Keeper of the Truth
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
Another hour passed before Murdock returned to the motel. He noted that the windows of both rooms glowed with soft light. He hesitated, knowing that even one lamp left on in the room he shared with Face meant the con man was waiting for his return.
"'N' that means he wants t' talk," the pilot muttered, unconsciously fisting both hands. "Got a good idea what 'bout, too."
He peeked at the window of the other room only to catch the drape move slightly. A second later the room went dark.
Huh. Guess Faceman ain' th' only one waitin' up for me.
He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw hurt and contemplated what he was going to say and do once he got in the room.
Don' need no heart t' heart right now. Gotta focus on t'morrow. Maybe head straight t' th' shower? Pretty sure I ain' gonna have t' share it with my buddy.
Determined to avoid conversation, Murdock entered the room and waved at his buddy on his way to the bathroom.
"Nice run?" Face's voice was harsh.
Uh oh. Better answer that right way 'r he'll keep on proddin'.
"Nice night t' do it. Gonna grab a hot shower 'n' get t' bed. T'morrow comes early." The pilot tried to keep his tone light. He didn't realize until too late that his friend had risen from his place at the table where he was working on Murdock's ID card.
Before the pilot could shut the bathroom door, Face blocked it with his foot. "No."
His anger getting the better of him, Murdock sputtered, "Whaddya mean, no?"
Keep it under control, Murdock. Ya gotta keep a clear head 'n' focus. Focus on that place in ya where no one 'n' nothin' can hurt ya. Ain' that what yer handler Henderson always tol' ya?
"You've been quiet all day and then you avoid all of us by taking an extended run. What's up?"
Murdock thought for only a moment before bursting out in an angry protest. "Come on, Faceman! I'm not as good a con man as you. I gotta get int' character. 'N' havin' t' explain myself ain' helpin' me t' do that!"
He pushed his buddy back from the door and shut and locked it behind him. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he turned on the water in the bathtub and inserted the plug.
Maybe if he took a good long soak, Face would eventually give up and go to sleep. It was only then he realized that he left his fresh clothes in his duffel. With a groan, he peeled off his sweat-soaked clothing and settled into the bathwater. Bending his knees and sliding down, he soon lay partially submerged with the water lapping just under his chin. Sighing, he closed his eyes and savored the sauna-like steam. He would have to be very quiet when he got ready for bed.
Or sleep in th' bathtub all night.
oooooo
On Hannibal's instruction, B. A. parked three blocks from Scarlet's Journey Bookstore.
"We're here, fool. Wake up," B. A. announced, glaring in the rear view mirror at the pilot.
"Wasn' sleepin'," Murdock muttered, uncrossing his arms and opening his eyes. The night spent resting in the bathtub made his muscles tight and cramped.
Hannibal turned in his seat to look at him. "Spend a rough night, Captain?"
"Not at all. Jus' wantin' t' get this show on th' road." The pilot felt his best friend's gaze on him. He forced himself to ignore Face's accusatory look.
The Colonel nodded his approval. "And we are. B. A.? The glasses?"
B. A. grabbed a navy blue rectangular case from the dashboard. Partially turning to the man immediately behind him, he placed it in Murdock's hand. "Remember what I said. No singin'. Got it?"
"Got it," the pilot mumbled as he removed the wire-framed glasses from the box and slipped them on. "Seem t' fit okay. Did ya try 'em out t' see if they work?"
"You questionin' my work, fool?" The Sergeant growled the question as a warning.
"If I'm gonna letcha know what yer facin' b'fore ya break int' th' compound, they'd better work real good." Murdock exchanged an angry glance with the black man.
"They will," B. A. grunted, breaking eye contact.
"As soon as you can, give us some idea of the layout of the compound. But be careful." Hannibal drew a cigar from his pocket and lit it carefully. Looking at Murdock through the curling smoke, he hesitated before adding, "Are you ready?"
The pilot nodded without saying a word. Face opened the side door. As Murdock maneuvered his way past him, the con man gripped his arm.
"You be careful. We don't know if Barger is as crazy as Martin James or not. If he is and he suspects you aren't who you say you are . . . "
Murdock's cold expression softened for a moment. "Then I gotta be real good at conning him, don' I? Don' worry. I learned from th' best." He patted Face's hand and stepped out of the van onto the sidewalk.
"I'll be in touch," he murmured. Straightening the tan canvas jacket he wore instead of his trademark leather jacket, he strolled toward the bookstore.
Face shut the door and leaned forward between the front seats to watch his best friend. "Think he'll make it, Hannibal?"
B. A. gripped the steering wheel hard and answered first. "He'll make it. He's got to."
Hannibal drew on his cigar, silent until they saw Murdock enter the bookstore.
"So what do we do now, Colonel?" Face asked.
"We sit here and listen in on the conversation, see if Barger's recruiter takes the bait." The older man relaxed in his seat.
"An' if they do?" B. A. busied himself tuning in the listening device.
"We wait for Murdock to gain Barger's trust and give us the information we need."
"Which will take one or two days. Anything can happen in that time." Face suppressed a frustrated sigh.
oooooo
Murdock opened the shop door and entered, carefully closing it behind him. The bell above the door jangled and announced his entrance. The sound sent small warning shivers down his spine.
Feels like walkin' int' th' devil's den.
Sandalwood, sage and lavender scented the air and created a confusing atmosphere as the pilot peered around the store to get his bearings. Bookcases filled from top to bottom with books lined the walls on his left. A set of shelves to his right showcased candles of many colors, shapes and sizes.
The area in front of him contained more shelves with crystals at eye level and bottles and small vials below them. He picked up a vial containing dark red liquid and examined the label.
"Bat's blood oil," he mumbled, his brow furrowing over the thoughts the words conjured in his mind. He quickly put the vial back where it belonged, reaching for a white bottle with a Celtic style gold cross emblazoned on the front. "'N' holy water. Huh."
"Both have their uses." A husky voice from behind startled him. He replaced the bottle and turned to face the speaker.
"H . . . hi." Murdock fought to control his voice. The shop spooked him more than he thought it would. And now this person sneaked up behind him . . . "I didn' hear ya comin'. I was jus' lookin'."
He mentally kicked himself. No better way t' get rid of a store clerk than t' say somethin' like that.
The wizened dark-skinned woman who scrutinized him raised one quizzical eyebrow. Even though her head was only as high as his shoulder, she carried an air of authority.
"You came here looking for answers."
He nodded numbly, suddenly unsure of himself. She analyzed him in silence for several seconds.
Then, pursing her dark red full lips, she frowned. "Neither bat's blood oil nor holy water will be of use to you. Yours is a deep hurt, wounds that drove you to the edge of insanity. They involved death, many deaths . . . some were from natural causes, most were violent. Some were by your own hand."
Murdock gulped. For some reason, he felt like he should shrink back from her. His gut feeling brought back a memory of when he was in kindergarten. He was sent out of the classroom to talk to a man who had come to see him. That man, Colonel Jackson, had seemed as if he could read minds. He knew how to transfer thoughts, too. Just as Colonel Jackson spooked Murdock back then, this woman spooked him now.
If she can read my min', I'd better not try 'n' preten' I lost a wife.
"H . . . h . . . " He cleared his throat nervously. "How d'ya know all that?"
The woman stared directly into his eyes. "Your soul tells me you didn't kill for pleasure or profit. The blood on your hands is like a brand. You think if you don't cover it up, people will see it and judge you for what you did." She hesitated. "There is someone you left behind, someone who came home later, someone you want to help. He is a part of that dark bloody past you hide deep inside."
Unconsciously Murdock reached up to touch the chain holding the dogtag bearing Chuck Heller's name.
She paused as if waiting for an affirmation that what she said was true.
The pilot swallowed again and finally reluctantly nodded. "I was a soldier . . . a pilot . . . Vietnam . . . 'n' there is a guy I've been tryin' t' get t' talk to. He came back in real bad shape." He closed his eyes against the memory of what Hannibal told him. "Real bad shape."
"And you come here to sort out the answers. You don't feel peace inside. You have no one who understands or listens." Her tone had turned sympathetic.
Mutely, his eyes still closed, Murdock nodded. He wasn't sure anymore if he was acting or if this woman had drawn out the truth from his mind.
"If yours was a case of losing a wife or a child . . . "
He opened his eyes and held his breath for a moment. He hadn't even told her the cover story. Scanning her expression for only a moment, he realized she might have started guessing at his personal history with her last statement. But she had known enough to give him chills.
" . . . I would recommend cypress oil therapy to comfort you and give you peace. I would sell you grieving stones . . . Apache tears, ruby, rhodonite. But that is not enough to heal the deepest of your wounds."
Her eyes penetrated him as she continued to speak. "I know a man who helps people like you find answers to life's mysteries. He has many followers who will come alongside you as you heal. If you would like I can make a phone call and arrange for you to meet him."
It was what they had hoped to achieve: a man on the inside, yet Murdock was beginning to wonder if Barger possessed the same psychic abilities as this woman. If he did, Barger would soon know who Murdock really was.
The pilot let the memories from his past flood over him and hurt him all over again.
It's th' only way t' make my story real 'nough t' make 'em b'lieve me.
"Yes . . . yes, make th' call," Murdock whispered.
oooooo
"What's the fool sayin', Hannibal? That wasn' the story he was s'posed ta use!" B. A. scowled at the listening device.
"Do we get him out of there?" Face waited for the Colonel's answer, his hand on the side door handle.
"No." Hannibal stared ahead, rolling his unlit cigar between his thumb and fingers. "Murdock has it under control. He knows what he's doing."
After another few minutes, Hannibal gave the order to return to the motel room and wait for more information.