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 81 Marching Orders
Once the door closed, Murdock shut out the hum of the lights and every other noise around him. Turning his head toward Jackson, he focused his thoughts on him, burrowing deep into the other man's mind.
Quietly, he spoke the words he had rehearsed. It was easier than he thought it would be. He knew his words hit their mark when Jackson grimaced.
The Colonel twitched a few more times as he resisted the mental attack. In the end he did not have the energy to stop Murdock from planting the false memories and orders.
The pilot hesitated for a moment before giving the last command. He considered not doing it . . .
. . . but if I don' 'n' he starts r'memberin' . . . I can' let 'im say nothin' t' anybody 'bout me 'r the guys. Or Mister Cazador either. But if he does r'member . . . God, I hope it don' hafta happen.
He gave the final instruction and watched Jackson settle into a peaceful sleep state. Once done, Murdock breathed out a soft sigh and closed his eyes.
He was suddenly very weary. The effort put into enacting his plan sapped his strength. Every muscle in his body became limp.
Besides that, his head pounded like someone was driving a stake into his skull just above his ear. He felt his mind drifting toward the dark comfort of sleep and shook his head to keep himself awake.
Can' stop now. I gotta get outta here b'fore he wakes up 'nough t' see me.
He gulped in a big breath and hoped his voice was loud enough to get attention from whoever waited outside. "I'm all done, guys! Get me outta here!"
Within seconds the Lieutenant bent over the operating table, eye to eye with him and scanning his face. Amy stood behind him, her good arm folded over her casted arm. She hugged herself as she watched the two friends. Murdock sensed the combination of relief and remorse battling inside her and wished he had never asked them to drug Hannibal.
"You're alive!" Face followed the joyous exclamation with a closer scrutiny of the pilot's condition. His expression changed from elation to concern, then anger. He scowled at Stafford before returning his attention to his friend.
Frowning, Face reached out to gingerly touch Murdock's newly stitched scalp and then pulled his hand away. He shook his head instead and tried to smile. "You're alive," he murmured.
The pilot returned the smile. "Well, o' course I am. This was nothin' compared t' crashin' a chopper. 'N' I always walked 'way from that, didn' I?" He resisted the urge to touch the surgical site above his ear. He wasn't sure he could raise his arm to do it anyway.
So that's why my head hurts so bad.
Face sighed with exasperation. "It took a long time and I was starting to wonder . . . "
"We were both worried when we didn't hear anything." In a soft voice, Amy corrected the con man.
Murdock understood the relief Face felt even without a mushy embrace from him. If not for the urgency of getting out of there, the pilot would have sat up and given his friend a huge prolonged hug just so the Lieutenant wouldn't feel so silly showing his emotions in front of the others. After all, even though Face was not B. A. with all of his tough man bravado, he was still a guy and a seasoned Ranger.
Patting the Lieutenant on his cheek and nodding at Amy, Murdock forced a grin on his face. "Aw, I'm jus' fine, chica. But right now, we gotta get movin'. Time's wastin' 'n' we got a Colonel t' frame."
Willing his muscles to obey, he swung his legs over the edge of the table and almost fell forward into his friend's arms. Wobbling on his feet, the pilot let Face help him to the wheelchair Cazador had waiting for him.
"Easy now, Captain." The businessman reached out for Murdock's arm as he backed into the chair to sit down. With the Lieutenant holding onto his other arm and the mutual bad feelings exchanged between the two men supporting him, the patient felt too much like a chicken wishbone ready to be snapped in two by them.
As soon as he settled into the chair and the con man helped him put his feet on the foot rests, he glanced at both of them and muttered a quick, "Thanks, Face, Mister Cazador. Guess we'd better roll."
As Face wheeled him out the door, Murdock glared one last time at Jackson, knowing he had done all he could to bring the Colonel to justice for the things he had done.
'N' not jus' th' things he did t' me. For killin' Sky 'n' her whole fam'ly . . .
He bowed his head and covered his eyes with one hand at the memory. It was still as painfully fresh in his mind as the day the Vietnamese doctor took him to see Sky's mutilated body so he could identify her.
Sky . . . she didn' d'serve what Jackson did t' her . . .
"You okay, buddy?" Face stopped the wheelchair for a moment. Cazador opened the door leading to the parking lot and gestured to Scanlon to drive closer. Resting his hand gently on the pilot's shoulder, the con man moved until he could kneel in front of his friend. "Hey. You okay?"
When Murdock removed his hand from his face, he found moisture on his fingertips. He dully stared at it for a moment, surprised the memory could still make him respond like that so many years later. Face was examining his expression, and Murdock knew the escaped tears had not escaped his notice.
"What's going on? Are you going to be okay?" The con man gazed at him with confused and worried eyes. "Do you want me to go with you back to the ranch?"
The pilot weakly shook his head. "No. No, ya gotta help th' Big Guy with Jackson now that Hann'bal can'. He's gonna need ya t' answer th' phone in th' van when Mister Cazador . . . " At the mention of the other man's name, Murdock noticed Face grimace. ". . . when Mister Cazador calls t' let ya know where t' put Jackson 'n' th' weapons." He patted the con man's hand resting on his shoulder and gave him a half-smile. "I'll be fine. Jus' gotta get somewhere where I can rest for a while. All this took a big chunk o' my energy 'way from me."
Murdock glanced around for Amy and didn't find her. He silently cursed himself.
She musta hung back there with Willis 'n' Stafford. Mus' think I'm still mad at 'er. Gonna hafta make it right with 'er, make sure Hann'bal don' chew 'er head off for doin' what she did.
"Gentlemen?" Cazador looked from Face to Murdock and glanced back in the direction they had come. "Stafford is still in there. Unless you trust him to be with either Jackson or your girlfriend . . . " He locked eyes with the con man and left his sentence unfinished.
Standing up, Face gripped Murdock's shoulder for a moment. The two friends exchanged a regretful look. "He's right. I have to go. I don't want Amy to spend any longer with that slimeball excuse for a doctor than necessary." The con man glared at the businessman. "We're going to come back to the ranch after we take care of Jackson. My buddy had better be treated very well."
Cazador nodded, his expression grim. "He will be."
Murdock sensed the trigger-ready tension in Face as the two men sized each other up. He felt his own muscles tighten in preparedness to hold his friend back from attacking the ranch owner.
Stand down, Face. Yer gonna see me 'gain. Don' do nothin' that'll rile Mister Cazador. Not now.
The con man scrutinized the businessman for another minute before reluctantly relinquishing control of the wheelchair to him. "Okay then. I'll see you when this is over, buddy." The Lieutenant patted his friend's shoulder before retreating through the door and leaving them in the parking lot.
The pilot swallowed, relieved the two men had not resorted to something more than terse words and angry looks.
That was too close for comfort. I'm gonna hafta keep Faceman 'way from Mister Cazador if I can.
"And here comes your other friend, Sergeant Baracus," Cazador muttered as he wheeled Murdock to the sedan's back passenger's door Scanlon had opened for him.
The black man's scowl was visible from several yards away. His fists were tightened into hard balls and he strode toward them with anger punctuating every step. Murdock winced at the tell-tale signs of an approaching violent confrontation.
Oh, God! Here we go 'gain. He don' look too happy 'bout all this.
Scanlon straightened to his full height, his hand reaching for a gun tucked under his jacket in a shoulder holster. At the same time he edged closer to his employer, blocking the way to both the pilot and Cazador.
"Wait." Fearing what would happen if the Sergeant came any closer, Murdock clutched at the businessman's arm. "Call yer guy off. Let me talk t' B. A. All he wants is t' see I made it through alright."
Cazador nodded and applied the brake on the chair. He gestured to Scanlon to leave B. A. alone. The bodyguard immediately relaxed and fished in his jacket pocket for his pack of cigarettes. As he took one out and lit it, Cazador asked, "You need some privacy?"
Murdock gave him a nervous smile. "If ya wouldn' mind. Jus' for a minute."
"Tell me when you're ready and we'll be on our way." The ranch owner walked around the sedan to stand beside Scanlon. They carried on a quiet conversation as B. A. neared the wheelchair.
"Ya took long 'nough, fool. That thing outta yer head now?" Stopping a yard away from Murdock, the Sergeant planted his feet shoulder width apart and crossed his arms.
"That's what they say." Murdock gripped the chair arm to stop himself from touching his head. His gaze darting to the van, he licked his lips before asking the question he had to have answered. "Hann'bal alright?"
"Well, if his snorin' means anythin', he's just taking a long nap. He ain' gonna be in a good mood when he wakes up." Murdock noticed the Sergeant discreetly eying the stitched incision on his scalp as he spoke. A faint smile twitched at the corners of the pilot's mouth.
Ain' foolin' me one bit. You were worried 'bout what Stafford was gonna do t' me.
"I'm okay, Big Guy. Really, I am."
B. A. snorted, his eyes telling a different story about what lay beneath his tough exterior. "I can see that, fool. Gonna be glad when all this's over an' we can get back ta L. A."
Murdock nodded shortly but kept any response about going back to California to himself. He had things to think about before he could agree to that.
That is, if they let me make that choice. Firs' things firs'. Gotta get things done b'fore I need t' d'cide either way.
"Make sure when Hann'bal wakes up, he don' blame Amy for dopin' him. Tell 'im it was all my plan 'n' that I made 'er promise t' do it. Okay?" He saw B. A. frown and added, "Hey, what's th' worst he's gonna do t' me? Make me run th' obstacle course four 'r five times? Jus' don't let 'im put it all on Amy. She feels guilty 'nough."
He smiled as B. A. thought about it, knowing the Big Guy would do as he said. The Sergeant glowered as he muttered, "Okay. I can do that. What now?"
"Important thing's t' get Jackson 'n' th' weapons somewhere where th' MPs can find 'im." Murdock jerked his head toward the hospital doors and winced as a sharp jab of pain hit him in the temple. He instantly knew he had moved too quickly.
Black spots danced in front of his eyes as he fought to stay alert.
Oh shit! Not now. Not when I hafta make sure they follow through on my plan.
"Face's gonna need some help gettin' th' Colonel out t' th' van 'n' ya gotta make sure Stafford don' get 'way," he managed to mumble before his head sank forward in semi-consciousness.
He was hardly aware of B. A.'s hands pushing his shoulders back, keeping him sitting up in the chair, preventing him from crumpling forward onto the pavement.
Someone was moving him then, half-carrying him from where he was to a semi-firm flat surface. He laid on his back, sensing the muffled growl just above him belonged to the angry mudsucker.
Straining to move past his darkening senses and hear what B. A. was saying, he picked out only a few words over the roar of the sea that filled his head. The rage in the tone was unmistakable.
" . . . fool . . . shoulda known . . . too early ta move him . . . "
The voice that answered sounded fainter as if farther away. It had hints of impatient anger in it as well but he could not figure out what it was saying.
He gasped in a breath to clear his head. Forcing his eyes open, he saw the Sergeant as he argued with Cazador.
"B. A.?" He waited for the black man to turn toward him before he waved vaguely toward the hospital doors and murmured, "Go . . . help Face . . . I'll see ya . . . later . . . 'kay?"
B. A. hesitated for only a minute. Tightening his hands into fists again he nodded, then scowled at Cazador. "He better be 'live when I get back."
The businessman gave the Sergeant a bitter smile as he moved toward the car. "I heard that before, from Peck. Let me assure you, Captain Murdock will receive the best of care. When you get inside, send Doctor Willis out so he can go with us back to the ranch. He will monitor the Captain's condition."
The Sergeant gave Murdock a long scrutinizing look before striding toward the hospital doors and disappearing inside. The pilot was too weak and disoriented to figure out what the look meant.
Only when the door closed behind B. A. did the pilot surrender himself to unconsciousness. The next part of the plan was up to Cazador and Murdock's team mates.