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 67 A More Permanent Solution

As Cazador confronted Doctor Stafford, and Hannibal oversaw the exchange, Amy thought about what Stafford had confessed.

Murdock was involved with the CIA? They've been watching him ever since he was a kid?

That thought made her both angry and fearful. Her own government hired people who tracked her good friend and maybe even funneled him into doing Lord knew what. Murdock's supposed mental health problems took on new meaning now that she knew.

They probably had him do things that really messed with his head. The rest of the war, all that he saw, just made it worse. And this Colonel Jackson . . . the control he's had over Murdock . . .

She touched Hannibal's sleeve to get his attention. "So back at the motel in Hurricane, even though he wasn't there, Jackson may have been the one persuading Murdock to pull the trigger? That might explain why he didn't need to listen to the radio over those ear buds to do that. And how Jackson knew to come looking for the two of us out there on that trail."

Hannibal gave her a curt nod, his lips pressed together in a tight line. "And why Murdock seemed to believe we were the enemy when we rescued him from Granite Peak. Think about it. Remember how he avoided us? Remember that night how much he fought us when he tried to run away?"

She did remember although it seemed like it was years and not just days ago when it happened. Thinking about the incident in the campground, Murdock's terrified howls of fear and his desperate attempt to escape the three men made her suddenly feel sick.

"If Jackson can read Murdock's thoughts that easily and control his mind so he tries to kill his friends and then almost dies himself . . . "

"Jackson will do it again and keep on trying until he succeeds." The Colonel finished her sentence. "I assume he's been either planting false memories or forcing Murdock to remember the worst events in his past . . . like the interrogations in the POW camp." Hannibal's eyes turned flinty blue at the thought.

"That's horrible, using his own nightmares against him." Amy bit her lower lip and wrapped her arms around herself.

"But effective. Murdock barely held it together in the camp. Part of his mind never recovered from that. If he had been all alone back then, not having the three of us there to keep him grounded . . . " Hannibal shook his head as his voice trailed off.

The reporter sucked in a sharp breath of realization. "Except for Jackson being there, Murdock was all alone from Hurricane to Sonoita. Oh God, Hannibal! Can you imagine how horrible that must have been for him?" Amy thought about the pilot being alone with the one who likely kept his mind occupied with terrors she could only imagine. She swallowed once or twice to hold back her tears.

Cazador glanced from Hannibal to the reporter before turning back to the doctor. "Then none of us will be safe until Colonel Jackson is stopped. He can't be allowed to tell Captain Murdock what to do anymore through his thoughts." The businessman gave Hannibal a grim smile. "Your Captain saved my life and I intend on repaying the favor. The thought transfer from Jackson to Captain Murdock ends now."

"What do you suggest, pal? Keeping either of them sedated isn't the answer. Sooner or later they have to wake up." The Colonel's jaw muscles twitched as he clenched his teeth with barely contained frustration.

Cazador's eyes narrowed as he thought. After a few seconds he murmured, "You wouldn't like my solution, Smith. May I remind you, Jackson tried to kill me by using your pilot. It would be no great loss to the United States or to me if Jackson were to mysteriously disappear and never be found again."

Amy was surprised to find herself agreeing with the businessman. But even as she reflected on her hatred of the military man who wanted her friend to die, she noticed Hannibal shaking his head in stubborn disagreement.

"That may be your way of doing things, Cazador, but it isn't mine and neither is it the way Murdock would have us do it. I know him well enough to be able to tell you that." The Colonel shifted on his feet and put his hands on his hips as if to strengthen his position.

The other man glared into Hannibal's eyes, matching the Colonel's posture. "You know him so well it came as a surprise to you he once worked for the CIA."

"We all have secrets, pal. Like mine sites used as storage facilities. And illegal weapons deals with the government," Hannibal spat back.

Cazador raised an eyebrow and smirked. "You seem to forget where you are, Smith . . . and what I know about you and your men. One phone call . . . "

"To the same folks in the military that wanted to dispose of you because you became an inconvenient fact they had to hide? Don't make me laugh." The Colonel straightened to his full height and sneered at the man in front of him.

"Oh good God! Both of you!" Amy exploded, thrusting her uninjured arm between them. They both stared at her, their eyes fiery. "You two are acting like a couple of roosters in a cock-fight. This isn't helping Murdock at all. We have to figure out a way of making sure Jackson never has access to him ever again. But it can't be by killing Jackson. Hannibal's right. How long do you think it would be before the people who sent him to kill you came to search your ranch for his body?"

Cazador shrugged. "I offered. None of you would have to be involved but have it your way. I'm agreeing only because I did sense in our short time together that Captain Murdock was an honorable man. You may be right, Smith. If you can come up with a bloodless solution, of course it would be better."

"We could take Murdock and go back to L. A. but we can't be sure Jackson wouldn't follow and try again. We've got Lynch after us already; we don't need Jackson to be dogging Murdock's every step, too." Hannibal relaxed his stance and rubbed at the bridge of his nose with one gloved hand. "No, one Colonel following us and making our lives complicated is more than enough."

Doctor Stafford glanced from one man to the other before carefully removing another cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lighting it. Amy glared at him in disgust.

"Whatever else happens, he has to remove whatever he put in Murdock's head."

"Agreed. But all that will do is prevent Murdock from crashing any planes into mountains." Hannibal's attention focused back on Stafford. "Isn't that right, Doctor?"

Cazador frowned and turned to the medical man. "What did you put in the Captain's head?"

Amy realized the businessman had no idea how Jackson had programmed Murdock to be an assassin. He knew nothing of the neuroelectromagnetic implant or the subliminal messages underlying the music on the radio Murdock had been listening to. If Cazador did know, Hannibal might have to protect Doctor Stafford from the arms smuggler.

The medical man ignored Cazador, obviously coming to the same conclusion, and blew out a cloud of smoke before responding. "Captain Murdock's medical condition will have to be stable before I can even consider doing that type of thing. But I have an idea of what I can do with it after it's been removed from him if you're willing to listen." The doctor's hands had stopped shaking and he seemed more confident.

Amy quietly sighed in relief. She was glad the two men were finally focusing their attention on the problem at hand again but she knew none of them could fully trust the doctor. Catching the cautious looks on both Cazador and Hannibal's faces, she knew they felt the same way.

Hannibal's eyes took on a knowing gleam as if he had a suspicion of what Stafford was about to suggest. "Fire away, pal. You've got my attention."

"And mine," echoed Cazador.

oooooo

Murdock woke suddenly from a dreamless sleep. His eyelids snapped open, immediately aware that he was not alone.

To the left, a steady quiet snore told him where the person who shared this room with him was sleeping.

Turning his head slightly to see, he felt a twinge of pain on his neck. Something slightly stiff covered a large section of his throat. He tried to raise his hand to touch the sensitive area but his muscles were weak and shaky and he could not move his arm very far. Letting it fall back onto the soft plush surface of what he now knew to be a bed, he searched his memory for any clue as to where he was.

Not th' VA. They don' have blankets that feel this nice. Mattress don' feel like this either.

From the corner of his eye he spotted the faint glow from a night-light that had been plugged into a wall socket. The light wasn't bright enough to illuminate much. What he did see seemed to be a luxuriously furnished bedroom. The night-light drew his attention. It was definitely out of place in these expensive-looking surroundings but it made him smile faintly.

He recognized the fiery red top knot and yellow beak of Woody Woodpecker. Whenever the team went on an away mission, he carefully tucked that night-light in his duffel bag so wherever he slept he could plug it in. If he woke up from a nightmare and still had enough of a grasp on reality, the grinning woodpecker with the brilliant blue eyes cast enough light in the room to reveal one or more of his sleeping team mates. It reminded him they were back home in the States and all was fine with the world.

Charlie didn' know 'bout Woody.

That thought brought a grimace to his lips.

But they sure knew 'bout lots o' other stuff. Stuff that hurt 'n' made yer min' try t' hide itself somewhere else so ya could keep on livin'.

He didn't want to remember any of that so he focused on the manic grin the woodpecker had on his face.

The night-light meant that one of his team mates was nearby. Probably either Hannibal or Face . . .

'Cause th' Big Guy's always tellin' me t' grow up 'n' stop actin' like a fool. B. A. wouldn'ta made sure Woody was lit up t' let me know everythin' was alright.

He didn't remember plugging it in himself. That and the fact that his throat was beginning to throb and burn meant one thing: he had been injured somehow and the team was taking care of him. That should have been enough to allow him to drift back to sleep and get the rest he needed in order to heal.

Something else was yanking away at his mind like Billy playing tug-of-war with one of his rope chew toys.

It was important. He knew it had to do with a mission but what his part was in the mission he couldn't remember.

Hann'bal's gonna bawl me out for forgettin' what I'm s'posed t' do. Think! What'm I s'posed t' be doin' on this mission?

For some reason, his mind felt like he had just completed a two thousand question test on physics. Trying to remember anything took a lot of effort.

A bright image came into his mind and made him draw in a harsh breath. The last thing he remembered was Hannibal holding him up by the shirt collar and yelling into his face about something. I musta screwed up pretty bad.

The quiet snoring stopped. "You're awake."

That was Hannibal's voice. It was difficult to tell from just the vocal inflection how angry the other man was. Murdock tried to twist his head in the direction of the voice but his throat hurt too much. Despite his effort to prevent it, he softly groaned.

"Don't try to move. You don't want to tear anything lose." The other man's tone was soothing, not upset.

"Colonel." He tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry.

"Here. Let me get you some water, son." Hannibal appeared in view as a shadowy figure. He didn't sound like he was angry. More worried than mad. He wished he could see Hannibal's face to be sure.

The sound of liquid being poured into a glass made Murdock lick his lips. He realized suddenly how thirsty he was.

The Colonel sat on the bed beside him and slid his hand under Murdock's head. "Here we go. Just a few sips for now," he mumbled as he lifted the pilot's head and gently placed the rim of the glass to his lips so he could drink.

After wetting the inside of his mouth, Murdock nodded his gratitude and watched Hannibal put the glass on a table beside them.

"'M sorry, Colonel." May's well let 'im get the chewin' out done 'n' over with.

"Sorry? For what?" There was a hint of confusion in the other man's voice.

"I don' 'member . . . did we . . . is th' . . . is th' job done? Did we . . . " He wasn't connecting his words right. In frustration, he let out a short sigh and looked up into Hannibal's eyes.

The Colonel smiled but it wasn't the kind of expression he got when a mission was successful. Murdock couldn't figure out what Hannibal meant by it.

"Yes, the job's done. You don't need to worry about it anymore." The tone the Colonel was using didn't sound like they had been successful.

If Hann'bal says I don' hafta worry no more . . .

"Good . . . tha's good . . . I thought ya were mad at me . . . I 'member ya shoutin' . . . " He was quickly losing whatever strength he had to continue the conversation.

But I gotta know . . . gotta know fer sure . . .

His eyelids were becoming too heavy to keep open. He strained to push back the weariness, feebly shaking his head back and forth.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing it in a reassuring way. The last thing he heard before sleep overtook him was Hannibal. "It was all a bad dream, son. Just a bad dream." But then he heard the Colonel mutter to someone else in the room, "That confirms it. Jackson was . . . " Before he could hear any more, he slipped back to sleep, the name Hannibal spoke making his dreams nightmares.