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 85 Making an Enemy
"Yes. I'd like to speak to the person in charge of searching for Colonel John Smith and his two men, Peck and Baracus . . . yes, the A-team that's been in the news. Yes, thank you. I'll wait."
As soon as he spoke the words and glanced at the man on the bed, he knew he made a mistake. Murdock pushed himself up against the headboard, his body shaking with the effort to keep himself sitting. His face registered complete horror over what Cazador had just said.
I should have warned him I was going to do that.
"You said . . . " Those were the only words Murdock could manage. He stared at the phone in the ranch owner's hand. A few seconds later, he rasped, "Hang up. Hang up now, Mister Cazador. Please!"
"They're on the highway coming back here, aren't they? Even if they aren't here yet, they will be soon enough." Cazador knew he didn't have much time before someone with the authority to act would be on the other end of the line, demanding he relay his information.
"You don' know Lynch like I do." Murdock anxiously swiped a hand over his mouth. "'N' that's who's gonna be out there sniffin' 'round. He ain' gonna stop at pickin' up Colonel Jackson 'n' confiscatin' those weapons. Ya say th' words 'A-team' in his hearin' 'n' he starts droolin' like a coyote over a fresh-killed calf." Murdock shook his head, never taking his eyes off the other man.
"That's what I was counting on." The pilot flinched at those words as if the arms smuggler suddenly tried to punch him in the face. Cazador heard a rustle over the phone line. Someone was coming to talk to him. "This is the way it has to be, Captain," he murmured as he turned his attention back to the call.
Murdock launched himself across the bed without warning. "You said!" he yelled. "Ya said ya wouldn'!" He misjudged his own strength and crumpled on the floor facedown at Cazador's feet. Immediately pushing himself onto his knees, he grabbed for the phone but the arms smuggler raised it above his own head out of Murdock's reach. The pilot was still too weak to raise himself higher to get it.
Cazador put his hand over the receiver as he stood up. "Listen, Captain. What do you think will draw the military better? An anonymous tip about some suspicious behavior in the desert or a possible sighting of your Colonel Smith and his men? What will make them sit up and take notice and not just pass thetip off to our county sheriff and his deputies to check out?"
He didn't know if his words made sense to the frantic man on the floor at his feet. The person on the other end of the line had picked up and was even now saying, "Hello?"
Trust me, Captain. You've got to trust me.
Murdock swallowed twice. His haunted eyes searched Cazador's face.
"I don't know if I have the right number to report something like this." Cazador hoped he sounded like any other concerned citizen doing his duty for his country. He wished Murdock would stop staring at him with that wounded betrayed look. He wanted to turn away but something prevented him from it.
It isn't what you think. I have no intention of turning in your friends. You wouldn't ever accept my job offer if I did. If I want to have you stay here for long, I have to make sure your friends remain free.
"I don't know how to put this." Cazador hesitated as if stumbling over his words. He tried to ignore Murdock's grip on his pants leg and his attempt to stand up. "I . . . I was flying my plane over . . . the East Hilton Ranch Road yesterday. I saw a black van parked near a cave that I'm sure is on private land. The thing is, I saw the same van earlier, parked in front of the cafe in Sonoita. Three men came out and got into it. They looked an awful lot like those pictures of those fugitives, the A-team, I saw in the post office lobby."
He heard Murdock groan softly, whisper, "No!" and release his grasp.
oooooo
The damage had been done.
Murdock didn't want to think about it but for the sake of his unit, he had to.
Lynch's sure t' come lookin' for th' guys. He won' be able t' resist. He ain' gonna hand this one t' one o' his flunkies.
His mind still spun with the shock of what Cazador said. The air in the room became suffocating.
The ranch owner continued the conversation but continued to frown at him.
Prob'ly wonderin' if I'm gonna do somethin'.
All Murdock could do was return the stare and try to think through his next move.
Th' damage's been done.
oooooo
"You will?" Cazador avoided looking at the pilot's anguished face, gazing instead at the window. He listened for a minute and then shook his head. "No . . . no . . . I don't want to claim the bounty if you find and arrest them. I wish to remain anonymous . . . "
A movement from the man on the floor caught his attention. Murdock sank back against the bed, his shoulders hunched, his horrified gaze still on the phone in Cazador's hand. He took in shallow gulping breaths like a man drowning.
Cazador finished the call, calmly giving directions to the cave. Hanging up the phone and sinking into the armchair again, he felt sick inside.
He wished he hadn't looked at the Captain. The desperation in the man's face stirred something inside him.
He's got to listen to reason. What else was going to get . . . what was his name? Lynch . . . out there except the hope of capturing Smith and his men? If I know Smith like I think I know him, he'll manage to slip through and get back here safely.
"Ya said ya wouldn'." The Captain said the words in an unbelieving flat tone.
"And sometimes to make sure plans don't fall through, we have to do things we don't want to. You should know that better than me, having been in Vietnam and having fought alongside your Colonel all these years." Cazador sighed and leaned back in the chair, examining Murdock's suddenly bitter scowl for only a minute. Raising his voice, he called out. "Mister Scanlon! Come here, please."
oooooo
Everything inside Murdock rebelled at the words Cazador said. Anger and worry swirled in his brain. The guys had been betrayed . . . no . . . he had been betrayed. Cazador was supposed to tell the military authorities about weapons illegally stored in a cave he found.
He wasn' s'posed t' say anythin' 'bout the guys.
The men in his unit, his friends, could still be seen by Lynch and his men as the MPs raced out to the cave to capture their prey. If they were spotted, he knew Lynch would pursue the van. Jackson wouldn't be found. He would escape.
'N' that wasn' part o' th' plan.
When the ranch owner called Scanlon into the room, the pilot wasn't sure what Cazador would order him to do.
I know one thing. He ain' gonna tell 'im t' kill me. He wants me t' work for him too much t' do that.
The thought should have reassured him but all he could think about was the possible trap the team was heading into.
The bodyguard entered the room and walked over to stand behind the arms smuggler. "Yes, Mister Cazador."
"Help Captain Murdock into bed. He needs his rest." As the bodyguard bent to grasp him under the arms, the veteran pilot swung his fist up to connect with Scanlon's chin. At the same time, he yelled an enraged "No!" in the other man's face. The bodyguard fell to his knees. For a moment Murdock thought he had knocked him out and he was ready to collapse.
Stunned for only a few seconds and now at eye level, Scanlon growled and drew back his own fist. Murdock raised his arms, his hands clenched tightly, ready to defend himself. His arms felt rubbery and if not for the adrenaline pumping through him, they would have dropped, useless, to his sides.
But I can' do that. Not now. I gotta get 'way, help th' guys . . .
oooooo
The arms smuggler noted the wild look in the pilot's eyes, like he was willing to be beaten senseless to avoid being put to bed. Murdock was breathing hard and attempting to get his legs under him to stagger to his feet. He kept his arms up in a defensive posture.
Getting up would have been difficult enough in Murdock's current weakened condition but holding his fists up to counter any move on Scanlon's part while maneuvering into a better position? For a moment Cazador toyed with the idea of allowing the Vietnam vet to try.
He's much stronger than he looks. If not for the surgery and its after-effects, he would have been already out that door, going to find his friends.
Scanlon's arm came back, his fist aimed directly at Murdock's nose. The arms smuggler realized his bodyguard was not going to pull his punches. He had to stop him from seriously injuring the pilot.
"Mister Scanlon!" Cazador snapped sharply.
As quickly as Scanlon raised his fist to strike back, he lowered it and began to get to his feet. He cast an ugly glare at the man on the floor. Before he could straighten all the way, Murdock lunged forward, grabbing him around the knees.
Taken by surprise, the bodyguard fell backward, his head hitting the floor with a heavy thunk. Thrusting himself forward, the pilot landed on top of Scanlon's body. Slightly wobbling as he did, Murdock straddled the other man, one knee on either side of the bodyguard's waist. He drew back a fist and landed another punch to Scanlon's mouth. It wasn't a hard-handed hit but it split the man's bottom lip and caused Scanlon to roar in pain and rage. He wrestled against the man on top of him.
Cazador flinched. "That's enough, Captain!"
Without looking up at the ranch owner, Murdock hissed, "Is it? Ya brought 'im in here t' keep me from runnin', did'ntcha?"
"If your whole idea for attacking Mister Scanlon was to escape, you didn't have to bother. Any time you wish to leave, you can." Out of the corner of his eye, Cazador caught the brief flash of headlights coming down the long driveway. He smiled knowingly and crossed his arms. "Go ahead, Captain. It's a long walk to the highway from the house and even if you get to the highway without passing out, you don't know if you'll find them."
He was amused by the pilot's stunned expression as he processed the words.
But maybe I shouldn't be. It means we have a lot of work ahead of us to get him to trust me and agree to stay on. But he will. I know he will.
oooooo
Murdock hesitated for only a moment before easing himself off Scanlon and collapsing beside him on his back on the floor.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he covered his face with both hands and groaned in frustration. His head was pounding again with a fierce headache. He wasn't thinking clearly.
Th' big guy here, Scanlon . . . he's a'most as big as th' mudsucker. What was I thinkin'? 'N' if I'm figurin' th' vibes off 'im right, I jus' made a huge enemy . . . But I'm free t' go. I gotta get up . . . go find 'em . . . help 'em . . .
Cazador spoke again but it was to Scanlon this time. "Mister Scanlon, please go find Doctor Willis for me and have him come here. Tell him to bring a painkiller."
Murdock opened his eyes to glance sharply at the ranch owner. "I ain' gonna letcha put me under. I ain' hurtin' that bad."
"He won't knock you out. He'll just give you something for the headache."
The pilot frowned. How's he know I got a headache?
Cazador smiled. "It doesn't take mind-reading like you do to see the signs. Any head injury can do that to you."
"Oh." Murdock grimaced and braced himself for the move he knew he had to make. If he was free to go, he had to go now.
Rolling over onto his hands and knees took a lot more strength than he wanted to expend.
I ain' gonna make it outta th' house, let 'lone down that road.
He remained in that position, head low, his breaths shallow and ragged. As the black dots spread across his vision, he heard a muffled angry voice from the hallway, a voice he recognized.
They're here. They made it.
He let out a relieved sigh before crumpling to the floor.