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 49 Cleaning Up Loose Ends
Hanson smirked as he tailed the red Ford pickup on the South Sonoita Highway. He had followed Warner from his home in Sonoita as he made his way northeast to Cazador's ranch and its private airstrip.
An hour ago, Jackson gave him the go-ahead to dispose of Cazador's regular pilot any way he chose. The phone call telling him to proceed meant one thing. The Colonel had convinced the veteran Vietnam pilot he recaptured to cooperate fully.
He respected a man like that who knew how to get what he wanted. Now to do what Jackson enlisted him to do.
The job had to be done quickly and with as little mess as possible. The body should not be found very soon or the arms smuggler would be tipped off that something was wrong. Cazador was scheduled to be in the air with the arms shipment within four hours. The Tucson businessman had to be forced to find a replacement pilot at the last minute.
How Jackson would convince Cazador that Captain Murdock was that man was not Hanson's concern. The most important parts of his job was to make sure Cazador required a replacement pilot and to eliminate the arms smuggler at the right time: while the private plane was still in the air and before the weapons were delivered to the abandoned mine.
And Hanson was good at following orders and disposing of loose ends. That Jackson allowed him a bit of creativity in doing so satisfied the ex-CIA agent immensely.
Hanson accelerated as the truck ahead of him neared a dirt side road. Forcing the pickup to turn on it was a simple matter of quickly veering to the left and grazing the driver's side with his own truck.
Warner turned terrified eyes on the driver of the other vehicle and, recognizing him, sped up, leaving a cloud of dust in the air. Hanson chuckled and increased his own speed.
No matter. This road's a dead-end and few people travel it. Plenty of ATV trails to push him off onto. A truck with a body in it can sit out here for a while before anyone finds it.
Once Hanson eliminated Cazador's personal pilot, the Colonel wanted to meet in Sonoita. Together they would go with the insane Captain to the ranch where Jackson would convince the arms runner of the pilot's ability and trustworthiness. Hanson would attend Cazador as the pilot flew them to the abandoned mine in the Empire Mountains southeast of Tucson.
A flight Cazador will never complete. He'll never know what hit him.
Hitting the back-end of the pickup ahead of him, Hanson pushed Warner off on a rugged ATV trail that led to rocky hills of loose limestone and marble rubble. The old growth chaparral vegetation surrounded them. It was a back road explorer's paradise and a perfect place to complete the first part of his job.
The Colonel had promised him five thousand dollars once Cazador was dead and the arms shipment confiscated and returned to the Army supply depot from which they came. The pilot was expendable, too.
If this vet's as crazy as his psychiatric record shows, it's no great loss. And who knows? Maybe after this, Jackson will have other interesting work for me to do for him.
With that thought, Hanson rammed the truck ahead of him off the trail and in among clumps of Arizona rosewood and evergreen sumac bushes. Stopping his own vehicle, he removed his pistol from his shoulder holster and left the truck to face Warner.
oooooo
"Got a cigarette I can bum offa you?" Murdock glanced at the man driving the rental car. Something was bothering him about the last twenty-four hours.
Yeah, like not 'memberin' anythin' 'bout most o' yesterday 'n' las' night. Oh yeah, 'n' why my head hurts so much.
It had gnawed at him ever since they left the motel. His anxiety over his memory loss was like a ravenous wolf chawing on a fresh kill.
He attempted to replay the events of the early morning in his mind. At around six o'clock he woke in the motel room to a cold compress on his forehead and the radio playing "Paint It Black" over the ear buds. He jerked the ear buds out and winced at the memory the song had opened up in his mind.
"Good morning, Captain."
He carefully opened his eyes to half-slits and peered around the room to find the person speaking. Even though the bedside lamp was the only illumination in the darkened room, its light hurt his eyes and caused a stabbing pain in his head. With one hand, he reached up and felt at the washcloth covering his forehead.
At the same time Jackson dragged a chair close to the bed where he lay. The Colonel looked haggard with dark smudges from a sleepless night showing the overnight vigil he had kept.
"You passed out on me last night when we got here. How are you feeling now, son?"
Murdock tried remembering what he was doing the night before that would have caused that kind of thing to happen.
"Stabbin' pain in my head." He tried to roll over and sit up on the edge of the bed and felt the room start to spin. Bile rose in the back of his throat. "Feel like throwin' up," he managed to gasp. Moments later, he vomited into a waste can the Colonel held under him.
Once done, he collapsed back on the bed. Jackson took the waste basket and wet washcloth into the bathroom and flushed the vomit down the toilet. Washing out the can and refreshing the compress, he returned and placed the cloth back in place on the pilot's forehead.
"How's your eyes? Have any blurry vision?" Jackson smiled indulgently when Murdock shook his head.
"Eyes're fine. Jus' feels like an A-number one hangover. I wasn' drinkin', was I?" the pilot muttered, trying to keep his head from exploding.
Jackson narrowed his eyes. "Is that what you remember?"
"Don' 'member nothin'." Murdock sighed and attempted to sit up again. This time he made it.
The Colonel seemed satisfied with his answer. "We have to meet my associate Glen Hanson in Sonoita in about six hours. Why don't you go in the bathroom and take a hot shower and I'll have some fresh strong coffee for you when you're done?"
While the pilot took the shower Jackson suggested, the Colonel made coffee with the in-room coffeemaker. He offered Murdock some ibuprofen and a foam cup of the hot liquid before urging them out to the car for the long trip to their meeting.
Now Jackson was driving them to the café where Hanson would be waiting. Hanson and Jackson were supposed to bring Murdock out to Cazador's ranch and introduce him to the man he would be flying to a location somewhere in the Empire Mountains.
It seemed like a simple enough job. He would be doing something that he enjoyed and once whatever Cazador was bringing with him was delivered, Murdock would be flying the plane and Cazador and Hanson back to the ranch. At least that was the mission as Jackson laid it out that morning.
But somethin' stinks 'bout this whole thing. There's somethin' I ain' 'memberin' 'n' it's right there at th' tip o' my mind but I can't see it.
Jackson smiled and pulled half a pack of Marlboros from the pocket of his safari jacket. The jacket the Colonel was wearing reminded Murdock of that other Colonel who was his friend.
Th' one I murdered.
Shuddering, Murdock tapped a cigarette out of the pack and started to hand it back to Jackson.
With a smile and a gesture of his hand, the military man refused it. "Keep it. If they help you stay calm . . . "
The pilot nodded his thanks and, with trembling hands, lit the tip with the car's lighter. Leaning back in the seat, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a moment. "Thanks. I needed that."
"Don't be worried. You'll do fine, Captain. Cazador will be pleased with the references we put together for you to give him. An ex-Vietnam chopper pilot with the war record you had over there . . . well, he just might try to hire you as his permanent personal pilot."
Through the smoke, Murdock squinted at the military man. "It'd beat th' hell outta goin' back t' th' hospital, I guess . . . or prison, if they ever found out I killed my friends."
Jackson smiled at the Captain again. "Maybe you shouldn't worry so much about that. The military might just give you a medal for killing the infamous A-Team. That is, if they ever knew who did it."
It'd be a medal I wouldn't deserve . . . 'r want either.
He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and grimaced. More than a few of the blisters on the left side of his face had broken open somehow. The clear serum formed yellowish crusty scabs over the open sores.
Don' know how I managed t' do that. 'N' I wonder how Cazador's gonna react. I look pretty tough.
He took another drag from the cigarette and let his head rest against the back of the seat. The cut on the back of his head stung.
Can' even 'member where I got th' smack t' th' noggin. Sure hurts though.
Looking from half-lidded eyes out of his side window, he barely noticed the gently rolling hills and grasslands. Maybe it was as Jackson said. Maybe Cazador would hire him permanently and he could put his past behind him. Even as he thought that, he knew it could never happen that easily.
Got too much history, too many nightmares, too many bad memories. Be better off crashin' th' plane.
As he was thinking that, he noticed the welcome sign on the outskirts of Sonoita and felt himself tense up inside.
"Well, here we are. Sonoita. Hanson should be waiting for us at that café over there. Are you hungry?" Jackson turned left on State Highway 82. He waited for a green station wagon to pass before turning again into the parking lot of a flat-roofed restaurant that tried very hard to look like an adobe hacienda.
Murdock shook his head. "I don' have th' stomach t' eat anythin'."
It was true. Remembering his friends on the floor of the Hurricane motel made his belly churn with nausea all over again. He still couldn't believe he shot them all dead.
I musta gone crazy t' do that.
"Maybe a cup of coffee then before we go see Cazador. My treat."
He felt Jackson's gaze on him as he finished his cigarette, stubbed it out in the ashtray and opened the car door.
Jackson's been real careful t' treat me good. I know I shouldn' trust 'im but right now, I don' have a lotta options.
If just to set the Colonel's mind at ease, Murdock stretched, his arms high above his head, his back slightly arched, and yawned. "A cup o' coffee'd prob'ly be a good idea. Get me on my toes so I make a good impression for Cazador."
"Coffee it is then." Jackson patted Murdock on the shoulder and chuckled. The sound sent a chill down the pilot's back. "Like I said, you'll do fine. With my recommendation and this file I put together for you to give to Cazador, you shouldn't have any problems at all. You'll be up in the air flying over the Empire Mountains within a few hours, Captain."
Murdock couldn't understand why that reassurance didn't make him feel comfortable, but it didn't.