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 55 Specters

Stafford gained his voice. "Don't let him wake up, Colonel Smith. He's got your Captain Murdock's mind under his control when he's awake. Who knows if he's triggered the implant with the radio waves? And if he hasn't, he may have figured out some other way to trigger the program with his thoughts."

Hannibal eyed the medical man for only a few seconds, then readied a syringe full of etomidate. Rolling up Jackson's sleeve, he injected the drug into the unconscious man's arm.

"That should keep him out for about four hours. Now what, Doc?"

oooooo

Cazador took a deep breath and peered with alarmed eyes at the pilot beside him. "Who are you?" he directed to the man behind the partition, all the time staring at Murdock who appeared to be having some kind of nervous breakdown.

Face sighed in exasperation. Dammit, now's not the time to make formal introductions.

"Mister Cazador, let me have your seat . . . now . . . or we're all going to die. Look at him." Face gestured toward the pilot's seat. "He's a ticking time bomb programmed to go off and kill you, Hanson and himself. Colonel Jackson did it to him."

At the mention of Jackson's name, the businessman's eyes narrowed.

Thank God. I seem to be getting through.

Just then Murdock shuddered, the Lady's controls gripped in his trembling hands. He seemed to wrestle against something in his mind, then bawled out the next verse of the song as loudly as he could.

"'Up! Down! Flying around.
Loopin' th' loop 'n' defyin' th' groun'.
They're all frightfully keen
Those magnificent men in their flyin' machines . . . '"

The conman raised his eyebrows at Cazador as if to say "Do you need any more proof?"

Not the song I would have chosen to convince him, but of course the words fit my buddy to a 'T'.

The lyrics had their effect on the business entrepeneur. Cazador had enough. He quickly left his seat, relinquishing the headset to the blonde-haired man behind him as he did. "Do what you can . . . " With one more frightened glance at Murdock who alternated between opening his eyes wide in alarm and then squeezing them as tightly shut as he could manage, he added, ". . . and make it fast."

The Lieutenant flashed him a smile and mumbled "Thanks. I'll do what I can, trust me" as they shifted positions.

Face settled into the seat and was aware that Cazador had positioned himself close to the partition with his head poking through so he could watch the horizon ahead and both men.

He couldn't worry about explaining all of this to Cazador right now. Murdock hadn't noticed the change of copilots. Sweat droplets trickled down his face as he fought against whatever was going on inside his head.

Okay, now what?

Murdock launched into the next verse even as Face wondered what to do.

"'They can fly upside down with their feet in th' air.
They don' think o' danger. They really don' care.
Newton'd think he had made a mistake
T' see those young men 'n' th' chances . . . they . . . take.'"

Face took a steadying breath and reached over to carefully place the headset back over Murdock's ears. If he was going to communicate with him and talk him down, he had to use the headset. The pilot startled at the touch and looked over.

Recognition transformed the pilot's face into a mask of horror. For a few seconds Murdock's mouth gaped open, his lips moved in silence and his face paled. Then the flood of words came out. "I . . . killed you . . . oh God . . . I didn' mean to . . . it wasn' me . . . it wasn' me . . . "

Tears joined the sweat on his cheeks as he struggled with what he thought he saw. "I didn' mean to . . . it wasn' me . . . " He grew more frightened with every repetition. His terrified gaze was fully on the Lieutenant and not on his flying. The plane wobbled in the air.

What's going on with him? I thought he'd be overjoyed to see me alive.

"You were sen' back t' haunt me, weren't ya? I'm gonna go t' hell fer what I did to ya, ain' I? I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . . ya gotta b'lieve me . . . I'm sorry . . . " Even as he stammered out his words, he shrank back from what he believed was a specter sent to torment him. Tears coursed freely down both cheeks and splotched on the light brown canvas jacket he wore. He shivered violently.

Now what do I do? How do I let him know I'm not dead?

"I'm sorry . . . please, please b'lieve me . . . you were my best buddy . . . I didn' wanna kill ya . . . " His words choked off in his throat and his chest heaved with sobs. He was close to snapping.

Face knew it and hesitated. He tried to think of something that would convince the pilot he was real flesh and blood. Touching him might drive him to navigate the plane straight into one of the ridges on either side of the ribbon of road below.

I . . . no, we . . . are running out of time.

oooooo

Jackson lay on the floor of the van at Stafford and Hannibal's feet. Even with the injection of etomidate, Hannibal felt it was prudent to cuff the man's hands behind him. He tightened the metal bands around Jackson's wrists, all the while thinking the pain he would feel on waking was nothing compared to what he knew the man had caused Murdock. He turned to Stafford next.

Amy twisted around in the front seat to watch Hannibal gather the scientist's collar in his hands. "Where was Captain Murdock supposed to land the plane? What mine?" He pulled the doctor closer and glared into his eyes.

"I don't have a very good idea of where the mine is. It could be in the Superstition Mountains for all I know. I didn't need to be told that information, so they didn't tell me." Stafford babbled, his frightened gaze on the Colonel, intent on what new form of interrogation he would use to get what he needed to know.

Hannibal scrutinized the medical man's expression for only a few seconds, decided he was telling the truth and nodded curtly.

Of course Jackson wouldn't tell his underlings any more than they needed to know. Doesn't help us much.

B. A. grumbled in his worry over his two friends. "This fool ain' gonna be able ta tell us nothin', Hannibal. An' we can't wake that Colonel up ta ask him. Best we can do's ta try ta get in range of the tracer I put in that button on Faceman's uniform an' follow that."

The Colonel knew that was the best answer. If they hadn't made the attempt to intercept Jackson's car, they would have been on their way already. He glanced at the man lying on the floor of the van.

At least he won't be sending any thought messages to Murdock now. But are we too late?

Their only hope of preventing the deaths of all those aboard the plane was if Face could somehow divert the pilot from the mission he had been programmed to finish.

Amy interrupted his thoughts. "But they're already out of range. There's no signal." She had panic etched across her face as her gaze darted from Hannibal to the black Sergeant.

B. A. gave her a bleak look and gripped the steering wheel, waiting for instructions. When the Colonel said nothing, he grimaced into the rear view mirror. Hannibal was patting down the unconscious military man, looking for anything that would help them. "Hannibal? What d'ya want me ta do?"

The Colonel's anxious expression melted into a beaming grin. He removed a crumpled sheet of yellow legal paper from Jackson's pants pocket and smoothed it out on the seat. Amy peered at it from where she sat and frowned. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Red Cloud Mine Road, B. A. Start driving and I'll tell you where to turn." Hannibal nodded at Amy and gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder. "We'll get there as soon as we can, Miss Allen. The rest is up to Face."

"But what if Murdock doesn't recognize him? Or what if he's too far gone to stop what he's doing?" She gnawed her lower lip and nervously ran her fingers over the cast on her arm. Her gaze fell on the elaborately drawn "I Love You" Face had drawn on the plaster back in the hospital. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

"Face will find a way." Hannibal didn't want to consider the alternatives. "He'll find a way," he repeated in a murmur to himself.

oooooo

Someone . . . or something . . . touched him. Tearing his attention from the song he was using to counter the demons in his brain, he looked over to his copilot. The figure of Mister Cazador had been replaced by the specter of his best friend. He looked up, and there he was.

Did I put th' headset back on 'r did Face's ghost?

He felt the color blanch from his cheeks. For a few moments he couldn't speak. His mouth made movements to form words but no sound came out.

Those blue eyes stared at him steadily, accusing him . . .

. . . ya murdered 'im. 'Member? Ya grabbed 'im 'n' used 'im as a shield, then ya put th' gun t' his head . . . why'd they ever trust you with a weapon anyway? . . . 'n' then he was dead. 'Member?

Accusing voices screamed their taunts at him.

Death seems ta follow ya, don' it? Wasn' th' first time ya let someone die.

The blue eyes of his best friend became the piercing blue eyes of the young soldier dying on the floor of his Huey back in Nam.

He hadn't killed that soldier but he hadn't flown him to the hospital soon enough either. Blue eyes dying before him, losing the luster of life, the body becoming a shell before his eyes . . . the screams and pleas for the pilot to save him . . .

Help me . . . I'm gonna die if ya don' . . . please . . .

He hadn't killed that young soldier but he had killed his best friend. Shot him and left him crumpled on the motel room floor while he ran like the coward he was.

When the words came, they rushed out. "I . . . killed you . . . oh God . . . I didn' mean to . . . it wasn' me . . . it wasn' me . . . "

Ha! Who was it if it wasn' you?

He felt hot tears spill over onto his cheeks. They blurred his vision but nothing could fully blot out the sad expression on the ghost's face.

"I didn' mean to . . . it wasn' me . . . "

Who was it? Who? Huh? Who then?

Something seemed to change in his internal battle. He didn't know what it was but all of his energy seemed to drain from him. He slumped in his seat. All of the impromptu sermons his Gramma had ever given him about Heaven and Hell and where boys who did bad things went filled his mind.

That's why Face's so sad. He's lettin' me know there's no forgiveness fer me. I ain' gonna see Ma 'r Billy 'r Gramma 'r Grampa. Ever. 'Cause they ain' in Hell.

"You were sen' back t' haunt me, weren't ya? I'm gonna go t' Hell fer what I did to ya, ain' I? I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . . ya gotta b'lieve me . . . I'm sorry . . . "

He tried to pull as far away from the ghost as he could.

If it touches me, I'm dead.

Huge shudders convulsed his body as he sobbed out his fear and grief. "I'm sorry . . . please, please b'lieve me . . . you were my best buddy . . . I didn' wanna kill ya . . . " He couldn't say any more. Fear of the unknown paralyzed his mind and body. All he could think about was what happened to people who did bad things.

He felt the door behind him. Mister Cazador was a pilot. He could take over the controls. How hard would it be to bail out of the plane and let the desert wilderness claim his body? At least Face's ghost would not be accusing him anymore. Maybe it would be a kind of justice for what he had done.

Keeping his eyes on the specter in front of him, he felt for the door release with one hand.