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 69 Not Like Him
Hannibal stared at Doctor Stafford for only a moment as he decided whether to believe him. If what the doctor said was true, Murdock was using his projected thoughts to torture Colonel Jackson, maybe to push him toward wanting death more than life.
Maybe it's payback time?
On the other hand, this was the same pilot who brought a leash with him on missions so he could take his invisible dog Billy for walks. The same Captain who read comic books with as much enthusiasm as he put into teasing B. A. This was the man Hannibal knew went almost insane with guilt over killing another person in Nam, even though he took the action only to protect friends from certain death.
Killing someone was as much out of character for H. M. Murdock to consider as it would be if he was to suddenly decide he wanted to remain grounded for the rest of his life.
Jackson screamed again, his entire body jerking as if someone was doing surgery on him without anesthesia. Hannibal flinched with the agony captured in the sound.
"Is it safe to interrupt him . . . or get his attention . . . distract him . . . " He wasn't sure exactly what they had to do to stop Murdock from what it seemed he was doing to his enemy.
But for his own good, we have to stop him.
"You want to know how to break his concentration and if it's going to hurt him if you do." Stafford drew in a long drag from his ever-present cigarette. As he answered, the smoke curled from his lips. "I wasn't as heavily involved in the remote influencing experiments of the MK-ULTRA program but I know some of the subjects trained in it were also given Omega programming."
"Which means?" Face's eyes burned with hatred toward the two men who had done such horrific things to make his best friend an assassin against his will. He glanced at Hannibal as if to ask how long they would have to put up with the medical man's smug evasiveness.
Amy shivered. "Omega. The last letter in the Greek alphabet. The end."
"Doc?" Hannibal muttered the word, his muscles taut with impatience and anger.
The CIA again. When is Murdock going to finally be free of their influence?
"Omega. Quite right, Miss Allen, about it being the last letter. It was also the self-destruct command if the person programmed to do something against his will began to remember his programming." Stafford cast his gaze idly inside the shed where the pilot sat staring with such intense concentration on the writhing bound man opposite him. "It's likely Colonel Jackson used Omega as well as Delta programming to make sure both Mister Cazador and Captain Murdock died."
"Omega, Delta. Speak English, fool!" B. A. took a step toward the medical man. Casting an uneasy look at the focused pilot, the Sergeant clenched his fists and scowled into Stafford's face.
"If you do anything to me, your friend will remain the way he is." The doctor sneered at the burly mechanic in front of him. He glanced at Hannibal. "Call off your man."
The Colonel faintly shook his head at B. A. "Let him speak."
And you'd better say something that makes sense to B. A. or I won't be able to stop him from tearing you to shreds. Maybe I won't want to either.
B. A. growled once and backed away.
"Delta programming prepared Captain Murdock to crash that plane to kill his target. Omega programming would make sure he himself would die even if he failed with the mission." Stafford crossed his arms, unaware of the flush creeping into Cazador's face at the revelation.
"Convince me why I shouldn't have my men take this dog out to a remote area of my ranch and shoot him, Smith," he muttered. Turning his back to all of them, Cazador sidestepped the small group and stared in at the two men in the shed. He shook his head in complete helplessness. "He can't remain like that."
"So what do we do, Stafford?" Face with Amy supporting him joined Cazador. He shuddered as the unconscious military man lying on the tarp bucked against the bonds holding him and howled in terror.
"There's a possibility that Omega programming wasn't a part of the package. Jackson didn't have much time with your man before you all escaped from Granite Peak." The doctor shrugged. "I don't know for sure. I was with you, not with Jackson. Remember?"
B. A. scowled at the motionless cross-legged pilot and muttered, "So if Murdock wakes up outta this trance he might try an' finish the job an' kill hisself? But if he don't wake up . . . " The Sergeant shook his head at the thought. "The fool's always tryin' ta get under my skin but I don't like the way he's just sittin' there starin' an' sayin' nothin'."
"Me neither, B. A." The Colonel ran his hand over his face in frustration.
"Something's happening, Hannibal," Amy called over her shoulder.
The other men hurried to the shed door to join Face, Cazador and the reporter.
"She's right, Smith. Look." The ranch owner moved aside to allow the other man room to see what was happening.
Jackson's movements slowed to constant twitches throughout his body. His screams became low groans.
The biggest change was in Murdock himself. No longer staring trance-like at his captive victim, he hunched over his folded legs, his long slender fingers covering his face. His body trembled as he drew in uneven shaky breaths.
Face crept closer and fell to his knees beside his friend. "Murdock?" His voice barely rose above a whisper.
The only sign the pilot heard him was a short gasped sob.
"I need to know you hear me. Can you talk to me? Tell me what's going on, buddy." Face placed his hands on his own upper legs, waiting for anything that would tell him that Murdock knew where he was and who was with him.
"Hann'bal said it was all a bad dream but . . . it's really . . . him. It's Jackson. Ah mean, Hann'bal said 'is name . . . ah didn' think he'd be . . . here." Murdock swallowed, a harsh click in the dim light of the shed. His voice sounded dazed and weak.
"Some kind of intermittent memory loss? If that's what it is, it's an effective blocking strategy. Keeps the trauma he's suffered from doing any more damage. Maybe it's a defense against the brain obeying the Omega prompts. The resilience of the human mind." From behind them, Stafford sniffed with clinical nonchalance and then flinched as B. A.'s hand enveloped his throat.
"That's fine, doc. Nice diagnosis. But what do we do now?" Hannibal pulled the Sergeant's arm away from the other man.
"Well, I'm not going to sit here and not do anything." The Lieutenant glared up at the medical man.
The thick Texas drawl that came out whenever Murdock was injured or in serious emotional distress made Face wince. He knew what the pilot must be feeling. He would have to be slow and careful about how he brought his friend back from wherever he was in his head.
Face reached for the sleeve of the light blue striped pajamas that Cazador had supplied for the patient. When Murdock jerked away from the touch, the con man glanced back at the others and shook his head.
"Keep talking to him, kid." Hannibal absently put an arm around Amy's shoulders.
"Ah had t' know. All this time . . . he kept showin' me . . . stuff . . . kept messin' with mah head." His words were muffled behind hands that sought to keep all of the memories and torment in.
"He isn't going to do that any more, Captain." Hannibal shot a dark look at the bound man who was settling back into a deep state of unconsciousness. Now that Murdock's attention was no longer on him, the Colonel noted that the military man was at peace.
"J . . . Jackson . . . he wanted me t' . . . " The pilot covered his eyes with his palms and curled his upper body even more over his legs. He began rocking back and forth, small, slow movements that told his fellow team mates how much anguish he was in. " . . . but ah . . . ah couldn' . . . "
"Murdock! Murdock, buddy, don't! Don't go there. You're safe now." Face abandoned his earlier caution and grabbed the pilot's wrists to establish eye contact. Not meaning to, the con man applied too much force when he pulled the other man's hands away from his face. The pilot yelped in pain. There was a haunted look in Murdock's eyes that Face recognized all too well.
The Captain fought the hold, his breaths short gasps, but his resistance was weak and ineffective. "Ah gotta stay 'wake . . . keep 'im from . . . "
"No. No, you don't have to keep him from doing anything. Not without help." For a moment Murdock continued to fight, then collapsed exhausted into Face's arms. The con man pulled him into a tight embrace. "Let us know what we can do to help you."
"He's right, son. You don't have to fight his mind control all alone. We can help if we know what to do." Hannibal leaned against the door frame, wanting to assist but knowing Face had a better chance of reaching Murdock than any of the rest of them did.
"He wakes up, he's gonna start it all over 'gain . . . Ah ain' ever . . . " Murdock swallowed and pulled back. "Ah ain' gonna be free 'less he's dead." His words came faster as he searched the Lieutenant's eyes to make sure he understood. "That's why ah been tryin' t' figger out how he's been plantin' all those thoughts in mah brain. Been tryin' t' come up with a way t' make 'im leave me 'lone without killin' 'im."
"And?" The Colonel drew Murdock's attention. The pained brown eyes met the older man's gaze for only a moment.
The pilot gulped and let his attention wander to his hands. Picking at the skin around his fingernails, he answered in a quiet voice. "If ah plant th' kind o' mem'ries in his brain lahk he's been plantin' in mine, ah could drive 'im nuts, maybe even get 'im a room nex' t' mine at th' VA."
Cazador frowned but said nothing.
"But you don't want to do that," Hannibal concluded, crossing his arms and glancing at the bound man again.
"No. No, ah don' wanna do that." Murdock peered with anguished eyes at Jackson and then up at the Colonel. "It'd kinda make me more lahk him . . . 'n' ah don' wanna be that."
"You'll never be that, Murdock." Amy spoke for the first time since calling their attention to the change in the two men in the shed. "He's a monster. You're one of the sweetest men I know."
In spite of all the internal pain he was in, Face and Hannibal were both relieved to see a sheepish half-smile flicker briefly on Murdock's lips when he glanced at the reporter.
"We're keeping Colonel Jackson sedated for the time being until you heal enough to proceed to the next thing that must be done." The Colonel waited for Murdock to glance up at him again before explaining. "When you were at Granite Peak, they operated and placed a neuroelectromagnetic transmitter in your brain."
The pilot reached up with trembling fingers to touch the stitched spot above his left ear, his eyes widening as he realized what Hannibal meant. "Ya gotta put me under 'n' take it out. Brain surg'ry?"
Murdock paled when he saw the other man nod grimly. "But that ain't gonna take care o' all o' what Jackson can do t' me, will it?"
"No." Face sank down on the floor of the shed beside his friend, back to the wall and a few inches of space between them. "From what Doctor Stafford there has told us, the implant was something that transmitted a signal to your brain to crash the plane you were flying when Jackson gave the thought command. Once the implant is removed, it should be safe to let you behind the controls again." He smiled faintly and patted Murdock's knee.
"Still ain' enough ta convince me ta fly in a plane with you b'hind the stick, fool. So don' even try." B. A.'s voice was gruff but his eyes held none of the rancor his words suggested.
Ignoring the Sergeant's half-hearted protest, Murdock scrubbed his face with both hands. "So when're ya gonna get this thing outta mah head?"
"You were almost dead a few hours ago, son. We have to let your body heal for a while before . . . " Hannibal kept his voice calm but every thought of Stafford opening up the pilot's skull to retrieve the implant made him sick inside.
"Ah wan' it out! Ah wan' it out now!" Murdock sat up straighter and glared at each of the men.
"Rest first, Captain." Hannibal motioned with his head to have B. A. help the pilot to his feet. "Right now, you're going to go back to bed and concentrate on getting your strength back."
As the Sergeant gripped him around the waist and slung his arm over his shoulders, Murdock stared at the bound man once more and sent another pained tremor through Jackson's body.
"Jus' keep him knocked out, Colonel," the pilot muttered. "Ah don' wanna hafta get in a battle o' th' minds with 'im. But ah would if ah had to 'n' neither o' us'd come out 'live."