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 13 Return to Happy Valley
When Jackson neared Room 27, he frowned. The wailing and sobbing he heard coming from behind the door sounded more like that of a totally insane person than the pilot he knew from their days during the CIA's Project Phoenix.
If Stafford gave the Captain more LSD, the remote viewing session will have to be delayed even longer. Brandler won't sit still for that. Damn these scientists!
Private Nelson had stationed himself outside the room according to orders after escorting the General to Laboratory Two.
"Stand outside this door and do not let anyone enter. I need to speak to the test subject before we can bring him to the laboratory." An especially loud and piercing shriek made the Private peek fearfully at the door out of the corner of his eye. Noting his reaction, Jackson nodded. "Just listen for my orders. If Doctor Stafford passes by here, tell him we may need to administer a low dose sedative before the testing starts."
And if Stafford doesn't get that message, too bad for Captain Murdock. He'll have to do it without anything to relax him.
"Yes sir." Private Nelson saluted. Colonel Jackson entered and closed the door quickly behind him.
Narrowing his eyes at the restrained Captain, Jackson scowled.
Murdock had somehow managed to scrape enough skin away from around his ankles and wrists for a sizable amount of blood to seep onto the sheet under him. It left quite a mess. A small amount of froth bubbled at the corners of the pilot's mouth. His chest still heaved up and down with the passion of his outburst but when he saw Jackson, Murdock quieted his verbal protests.
"Now, Captain Murdock. Injuring yourself will leave a bad impression on General Brandler. He'll think you don't want to help your country."
"Where's . . . my . . . friend?" the pilot hissed. His eyes, wide and dark with menace, warily watched the Colonel.
"I told you before. Safe. For now. And you can make it continue to be that way if you behave yourself in front of the General."
Even as he said the words, Jackson knew those brown eyes boring into him searched for the lie on his face.
I'll have to be very careful what I think around the Captain. He's beginning to remember how to focus his psychic abilities. I trained him too well.
"We'll have to clean you up a bit before you'll be presentable for General Brandler. Where should we go for our first remote viewing session, Number 47?" Jackson's glittering eyes took on a hint of malicious amusement. "I know. What about Happy Valley? I know you have memories that will help you with that one. And we want to leave the General with the idea this project is showing promise, don't we?"
Murdock squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. His body began to tremble involuntarily.
Chuckling at the reaction he received, Colonel Jackson paused at the door. "Then Happy Valley it is. I won't tell you specifically where. That's for you to figure out. I'll send someone in to get you ready."
oooooo
Happy Valley. Oh God, it's been ages since I thought o' that. Only in my nightmares.
When he was certain Jackson left the room, Murdock opened his eyes. He tried to bend his right wrist enough to inch his long slender fingers toward the knot tying the leather restraining cuff to the frame of the gurney.
He can't make me go back there. I can't go back there. I can't. I won't.
His fingertips grazed the knot. He cursed as he tried again to reach it. Panic rose inside him and constricted his chest, making his breaths come in short panted huffs. His palms were sweating. His fingers twitched with the lingering after-effects of the LSD.
Happy Valley. If ever there was a time he needed a cloak of invisibility to hide his movements that was it. Rocket bursts in the dark sky. Elephant grass that grew to a height above his head, easy to see any path of escape the occupants of a downed chopper would take.
'N' I did crash that chopper, didn' I? Jigged when I should o' jagged. Couldn' do much else 'cept crash when my tail rotor was shot t' hell. Jus' glad none o' the guys were hurt by my stupid move.
Major Trình. The camp. Luke Cassel, Bruce Wilson, Chuck Heller . . . the forced march . . . Ferret, the sadistic head interrogator, lifeblood spurting from him in a dark red fountain from knife wounds Murdock himself had inflicted . . .
I can't relive that all over 'gain.
And he saw by the expression on Jackson's face he knew all of that. It would be used to make him submit.
That 'n' the threat t' hurt 'r kill Amy. How many more things from my past's Jackson gonna use 'gainst me? What's next? One o' Pa's beatin's? The last breaths Ma took in the hospital?
Looking down at the two open bleeding wounds on his chest, he wondered how Jackson managed to make his hallucinations real enough to do what they did.
Or did Jackson do that t' mess with my mind? That has t' be it. Couldn' be what I thought I saw. Could it?
Voices from his past, his father's voice, Billy's voice, argued back and forth in his mind over that question until he wanted to scream "Shut up!" at them.
A lab assistant entered the room with a basin and a wash cloth and sploshed water onto the floor with a startled jerk. It was then Murdock realized that he owned the hoarse voice shouting "Shut up!" over and over again.
oooooo
General Brandler returned Jackson's nod as the Colonel entered the monitor's room from the laboratory.
"So when is this demonstration going to begin, Jackson?"
The Colonel bit the inside of his cheek to prevent a sharp retort.
Today's not a red letter day for me.
Having to figure out what to do with a reporter who was picked up along with Captain Murdock. Phoning to confirm the identity of an absent-minded professor trespassing where he didn't belong. Putting up with Brandler and his damn impatience. An uncooperative test subject.
And now Stafford has disappeared. But at least I'm going to have the satisfaction of regaining control over Murdock after all these years.
He gave the General a tight-lipped smile. "Doctor Stafford had a small emergency to take care of so I will be conducting the first session with the aid of the doctor's assistant, Mister Rollag. He should be bringing the test subject in soon. In the meantime, let me explain some of what we will be doing today in this session."
Brandler narrowed his eyes. "Go ahead."
"What you see before you is our Extended Remote Viewing lab. What we hope to do is to send the subject's mind through time and space to a specific place in the past. He will answer questions about that place as he 'sees' it. He will also sketch what he encounters and take notes on the experience." Jackson paused.
"But he never leaves the lab, right? This is the old Stargate program revisited." The General snorted. "If all he's going to do is revisit historical events . . . "
Jackson breathed slowly through his nose to prevent himself from losing his temper. "As I was going to say, our test subject will have his temperature, respiration, brain waves and pulse monitored throughout the session. Our entire session will be recorded on video and cassette tape. Once we have determined he has become comfortable with what he is to do, we will train him in how to find moving targets . . . "
"Like Cazador?"
"Like Cazador and the munitions he's smuggling to our friends of the revolution in Gema Escondida. He should be able to provide us with detailed information before first steps are taken in any future mission. It will cut down on casualties if we can do that. We will also be working on his psychic abilities to predict the outcomes of missions our people are sent to complete. But first we must train him in the rudiments of time and spatial travel by using past events." The Colonel saw Brandler's eyebrows knit together as he thought of the future applications of remote viewing.
The door to the laboratory opened and Rollag wheeled a gurney into the room and toward the chair. The assistant had done his job well. White gauze hid the chafed and bleeding wounds on the pilot's bare chest, ankles and wrists. Murdock wore a pair of long black cotton pants with a drawstring waist. A pair of black rubber shower sandals were on his feet. The Colonel smiled.
If that doesn't remind him of the target time period, I don't know what will. We usually don't let them know what the target is, but for purposes of persuading him to cooperate . . .
Jackson caught his breath for a moment as Rollag untied the restraints and transferred him to the chair. He expected to hear and see more of the pilot's protests. Murdock was too stubborn and rebellious to give up easily. He slowly exhaled when he saw that the restrained man seemed to have accepted what he was being forced to do.
Murdock sought out the monitoring room with his eyes. He pierced the Colonel with a smoldering glare. It was a look of pure hatred, one that threatened violence if given the opportunity.
We'll see about that, Captain Murdock.
"If you would please hook 47 up to the machines, Rollag. Make sure he has plenty of paper and two or three pens in front of him." To the General, Jackson added, "We don't use names, if you remember from the old Stargate Project. The test subject will be referred to as 47 when we address him."
Brandler nodded. "Proceed."
Rollag attached electrodes to Murdock's scalp. Hooking up the wires to the electrocardiogram patches on the pilot's chest, calves, and arms, he slipped a thermistor onto a finger to measure body temperature. Electrodes in the palms and on the backs of his hands sent data to Jackson about the degree to which the subject was perspiring. Rollag wrapped a band around the pilot's abdomen to measure his respiration.
"And now for some special music to get him in the mood," Jackson breathed as the assistant settled a pair of headphones over Murdock's ears. He dimmed the lights until they could see only the slight luminescence of the white gauze and monitoring devices on the test subject.
The reaction was immediate. The pilot grimaced and closed his eyes, letting his head rest against the back of the chair.
"Are you ready, 47?" Jackson murmured into a microphone.
Murdock swallowed and nodded.
"Good. Let your right arm rest lightly on the table and take the pen in your hand. Relax. Let your mind relax. Breathe evenly and let your brain totally relax." Jackson watched as the man in the chair sank deeper and deeper past the beta brain wave state into the theta waves. He was mildly surprised Murdock moved into the altered state of awareness so quickly.
Has he been using this training to complete missions for his team? Or maybe to try to make the quacks at the VA think he's insane? If he's been practicing, he's even more dangerous to me. Well, let's see how he does with this scene.
"Your coordinates are 15-55-00-107-58-00, I repeat, 15-55-00-107-58-00. Write them down."
That should put you right where I want you so you know who's in charge.
General Brandler fidgeted in his seat as the seconds stretched on and there was no communication from the test subject.
Just when Jackson sensed the General was ready to say something, Murdock's hand began to jot something down on the paper in front of him.
The Colonel used the joystick in front of him to zoom one of the cameras in on what the pilot had sketched.
"So what in hell's that supposed to be?" the General whispered.
Jackson smiled. He had a very good idea what the ideogram symbolized and it meant Murdock had the correct target. Inwardly he cheered but outwardly he decided to play dumb.
"I'm not sure. Let me ask him."