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 92
Murdock tapped his knee impatiently with his open hand, bouncing the other leg alternately with each rap. Looking out the window of the rental car, he thought about his reasons for making this trip.
According to the news reports, Jackson had not implicated anyone else in the arms smuggling operation. Even when pressed for details, the Colonel seemed vague about why he was discovered in an abandoned mine defending several crates of stolen United States Army weapons and ammunition.
So far, Jackson seemed to be following the mental script Murdock had placed in his memory. Cazador and he had been following what details of Jackson's trial they could find. Nothing they had seen accounted for the uneasiness the pilot felt in his gut.
Both Cazador and Murdock were sure the government permitted the press to publish only so much of the proceedings. This was the day that the army Colonel would be allowed to speak to the judge and five member court panel in his own defense.
As soon as Murdock heard about that, he knew he should be there. Now, he was having second thoughts.
What am I tryin' t' do? Do I really wanna see Jackson 'gain?
With frightening clarity, an image flashed in his mind, one of air whistling by his aircraft as he plummeted helplessly to the ground. It was accompanied by an all-too-familiar voice. I'm still alive. My memory can return. And when it does . . .
He sucked in a quick gulp of air, squeezing his eyes shut as he did. It was the nightmare of the past few weeks. The impending crash of his dream never came but each time he jolted awake anyway, trembling, the bedsheets clinging to his sweaty body. He roused the rest of the household with his terror-filled cries. Just as bad as the image of crashing the plane was the threat in his dream of the control Jackson could still exert over him.
'N' that's th' reason I gotta do this. But will th' bad dreams stop soon as I know Jackson's gonna be put 'way? As soon as I know he ain' gonna ever r'member who I am?
"You don't have to be there. I can have someone go in your place and report to us what Jackson says on the stand." Cazador had just shown his identification to the soldier at the gate and received his temporary vehicle pass.
His mouth set in a grim line, he glanced over at Murdock. The pilot sensed his worry. The ranch owner tightened his grip on the steering wheel when Murdock shook his head and smiled at him sadly.
"Got lotsa experience dealin' with stuff that makes me wake up like I been doin'. Th' dreams don' go 'way if I don' face th' bad stuff once in a while. That's why I gotta do this. I gotta see for myself Jackson ain' a threat no more." He watched as Cazador considered what he said.
Finally, the businessman sighed heavily. "I can't begin to imagine the things you went through over there or what that man put you through. If seeing Jackson get what he deserves helps to heal even a fraction of that trauma, I can't and won't stop you." As the businessman maneuvered the rental car into a parking space, he muttered, "I wish you would reconsider and let me come in there with you."
Murdock vehemently shook his head. "No. I'll be fine. 'N' if I start feelin' like I can' watch anymore I can get outta there faster if I'm 'lone." After a second, he added, "But I really do 'ppreciate th' moral support 'n' you gettin' me here."
Cazador waved his hand in the air to dismiss the expression of gratitude. "I have some business on base anyway. If I'm not here when you're done, call me at the hotel." He motioned toward the building where the trial would be. "I'll be here as soon as I can to pick you up."
The pilot opened the car door and stood facing the steps. Swallowing heavily, he closed the door behind him. Temporary emotional paralysis prevented him from taking the first step toward the building. A flood of memories made his mind swirl. It was similar to the type of confusion Jackson planted in his head to keep him under control.
But he can' do that any more . . . can he?
"Captain?" Cazador's worried voice shafted through the chaos in his brain and brought him back to reality.
"It's okay, Mister Cazador." Thrusting his hand into the pocket of his leather bomber jacket, Murdock located his rabbit's foot key chain and pulled it out. "Jus' makin' sure I got my good luck charm with me," he lied as he held the furry object up for his employer to see. He hoped his statement was convincing.
Who'm I tryin' t' kid? Th' thought o' Jackson gettin' control o' me 'gain's got me jumpier 'n a jack rabbit facin' down a coyote.
Taking a steadying breath, he forced his feet to propel his lanky frame toward the courthouse steps. If he didn't hurry, the doors to the courtroom would close to spectators and he would not be allowed to observe the man who had done such damage to him. His trip would be wasted.
He had no trouble finding the room in which the trial was being held. A group of reporters and photographers jockeyed for the best position in which to see the accused Colonel and his military police escort enter the building.
"Murdock?" Someone called to him from a quieter section of the hall. "Over here!"
At first he was stunned to hear the familiar voice. It had been weeks.
"Amy?" He quickly scanned the hall to find her. When he did, he gratefully noted that she seemed fully recovered from the concussion she had suffered.
In a few strides he was in front of her, both arms around her, hugging her tightly to himself. She gasped in surprise at the fervency of the embrace, the sound muffled by his leather jacket.
Placing her hands firmly on his chest, she leaned back to gaze up into his face. "I didn't know you were going to be here but I'm glad to see you, too," she murmured, a smile playing on her lips. Only then, did he realize how closely he was holding her.
My buddy'd be jealous, seein' us like this.
Flushing slightly, he released her and stepped back, clasping her shoulders instead. Looking at her carefully, he saw a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.
"What . . . I don' know what t' say . . . you're here . . . I thought . . . I mean . . . " He didn't know exactly what he had been thinking.
She didn' take th' overseas gig after all. But why's she here? How'd she get th' assignment? 'N' is my buddy 'n' her still . . .
Her voice quieted his confused thoughts. "Who do you think broke the story to the public? I wasn't about to let the military keep it hush-hush. Besides, that ensured I would be able to make sure for myself what story Jackson was giving them." Amy squeezed his forearm to reassure him. A young blonde-haired woman coughed gently from behind the reporter.
Amy turned to her and gestured to Murdock. "Millie, this is my dear friend Captain H. M. Murdock. Millie is the sketch artist the office assigned to me for the duration of the trial."
The pilot held out his hand to greet her and only then realized the woman was carrying a leather portfolio under her arm.
Well, o' course th' military ain' gonna let th' press have any cameras 'r recorders in th' trial.
"Millie Johanson, Captain. Nice to meet you." The woman's sparkling blue eyes scanned his face and seemed satisfied with what she saw. Smiling, she stepped back and murmured that she needed to find a bathroom before the trial began. "Be back soon."
The reporter and pilot watched as she walked to the women's restroom and disappeared through the door.
"Have ya seen 'im? Jackson, I mean." Murdock dropped his voice and peered around to see if anyone was watching or listening. No one was.
"Yes, but he can't hurt you anymore, can he? You said you did something so he couldn't. Right?" A hint of uncertainty was in her tone.
The pilot grimaced, remembering the incident in Mister Cazador's plane and his own near-death experience. When he looked at Amy again, she was analyzing his reaction with concern.
"Yeah." He shrugged, putting his fears aside for her benefit. "You're right. He can' hurt none o' us anymore."
I think.
"As soon as the trial started, I was here. My boss thought I should be the one to cover it since I've been doing the stories about those A-team fugitives and their missions of mercy." She scanned his face and was satisfied when he nodded his understanding.
She was trying to say something without giving anyone overhearing information neither of them wanted them to know.
"I haven't seen too many stories from you 'bout 'em lately. Are they still on th' loose?" He tried to say it in a relaxed tone but he felt his insides tense up with worry. Stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets, he hoped her answer would be the one he wanted . . . no, needed . . . to hear.
Someone would o' gotten word t' me if they'd been captured. But I ain' heard from 'em for so long . . .
Amy smiled. "I think they've tunneled underground somewhere. My sources haven't given me any new information about their activities. I'm sure one of these days they'll surface again."
So . . . I ain' been forgotten . . . they jus' ain' had any calls for help.
He gave her a grateful smile.
"Your friends back home told me to say hello if I saw you," she continued. "They're in good health and keeping busy. T. P. says he's healing up just fine from that surgery he had to have. He'd like to take me and you out if you ever make your way back to the city. I'm sure I can ask Millie if she'll come along so it can be a double date."
That answers m' other question. Face 'n' Amy're still t'gether. Good.
Four men, three of them in neatly pressed army uniforms and the last in suit and tie, entered the building and picked their way through the suddenly roused group of reporters to the courtroom doors. They stolidly ignored shouted questions and flash bulbs going off.
"Jackson's defense team," Amy whispered to Murdock. "Not that they've done him any good so far. He hasn't given them any names of accomplices, any time line of when the weapons were stolen, nothing. He's said nothing to deny his guilt as far as anyone knows."
He silently sighed his relief.
Then Jackson hasn' r'membered Mister Cazador's part in all o' that.
A volley of loud questions and bright flashes of light drew Murdock's attention. Two officers with briefcases and grim expressions waved off the clamor of the reporters and strode purposefully toward the same door the others had entered.
The pilot gently nudged Amy and spoke in a low voice. "'re they th' ones goin' after 'im?"
"The prosecutors. After today, they should be looking forward to a night of celebration. Unless Jackson says something in his own defense that's so compelling that the judge . . . " Her voice trailed off with the unspoken question.
Murdock grimaced again and swallowed. After a moment to calm himself, he murmured, "He won'. I know he won'."
The sketch artist returned to Amy's side. "Will you be sitting with us, Captain?" She smiled at him and cocked her head in a provocative manner. Her companion's flirting tone and actions made Amy smirk, something only Murdock saw.
The pilot looked down at his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I was gonna sit t'wards th' back. So I can get outta there when I hafta without makin' a bunch o' fuss."
Amy gave him a curious look, analyzing his expression for a second. She nodded. "I understand. We have to sit with the rest of the press and in a location where Millie can get a good view of Jackson's reactions to the questions." She patted him on the arm and gestured toward the door. "I guess we should get in there and find our seats. Will I see you again soon?"
Shaking his head, Murdock smiled weakly at her. Giving her a quick hug, he reluctantly mumbled, "No, prob'ly not. Least, not for a while." He was surprised when she embraced him fiercely and gave him a hasty kiss on his cheek.
"I'm going to miss you. Please . . . find a way to get out to L. A. and see us," she whispered in his ear. Her eyes sparkled as she released him. She scrubbed her tears away with her hand and tried to smile but her lips trembled slightly and betrayed her.
"I . . . I'll try 'n' see what I can do."
Without another word, Amy turned away and walked toward the courtroom door. The sketch artist raised her eyebrows and smiled coyly back at him as she took her time catching up to the reporter. Murdock hesitated, then followed, slipping into an empty seat in the last row reserved for spectators.
Amy and Millie took seats to the side and closer to the front. The reporters outside were shouting questions again. That could mean only one thing.
Murdock stared at the door, unable to tear his gaze away from his first sight after weeks of the man who had almost killed him. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as the door opened and Jackson entered, flanked on either side by the MPs assigned to him. The pilot straightened in his seat, the chair under him creaking slightly with the movement.
In that moment, the captive Colonel glanced to his side, saw Murdock and froze momentarily. The pilot met his eyes and felt a shudder go through his body. He couldn't break eye contact and didn't understand why. It was like Jackson had him under his control all over again.
I'm bein' too obvious. He's gonna know. He's gonna search 'is mind 'til 'e r'members.
A frown appeared on Jackson's face as he carefully scrutinized the man staring at him. It remained until one of the guards prodded him toward the table where his defense lawyers waited.
The pilot's stomach lurched. He felt an anxiety attack coming on and gripped the sides of his chair until his fingers hurt with the pressure.
I gotta stay cool. Can' keep lookin' at 'im. Or maybe I already did too much. Did Jackson recognize me? Will he r'member who I am? Maybe I better get outta here now. But then I won' know for sure.
The Colonel took his seat, spoke briefly to one of the lawyers, then turned to look back at Murdock once more. The pilot could almost see Jackson's mind working to identify the man who had made eye contact with him. Murdock slouched in his seat and pulled his baseball cap lower over his eyes.
Yeah, like that's not gonna be a red flag t' someone like him.
Once again, Jackson was distracted by one of his lawyers.
Murdock used that moment to get to his feet and hurry from the courtroom.
I can' risk 'im figurin' out who I am. If he does, we ain' safe, any of us.
The humid hot air hit him as he left the building. For a second, he thought he couldn't breathe. Sweat had broken out all over his body but it wasn't because of the weather. His legs threatened to give way under him. Lowering himself onto the bottom step, he covered his face with his hands and wondered if he had done more damage than good with his appearance.
I thought I knew what I was doin' when I planted that mem'ry. But Jackson was my teacher. He's better at it than I am. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why'd I do somethin' as stupid as this? Did he figure me out?
For a few seconds as he sought to regain his composure, Murdock hoped his fears were unjustified.
"What happened, Captain?"
He jerked his head up and met Cazador's worried face as he peered at him from the rental car.
Murdock shook his head to clear it. "Nothin'. Guess I wasn' ready t' face 'im 'gain.," he lied.
"I'll drive you back to the hotel then. I can come back and tend to my business later. I'm sure we'll catch some of the news about his testimony tonight on the news. Let's just get you out of here for now." Jackson leaned over and opened the passenger's door.
The pilot mulled it over in his mind for a second before stumbling to his feet and getting in the car.
As Cazador cleared his departure with the guard on duty and the gate opened, the sound of a gunshot startled both men. The guard swiveled toward the sound, forgetting about the vehicle.
The businessman quickly regained his senses and drove on, glancing at the pilot beside him as he did.
Murdock cast a wild look in the rearview mirror at the chaotic scene behind the gates. A stream of horrified reporters and spectators scattered from the doors of the building. He could see Amy and Millie among them. The reporter was anxiously scanning the milling group of terrified people.
She's lookin' for me. She didn' see me leave.
Murdock shrank in his seat as the realization of what might have happened hit him. Only when they were far enough from the base did the pilot let out a long shuddering breath.
"It's over," he whispered to himself, a lump of mixed emotion clogging his throat. "It's finally over."