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 93
"And you were there when this happened?" Hannibal shook his head at the newspaper he was holding in his hands. He shifted his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other and scanned the article again.
Amy and Face stood behind the armchair on either side of him. The Lieutenant leaned forward to squint through the cigar smoke at what Hannibal read. B. A. looked up from the handgun he was cleaning, curious to hear the answer.
The reporter squeezed the back of the chair with two white-knuckled hands and grimaced at the memory of what she witnessed. "I was there," she affirmed in a barely audible voice. "Murdock was, too."
Face turned his head sharply to look at her. "He was?" Straightening, he gripped her by her shoulders and scrutinized her expression. "You didn't say anything about that. Did Jackson see him?"
"I don't know." She pressed a hand to her cheek and gazed at him helplessly. "I don't know. I invited him to sit with us but he said he was going to sit in the back so he could leave quickly. I don't know. Jackson might have seen him." Her words tumbled out in a rush.
"Hannibal! If Jackson saw Murdock . . . " The Lieutenant dropped his hands and started to pace.
"What're ya tryin' ta say?" B. A. set the weapon and the cleaning rag on the table in front of him, all of his interest focused on the three people in the room with him and the unspoken worry on their faces.
"What was it Stafford called it? Remote influencing?" Amy hugged herself and shivered, remembering the man who, in her opinion, didn't deserve to bear the title of doctor.
B. A. glanced from person to person. He remembered the term 'remote influencing' and knew it had something to do with the CIA and how Jackson had been able to control Murdock's actions.
"What're ya talkin' 'bout? What's she talkin' 'bout, Colonel?"
The conman answered him. "Remember that night that Murdock went out to the tool shed to see if he could use the mind control techniques he had learned to torment Jackson? When Stafford told us what Murdock was doing, he mentioned Delta programming but he talked about Omega programming as well." Face hadn't stop pacing, one hand ruffling through his hair in frustration. He stopped to glare at Hannibal for a second. "You don't think . . . "
The Colonel folded the newspaper and tossed it on the coffee table. Leaning back, he looked at Face in grim silence.
The conman started pacing again.
B. A. glanced at Amy, staring at the floor with a chalk-white face and tearful eyes. She swayed slightly, one hand still gripping the back of the Colonel's armchair.
He lumbered from his chair and mumbled, "Here, li'l sis. Better sit down b'fore ya fall down."
Hannibal nodded his appreciation of the gesture as the Sergeant wandered to the window to peer out. Amy crossed to the chair and sank down in it, closing her eyes and leaning her head back.
"After the doctor transferred the neuroelectromagnetic device, Murdock demanded to be alone with Jackson. He could have planted any sort of suggestion in the man's head . . . including the suggestion for Jackson to find a way to kill himself should he start to remember." Face stopped in his tracks and rubbed his hand along his chin.
"The Omega programming Stafford mentioned," Hannibal interjected.
Face continued. "And if Jackson saw Murdock and thought he remembered him from somewhere, maybe that would be enough of a catalyst to allow the Omega programming to kick in."
"If Murdock used Omega programming, he might have meant to ensure Jackson would never cause trouble again. Maybe he thought the false memory he planted wasn't enough of a safeguard," Amy murmured. "I suppose we don't know for sure."
"The question is if Murdock knew what he was doing when he went to watch the trial," Hannibal agreed. "Did he sit where he knew Jackson would be most likely to notice him?"
"He sat in the very last row of seats and almost next to the door where Jackson entered. Jackson must have seen him. If I'd known, maybe I could have stopped him," she moaned.
From his post at the window, B. A. muttered, "Fool wouldn't do somethin' like that on purpose. You know that, Hannibal."
"But Murdock said he wouldn't ever be free of Jackson's mind control until Jackson was dead. I don't want to believe he planned to kill the man but that's what Murdock said." The Colonel fiercely stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray beside him.
"It won't do any good to try to contact him at Cazador's place to find out. I've tried ever since we left him there in Arizona. Every time I've called, Cazador or one of his men has said Murdock wasn't available." His hands on his hips, Face stood opposite Hannibal and glared.
If the older man was affected in the least by the conman's accusatory tone, he didn't show it. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the information. "You didn't know if Cazador's calls were being monitored. That was not very smart, Lieutenant."
"So what's the fool been doin'?" B. A. turned from the window to ask the question. If Face didn't know better, he might have guessed the black Sergeant was worried about the pilot.
"They said he was running errands or flying Cazador somewhere. And for your information, Colonel, I was careful with the phone calls. I just wanted to know how he was doing." Face walked over to stand beside the reporter's chair. With one hand, he caressed her shoulder even while focusing on Hannibal.
"Well, thank God the guards were able to prevent Jackson from finishing the job. It was bad enough he was able to get hold of one of their weapons." Amy shuddered. "No one knew he was suicidal."
"Maybe he wasn't. Murdock may have purposely showed up at the trial to push Jackson over the edge." The Colonel shook his head and picked up the newspaper again. "So according to your sources Jackson is in an intensive care unit in a coma?"
Amy nodded mutely, reaching to take Face's hand in hers.
"So why isn't it in the papers?" Hannibal mused.
"I don't know." Amy's voice was shaky and choked. "My sources don't know exactly where Jackson is being treated. No one else knew if he was alive or dead. I only found out by digging around."
"Likely someone higher up in the command food chain doesn't want anyone to know the government is still actively doing mind control experiments," Face muttered through gritted teeth. "It's much easier to make Jackson 'go away' than to explain anything if he should recover and start talking."
"And no one seems to know where Stafford is. It's like he evaporated into the air." Amy tightened her grip on the Lieutenant's hand, remembering what the doctor did to both Murdock and her.
"I still don't believe the fool coulda done somethin' like that," B. A. grumbled.
"None of us believed Murdock would take Cazador's job offer either," Face argued. "But he did. And now we've lost contact with him."
"We know where to find him." Hannibal leaned back in the armchair and opened the newspaper to the sports section.
Amy glanced up at Face who shook his head in response to her unspoken worry. The Colonel had closed the conversation and trying to argue wouldn't do any good.
oooooo
Gasping for air, gripping the bed covers so firmly his hands hurt, Murdock woke. He wasn't sure if he had yelled in his sleep and woke himself or if someone was in the room . . .
Colonel Jackson?
. . . and the intruder's presence disturbed his rest.
Listening for any signs of people responding, he quickly determined he woke without making a sound. Thankfully.
They wouldn' know how t' help me even if I did wake up screamin'. Not 'cause my boss don' want to but 'cause he don' understan'. Not like th' guys.
He sighed in relief as he threw back the covers and swung himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. He couldn't help but scan the room for anyone hiding. Paranoia still plagued him, even though he was almost certain the gunshot he heard at the base meant Jackson had taken his own life.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he shuddered at the feeling he had just escaped a nightmare that would have ended in torture and death. And thinking about his team mates and how they would have understood his night terrors and bad dreams made him miss his friends so bad he hurt inside.
He knew he wouldn't get any more sleep. Pulling on a light gray pair of sweat pants, his yellow and green Gumby T-shirt, a pair of socks and his tennis shoes, he quietly left his bedroom and slipped out the front door.
Deciding to head north on the main highway, Murdock kept an eye on the first blush of pink in the pre-dawn sky. Jogging at an even pace, he tried not to think about the nightmare. Fresh air was the best thing to conquer his uneasiness. At least that was what he told himself.
Clears my head. Drives 'way th' monsters. Keeps me from thinkin' . . . no, no, no . . . I ain' gonna think 'bout that . . .
Focusing on his breathing and the movement of his arms and legs forced the memories, both good and especially bad, to leave him alone for a while. He ran until he had to stop, panting, beside a dirt road that branched off to the left. The trees, grasses and cacti emerged from the gray and took on shape and definition as the sun rose on his right.
He knew the rest of the household would be waking soon. At least when other people were around, he had someone to prevent him from thinking about everything too much.
He smiled wistfully. Mia and Tonio were still visiting their grandfather. Tonio shadowed Murdock wherever he went when he was awake. The boy especially wanted to help him when he spent time in the hangar acquainting himself with Cazador's planes. As for Mia, she asked him to read to her all the time.
She loved to find books with characters he could supply with accents. He was certain some of the books were a little beyond her level of understanding but she enjoyed them when he read out loud to her and her brother.
Like Oliver Twist . . . 'n' Treasure Island . . . 'n' Dracula . . .
The two children would keep him busy even if Cazador didn't need him to fly one of his planes or run an errand.
Thinking about Mia and Tonio as he jogged back to the ranch, he barely noticed as a light gray sedan slowed to go by and then sped up once past him.
oooooo
"That's him. That's Cazador's pilot. I've seen him in Sonoita with Cazador's grandson quite a few times in the last week or two," the man in the back seat affirmed as he turned to face the front once more. "You should have no trouble finding an opportunity. But when you do it, I want access to the pilot. He's mine."
The passenger in the front seat smirked at the man driving before answering. "I don't understand you, Doctor. But if that's all you want out of this arrangement, I'm sure we can oblige you."
The driver sneered and added, "It'll save us from having to dispose of him ourselves."
To be continued . . .