by Wes Lowe
But Steve’s legs were still flailing.
This is a job that I’ve got to do. Even though she was weakened by her own physical trauma, Rayna handed the senator the water bottle she was drinking from. She knelt in Steve’s watery shit and sat on his legs, joining Felix and the co-pilot in ignoring the danger from infection.
30
Air Ambulance
When Senator Cleri’s chopper arrived at Port-au-Prince’s Toussaint Louverture International Airport, Giorgio was waiting with a medically-configured Red Cross air ambulance jet. He supervised Steve’s transfer from the helicopter to the aircraft using the specialized flight-trained medical crew.
“Thank you, Senator Cleri,” said Rayna. “Steve wouldn’t be alive without you.”
“Don’t worry. I would do anything for Barry,” said the senior statesman. “And now that I have met you and Steve, I would be pleased for you to come back one day to see my country under better conditions.”
“Thank you.”
Rayna quickly boarded the jet and saw that Giorgio was frowning—he was trying to give something to Steve to drink, but Steve was unable to keep it down. Another person was washing Steve down while another was setting up an IV drip. She said, “Sorry to interrupt but thanks, Giorgio.”
Without looking at her, Giorgio continued his examination by pinching Steve’s skin. Another concerned frown—the skin had been slow to bounce back to its normal position. “No worries. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Steve. He was my study buddy in med school and had this habit of pulling me out of the bar.” He glanced up to see her. “Nice to meet you, Rayna. You look even better in person than Steve described.”
“Thanks. What are you going to do?”
“His symptoms indicate severe cholera. Inability to keep the oral hydration solution down, unconscious, sunken eyes, skin bouncing back slowly, weak pulse. Classic symptoms. Treatment in a nutshell is rehydration with antibiotics. But l’ll tell you more later. You need to get treated too. Even though you’re asymptomatic, to be on the safe side, I’m going to give you some antibiotics. Wash them down with some fresh boiled water. Then get out of those clothes and wash all the crap off your body. The shower is over there.”
“A shower sounds wonderful, and I can use the excuse that it’s medically advised,” smiled Rayna.
“Good looking and a sense of humor. Steve did well,” winked Giorgio.
Leaving Steve with Giorgio, Rayna hopped into the isolated room and moments later, her body was deluged with scalding water. This was not merely for comfort or vanity sake. Her clothes were full of bacteria-laden diarrhea after attending Steve in the chopper, and she needed to rid herself of every bit of it. She hoped against hope that she was not already contaminated, and spent a full twenty minutes scrubbing herself.
When she got out of the shower room, there was a pair of stretchy black capris and a blue long-sleeved T-shirt sitting on the floor, along with a cell phone. The clothes were simple but comfortable, and best of all, clean.
Glancing around, Rayna was astonished at how well-equipped the ambulance jet was. As good, if not better than what the Canadian military used for its injured soldiers. Advanced life support equipment capable of treating major trauma, as well as a vast array of medications capable of treating everything from a common cold to a life-threatening virus was present.
She walked down the aisle to the unconscious Steve, where he was lying on a bed with a thick plastic bag containing liquids mounted on an IV pole with tubes leading to the veins on his arms.
“What’s happening, Giorgio,” she asked, her voice pleading for hope.
“We’re rehydrating him with water, antibiotics, and electrolytes. We’re going to check every twenty minutes to see if we can take him off the IV. Also, we have to test for other possible problems.” Giorgio pointed to the blood specimen tubes with multicolored tops. We’re going to draw the blood now so we’ll be prepared to get them off to the lab as soon as we land.”
“Sounds good. How did Barry know to find you?”
Giorgio emitted a quiet chortle. “He didn’t. I found him. After our telephone line got disconnected in Barahona, I phoned Arthur, Steve’s father, to tell him that I was in Haiti and if Steve needed anything, to let me know. He contacted me to tell me that Senator Cleri was going to check up on the two of you. I knew that if there was a problem I needed to be there, so kept on standby until Arthur gave me a call.”
Giorgio could feel Rayna’s emotions welling. Yes, she was a hardened covert operative who had fought and defeated some of the worst scum around… but she was still a woman in love.
“Steve would have been dead in hours had you not shown up. Thank you, Giorgio,” said Rayna, trying to hide the quivering in her voice.
“Don’t thank me. Thank Arthur and your boss, Barry.”
“Will do, but there’s someone else I need to thank first.”
Rayna dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. “Our Father, who art in Heaven…”
When Rayna opened her eyes ten minutes later, Giorgio was on his cell phone getting an update on the situation in Haiti, while at the same time watching Steve like a hawk. While Steve was still immobile with the IV solutions dripping in his arms, Rayna thought his breathing sounded a little stronger and his face was beginning to lose its pallid complexion.
Things were as under control as they could be, so it was time to connect with the world again. She took the brand new cell phone from her brand new capris and punched in a familiar phone number.
“Fidelitas Investments. May I help you?” said a business-friendly female voice.
“Hey Gina, it’s me. Is Barry free?”
“Of course.”
A few moments passed and then Barry’s voice came on. “Hi Rayna. How are you feeling?”
Rayna exhaled a long tension-relieving breath. “Alive but I’m not sure I’ll ever go back to Haiti again.”
“I understand.” But I’m not sure about you’re not going back. Cleri is still a number one scumbag. ”How’s Steve doing?”
“Unconscious but stable. I think he’ll make it.”
“Good to hear. I’ll let Arthur know.”
Rayna asked her boss point blank. “What do you need me for, Barry?”
“Nothing. Just take it easy and nurse Steve back to health,” said Barry compassionately.
Rayna’s voice steeled. “Barry, I’m a soldier, not a nursemaid. You called me when I was on vacation in the Dominican Republic. You weren’t trying to get a hold of me to tell me about which restaurant had the best Mamajuana or Sancocho de Siete Carnes. You want me to do something.”
Rayna heard rapid tapping of fingers on a desk. When it stopped, Barry said, “There’s an announcement party for a new gubernatorial candidate this evening in Los Angeles. Diana sprained her ankle and can’t go. She suggested you take her place.”
Rayna stuck out her tongue and grimaced. She hated those things, but after her little tirade at Barry, she could hardly object. In a sweet, enthusiastic voice, she declared, “That sounds great. I’d be happy to go.”
“You’re lying. Just stay with Steve.”
Rayna’s tone was serious. “Barry, I can’t do anything for Steve. Get me to Los Angeles. There must be something important about this party; otherwise you wouldn’t have tried to track me down. What is it?”
Barry’s reply was immediate. “Thanks, Rayna. There’s something bugging me about this sudden announcement. There was no exploration committee, no canvassing or lobbying… “
“Maybe it’s a prelude for another run in the future. Or maybe he’s just some rich kid who wants to play in a different sandbox.”
“Possibly, but I doubt it. We keep a tab on up-and-comers and potential candidates for all kinds of political positions. His father, Harold Johnson, is a senator, but his son Carter is completely off the political radar.”
A knowing smile appeared on Rayna’s face. If Barry couldn’t figure something out, he was relentless in
pursuing the answers. “Gotcha. This air ambulance is better equipped than a lot of hospitals. I’ll tell Giorgio that we’ll go to Los Angeles instead of Miami. But I’ll need something to wear, and I don’t think you’re the right person to choose my outfit.”
Gina’s perky voice came back online. “Hi, Rayna. It’s Gina. I’ve got you covered. I’ll call up a couple shops on Rodeo Drive, put us all on a video chat, and we can pick out clothes, make-up, shoes, and bling. They’ll be ready for you when you get to the airport.”
“Why don’t you just pick something, Gina? I want to spend the time with Steve.”
“You’re going to steal the show, girly girl,” squealed Gina, obviously ecstatic to go shopping in shops that she could only dream about on a receptionist’s salary.
“I need something else too, Gina.”
“What?”
“A shit hot makeup artist. Right now, I’ve got this huge wound in my leg from when a tree branch impaled me and I’m covered with scratches and nicks from fighting off cannibals, terrorists and witch doctors.”
“Wow! By the time I’m finished with you, you’re going to be the ultimate man-eater. There won’t be a guy in the world with a pulse who could resist you. And women too!”
At a private airfield in Los Angeles, Barry was waiting on the tarmac when the air ambulance arrived. The plane’s door opened. With Rayna standing beside him, Giorgio supervised Steve’s transfer off the jet to an awaiting ambulance.
“Thanks again, Giorgio,” said Rayna as her eyes followed the attendants putting Steve into the ambulance.
“As long as we don’t make this a habit,” replied Giorgio as he climbed in beside Steve and gave a farewell salute. “Barry’s arranged for Steve to go to the UCLA Medical Center in Santa Monica. It’s only a mile away from the Conquistador, so you can pop in after you’re finished hobnobbing with the politicos.”
“Be safe.” Rayna waved goodbye as the ambulance took off.
Barry stepped beside Rayna and grinned. “We better hurry inside. Gina’s waiting with bated breath inside the terminal for you,” said Barry as the two began walking to the ground transfer point.
“Have you found anything else out about Carter other than what was sent to me on the plane?” asked Rayna. “Other than the fact that he’s following in Daddy’s footsteps, there doesn’t seem to be anything that makes him anything special.”
“There’s no disagreement from me but these days, style often trumps substance, especially when the competition is slim pickings.”
Politics was not a strength of Rayna’s. Having served in the military, she had even less use for civilian politicians than her pet peeve of military bureaucrats. She rarely exercised her right to vote. As a Canadian, she knew even less about American politics but had to admit, “Carter’s like a younger version of Matthew McConaughey. Ambitious masculinity. Chiseled but not fake. Controlled, but with a hint of naughty pixie…but is he really the Boy Scout that he seems to be?”
”Guess we’ll have to find out for ourselves.”
As they stepped inside the small airport terminal, Rayna’s mouth dropped.
Gina was standing beside an Asian woman, a guy who looked like he was a member of Hells Angels, and a clothes rack with a selection of slinky, sexy outfits from Rodeo Drive’s high end fashion boutiques. “I couldn’t figure out which one would look best so I brought them all for you to choose. I’ve also brought in two other specialists. Laara won the Academy Award for Best Makeup and Hairstyling three years ago, and Hugo is a tattoo artist.”
“I don’t want a tattoo,” objected Rayna.
Laara spoke up; there was a slight Taiwanese accent in her voice. “No matter what I do, if somebody looked closely, they would see a hint or maybe the outline of the wound, especially as it is fresh and might change colors over the next few hours. I brought Hugo because he will create something so striking, that no one would even think to compare it to your skin.”
“And Steve will love it too,” winked Gina cheekily.
31
The Big Day
The Conquistador was exquisite and luxuriously impressive. Situated by the Pacific Highway, a few miles away from Santa Monica, its Ocean-view Terrace comfortably held three hundred and fifty guests, and the adjoining Grande Salon where Carter would officially make his announcement easily held another hundred.
While it was still in the “breaking in” phase and not all amenities had been fully tested, being new and fresh was one of the positive features that Harold emphasized to his invitees. “This is symbolic; the Conquistador represents the new guard of California, just as Carter is a new face with new ideas.”
It was approaching 7:30 pm, half an hour later than when the event was supposed to have officially begun. Almost all the arrived guests were delighting themselves with 3 star Michelin culinary creations. A few dared to ask Carter how anyone of Mateo’s stature could be convinced to oversee the menu at the function of a possible California political candidate.
Carter’s answer was bold. “In everything I do, I shoot for the best. I didn’t ask Mateo as a ‘possible California political candidate.’ I asked him as a future President of the United States.”
While that was an answer that would antagonize any political rivals, to this hand-picked group of guests, it was a bold answer that increased the confidence in this new entry to the political arena.
As the guests mixed and mingled with each other and Carter’s family, they savored cocktails made with alcohol from California’s craft distilleries and connoisseur wines from Sonoma and Napa valleys.
But Harold was growing a little worried. Barry had still not arrived. Not only was he potentially a big donor, he knew many of the people in the room. An endorsement of Carter by Barry Rogers, president of Fidelitas Investments and former Delta Force assaulter, would impress not only the people in this room, but many in the Democratic Party, so Harold wanted to wait for him to show up before beginning the proceedings.
Earlier, Barry had called and warned he was running behind schedule.
“Just show up by 7:30 pm and be ready to clap, whoop, and holler. And be ready to write a big check,” chuckled Harold.
“That I can do,” was Barry’s reply.
But now, it was almost 7:45. Carter approached his father. “I think we better start before everyone gets sloshed.”
Harold had to agree, but before he opened his mouth, his and the attention of all the other guests was diverted upward toward the sky. A faint metallic din was sounding in the heavenly distance. Within seconds, the sound magnified to the hammering “whomp whomp” sound of a helicopter rotor. The attention of all now fully captured, their eyes stared through the floor-to-ceiling windows, or from their places on the outdoor terrace, to see a luxury Eurocopter approaching the sun-kissed ambiance of the hotel.
The guests were in awe of the sleek black and gray chopper, a collaboration between Eurocopter’s engineers and Hermès, as it settled down gracefully on the manicured verdant lawn that separated the hotel from the beachside.
And then, a grand entrance.
The helicopter’s door opened and moments later, Barry stepped out down to the lawn. His exquisitely tailored ebony tuxedo could not hide his prime physical condition, despite being decades away from the time he was a soldier in Desert Storm.
He held up his hand to the open door of the metal-winged bird and took hold of a tanned lithesome hand.
A figure appeared. Wearing a crimson sleeveless, floral-embroidered, Tulle evening gown, the Asian beauty with ravishing almond eyes took Barry’s hand. As she descended, a light ocean breeze blew over her. Her tantalizing ebony hair fluttered over her head and the wind lifted her dress. The slit in her gown spread open, allowing a glimpse of her fabulous legs, especially a daring, delightful, multi-colored dragon on her left thigh.
By now, every person in the Grand Salon had their gazes fixed on this elegant power couple. Is that her sugar daddy? Will she do it with me for ten grand? Can
I get the dragon legs to wrap around me? George Clooney, you got nothing on this hunk…
The MC, who announced the names of every guest as they arrived, took the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Barry Rogers, president of Fidelitas Investments and…”
Before the MC could introduce Rayna, a fusillade of bullets rang out.
Mayhem, chaos, and confusion ensued as the situation spiraled out of control. A deluge of guests screamed as they dove for cover, tried to hide behind the huge potted plants, lawn chairs, and stone pillars, or just tried to run away.
A balaclava-masked gunman clad in black pointed an assault rifle at the guests and yelled in an unmistakeable Mexican accent, “Stop!” as he exited from behind a huge palm tree at the far end of the terrace. Seeing some trying to flee via the entrance to the Grande Salon, he opened fire. Shots in rapid succession were directed at those who tried to escape, hitting one in the back of his head.
Another man dressed similarly to the gunman emerged from the side entrance of the Grande Salon. He carried a large duffel bag in each hand.
The shooter spoke again. “All of you. Empty your valuables into the bag. Wallets, watches, jewelry. Now.”
His accomplice began with Stacey. “Hurry up, you fat broad,” he snarled with a Brooklyn accent.
“Yes, yes,” babbled Stacey as she tore off her diamond necklace and matching brooch and tossed them into the bag.
The man with the bags next moved to the white-faced Marlena. Frozen, her body refused to move and her arms remained quaking by her side.
“Let me help you with that,” snapped the man. He reached for the top of her mauve strapless dress and pulled it down. Not wearing a bra, Marlena’s ample breasts came into full view of the assembly.
“You can’t do that to her,” shouted Carter. He dove at his wife’s attacker.