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Part 16
Charles Rike storms from his bedroom
early the next morning. A handful of his 'pleasure servants' trail
after him. Everyone
yawning from the lack of sleep received.
"Get me the newspaper!" he shouts at no one in particular as he heads for
the
kitchen. One of his women
hands him a cup of coffee, prepared the way Rike enjoys it. He sits
at the table and the newspaper is placed before him. "Tom, Mike,
and Steve- stay. The rest of you get the hell out of here, now!"
Charles takes a large sip of his drink before addressing the men before him. "Okay. That fucker Sean really screwed up last night. Steve, you did some time in Montgomery County, right? I don't care who does it or when, but I want Sean out of the picture before sunset. Do you think you can handle this? I can't have another screw-up. Tom, I need you to come with me as we pay a visit to Dr. King this morning. We will escort him to Carla's side where he will kill her. Then we will kill him. Steve, you will find out where Stockwell is and what his plans are today without raising any suspicion. When we finish with the doctor, we will pick up Stockwell. The son of a bitch will wish he was dead when we finish with him. Who knows? Maybe he will kill himself and do society a real favor."
***
"Pulse 71, pressure is 115 over 90. His vitals look good. I believe we are ready to proceed with the next step in this patient's recovery," Dr. King says. He glances down at Face and sees the questioning blue eyes looking back at him. "Good morning. We didn't really mean to wake you, but since you're up, I'll tell you what's going to happen. We are about to take you to the surgical floor. The car that hit you did a real number on your knee. Dr. Pavlis is going to perform surgery on it to hopefully get you up and walking on it in the near future. I will be there to make sure nothing aggravates your head injury." Dr. King pauses to gauge Face's reaction. His lips move against the tube in his throat for a few seconds before they stop.
"If everything progresses as smoothly as we hope, in surgery and post op, when you awaken, we will have removed the tube. You will be breathing on your own. And will be able to talk. Okay?" Dr. King asks.
Face closes his eyes for a beat or two and then reopens them.
"Good. I'm sure your friends will be glad to hear from you, especially that Murdock." Dr. King smiles as Face's eyes open wider at the mentions of his friend's name. He is glad to see his patient recovering so well.
***
The occupants dozing in the private, windowless waiting room are abruptly awakened by a loud, jangling thud. "What the hell?" Frankie asks, looking around sleepily.
BA picks himself off of the floor. Mumbling curses not quite under his breath. He turns around to see what caused him to trip and spots Murdock's hightops. "Crazy fool! Why are you leavin' your shoes out here for people to trip over?"
"First of all, oh clumsy one, my shoes are not out in any normal person's way. You just need to pay better attention to where you are going. Which leads me to my second point. Perhaps you need glasses, you big Mudsu-"
BA interrupts Murdock's taunt with a ringed hand around his throat. "Now you listen, fool..."
"Sergeant. Let him go. Report on your visit to Face," Hannibal sleepily orders.
BA instantly releases his grasp. Murdock gratefully sinks into his chair and rubs his throat. "The docs came in as I was leavin'. Gettin' him ready for the surgery. I went into the little room next door and watched them. Face woke up for a few minutes and that brain doctor talked to him. Must be doin' okay, cause the doc smiled," BA relates.
"Sounds like the Faceman's back. Laying on the charm," Murdock replies with a relieved laugh, which everyone in the room joins in on.
Kathryn Collins still has a smile on her face as she pillows her arm under her head once again as the room quiets down. She feels much better knowing the man called Face is doing well. Kathryn is still determined to remain with these unusual men until she is sure he will be okay.
***
A few hours later in an office building on G Street, Charles Rike angrily yells into the speakerphone. "Well, where is Dr. King then if he is not at his office?"
"He's in surgery," the receptionist replies.
"When will he be out? I really need to speak to him," Charles impatiently asks. His fingers tightly grasp the coffee mug on his desk.
"I do not know, sir. He is assisting another doctor this morning with an orthopedic surgery."
"Orthopedic surgery! What the hell? He's a fucking neurologist, isn't he?" The mug is gripped even tighter with white-knuckled fingers.
Angry at the way her Friday morning has begun, Dr.King's receptionist throws medical protocol out the window. "It's for one of his patients, okay? The one that was hit by the car! Replacing his knee. Are you happy now?"
Her only response is the sound of Charles's coffee mug smashing against the wall before the telephone connection is terminated.
***
Carla awakens to the morning sun shining on her face. She sleepily stretches and is stopped by a sharp pain in her leg. She bolts upright and looks around her. "Shit." Carla fingers the IV tube attached to her arm as she tries to clear the drug induced fog from her brain. After a few minutes she presses the button for the nurses' station.
When the nurse arrives, Carla is sitting up in her bed, the telephone beside her. "Can you tell me when I will be able to leave? I have to call my boss and get back to work immediately."
"You were shot in the leg. Dr. Walters wanted you to remain here overnight to make sure no infections have set in. He should be by on his rounds in the next hour or so. Your vitals look good. I can't speak for the doctor, but I would think you should be released sometime this afternoon," the nurse replies. "But I don't think you will be feeling well enough for working until Monday. Enjoy a few days off. I know I would if I was ever shot. Which reminds me, there is a cop who wanted to know when you wake up. He has some questions for you, I guess. Those police always have questions. About everything. Like the time we got the patient who had been..."
The nurse continues talking as she fills Carla's water pitcher. Carla tunes her out and begins thinking about what she can say to the police when they show up. After a few minutes, she audibly yawns at the middle-aged nurse who is still talking.
"Oh, you're tired. And I'm just chattering on. You get some rest. My name is Linda if you need anything, okay?" Linda leaves the room and Carla picks up the phone.
***
Stockwell takes note of Carla's car in its usual place as his driver drops him off at the front entrance of the Langely compound. He sincerely hopes Carla's car did not sit there all night, although he is afraid it has. Stockwell heads for his assistant's office first and is greeted with a vacant room. His scrawled note to Carla still sits upon the desk, unread. Hunt sits heavily in Carla's desk chair. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Carla, where are you?" he whispers. "What is going on here? And why?" Stockwell takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out. Too many strange things have been happening to his organization recently. The two missing Abels. Carla's disappearance. The Delta team ambush. The fraudulent credit card used at the hospital. All of them add up to more than mere coincidence. And what about the A-Team? Nothing bad seems to have befallen them except for Peck's accident. "Except perhaps it wasn't an accident, General. What if someone set it all up on purpose to take the team out?" he says to himself. Another weary sigh escapes from Stockwell. Grudgingly, he realizes he will have to let Colonel Smith and his remaining team know what's been going on and ask for their help. But with the Lieutenant's questionable condition, the A-Team may not be much help.
Hunt Stockwell grabs the credit card copies from atop Carla's desk as he rises from her chair. He places them in his briefcase as he leaves the office and heads outside. His driver is chatting with one of the Abels guarding the house. Catching the disapproving look on his boss's face, the man hurries to the garage and brings round the limo. "Take me to DC General," Stockwell says curtly, his anxiety and uneasiness starting to show.
Inside his office, the telephone begins to ring. Five rings and the answering machine picks up.
Part 17
"Damn," Carla sighs as Stockwell's answering machine picks up and she hears her own greeting. "Where in the world are you?" She tries to think of the phone number to the limo, but as that number is changed monthly for security purposes, Carla is having a difficult time. The medication from the IV is clouding her mind. And all of these incorrect number combinations give Carla a terrible headache in her sedated state. With an exasperated exhalation, she leans back against the pillows and closes her eyes. Within seconds, she is fast asleep.
***
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!" Charles Rike bellows. "He is supposed to be dead! Not having some surgery! That double-crosser King told me he had coded. And he knew better than to resuscitate that pretty boy. Damn it!" Rike paces about his office silently fuming for several minutes before speaking again.
"Tom, here's the plan. We are just going to have to do this ourselves. Can't trust anyone to do a good job anymore," he says in an eerily calm voice.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Riles. If you want a job done right, you just have to do it yourself," Tom concurs.
"Exactly. Let's get to the hospital and take out both of them. And anyone who gets in the way. This shit has gone on for far too long. Then we will head for the lovely Carla and take her. We'll bring her back to my place to teach her a lesson for causing us so much trouble. And when we get Stockwell later tonight, we will kill her on front of him," Charles calmly says.
***
"Okay, sir, I think we are just about done with your knee. This is one of the more extensive injuries I have seen in some time," Dr. Pavlis says to his unconscious patient. "You won't be walking before the end of this month, and I believe many months will pass before you'll be able to do laps around any track. But you will get better. Believe me." He looks over to Dr. King. "Nat? How is he doing? I am just about done here. Just have to stitch him closed."
"The patient is holding his own. Doing about as well as I expected," Dr. King replies. The anesthesiologist nods his agreement.
"Great. We should have him in recovery within 30 minutes. How long he stays there is up to you. I usually recommend an hour before returning any patient to their room. Gives me a chance to monitor any swelling or uneven stitches." Dr. Pavlis says as he turns his attention to closing Face's knee.
***
Stockwell goes through the front entrance of the hospital at a brisk pace. He has had some time on the ride over here to think about his appeal for help from the team. Ask for help on behalf of Peck, but do not seem overly sympathetic or they will call him on it. Although he really does care what happens to the young man.
As he turns the corner for the elevator bank, Stockwell notices Dr. King walking in his direction. He catches his eye and the doctor nods his hello. "How is the patient doing today, Dr. King?" Stockwell asks.
"Pretty good. We had him in surgery this morning to begin the recovery process on his knee. We brought in a specialist from Johns Hopkins for it. Dr. Pavlis is the best. It took a little longer than usual, but we believe the surgery went well," Dr. King replies.
"What kind of time frame are we looking at for his recovery? Both the knee and the head wound?"
"Well, I can't really say about his knee. Dr. Pavlis seems to think there will be quite a few more surgeries in his future, but he will walk again in time. Possibly even run, too. But he remarked earlier that it would take several months for that scenario to occur. Now, regarding the head injury. Barring any additional trauma to the site, I believe he should recover almost 100 percent. There is always the risk of complications springing up later. As well as any complications we have not yet determined such as memory loss, severe headaches, loss of balance, and the like. He is currently being transferred from recovery to his room. I am on my way there if you would like to see him. I am going to remove the tube from his throat to see how well he can breathe on his own. That will go a long way in determining the extent of the complications," Dr. King answers as he presses the up arrow to call an elevator.
"I would like to see how he is healing. Yes, I will join you," Stockwell says as both men enter the elevator.
***
Ellen Bancroft is on her way back from the cafeteria laden down with coffees and milk for the occupants of the private waiting area. She felt she needed a break from the stuffy room and offered to bring everyone a drink. She is still overly concerned for her brother up in surgery somewhere upstairs. She really loves Face and is grateful for the relationship that has grown between them. Ellen cannot wait for the promised pardons as she will be able to spend more time with her brother then. Possibly transfer to her law firm's LA office and live near him. Get a chance to know the team Face loves so much under normal circumstances for a change.
Ellen's thoughts are interrupted by the sight of her brother's doctor talking with that snake, Stockwell, or whatever his name is. Face has never hidden his animosity for the man in his conversations with her. She watches the two of them talk for several seconds before entering an elevator. The doors close and Ellen is left wondering what is going on. She trusts the doctor, but not the snake. She decides to tell Hannibal what she saw to see what he thinks.
***
Stockwell and Dr. King watch Face awaken. Dr. King has removed the respirator and all of the tubes that go with it. They await Face's reaction. His eyes open and slowly focus upon the occupants of the room. His mouth opens and he begins to cough. Dr. King is at his side immediately, placing an arm around his neck to stabilize his head as it is jerked forward with each cough. A nurse appears with a cup of water and a straw. Face takes a few grateful sips between coughs and calms down.
"There now. Does this feel better? Are you having any difficulty breathing?" Dr. King asks.
"Yes. Much better. Tired of the tube," Face slowly replies in a hoarse voice. He glances at Stockwell and his brow creases in confusion. "Where's the team? What happened?" Face begins to cough again as the concern for his friends over excites him.
"Just calm down. Easy does it," Dr. King calms Face. "Your friends are safe. They are downstairs waiting to see you. They have been here the whole time you have been here, Mr. Riles." Face looks at his doctor sharply at the mention of the name. "Or shall I call you Face?" Dr. King asks catching the confusion and tension from his patient.
Face barely nods his head before a sharp pain causes him to cry out. He stops moving and Dr. King watches his reactions. "Hurts. What happened to me?" Face whispers as he closes his eyes tightly against the headache plaguing him.
Dr. King glances at Stockwell to await his instruction. The smaller man removes his glasses and stands in Face's line of sight. He leans slightly in Face's direction as he speaks. "You were hit by a car, Lieutenant. A couple of days ago. Do you remember?"
Face opens his eyes as Stockwell begins to speak. He is quiet for several seconds. "No. Just hurts. Can I see the team? Please?" The weak voice asks.
"Sure, Face. In a few minutes. But only one at a time for now. You suffered a serious head injury which could be further complicated by a lot of activity or stress. I am going to go and speak with your team now. I will bring one person back with me if you like."
"Murdock. Please bring Murdock."
"Okay, Face. I will bring him back with me. General, if you care to accompany me..." Dr. King begins to say as the two of them head for the door.
"The General is going nowhere! And neither are you, you double crossing quack!" Charles Rike yells from the doorway. He points the gun in his hand at Stockwell. "Remember me, Hunt? You should after what you did to me. And it's payback time!"
tbc...
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