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 83 A Matter of Trust
"I understand you might not trust me enough to know whether I have good intentions for your friends or not, Captain. I hope in time I can earn that trust." Cazador paused as Murdock brushed away Doctor Willis from attempting to slip a blood pressure cuff around his bicep. The ranch owner frowned and crossed his arms. "I told Peck and Baracus you would receive the best of care. That won't happen if you don't let Dennie do what he needs to do. Don't make me break my promise to them."
Standin' there, lookin' like that, he almost looks like my own Grampa when I didn' obey . . . or Hann'bal when my buddy whines 'bout a mission . . .
Murdock suddenly realized just how vulnerable and defenseless he was. He still wore the loose cotton drawstring pants, hospital gown and sterile gauzy slippers from the surgery. "My clothes? Where are . . . ?" he murmured, his gaze darting around the room.
It'd be handy t' know where they are jus' in case I gotta get outta here quick.
"Are in that closet." Cazador pointed to the wardrobe from which he had removed the comforter earlier. "But you are in no condition . . . "
"I wanna be there when ya make th' calls." He glared at Willis as the doctor inserted a thermometer in his mouth.
Why is it every time I got somethin' I wanna say, this doctor's got somethin' t' keep me quiet?
Cazador had an amused smile as he gestured toward the phone at the bedside. It was an addition Murdock had not noticed when Scanlon helped him to the bed. "I thought you would say that. I called ahead from my car and had that put in the room."
Murdock grimaced as he heard that. He hadn't thought about the possibility of a car phone when he asked B. A. to keep an eye on the ranch owner.
Jus' hope that was th' only call he made while I was out cold.
Doctor Willis removed the thermometer and blood pressure cuff. "His vitals are looking very good."
Patting the pilot on his shoulder before he sat down in the armchair beside the bed, Cazador shook his head. "We really do have to work on that trust issue, don't we? I mean no harm to your friends. Please believe me."
The man on the bed stared at his host for several seconds. Finally he looked away and sighed. "Yeah, I know. I can tell ya don' go back on yer word."
The ranch owner gave him a contemplative look before speaking again.
"I also made sure my men delivered four or five boxes of weapons stamped 'U. S. Army' to the cave where I'll tell your friends to leave Colonel Jackson." Cazador watched him carefully.
Is he hidin' somethin' from me? When he ain' concentratin' on me so much I'm gonna hafta see if I can read his thoughts. If I can.
"They mus' be on th' road by now, waitin' for directions." Murdock glanced at the phone, then at the businessman. "Whenever yer ready, Mister Cazador."
"Do you trust me enough to give me the number so I can pick up that phone and call them?"
The pilot startled at the question. The number for the van's phone was something they all kept private. To protect the guys, to keep them out of Lynch's hands, to keep them out of the sights of a firing squad.
I hadn' thought that one through good 'nough, did I? Can I trust 'im? 'Cept for th' snipers on th' roof he hasn' shown me I can't. But can I trust 'im completely?
"Remember, you were the one who came up with this plan. I have to give them directions to the cave. Do you trust me?" Cazador's eyes bored into him.
Do I trust 'im? If I'm gonna work for 'im . . .
Murdock suddenly understood how close to a decision about Cazador's job offer he was.
Maybe once th' guys're back here they can talk t' me . . . talk me outta it . . . show me why it's a bad idea . . .
The more he thought about it, the more he realized his decision was already made.
'N' trust? Ya don' hafta trust someone totally t' be their personal pilot . . . do ya?
"I really need that number now or Jackson will wake up and your friends will have to figure out what to do with him themselves." Cazador touched his forearm and interrupted his thoughts.
He's right. I gotta do this . . . we gotta wrap up this mission.
Murdock nodded absently and watched as the ranch owner dialed each number he gave him.
Cazador sharply glanced at him when someone picked up on the other end of the line. His lips twitched in another amused smile. He covered the receiver with one hand and said to Murdock, "Mister Li's Laundry?"
The pilot shrugged. "Keeps th' bill collectors guessin'."
The ranch owner chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "I suppose it does. Especially those that wear olive drab uniforms." He uncovered the receiver and spoke. "Is Mister Li there? I want to tell him where to drop that load of laundry in the back of his van."
He listened for a few seconds. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'll let Captain Murdock know."
Murdock struggled to push himself into a sitting position, his back against the pillows. He held his breath, unaware he was doing it, and clutched at the comforter with both hands.
Sorry?
"Then let me talk to Lieutenant Peck." After a few more seconds Cazador scowled. "I am not a chauvinist. I know you aren't stupid, Miss Allen. I know you can relay my instructions to Sergeant Baracus just as easily as Peck can."
White noise filled Murdock's ears and muffled the rest of the telephone conversation.
Where's Hann'bal? If he ain' woke up yet . . .
He didn't hear Cazador say goodbye and hang up the phone. All he could think about was his leader. He stared at the businessman through glassy eyes but didn't see him.
My fault. I gave th' order.
oooooo
"If this's the same road we was on before, I better not bottom out my ride havin' ta drive it in the dark." B. A. muttered the words as they jolted over another rocky bump. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and concentrated on the portion of dirt road illuminated by his headlights.
"It's the same road but we don't have to go as far on it as before. We should be at the turnoff to the cave any moment now." Amy squinted from side to side, searching for their turn. She had hung up the phone a couple of minutes before.
A moan and a groggy "Where the hell are we?" made her wince and stiffen in the seat. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she met the Colonel's confused gaze as he looked around at the other passengers and the roadside.
Face met her worried peek with a small nod and a faint smile. Putting his finger to his lips, he cautioned her to let him do the talking.
"Are we glad you finally woke up, Colonel. You've deprived yourself of so much sleep in the past few days, you conked out on us for a while. I told you that you should have let me stay with Murdock more often when he was recovering." The Lieutenant breathed out a relieved sigh. "Cazador just finished giving us the directions to the cave."
Hannibal frowned at the con man while massaging his temples with the fingers of both hands. "Murdock got through the surgery okay? The implant's been removed?"
Face's gaze darted briefly to B. A. and then Amy. Both of them looked as uncomfortable as he felt trying to answer that question.
"Well . . . uh . . . the implant is now in our friend here on the floor." Face prodded the unconscious man with the toe of his loafer and received no reaction. "And Murdock . . . well . . . he looked like he made it through without any problems. At least, he talked to me for a few minutes before telling me to go back inside to be with Amy." The con man noticed the black driver scowl and straighten in his seat. His stomach did a flip-flop. Did B. A. see something I didn't see?
"Something to add, Sergeant?" Hannibal continued to rub his temples, his blue eyes sharply analyzing the driver's reaction.
Face had to admit that B. A. looked as if he had been busted for stealing treats from his Momma's cookie jar. The man never could lie to Hannibal and get away with it. His dark eyes flickered toward his leader's reflection in the rear view mirror and back to the road. "Cazador promised he'd make sure the fool got the best o' care. Sent me in ta get Doc Willis ta keep an eye on 'im," B. A. mumbled.
"Miss Allen?"
Amy startled like she had been jabbed with a red-hot spike. Stammering over the words, she said, "I was inside the hospital with Stafford and Willis. I saw Murdock when he called us into the room to get him out of there but that was the last I saw of him. He seemed fine then."
Hannibal scrutinized her pallid profile for a few seconds. He nodded thoughtfully before groaning again and clutching his head. "I've never had a headache this bad from catching up on sleep before."
B. A., Face and Amy exchanged worried glances, each one hoping the Colonel wouldn't try to figure out why.
The reporter gasped suddenly and pointed to the left. "Stop, B. A.! I think that's the road Cazador wanted us to take."
Grateful for a distraction, the Sergeant braked hard and turned in the direction he was told.
"Now we're supposed to watch for an old stone foundation on our right. Behind it is a large rock formation with a cave at its base." Amy leaned forward in the seat as if to see better. Hannibal and Face did the same.
After a few minutes, the Lieutenant pointed. "There it is!"
"'Bout time!" B. A. grumbled. He stopped the van and waited for someone to decide what to do from there. He knew he would likely be the one carrying Jackson to the cave.
"Okay. B. A., Face, let's find that cave and get it done." Hannibal was first out of the van, leaving the side door open for the Lieutenant to get out. Amy searched the glove compartment and under the front seats for flashlights and handed one to each man.
"Angel, you stay with the van." Face slipped his pistol into Amy's hand and closed her fingers and palm around the stock. "If Stafford does anything or Jackson begins to wake up, you know how to use this."
She swallowed and nodded mutely.
Occasionally glancing at Stafford in the mirror and listening for any movement from Jackson, she traced the path of the three flashlight beams. The men separated for several minutes before hurriedly converging on one spot.
She was so intent on their discovery that she failed to notice the doctor quietly slip across to the nearest seat to the door. With one swift move, Stafford slugged her across the back of the head with the metal first aid kit he found under the seat. Stunned, black dots swimming in front of her eyes, she heard him open the door.
"Goodbye, Miss Allen. Tell them I couldn't stay," the medical man growled. The crunch of gravel and the speed at which the footsteps retreated from her hearing suggested the doctor was successfully getting away. Two flashlight beams bobbed erratically as Hannibal and Face hurried to the van.
She leaned heavily against the door as bile rose in her throat and she fought dizziness. Dropping the pistol on the floor and reaching up, she felt warm sticky liquid in her hair. She drew her hand away and tried to look at her fingers but her eyes would not focus.
The door opened suddenly and she collapsed to the side into the con man's arms. "Amy, Angel!"
She understood his words but his facial features were a blur. Hannibal was a restless dark shadow behind him. Her mouth formed an apology. Her vocal cords would not cooperate. Closing her eyes, she swallowed. Behind her eyelids, the world spun crazily.
"Let me take a look." That was Hannibal. All she could think about was how she had failed him and the other guys. She let Stafford get the better of her and escape.
A gloved finger opened one of her lids and then let it slide shut again. The gloved hand caressed her cheek briefly.
As that all happened, she heard Face murmur in her ear, "I should never have left you alone here with him."
"Stay with her, Face. As soon as B. A. gets Jackson out of the van, help her into the back and let her lay down. Keep her awake as much as you can, kid."
"Tell B. A. to hurry. We've got to get Amy back to the ranch."
Footsteps retreated from the van at a rapid pace.
Face patted her cheek as she huddled in his arms. "You heard Hannibal, sweetie. You've got to stay awake." She felt him kiss the top of her head and let out a frustrated sigh. "Come on, guys."
A few seconds later grit crunched as a larger person approached. "I'm gonna kill Stafford, I ever see him again." That was B. A. She could almost picture the enraged scowl and clenched fists. If she wasn't hurting so much she would have smiled at his concern over her.
"You'll have to stand in line, B. A. Just get Jackson out so I can get Amy settled in back there, will you?"
She heard a sound similar to a laundry bag being dumped on the ground and then B. A.'s voice again. "Alright. He's outta there. Let me help ya with 'er, Faceman."
She barely felt her feet under her as Face grabbed her around the waist and the Sergeant slung her arm over his shoulder to walk her to the side door of the van. They eased her onto the floor and one of them covered her with the blanket Hannibal had been using. Footsteps moved away from the van as a cool wet cloth skimmed across her cheeks and forehead.
Forcing her eyelids to flicker open, she stared up into the Lieutenant's handsome worried face. "It's . . . just . . . a concussion. Nothin' . . . you guys . . . haven't had . . . Right?" She made the words come out and was thankful to see her lover's lips form a faint smile.
"We'll let Doc Willis determine that, Angel. Until then, just stay awake for me, okay?" He dabbed the wet cloth around her eyes which had begun tearing up.
Sniffing softly she murmured, "Does this mean . . . I'm a . . . member of . . . the team?"
Face shook his head gently but she could see in his eyes that his answer was "yes."