A/N: Thanks to all those who have reviewed so far. Also, I apologize for any inaccuracies involving the medical or military or technological, etc realm...there's a lot one has to know to make it perfectly accurate, so I hope any fudge factors aren't so glaring that the fiction can't be enjoyed. Feel free to comment on such if you like!
Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team, etc.
"I know of him," Face heard himself reply. "Langley big shot." He didn't know where he was getting this stuff, but he was glad the con seemed to come naturally as his brain kicked into overdrive. If a Lynch was involved in all this, it made things about seventeen and a half times more complicated. Face had assumed the supposed government man was someone attached to an MP search operation or maybe somebody in Charissa's line of work. Lynch almost certainly meant Company, and Company meant the government was getting too close. Or that some unsuspected angle had arisen, one generally not in their favor.
He suddenly remembered the document he was holding and began to troll through it, squinting at some of the more unintelligible script. After a long moment, he felt his face growing hot, and he firmly set the file down on the counter while indicating Murdock with a sharp gesture of one hand. "He's…he's bipolar for Christ's sake, you can't just switch-has anyone even read his damn medical history?"
"Of course we know his history," Nurse Jefferson spoke. "That's what I tried to tell them-" Face cut her off, royally pissed with no one else to yell at.
"He needs a, a mood stabilizer, not a…sedative antidepressant." Face jabbed a finger at the file, old recollections of Murdock at his worst lows knocking on memory's back door. "He's gonna be pulling G's on the goddamn manic-depressive merry-go-round! Jesus Christ, is this Brant guy even a real doctor?" Face snapped angrily. He turned to look back at Murdock, who had apparently succumbed to drowsiness again, slouched in his chair. The nurse took Face's outburst in stride, well-practiced in dealing with a wide range of emotions in her line of work.
"Mr. Lawson, believe me, I know. You have to know that I've done everything but walk off my job in protest of all of this, and the only reason I haven't done that is because honestly, I'm afraid to leave him. I can see you genuinely care about your client. If there's any way we can pool our resources to help him…"
"I have to make a call," Face mumbled, still staring at Murdock. Then he seemed to realize the state he was in and gave his head a slight shake. He turned back to the nurse. "Look, I'm sorry for the attitude. I know you've been trying to help him, and I appreciate it more than I can say. Thank you."
"You're welcome. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do, Mr. Lawson." She took the file Face slid back to her and watched him turn and walk toward the foyer, putting a phone to his ear.
"B.A., you wanna grab that?" Hannibal requested around the screwdriver he currently had clenched in his teeth, shouting to be heard above some slightly overloud classic rock. The technically-former colonel was balanced on a ladder, installing yet another security measure in their rented home. He held a level to the wall and made a light mark with a pencil, waiting for a response.
"Got it, Boss!" B.A. shouted back, somehow able to discern the drowned-out screwdriverese. He trotted over to the phone and grabbed it on the third ring, switching on the trace blocker. "Joe's pizza."
"Bosco, it's Face. I need to talk to Hannibal."
"Faceman, where you at? Figured you and the fool'd be back here by now."
"I'm still at the VA. Um…things are royally fucked up… I don't think I can get Murdock out of here alone." B.A. could almost see Face scrubbing a hand through his hair. His tone definitely didn't inspire confidence.
"All right, man, hang on." Act now, question later. He was already moving into the next room, flipping the stereo off as he passed it by. "Boss, it's Face. He says we've got trouble."
Hannibal frowned, pulling the screwdriver out of his teeth. "I hope it doesn't involve a woman," he commented dryly, trading B.A. the level for the phone. "Talk to me, Lieutenant."
"Hannibal, we've got a problem," Face got right to the point. "I think the CIA's been here at the ward—they dropped off a nice little order signed by a government quack and what has to be the latest Lynch detailing major changes in Murdock's treatment. They've got him seriously messed up, Boss, he's on the wrong meds and they've been restraining him. If you could just see him right now…I mean, he's like…" Face trailed off, at a loss for words.
"All right, all right," Hannibal cut in, his senses coming to full alert at the anxiety in Face's voice. "Can you get him out of there?"
"I don't think so, Hannibal, I mean, seriously, he's barely functional. Even if I came up with something, I had to do enough recon that one of the nurses probably knows my face too well now. And I'm going to have to get some supplies-we can't take him out of here with nothing. It'd send him off the deep end. He's already halfway there."
Hannibal took a deep breath. By "supplies," he knew Face meant meds, and pilfering drugs from a hospital was a risky business. The gears were already turning, trying to formulate a plan. Before he could reply, Face spoke up again.
"There's something else, Boss. If I understand what I read correctly, these Company guys have been following up on the treatment…they could call or stop in anytime. Why would somebody suddenly take interest in Murdock's treatment after all this time? Why would they sign off on things that they know are going to make him less lucid, less able to supposedly help track us down?" The conman's eyes scanned the parking lot even as he said this, a dose of healthy paranoia running up his spine. "It kind of smells like-"
"-a trap," Hannibal agreed, coming to the same conclusion. "Ok, kid, here's what we're going to do. B.A. and I need to do a little recon of our own before we proceed. I want you to hang tight there until I call you back. If Lynch or any associated undesirables make an appearance, signal us with the usual methods and get out of there."
"…But what about Murdock? He's barely able to stay conscious right now, how am I gonna...you're not suggesting I leave him here-Hannibal, no way-"
"Face, you can't help Murdock if you're locked up in a federal pen."
"Boss, I promised him-"
"Listen to me, Lieutenant. They come, you run. Do you understand?"
"Hannibal-"
"Do you understand?" There was a long, heavy pause.
"Yeah, I understand," he answered at last, bitterness creeping into his voice.
"Good. Now, I need any names you saw on those orders."
"The man who's gotta be a Lynch went by Daniel Ericks, with a 'k,'" he rattled off flatly. "The shrink's name was Brant. Michael Brant. Those were the only names I could see."
"Ok. Keep your phone close at hand. I'll be in touch." Hannibal tapped the hang up button and closed his eyes a moment to collect his thoughts, feeling slightly ill. He knew Face resented his instructions, knew that much like himself, the kid would rather pull off his own fingernails than leave one of their own in a bad situation, but the alternative was worse. They wouldn't put Murdock in jail. In the VA, the pilot was at least vaguely accessible. A maximum security prison was a whole different animal, especially when you made it in for round two. And if Face got nabbed, it would just send Murdock back to square one, possibly even get him transferred somewhere out of their current reach.
"Boss?" B.A. addressed him uncertainly from the doorway, gearing him back to the matter at hand.
"Test the new firewall one more time and get online," Hannibal directed. "We need to do a little virtual B&E."
Coming soon...the team works toward getting Murdock the hell out of Dodge. Can they stay below Lynch's radar long enough to successfully break Murdock out? Keep reading! :)