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 15 Threats

B. A. glanced at Amy, concern etched on his face, and hesitated before placing a large hand on her shoulder. Ever since Hannibal left with Face and the doctor, the reporter had lain unconscious and perfectly still on the floor in the back of the van.

"Hey, li'l sis. Time ta wake up."

The Colonel told him to continue to periodically try to wake her to ensure she did not have a serious concussion.

It wasn't something B. A. enjoyed doing when it was Face or Murdock requiring medical observation. Having to do the same for Amy . . . it was uncomfortable. It made the fury seething inside him even more difficult to contain.

Any fool that'd deck a woman, hurt her so bad she bleeds, takes my li'l brother an' uses him for their experiments . . . they better hope I don' ever find out for sure who they are. An' that doctor an' Jackson guy better watch their backs, they do anythin' to Murdock.

But waking Amy was necessary. And there was no one readily available to punish with his fists anyway.

He leaned over her and shook her by the shoulder, painfully aware of his own strength and her fragility.

"Come on, Amy. Wake up for a few minutes."

An' what'll I do if she don't?

Just when he thought he would have to shake her harder, her eyelids slowly opened and she moaned.

"B. A.?"

"I gotta have ya stay awake for a few minutes, answer some questions." The Sergeant drew his hand back and carefully looked into Amy's eyes to see if either pupil was dilated.

Relieved when he found they were normal, he threw out his hands to steady her as she attempted to pull herself up into a sitting position. Dangling her legs out of the van's side door, she straightened her back and winced.

"Where am I? Where's the mini-camera . . . our evidence against Tannini? Where's Murdock?" Her questions poured out, her eyes searching him for answers. Moments later she frowned and clutched the sides of her head with both hands. "Ahh. Hurts."

"We got the mini-camera with the photos you an' the fool took. It's in the glove compartment." He scrutinized her pain-filled expression and decided to skirt her other two questions until he could assess her condition.

"I feel like someone beat my head in with a baseball bat." She flinched as the burly Sergeant checked the gash.

"Prob'ly 'cause someone came close to it, li'l sis. I gotta make sure what shape yer head's in. Okay?"

Hope she ain' gonna ask too many questions 'bout Murdock . . . or Face. She ain' gonna like the answers.

"I feel sick." Leaning her head back against the side of the rear passenger seat, she closed her eyes again.

"Now don't go back ta sleep on me. Can ya tell me who ya work for?" B. A. squatted in front of her and cupped the side of her face in one of his hands to get her attention.

She opened her eyes again and frowned at him. "The Los Angeles Courier Express."

"That's right." B. A. smiled his encouragement. "When's yer birthday?"

"The fifth of May. I was born in 1958." She let her gaze wander past him to the scrub brush and desert mountain terrain. "Where are we?"

"Not yet." The Sergeant uncapped a bottle of water and handed it to her. "Get some water in ya."

Just tryin' ta keep her from knowin' too much too fast. Knowin' her she ain' gonna play this game too long before she gets the truth outta me. An' when she does, she's gonna want ta be part of the action.

She sighed and obeyed. After two swallows, she handed it back. "Now tell me what you're trying so hard not to tell me."

B. A. avoided her response as best he could. "Why don't ya tell me what you remember 'bout the mission."

"Okay, if I share that, then you tell me what I want to know. Deal?" She looked directly into his eyes.

B. A. let out a huge sigh, then shrugged.

I don't hafta tell her everything.

"Okay."

"Murdock and I had just about finished in Tannini's office when Face warned us about the guys coming up to check things out. The elevator stopped on the floor where we were so Murdock grabbed me and took off for the stairs. He made me start down ahead of him. He was going to stop Tannini's goons if they came after us."

Her eyes filled with tears that she brushed away with an angry hand.

"I didn't want to leave him but he insisted. The last I saw he had his gun drawn. He gave me the camera and one of those grins that was supposed to tell me everything would work out."

B. A. scowled down at the ground.

That's Murdock alright. He'd let 'em make hamburger outta him if it'd keep Amy safe. An' do it with that goofy grin on his face, too.

She gulped as she remembered his expression, then continued. "There were four men with ski masks waiting for me two floors down. Two of them held me and one of them must have slugged me." She touched the back of her head where her hair was matted with blood and shivered.

B. A. squelched the sudden desire to put his fist through the door of his van.

"You remember anythin' else? Anythin' about Murdock an' whether he was alright?" The Sergeant took Amy by the elbows and gazed into her eyes.

Fool can usually take care of himself in a one on one but four against one? Those weren' good odds. He wouldn't a went with 'em if Amy hadn't been there. An' that doctor. Said the fool was a test subject. That could mean just 'bout anythin'. An' none of it good.

"My memory's pretty sketchy between the time those men grabbed me and now. I remember seeing Murdock." She thought and then took in a sharp breath. "He was tied down to a chair with IV tubes in both of his arms. He couldn't see me because of the blindfold." Grabbing B. A.'s forearm, she hissed, "He's in trouble, isn't he. And Hannibal and Face aren't here because they've gone to free him. Am I right?"

B. A. swallowed. He remembered Face's mention of Murdock's frantic cries for help and the LSD that was given to the pilot.

At that moment, the blips from the two button tracking devices which Face and Hannibal had in their pants pockets stopped moving.

Amy followed the Sergeant's gaze to the double screens. Turning back to him, she narrowed her eyes. "It's your turn now. What's going on and where are we? And where's Face, Hannibal and Murdock?"

oooooo

General Brandler insisted upon waiting until 47 collated his remote viewing session into a definitive sketch of the target. Jackson was hoping the session itself would be enough but he should have known his superior would want more.

That shouldn't take Captain Murdock very long. He's familiar with the target already.

Jackson and Brandler strolled along the hall toward the dowsing room where Rollag had taken Murdock in the wheelchair.

"This was the first remote viewing session with this particular test subject. You saw how detailed his vision was of the target area and what was going on. Now think what kind of detailed information he'd be able to give you of locations of key players if there was another Iranian hostage crisis, for instance?" The Colonel glanced at the man beside him, noted the General's eyebrows raise slightly.

General Brandler, don't ever play poker. You'd lose every time.

"Explain," Brandler ordered.

"This remote session looked back in time but when Stargate was scrapped we were beginning to lay the groundwork to be able to see the present. Picture it. You have hostages and captors in an embassy overseas. The hostage takers shuffle the captives to different buildings around the city. They figure if there's a rescue attempt on one building, hostages elsewhere can be used as examples. You can't get anyone anywhere near the city without putting some or all of the hostages in greater danger. You have to have intelligence but how do you get it?"

"The remote viewer?"

"The remote viewer," Jackson affirmed. "With his ability to transcend space and time, he can search out the hostages and assist any rescue efforts by 'seeing' precisely where they and their captors are. He can tell you what kind of weapons the captors have, what hostages are with them, the condition of the hostages. A rescue could be made with pinpoint accuracy with almost no casualties because of his information."

He could see the General mulling over the potential for that kind of surveillance.

"But first, we'll try it out with our little Gema Escondida gun supplier. Number 47 will track Cazador's movements without even leaving the remote viewing chair. He'll see where the weapons are being store-housed and with what kind of security. Any phone calls Cazador makes, any papers he signs, any people he meets, our man will see and report without being there and arousing suspicion. He will then sign on as the pilot for this month's gun run. The United States government will have their weapons back and Cazador will no longer be supplying our revolutionary friends. In fact, he'll no longer be doing much of anything."

The General put his hand up to stop Jackson's flow of words. "I told you before. I want only to know that Cazador will no longer be a thorn in Uncle Sam's side. I don't want to know how he's stopped. The media can never know we slipped weapons to someone like Cazador to supply the rebels for this revolution. Why the Attorney General gave his approval to the initial plan is beyond me."

The two men stopped outside the door to the dowsing room. Knocking and entering without waiting for a response, Jackson noted Murdock's strained expression as he finished his compilation description and sketch of the test target.

"Number 47, can you walk us through the remote viewing you did and tell the General what your sketch and notes are?" The Colonel gave the pilot an unsettling look and relayed a message to him through his mind.

Just remember who's in charge here. Give the General a good report and maybe the next target won't be so . . . disturbing . . . to you.

Murdock straightened in the wheelchair and gripped the arm rests so firmly his knuckles whitened. The glare he returned brought a smirk to Jackson's face. The pilot couldn't respond because he had not been trained to do that but the Colonel could feel waves of hatred being directed his way.

Murdock took in a steadying breath before beginning. He pointed to parts of his final sketch as he spoke. "I was in a valley that had grass up over the top o' my head. I saw grass like that in Nam. The way the air felt, felt like Nam."

You're doing good. The General seems to be very interested. But if you let on that you knew the test target location before the session, I promise to make your remaining time with us highly unpleasant.

Murdock's hand trembled as he received Jackson's message. He swallowed hard and refocused his gaze on the sketch in his hands.

"Had the sense of a crash o' some sort 'n' seven men still 'live. The smoke, the smell o' leakin' fuel, reminded me of a chopper crash." The pilot swallowed again.

And you know what those are like, don't you, Captain? In fact, this one was your fault, wasn't it? It was your fault you and the others got captured and ended up in that POW camp.

Jackson narrowed his eyes at Murdock. He could see the man's spirit crumbling even now as he was both reminded and accused.

"Go on, 47."

"The guys had guns so I figure they were soldiers. They were walkin' 'way, tryin' t' escape. Felt a lotta fear and danger 'round 'em. Like there was enemies they couldn' see 'n' they were tryin' t' stay outta sight. Two o' the men in the crash were dyin', couldn' be moved. One had a head injury. Th' other had a huge hole in his belly."

Lazzard and Collins. Your peter pilot and your crew chief.

Murdock was barely keeping his emotions together and Jackson knew it. Best to wrap this up before he fell completely apart. No matter what anyone else believed, the Colonel knew the pilot's mental state was sometimes very unstable. His test subject needed to complete the upcoming mission. There would be time for Murdock to have a complete nervous breakdown later. If he survived the mission.

"The chopper went down 'cause the tail rotor was hit. One o' the main rotor blades sheared off when the bird hit the ground. That was the three pieces I saw. Blood 'n' broken glass from the windshield all over the cockpit. One o' the pilots was hurt bad. I sensed death 'n' fear all 'round the crash site. I'm guessin' it was a place held by the VC 'n' they were comin' for the men in the crash. 'N' those guys knew it."

The General was smiling. Jackson swallowed back his sigh of relief.

As he took out the manila envelope containing the aerial photo, the Colonel couldn't help but have a smug grin on his face. "Very good, 47. You've just described the scene of a chopper crash in Happy Valley outside of Da Nang in 1969. And this is what it looked like a few days afterward."

He showed General Brandler first and then Murdock. The pilot paled at the sight.

Hold it in or the next session will be worse.

"Unless the General has any additional questions, you may take 47 to his room, Mister Rollag." Jackson noted with unease the heaving breaths Murdock was taking. The man was close to a full blown psychotic episode.

"No. No questions." Brandler patted Murdock on the shoulder. "Good work, son."

Rollag propped the door open and backed the wheelchair out of the room. The last sight Jackson had of the pilot was a study of extreme emotional pain. Murdock had covered his face with both hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Brandler was speaking. "I am satisfied, Colonel Jackson. I'll be relaying your progress and recommending continued support for Silent Arrow." The two men shook hands before the General left for the waiting helicopter.

Jackson's smile faded as soon as the other man left. He turned toward the room where Professor Pepper was still waiting to be released.

Brandler doesn't need to know that, like a used styrofoam cup, our test subject will be expendable once the mission is complete. But there's more test subjects where Murdock came from. We can find more remote viewers. And Murdock will be silenced forever.