him a moment, then got up.
It was just cool enough outside to make wearing clothes tolerable. A faint breeze blew perpendicular to the window, teasing them with promises of cooler weather.
The night was dark in a way one would be hard pressed to find in LA. The only artificial lights were those dotting the hotel, the neon bed and flying saucer of the Happy Hostel sign, and a street lamp far enough away to be easily mistaken for a overly bright star. The sky was clear, black and moonless, and lit by more stars than Face had seen in a long time.
He and Murdock stood leaning against the van in companionable silence. Face watched the sky, enjoying the sparkle of stars.
"Perfect night for little green men stories," Face commented, then flinched at the insensitivity of his words.
"They're not little," Murdock said softly. He kept his eyes skyward. "Unless they're Martians," he added, a little louder. "The little ones are kinda colorless."
"Colorless?"
"Yeah." Murdock paused for a thoughtful moment. "In the way that grey is sorta colorless."
"Grey is a color, Murdock."
Murdock shrugged. He looked about to say something when they heard the sounds of an approaching engine.
"Incoming," Murdock said, unnecessarily whispering. It wasn't as if the occupants of the vehicle approaching them could hear him.
The car came from the town side of the road. Its headlights snapped off when it was still too far from the motel. The engine went off as it turned into the driveway. It glided to a stop beside the motel, near the room Face and Murdock shared.
Two large figures turned the corner. They were tall, bulky, and genderless. They were also that shade of sickly green Face generally associated with glow-in-the-dark anything. So, these were the green men the town of Merlott was talking about.
Peeking around the shelter of the van, Face couldn't have felt more naked if he had all his clothes off. He didn't have a weapon. And he didn't bring the keys with him to get into the van. He was stuck watching as the pair of suspicious people entered their room.
Without warning, Murdock raced in after them.
"Murdock!" Face hissed. He didn't want to shout and alert the intruders to Murdock's arrival. That also kept him from alerting Hannibal and BA to trouble. With a moan of annoyance, Face rushed in to give Murdock back up.
Their element of surprise, if they had surprise on their side to begin with, had been lost before Face entered the room. Murdock was on a bed, eyes partly opened but otherwise unresponsive. One of the figures was trying to pull him into an upright position. The other figure saw Face enter the room, and lunged at him. Face sidestepped the figure easily. The figure clumsily recovered itself. It turned and swung at Face with more speed than Face would have given it credit for. He ducked the incoming fist, only to discover too late that his head wasn't where it was headed. He felt a sting on the back of his shoulder. Confused, Face straightened, then swayed. He had half a moment to wonder if this was what BA felt when they knocked him out before Face crumpled unfeelingly to the floor.
_ _ _ _
The door to Room 12 was ajar.
"Face? Murdock?" A groan answered Hannibal's calls.
He frowned and motioned BA back. Hannibal reached behind him and pulled his gun from its customary spot at the small of his back. With his foot, he pushed open the door. It rebounded off another foot. Hannibal carefully peered into the room, which was dark compared to the brightly lit morning. Face was down. There was no sign of immediate threat.
"Face?" Hannibal knelt beside him.
Face moaned. He seemed to be trying to pick himself up, and wasn't doing a very good job of it. Hannibal helped him to a sitting position. The foot of the bed and Hannibal's hand were all that kept Face upright.
"You okay, Face?" BA asked.
Head lolling back, Face blinked at the ceiling. "Ask me again when I can think," he muttered.
Keeping his hand on Face's shoulder, Hannibal straightened up a bit to scan the room again. The beds had been slept in. The one nearest the door against which Face leaned had its bedspread and sheet mostly on the floor. The other was crumpled with the sheet just visible near the pillow. The lamp was on. The bathroom door was partially open. And once again, there was no sign of Murdock.
BA's eyes flitted over the room and met Hannibal's. Hannibal nodded toward the only obscured portion of the room. BA nodded and went to check.
Face apparently caught the silent interaction. "Hmm…. They took him." He shook his head as if to clear it.
"Who took him?"
Face chuckled dismally. "The green men," he said with an apologetic half smile.
BA returned to frown down at Face. "You tellin' me aliens took the fool?"
Face squinted up at BA. With more control, he shook his head in the negative. "Only if they started driving cars."
Confrontations
Hannibal absently chewed on the end of a no longer lit cigar. He was mad at himself for not being more on guard at the first sign of threat to the team. He should have had watches set up during the night. Or at the very least have roomed with Murdock again. Though he didn't blame Face, it also didn't make Hannibal feel any better that he had been awake and unable to stop the kidnapping.
Hannibal wanted to find Murdock and make sure he was okay. He wanted to know what was going on. And he wanted to vent his frustrations of the whole affair on the slimebags responsible for scaring the town and taking one of his people. He couldn't do any of them without more information.
Which was why they were heading toward Graham's Garage to speak to Terry. He had a lot of influence for a mere mechanic. He also seemed to know more about the town and the goings on than anyone else. Terry was at the same time the most and least helpful person they had encountered yet. Hannibal was suspicious of him. He couldn't get a handle on Terry's motives. Was he trying to help or hinder them? Was he not completely forthcoming because he was scared, didn't trust the team, or because he didn't want something found out?
Hannibal opted for going in with their intentions abundantly clear. No scamming or beating around the bush this time. It would be a strictly front door confrontation.
Not surprisingly, BA didn't like the plan. The garage's proximity to the sheriff's office made him nervous. Hannibal didn't like it either, but his worry about Murdock overrode concern of the sheriff. It turned out to be a moot point. There were no cars on the driveway or parking lot of the sheriff's office. Now that the sun wasn't yet high enough to reflect off the windows, Hannibal could tell there were no lights on inside. He just hoped that would make their job easier.
They burst in on Terry, weapons drawn, and took up strategic positions in the garage's office.
"Where's Murdock?" Hannibal demanded of the startled man while BA started closing the blinds on the window wall. "And what's going on?"
Terry, standing behind the counter, froze. He stared at the gun pointed in his direction for a long moment before answering.
"I don't…" The words came out barely above a whisper. Terry swallowed and tried again. "I don't know where he is." He looked Hannibal in the eye, his gaze steadier than his voice. "I wish I did."
"Uh, Hannibal?" From the nervous sound in Face's voice, Hannibal thought the situation had just gone down hill. "We have a problem."
MPs – it was too ingrained to be anything but a first thought. Except it was BA who had taken up position by the windows and door.
"What is it, kid?"
"I think you better come take a look."
Hannibal glanced over at him. Face was standing by the wall of pictures and certificates, staring at a set of framed items. He watched Terry as he moved to join Face. The mechanic hadn't moved a muscle since he saw the guns.
Hannibal looked at what had Face's undivided attention. It was a color photograph of a party being held outside the sheriff's building. "Congratulations, Terry," was written in gold ink across the top. On the bottom, with silver stars drawn on either side, was the message, "Thanks for taking over for me. Poor devil." Terry stood center stage in the photo, with a portly man presenting to him something that looked suspiciously like a badge.
Hannibal looked from the photo to Terry, to Face.
"Well, it makes sense," he said, a grin pulling at his lips. It certainly explained Terry's knowledge and behavior.
"Makes sense!" Face repeated, sounding as if he couldn't quite believe his ears. "Hannibal, he's the sheriff!"
BA turned away from the window with a puzzled frown. "Sheriff?"
Terry shrugged. "Someone has to be." He acted as if the occupation didn't really matter.
"Aw, Hannibal…" BA gave what sounded suspiciously like a Face whine.
"I don't know where Murdock is." Terry found his confidence. His voice no longer shook. There was only the barest of a hesitation before he added, "Colonel Smith."
Hannibal stood just a little bit straighter at the mention of his rank. Face and BA both brought their weapons to bear, as if the unarmed man had just become an even greater threat.
"Yes, I know who you are," Terry said, his voice wavering just slightly, as any sane man's would at have three guns pointed at him. "The infamous A-Team," he added, just to prove it. He never broke eye contact with Hannibal.
"If he knows who we are, that means the military will be on our tails any minute now." BA looked out the window with a sense of urgency, peering at everything with greater scrutiny.
"We can't just leave Murdock behind," Face said nervously.
"We're not going to leave him," Hannibal said slowly, trying to reassure them both.
"I didn't call them." Three pairs of eyes looked disbelievingly at Terry.
His gaze flicked to BA, settled a moment on Face, then returned to Hannibal. "For the same reason I became suspicious of you in the first place," Terry explained in response to the unasked question. He looked almost sheepish at all the attention. "Your concern for your friend Murdock when he first went missing. You seemed to avoid any mention of the Sheriff's office. Most people would want to at least file a missing persons report."
"So you went and looked us up."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Face asked for them all.
Terry shrugged again. "Like I said, I'm only the sheriff because someone has to be. I didn't want any trouble. I hoped you would all just leave when your friend came back. Then you started to look into the disappearances. I hoped you would help us."
No one said anything.
Terry swallowed hard again. "I've heard about the A-Team's reputation."
The not quite question was greeted by mistrustful silence.
Terry looked at each one in turn. With deliberate slowness, he moved around the counter to approach them. "Look, there has been a disappearance once every week for the last two months. I've looked into every one of them. Murdock's abduction was on time. And he was returned. That's the pattern. Then you guys show up and all hell breaks loose. Sylvie didn't show up for work this morning, and she isn't at home, even though her car is there. No one's seen her since last night. It's too early for another disappearance, and there's never been two at the same time before. Never mind someone going missing twice!"
Convinced of Terry's concern, Hannibal lowered his weapon. A look at Face and BA and they reluctantly did likewise.
"Murdock didn't just disappear," Hannibal said. "He was taken."
"Taken?"
"Face saw them."
Terry looked at Face. "Green men?"
"Well, whatever they were wearing wase green," Face said.
Terry nodded. "That, at least, fits the pattern." He sighed. "Look, I'll be the first to admit I'm way out of my league here. Up till now the worst crime we've had was someone not paying for their gas before leaving. And the car tampering," he added sheepishly. BA glared at him at the reminder. "I'll do anything you need to help solve this," Terry promised. "I just want my quiet, quirky town back."
_ _ _ _
"Crazy fool could be anywhere out there," BA said. He stood looking out the wall of windows. He was no longer concerned about MPs. Yet his eyes paused at every building, vehicle, or place someone could be hidden. It was force of habit by now. "Man, we should be out there lookin' for him."
"We practically went door to door last time." Face flinched at his own words. Last time. Again. Well, now he knew how he slept through it. Face felt bad for feeling better that he had been drugged. "Nobody saw or knew anything then."
BA turned to face him. "Then we should search all the houses."
"No," Hannibal said. "Hard to hide things in a town like this, much less people. They wouldn't be kept in town."
"The base," BA said, remembering his misgivings at its close proximity.
"Do you know how long it would take to do a proper search of that place?" Face shook his head. Too long, even if they started that very moment. "Not to mention that they would know the territory better than we do. Might be booby-trapped."
"We're not going to search the base," Hannibal said. "Not yet."
"We're not?" Despite his previous rant, if it meant finding Murdock, Face would still be the first one over that particular fence.
"No." Hannibal lit a fresh cigar. Face and BA glanced at each other. They recognized the visual sign that Hannibal had an idea. "We've scared them, somehow, into changing their pattern. They're in a hurry now."
"Yes, but in a hurry to do what?" Face left unspoken the more important question: Why take so many people this time, Murdock included?
"Beats me," Hannibal said with a vague shrug. "We'll find out when we meet them." His smile was bright, but not pretty. It was similar to the one BA now wore, grinning at the prospect of letting his worry loose with his fists.
Terry kept a wary distance from the two. "I don't understand," he said softly to Face. He was the only one who seemed unsettled, if only a little, at the thought of a confrontation.
"He has a plan," Face answered. The twinkle in Hannibal's eyes confirmed Face's assessment.
"I think they're only hiding out right now," Hannibal explained. "Their real interests are in Major Aberdeen's place."
"How do you know this?" Terry asked, confused.
"Brandon told me."
"He talked to you?" Amazement raised Terry's eyebrows.
"Lots of light and noise." Hannibal said. "And all on the nights of the disappearances. They'll be back. And we'll be waiting." He paused for dramatic effect, exhaling smoke slowly. "But first we're going to need some supplies." Terry quickly provided the paper and pencil Hannibal requested. "You have any larger vehicles around here? Something we can all fit into?"
"What's wrong with my van?"
"They know what it looks like, BA," Hannibal said. "We don't want to completely scare them away. They might do something we won't like."
"Lucy has the moving van," Terry suggested.
"Perfect. Can't be too suspicious of someone taking care of his things." Hannibal finished scribbling the list of stuff he thought they would need and handed the paper to Face.
Face looked the list over. A small smile forming as he thought he could see where Hannibal was going with his plan. "Interesting collection of stuff."
"Think you can do it?"
"Of course," Face said, feigning hurt.
"Good." Hannibal patted Face's shoulder. "We'll meet you at Aberdeen's. Take BA with you. When you get the paint," he advised with a teasing glance at BA, "you better do the talking; BA might scare him away."
Interlude
The sounds of rustling plastic and shuffling feet woke him up.
"Face?" Murdock asked with a scratchy voice.
No, not Face. Face didn't… glow? Murdock blinked hard to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He still wasn't sure. The greenish thing remained.
"Hello?" His voice quavered slightly.
It ignored him. Though he couldn't see the whole thing, it somehow gave the impression of bulk. It bent without seeming to get any smaller. There was a metallic clang. Murdock couldn't tell if it was picking something up, or putting it down. It straightened, retreated.
A door opened, letting in light too bright for his unsuspecting eyes.
"Hey!" Murdock protested both the pain in his eyes and being left alone. The door closed quietly, leaving him once again in the dark.
Murdock sighed, rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear the colorful spots behind his lids. Didn't do much good. He was left in the kind of blinding dark where he couldn't tell if he had his eyes open or closed, except for the blinking. If there was a window, then it must be very dark outside, too.
Was it still night out? Maybe. But he remembered being outside, and even at night it was warmer than it was here. Where ever here was. At least it was pleasantly cool, a change from the heat of the last few days.
Pushing himself up to a seated position proved difficult. The shoulder he had been laying on ached. Both arms were rubbery and didn't want to cooperate to push him up. He shook his head to help clear the inner fog. He smiled to himself at the thought, what a laugh, clearing fog to see better in the dark.
Well, this clearly wasn't the hotel anymore. And where was Face? Face had been with him the last he remembered. An image appeared in his mind with the feel of memory. The motel room… Face laying on the bed next to his… a bulky, round headed figure bent over him…. Murdock shook his head. That wasn't right. He and Face had been outside, watching the stars. They were starting to talk when the car came.
But the image felt like memory, just as much as them standing out by the van. Which was right? Did they take Face too?
Murdock pushed himself to his feet. Swaying, he felt for a wall to lean against and use as a guide. His progress was slow and wobbly. The drunk-like sensation would have been fun had he not been worried for Face.
The room was small. Only the change in texture and the knob alerted him to the door. No light seeped through the seams. He felt no sign of windows during his circuit. Murdock was the only one who occupied the room. He was kept company by a metal tray he'd tripped over.
Murdock sat down to inspect it by touch. It held a small cup. Its cold contents didn't have an odor. A sandwich sat next to it. Peanut butter and jelly, from the smells of it. He wondered if it was drugged, then wondered why he was worried about being drugged when he already had been. But he was hungry, didn't know how long he'd been here, or how much longer he would remain. He had to keep his strength up for when the guys – hopefully with Face – came to spring him.
Paper Trails
"Since we're over here, I want to stop at Dr. Wentworth's first." Terry started his pick-up. The air conditioner blared to life along with the motor. "There might be some clues." He angled one of the vents away from his face.
"There was." Hannibal grinned at Terry's sharp look.
Terry looked about to say something, changed his mind. Frowned. "What did you find?"
"Do you know if he did tests, blood work on the victims?"
Terry nodded. "I recommended it to them. They've all come back negative across the board."
"Not according to the records we looked at," Hannibal said. "In fact, there was never even a mention of tests at all."
"That doesn't make sense. Doctor's write down everything." Terry thought a moment. "Unless-" He shook his head. "No, that still doesn't make sense. If I were trying to hide something, I'd at least make it look as if I were doing my job."
"Unless you didn't expect anyone to ever see the paperwork," Hannibal suggested.
"Still." Terry's gaze went down the street. "I still want to take a look."
Hannibal put a hand out in a lead-the-way gesture.
They found the office unlocked. Terry frowned at this, but did not comment. It was predictably absent of doctor and clientele. Terry led the way directly to the files room.
"Whose files did you look at?" Terry asked. He interrupted Hannibal part way through the list when he heard a very familiar name. "You checked out my brother's? Why?" There was a mixture of annoyance and hurt on Terry's face.
"We were looking into all the angles," Hannibal answered truthfully.
"What did you find for him?" Terry's voice was quiet.
"No autopsy report."
Terry's brows crinkled. Without saying anything, he turned to the nearest filing cabinet. He pulled out a file, John Anglen's, and flipped through it. "There's a notation for blood tests ordered written in this file," Terry said, voice cool. "The results of the test are attached. Don't know what all of it means, but I don't see anything, uh, strange."
"It means the doctor doctored his reports," Hannibal said bluntly.
Terry hhmm'd noncommittally. He looked at the next file Hannibal had mentioned. David David's had a similar notation of a test being done, along with attached results. Ditto for Debra Laird. Terry took a deep breath before pulling out his brother's file.
"Still no autopsy report," Hannibal noted, looking over Terry's shoulder.
Terry quietly pulled Major Aberdeen's file. Like Lewis's, there was a death certificate, but lacked any reports on a post-mortem. Terry put the files away before saying anything.
"Either Dr. Wentworth is a terrible records keeper," he said slowly, "or he's in on this. Whatever this is."
"He's in on it," Hannibal said firmly.
"But then why mess with Lewis's file. Or Aberdeen's, for that matter?" Terry shook his head, answering himself. "Because they had something to do with it all, too. And I've been blind to it all along!" Terry kicked the filing cabinet then stalked out of the room.
Hannibal followed. "You must have had some notion," he said upon finding Terry in the waiting room. "You came to demand Lewis's files, yesterday."
"You know of that too?" Terry demanded. "You sure know a lot about this." He sighed, shook his head as if to clear it. "Well, you're right," Terry said less belligerently. "But only because of all those questions you guys asked yesterday morning. I thought Lewis died of the drink. But it didn't occur to me till yesterday, Lewis was never sick."
Terry looked at Hannibal, quietly regarding him, then shifted his eyes away. He gave in to the urge to at last confess to the disturbing thought he'd had about his brother. "There's more. Lewis never believed in UFOs, he always regarded them as a joke. He'd disappear over night, then come back drunk and babbling. I never made the connection till yesterday. His drinking binges corresponded with the disappearances. I don't know which scares me more, the idea that he might have been a victim and I never believed him, or that he might've been a culprit in this whole mess to begin with."
Hannibal thought about this a moment. Whatever else Terry's brother may or may not have done, Hannibal was sure of one thing. "Lewis wasn't, and isn't, responsible for Murdock's abduction." That was the best he could offer Terry.
"You're right," Terry said with a sigh. "Doesn't make me feel any better," he said honestly. "But now I really want to get to the bottom of things."
"Then let's get over to Major Aberdeen's house," Hannibal said. "Face won't be long. Unless they get lost," he added glibly. This earned him a chuckle from Terry. "And then we'll only have until dark to get ready. I want to take a look around before then.
"Right," Terry said with a nod and led the way again to the pick-up.
_ _ _ _
"I was surprised the door was locked," Hannibal said as they approached the house.
"That was my doing." Terry shrugged. "Most folks don't bother. Product of a small town." He parked the pick-up. "Brandon's the only one who locks things religiously," he said as they approached the front door. "Didn't do him much good with his paint."
Terry felt around on the top of the door frame, brought down a key. "Don't tell Brandon," he said.
The house had the feel of a library; dark, quiet, brooding, a keeper of secrets. The front room was carpeted and sparsely furnished with a tv, table and small couch. The walls were papered with newspaper clippings. There were black and white pictures of unidentified flying objects, some with captions proclaiming them to be genuine aliens, some as military experiments, some as still unexplained. Each with their corresponding articles taped or tacked around them.
Terry looked rather embarrassed by it all. "He chose the right place to live," he said with a one shouldered shrug.
Having one obsession, Hannibal thought, was probably easier to live with. Hannibal wondered what Murdock would think of all this. Probably depended upon whatever fancy he was entertaining at the time.
"Does anything look out of place from the last time you saw it?" he asked.
Terry shook his head. He ran a finger on the table and held it up. "More dust," he offered unhelpfully.
With the exception of the study, every other room was just as spare as the front one, only decorated with the usual bland paint. The study, with its fireplace and many bookshelves, seemed crammed in comparison. An easy chair sat near the fireplace. An immaculately clean, save for the dust, wooden desk and an accompanying rickety looking chair took up half the room.
Hannibal prudently ignored the chair as he started opening drawers in the desk. The usual junk drawer supplies in one. A drawer full of magazines and yet more UFO clippings. The file drawer caught Hannibal's interest, but it was locked.
"I think I want to see what's in there," Terry said, intrigued.
Terry didn't have a key. A search around the desk and study failed to produce one. Using a crow bar from Terry's pick-up, they jimmied it open. The large drawer contained only two items: a hand gun, and a spiral-bound notebook. The gun was loaded. Hannibal checked the safety, handed it to Terry. The notebook was almost used up.
"Looks like a doctor's handwriting." Hannibal frowned at the scribble. "I can hardly make it out." And what he could read looked like a mix of a foreign language and a code of some sort.
"Let me see." Hannibal handed the notebook to Terry. "Looks like Dr. Wentworth's writing," he commented after a moment's study. "Like an experiment log, or something. Why would Aberdeen have Wentworth's logs?"
"Friends?" Hannibal guessed.
"Not really. Neither socialized much."
"Then maybe Aberdeen had something to do with the experiment. Does it say what it was about?"
Terry frowned as he tried to decipher the doctor's scrawl. "Looks like something about a drug." He skimmed over pages at random. "No names. I think he's using code for some of this stuff." He stopped at a page closer to the front.
"What?" Hannibal asked at Terry's sharp intake of breath.
" '…may be related to excessive alcohol consumption…' " Terry read softly. He looked at Hannibal, confusion in his eyes. "I think he's talking about Lewis." He studied the lines around the passage that jumped out at him. "Gibberish," he muttered. "Something I think is 'responds', then '…remarkably well to commands given, more so than most.' – '…possibly susceptible…' – '...incomplete memory loss...' I don't get this!"
Hannibal made a move to take the notebook. Terry stepped back. He flipped pages, tearing one in his haste. He ignored the error, kept going, reading snatches aloud. "…subject reports illness akin to motion sickness … subject reports confusion, partial memory loss … did not respond to verbal commands, and had to physically be shown … no recollection of testing … too young to make a proper determination…"
Terry held the book up and shook it. "Do you know who he's talking about?"
"Our temporarily missing persons?" Hannibal guessed, eyes narrowing.
"I'd bet my bottom dollar on it." Terry slapped the notebook closed. "I can't believe this. He's… he's performing experiments on people, like some dark ages doctor or something." Terry shook his head, trying to clear it of the unwelcome idea. "They never even volunteered."
Terry paced over to the easy chair, sat, took a deep breath, and told himself to calm down. "What I really don't get," he started, "is why he left it here?"
"Stupidity will get you every time," Hannibal said. It was one of the A-Team's specialties to use such stupidity to their advantage.
"No, I mean here," he pointed to the ground, "In Aberdeen's house. Why not in Wentworth's own home? Or his office?"
"I think they performed some of the," Hannibal didn't like saying the word, "experiments here." Brandon reported a lot of activity here. "Maybe Aberdeen had a part in it."
Terry turned pages in an absent manner. "I never figured Aberdeen for that kind of thing," he sighed.
Hannibal had no answer to that.
"Wait a minute."
"What?"
Terry's eyes were on a page he held up, ready to complete the turn. "He did have a part in it," Terry said. "He was another non-volunteer. Listen to this. '…is known to have issues with reality. These results may be a result of mental instability.' "
Hannibal felt his jaws tighten and a chill run down his spine. That passage could have been about Murdock. "What results. When?"
Terry put the page back so it laid flat. He studied it a bit longer before speaking again.
"… variable results with this subject. Sometimes words are taken very literally, sometimes he follows the common vernacular. For example, 'shut up' will stop him talking. 'Be quiet' will only stop him talking about half the time. The other half he will just speak softer. …uncertain if subject has a natural tolerance, or if he's fighting it. If fighting… a learned capability? …known military background… …is known to have issues with reality…"
Terry stopped reading. "It's early on in the notebook," he said after a pause. "The poor man tried to tell us and we never believed him."
They looked up at the sound of honking.
"That should be Face and BA," Hannibal said. "I'll go get them started. See if you can figure this stuff out anymore."
Terry nodded, resumed looking through the notebook.
Face smiled at Hannibal from the passenger side of a moving van. BA, now out of the cab, had clearly been driving. There was no sign of a second vehicle.
"Where'd you leave the van?"
Face hopped out of the moving van, looking pleased with himself. "Brandon let us stash it at his place." Brandon's work area wasn't far from the Aberdeen place, and there was very little chance of anyone noticing the van from the main road in. They didn't want to scare their quarry away by letting them know they were there. Not till they had Murdock back.
"Good, we'll hide Terry's there, as well."
"Hannibal," Face started, reminded of the recent embarrassment, "why didn't you tell me the guy doesn't talk? He had us at gun point and just stared at us for five minutes."
"Wasn't that long," BA said.
"It felt like it was that long," Face corrected, with an unappreciative look at BA. Okay, so the staring match might have lasted a whole minute, tops, before BA became impatient with the silence. "But the man can stare, Hannibal," Face went on with his complaint. "It was creepy. I thought I had a big stain on my shirt, or something." Face absently brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder. He didn't catch BA rolling his eyes at him.
They followed Hannibal to the back of the moving van, Face rambling the whole time. "And I don't know what you meant about BA scaring the guy. BA was the only one he'd talk to. I just got stared at."
"Face?" Hannibal turned around suddenly, causing Face to backpedal in order to avoid running into him. "Did you get the supplies?"
"Yeah, we got them."
"Good," Hannibal said in a tone Face correctly interpreted as 'now be quiet'.
BA opened up the back. Hannibal climbed in to inspect their supplies. In the far end, laid cross wise, were several poles. A couple of heavy duty lights. Coils of cabled wire. Some of the cable had become entwined with the lights. Closer to the door were two cans of paint with an expensive sounding brand name.
"Pink?" Hannibal asked, lifting a brow at Face.
Face smiled vaguely. "It was all he had left that glowed in the dark."
Hannibal shrugged. Pink, green, yellow, red, it didn't matter. Just so long as it served it's purpose as a distraction. One of the paint cans had slid into and dented a cardboard box. Inside the box was a paint sprayer. He'd underestimated BA's powers of persuasion. Hannibal had half expected Brandon to turn them down flat, and for Face to have to acquire the paint by other means. Instead, they not only got the paint, but supplies for it, and a place to hide the van. No wonder Face was grumbling, he was afraid he was losing his touch to BA.
Underneath the paint sprayer were a couple of costumes. "Uh, Face?" Hannibal held up a plastic gown and matching mask in question.
"It's a small town, Hannibal," Face said defensively. "I had to use what's on hand. Besides, the Lairds volunteered them."
Hannibal wasn't sure he wanted to know how they came to volunteer Halloween costumes, so he didn't ask. But he was a little concerned about the number. "Only two?"
"Last year's models," Face explained. "They hadn't gotten rid of them yet." Meaning they didn't keep the year before's.
"Okay. So only two of us will be wearing them." Murdock, who loved to do such things, wasn't there. So Hannibal looked at his newest volunteer.
BA, knowing exactly what that look meant, scowled. "I ain't wearin' no pink suit."
Hannibal smiled. Face couldn't resist the opportunity to tease. "But you'd look good in pink, BA." BA glowered back at him.
"And this one just might fit you, kid." Hannibal held up the costume that went with the Princess Leia mask.
"Hannibal!" Face protested. BA giggled.
The Green Men
He felt like he was flying. Which was ridiculous, of course, because he could still feel the concrete pressing firmly at his back. That's what floors did, push against you, constantly remind you of being grounded. Though the reminder was usually foot felt. But he was laying, not standing, and definitely not flying.
The circuitous thought made Murdock's head spin. Or would have made it spin if it hadn't been attached to his body. But if it wasn't attached….
'Stop it!' Murdock winced at the loud thought. With some drugs it was just better not to think. This must be one of them. Trouble was, there was nothing else to do in his black cell. So, Murdock supposed, he was just going to have to think very, very quietly…. "Becwas I'm huntin' that wascally wabbit," Elmer Fud whispered back at him.
Murdock snorted, then groaned. How was he supposed to think this out if he wasn't thinking straight. Would thinking crooked help?
What did they give him? Nothing fatal, it seemed; unless tangent-itis was fatal. In which case he was dead and didn't know it yet.
Nah, he definitely wasn't dead. He was pretty sure ghosts didn't feel hunger. How long has it been since he ate last? Could have been an hour ago, could have been a day. Either way, the sandwich hadn't been filling, and the slightly salty water only left him thirstier. That was probably how he got drugged. Murdock wished he knew why he'd been drugged.
Light fell on him. 'Shouldn't that hurt?' he wondered, when only his eyes were affected. Murdock cocked his head to a side and looked through watering eyes at the source.
"Hey, big green guy," Murdock greeted the bulky figure framed by the doorway. "What're we doin'?"
The figure didn't answer. It regarded him for a moment, the silence punctuated only by Darth Vader-esque breathing. Murdock began to wonder if he'd been cast in some bad Star Wars remake, with him as… who? Luke Skywalker? Han Solo?
"You know," he started, squinting up at the figure, "you got the breathing down just right. But the color…" Murdock clucked his tongue a couple of times. "The color is all wrong. You should be black. The bad-guys always wear black. Well, they do if the film maker's making things easy," Murdock rambled.
The green man stepped further inside, moving over to let more light in from the hall.
"Get up," he demanded. It was a male sounding voice. Familiar somehow.
"Not menacing enough," Murdock mumbled. He struggled to push himself to a seated position. For a change, the floor didn't want to push back. "It should be deeper," Murdock went on, hoping the talk would hide the disconnectedness of his limbs. "Like this." Murdock lowered his voice in his best BA imitation, "Get up."
Now sitting, Murdock put his arms on his head, willing it to stay attached. It wouldn't do him any good to lose it now. He groaned at the image the thought produced. Not pretty.
"Get up!" the green man said again, sounding much more impatient.
"Yeah, that's more like it," Murdock said encouragingly, smiling up from between his elbows.
The green man made an inarticulate noise. He tried again, managing to sound meaner. "Stand up!" He pushed one gloved hand forward, pointedly.
"Okay. You just had to say so." Murdock slowly climbed to his feet. The care he took in his movements wasn't for fear of the gun pointed at him, nor to show he was essentially harmless. He was unsettlingly uncertain about his limbs; he wasn't sure if they were going to decide to part company with him or not. He also feared if he pushed too hard, he'd launch himself into the air. Murdock loved to fly, but he didn't know how to without his precious machines. He tried focusing on other things – like drawing parallels with a familiar fantasy.
"What kind of light-saber is that?" Murdock frowned at the gun.
His question was answered by a click of the safety release.
Murdock shrugged carefully; too fast and his shoulders might keep going. "Guess one for the dark side, huh?"
"Move," the figure demanded once Murdock was safely on his feet.
"But I already am," Murdock said, confused. And confused about being confused. "See?" He pointed to his chest and took an extra deep breath. "I'm breathing, and my eyes are blinking, and my lips are moving, and…"
"Shut up!" the figure growled in a tone not unlike BA's when Murdock pushed him too far.
Murdock snapped his mouth closed.
Very slowly and deliberately, the green man told Murdock exactly what he wanted him to do. "Walk out the door, turn left, and keep walking."
"Okay." Murdock did just as he was told. Slowly. If he moved too fast, he might push himself into the ceiling. The green man followed noisily behind him.
Murdock wished he knew why he was following orders so complacently. He should turn around and try to overpower the green man. He'd have surprise on his side – if he didn't fall apart at the seams first. The more Murdock thought about it, the harder it was to make himself do anything. So he did as he was told and walked.
The hall had the familiar institution feel, all concrete and fluorescent lights. Not a hospital, he was sure. It took more than years of dust to cover up the lingering odors of antiseptics and – shudder at the thought – ammonia. But the hall could have belonged to some long disused military building, or a big school. It was obvious the place hadn't been inhabited until recently. The walls were grey coated, punctuated here and there with patches of living green. Some of the lights flickered, or were dim where one of the pair of bulbs had gone out. Murdock could see tracks through the dust on the floor.
They came to a t-crossing. One side wasn't lit. On a whim, Murdock turned that way. A gloved hand took hold of his upper arm and pulled him down the lit section of the hall.
"Choose the light side of the force," Murdock intoned softly, shrugging off the grip.
They went through two sets of double doors, and were outside. It was dark, pleasant compared to the heat of the last few days, and very quiet. Glowing softly off to one side was another green man. And a shadow.
"Is he ready?" A feminine voice asked. It wasn't muffled, like the green man's, so Murdock assumed it came from the shadow.
Murdock's green man grunted. "Not the easiest to control," he said sourly.
The second green man stirred. "Fighting it?" His voice was familiar, even muffled under the helmet.
"If you consider crazy talk fighting," Murdock's man groused. "Thinks this is a movie."
The second green man moved away from the wall and the shadow. "Hhmm," he said, sounding much like a mad scientist confronted with an interesting problem.
"Did you give him the right stuff?" the female voice asked.
"Doesn't work the same on everyone," the second green man said, head bobbing. Murdock felt a bug under glass. "It's in my notes."
"Which I don't have," the female sneered. A faint click was all the warning Murdock had to the activation of a flashlight. He blinked into the ghostly light and saw Sylvie.
"The waitress?" Murdock asked aloud. Well, why not a waitress? Except she didn't exactly fit his image of this film. "What's your part?"
"This had better hold till we're out of here," Sylvie said, ignoring Murdock except to give him a very unamused looked.
"We have all night," the second green man, with the annoyingly familiar voice, said. Then added, "Besides, we have more if we need a second dose."
"We don't have all night," Sylvie snapped. "We only have until his friends decide to do something."
Sylvie turned the flashlight up into Murdock's face. "And I'll remember them," she threatened.
"And you." The flashlight over to illuminate the second green man. "You had better get your notes back. Or don't bother coming in."
"We need him," Murdock's green man said unhappily. "Even without his notes, he has all that information in his head."
Sylvie sighed heavily. "Fine. You explain that to the big guns when you get back. Along with why we didn't leave at the first sign of trouble. I prefer to keep my skin.
"You," Sylvie tapped the second green man with the flashlight, "go clean up your mess. You," now she gestured to Murdock's man, "make sure he does it. After that, I don't care what you do." With that, she turned the flashlight toward the ground, and walked off into the night.
The second green man compensated for the lack of light by turning on his own flashlight. "She's not happy," he muttered.
"You lost your notes and we have a mess. What did you expect?"
"They're not lost," the second green man muttered. "I just didn't expect things to move so fast."
"Right. Whatever." Murdock's green man finally let go of him. He snatched the flashlight from the second green man. "Where're the samples?"
A green arm gestured toward the wall. "Over there."
Murdock's green man retreived what looked like a cooler. "You take him," he said, pushing Murdock toward the second green man. "I'm tired of his nonsense."
"Fine." The second green man sounded miffed. He held out a thick, glowing hand. Murdock's green man, hands full, didn't move. He gave a noise that sounded lie a growl, gave the second green man the gun, then stalked away.
"Howard," the second green man called. Was that the first green man's name?
The green man sighed heavily. Louder, he said, "Howard Miller Murdock."
Murdock's brows went up at the mention of his name at the end of the list. Were there others here, too? People named…. Oh. Murdock groaned at his sluggishness. Howard Miller was the name he'd given the doctor earlier- whenever, when Wentworth questioned Murdock's name.
So Dr. Wentworth either talked to the second green man, or he was the second green man. That might explain why his voice sounded familiar. Murdock mentally slapped his forehead. Of course. Drugs should be administered by a doctor, and a doctor would easily be believed if he said someone hadn't been drugged when they really were. And Wentworth's files had all the clues. Why hadn't they been watching this guy?
"What's your name?" This time the second green man, or rather, Dr. Wentworth posing as a green man, was clearly addressing Murdock.
"Murdock."
"Right," Wentworth sighed. "Murdock, follow me."
Murdock did. They went a little ways along paved ground. It was too dark for Murdock to tell if it was a road or parking lot or what. It didn't really matter, but it gave Murdock something to think about while walking between two glowing green men.
Before long, they came to an area lit by camping lamps. The lamps surrounded a giant… something.
"What is it?"
"Our UFO," the first green man said in all seriousness.
Murdock snorted. He couldn't help himself. It wasn't a UFO, that was for sure. It looked more like a trash bag. A full trash bag. Draped over something. Finally Murdock's eyes took in the rest, the pilots bubble sticking out of the bag on one side, the tail rotor hiding in the shadows form the other side. It was only the middle that was so gaudily clad. How the heck did they do that?
The first green man took Murdock by the arm and pulled him closer to the chopper.
"What're we doing?"
"Leaving." He waved the flashlight at the chopper. "You're going to fly us."
"I don't fly trash bags." The statement sounded idiotic. Moreover, it wasn't true. Murdock would go up in anything, if it allowed him to touch the sky. He just didn't want to go up in that thing. It was ugly. And besides, they wanted him to.