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 58 Blood, Blood Everywhere

"Fool'd better start listenin' to ya, li'l momma, or I'll hafta pound 'im when they land. That should convince him." B. A.'s voice was a gruff contrast to the worry Amy and Hannibal saw in his expression.

Amy held up a hand to silence him and cupped her hand over the earpiece. "Hush, B. A. I think I'm getting through to him." Through the microphone she pleaded, "Promise me you'll wait. Please, Murdock?"

The Colonel analyzed the reporter's anxious face and hoped she was right.

Amy and Murdock always have had a good relationship. They're almost as good of friends as he and Face are.

"Stow it, B. A. They haven't landed yet and we're still a mile or two from the mine." Hannibal's cigar had become more ash than cigar. He absently stuck it in his mouth and listened to Amy try to convince Murdock they were all alive. Realizing the cigar was almost spent, he stubbed it out in the ashtray, then reached for a new one in his pocket. Beside him, Stafford lit a new cigarette and intently watched the woman in the front passenger's seat.

A second later the reporter jerked as if she had been knifed and anxiously peered into the sky at the Lucky Lady. Hannibal sensed something had happened and immediately straightened in his seat.

What now?

The plane above them wobbled up and down in the air as if the pilot was trying to decide whether to ascend or descend. Once it was descending again, it tipped its wings from side to side.

B. A. glanced up and scowled. "Cazador ain' no better pilot than Murdock if that's the best he can do."

Amy's face whitened. "Murdock? Oh God . . . was that a gun shot? What's going on?"

Forgetting the new cigar in his pocket, Hannibal thrust out his hand for the communication device. The reporter mutely transferred the earpiece to him. Her stunned eyes were on him as he adjusted the device and listened. B. A. cast a puzzled look back at him from the rearview mirror, then turned his eyes back to the rough road and quickened their speed.

"Cazador? Murdock? Come in. We heard a gun shot over the radio." The Colonel's gaze sought out each of his friends in turn, then turned to squint at the Lucky Lady.

Come on! Someone answer!

The pilot seemed to have gotten control of the plane again and was once again ascending. It made a slow arcing turn in the sky and came toward them.

Hannibal heard several harsh gurgling breaths and then Cazador's voice broke in. "Whoever you are, I'm going to have to change course. We have one dead and one seriously injured."

"Understood. What hospital?" The Colonel purposely avoided Amy's panicked expression. B. A. slowed his pace, almost coming to a stop as the Lucky Lady passed low overhead on its way somewhere southwest of the mine.

"Tell me where, Colonel." The Sergeant peered ahead, looking for a good place to turn around if told to do it.

There was a notable pause and Hannibal could tell Cazador was weighing his options.

I would be too. A cargo of illegally procured military weapons, a dead man, one in serious condition . . .

Amy interrupted his thoughts. "A hospital? The gun shot, Hannibal . . . who . . . ?"

She gripped his wrist in her hand and shook it to get his attention. "Who, Hannibal?" Her voice rose in pitch as her panic increased. Then the words he hoped she wouldn't ask. "Is Face okay?"

When he didn't answer, just impatiently shook his head, she unbuckled her seat belt and stood up.

"Sit down, li'l momma. This road ain' that good an' you're gonna end up on yer . . . "

"Shut up, B. A.!" she snapped, taking one step between the seats toward the Colonel. "Tell me, Hannibal. Is Face okay?"

"Sit down, Miss Allen." Cazador had said something and the reporter's outburst drowned it out. Hannibal's sharp tone and the irritation apparent in his expression stunned her. Reluctantly she took her seat again but remained turned toward him to catch the smallest indication in his eyes that something had happened to Face.

"There was some interference on our end." He shot an especially meaningful glance at Amy to keep her quiet. "Repeat."

It can't be helped, damnit! I'm as concerned about Face as she is but I've got to know where we have to go to intercept them.

"I'm taking the Lucky Lady back to my ranch. I assume if you had your man here posing as one of my workers you know where it is."

I was afraid of that.

"Cazador, if you have an injured man on board, shouldn't you be setting a course for the nearest hospital?" Hannibal had a feeling he wasn't going to persuade the businessman to do anything differently.

"If you know much about what we're delivering, you would know I can't afford for the authorities to ask questions." The businessman paused.

"Look, Cazador. If someone else dies, either Captain Murdock or my man, because you didn't get him proper medical care, I'll make sure you never make another dollar doing anything." The Colonel heard Amy gasp, realizing she believed both Face and Murdock were wounded in some way.

"Hannibal," she whispered, her face chalk-white.

Holding his hand up to keep her quiet, he recognized he didn't really know what had happened to Face. The thought was like a knife twisting in his gut.

Face would have made sure Hanson didn't get to the cockpit to do anything.

Hannibal was going to ask about the con man when he heard Cazador sigh heavily on his end of the transmission. "Captain Murdock saved my life. If your friend hadn't shot Hanson when he did, Hanson would have done what Jackson hired him to do. I'm going to leave this frequency now and call my private physician to meet us at the ranch. I will talk to you when you get there. Over and out."

Crackling filled the air space. Hannibal shook his head in frustration and removed the ear piece.

B. A. had backed into a small turn-around. The engine was still running. "Where to, Colonel?"

"Back to Cazador's ranch. And step on it, B. A." He couldn't make eye contact with Amy.

He didn't have to. She shifted in her seat and covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

oooooo

Face groaned as he drifted close to consciousness. He could hear an engine. He reasoned that he couldn't be in an Army truck or jeep navigating the muddy roads of Nam. The ride wasn't bumpy and rough enough for that.

That meant they were in the air. Had to be, but it didn't sound like he was being transported in a chopper either. That puzzled him and he struggled to wake up all the way.

For a few seconds he tried to figure out why Murdock had flown a plane in to extract them from the LZ.

Rolling to one side, he groaned again. He was wounded. The pain was there in his left side. Gingerly he felt for his rib cage and opened his eyes fully when his fingers came in contact with the sticky mess spreading out on the ill-fitting workman's uniform he wore.

Why in the world am I dressed like this?

His eyes wildly darted around the passenger's space of the plane. Then it all came back to him.

Hanson waking up just as Cazador and Murdock changed seats in the cockpit. The struggle to get Face's gun. The two times Hanson slammed him against the metal partition. It dulled his senses just enough to prevent him from fighting the assassin for the box cutter.

Hanson probably thought a single stab to the abdomen would do the trick and I'd bleed out. He should have been more thorough if he wanted to do it right but maybe he thinks he's running out of time.

That meant Hanson had the box cutter and was likely doing the job Jackson wanted him to do.

But if Cazador's flying the plane, Hanson isn't going to kill him and risk crashing. He'll go after . . . no!

With Murdock out of the way, Hanson could dispatch the businessman as soon as he landed. Clutching his side, the Lieutenant forced himself on one hand and his knees. From that angle, he could see Hanson lying half in and half out of the cockpit. He was either unconscious or dead. It was difficult to tell.

Something else was going on. Cazador was talking to someone over the headset. Face could hear gasping breaths coming from the other seat.

He forced himself to crawl from where he lay to the partition. Pulling Hanson out of the gap caused blood from his side to soak his coveralls even more but he had to know what was going on in the cockpit. From the entry wound in the back of Hanson's head, the con man realized the assassin wouldn't be causing any more problems. Ever.

Face saw black dots in the periphery of his vision by the time he got Hanson's body out of the opening.

I have to know.

The first thing he noticed was his gun and the box cutter where the two weapons had fallen between the seats. He scooped both up and thrust them into a pocket of his coveralls.

The second thing he saw was blood. It pooled beside and under the copilot's seat and spattered across the instrument panel and windshield on the right side. There was too much blood for it to all be coming from Hanson. The Lieutenant held onto the edges of the partition with both hands and pulled himself to his feet. He looked to his right and froze in place.

Murdock slumped in his seat. His head lolled forward and his chin rested on his chest. To all appearances, he looked like he was sleeping. The front of his T-shirt told a different story.

In the next moment, Face was on his knees again beside the copilot's seat. Carefully placing his hands on either side of his friend's head, he adjusted the position Murdock was in so he could take a better look at the wound. What he found made his stomach lurch.

"Oh God, no, Murdock!" In that moment he noticed it wasn't a long slash and it didn't seem very deep. But it did go from under Murdock's ear nearly to his Adam's apple. He frantically looked around for anything to staunch the flow of blood from the jagged slit he saw.

But where's all the blood coming from? Hanson had to have nicked a vein or something. And the way he's breathing . . .

"Here, take this." Cazador glanced at the con man and handed him a red bandanna from the side pocket of his jeans. "Put pressure on it until I can land the Lady."

Is that sympathy on his face?

The Lieutenant couldn't believe a man who smuggled weapons as a sideline to his main business would be that compassionate. He hesitated.

"Well, do you want your friend to die or are you going to take this?" The businessman shook his head, a grim set to his features. "I'm not a monster."

Face took the cloth from Cazador and got into better position to apply direct pressure on the wound, all the while knowing his own wound was bleeding freely and making him dizzier by the moment.

"Better get us down fast. I don't know how long I'm going to be able to do this." He watched as Murdock tried to open his eyes.

A breathy whimper escaped Murdock's lips. "Face?" he rasped. He stared at the Lieutenant dully through half-closed eyes.

"You're going to be alright, buddy. I've got you," he muttered, hoping the pilot didn't have enough strength to push him away.

Murdock softly murmured something before his eyes slid shut again.

"No! Murdock, stay awake." The Lieutenant shook the pilot by his shoulder, trying to keep him conscious.

If he passes out, he might never wake up again.

The pilot's lips moved and Face brought his ear closer to better hear. "I'm listening. Just keep talking to me."

"Billy . . . wants me . . . to see . . . somethin' . . . "

He's hallucinating. He's got to be.

"Billy? Billy's right here in your lap, licking your hand." The con man's blue eyes searched his friend's face for any sign of distress.

There was none.

More whispered words. "It's . . . beautiful . . . "

"What's beautiful, buddy? What?" Face wasn't sure he wanted to know for sure.

"I've called ahead. There'll be someone waiting to take care of both of you." The Tucson businessman gave the two men a quick look. "How're you holding out?"

"Just get my buddy to a doctor," Face snapped, shaking Murdock's shoulder. The pilot had gone silent again.