The Third Rescue

by Jay Mackey

  Again, Mercury shook his head. “Are you willing to give up your life for another?” he asked.

  There were at least two ways for Jack to interpret that question, but the answer to both was the same. “Yes,” he said.

  Mercury nodded, but did not smile.

  They shook hands, and Mercury left.

  Jack slept little over the next two days, and then only fitfully. He looked for opportunities to ask Aphrodite or the other patients for details about their plans, but found no time to be alone with any of them. There was always a nurse with him, or, often, a guard.

  One guard in particular seemed to be near him nearly every time he approached one of the patients in the common room. He knew this guard; he’d been around since the early days. He was a perfectly ordinary, slightly paunchy, early forties, balding man in a uniform, packing a gun. Jack wondered what could keep a man like this in such an uninteresting, unchallenging job for so many years. Perhaps, he thought, Ernst had something on him, like he had on Jack, some transgression that would endanger his livelihood or his life, so he’d reenlisted multiple times.

  Jack thought about what he’d do to carry out his part of the plan. How do you get a patient who’s held under tight security conditions outside and into a vehicle?

  A complicating factor was the fact that the whole facility was underground. Up top were several small one- and two-story frame buildings, housing offices for the base, ostensibly. The entrances to the underground complex were hidden in these small buildings. The main entrance was through an elevator from a small, unmarked office building down into the commons area. There were also large entrances at the far end of the hospital wing, which connected to the base clinic above, and a smaller fire exit at the far end of the living quarter wing. Jack had never seen that one used.

  Mercury had said there was another at the far end of the research wing. That route offered one big advantage—the research wing was often unoccupied at night, when the escape was supposed to happen. And now with his key, he could get into that wing. Assuming, of course, that no guard stopped him from taking Aphrodite into the research wing. Maybe, he thought, he could spend some time in the research wing over the two days before the escape, so that the guards would get used to seeing him go in there. Maybe that would lessen the chances of being stopped.

  So that’s what he did. He swallowed hard and tried to hide his contempt for Blankenship, while asking him for a tour of the research facility. He then returned twice later to ask questions, once about a particular piece of equipment that Jack was not familiar with, and another about whether he could review Blankenship’s findings. The only time Blankenship didn’t seem overly thrilled to have him expressing interest was after Jack had asked this last question.

  At that, he’d politely refused, saying, “I can’t really release those findings, because of the security involved. I’m sure you understand.” He smiled his most solicitous smile, his glasses riding up on his bulbous cheeks.

  Jack said he understood, and asked permission to return if he had more questions regarding Blankenship’s “most interesting” work. He almost threw up after saying that. But he thought, mission accomplished. He’d made sure to be noticed by guards every time he went or out of the research wing.

  It wasn’t until he flopped into bed late that night that he began to question not just how he might get Aphrodite out, but if he should do it, and whether she and the other patients should try to escape at all. He slept little as he wrestled with this dilemma, without reaching a conclusion.

  The next morning, he went to Aphrodite’s room in the hospital wing first thing. He knew, or at least suspected, that the patient rooms were bugged, so he couldn’t talk openly about the escape plan.

  “You can’t move forward,” he said, giving her a hard look so she’d know he wasn’t talking about how he was helping her sit up in bed.

  She looked back with knitted brow, and said, “Why?”

  “It won’t work.” He fiddled with the bed.

  She shrugged.

  That shrug hit him—she didn’t care, because she didn’t really have anything to lose. Her existence over the past . . what was it? Seventeen years or so . . . had been terrible. Worse than terrible. She and the other patients were not only imprisoned, but they had to deal with whatever Blankenship was doing.

  But he had something to lose. If he were caught trying to help them, then his life was going to be forfeit, and he had no doubt that at best he’d be giving up his ability to ever practice medicine again. He’d come to grips with that; it would be okay, his life for hers, for theirs.

  He went through the motions of checking her vitals, listening to her heart.

  Her heart. That’s what he cared about.

  He shook his head. “No. You can’t,” he said.

  Now she looked up at him from her bed. Panic in her eyes. Then something else. Despair. A look of hopelessness came over her, and tears welled up in her now-cloudy blue eyes. “I understand,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands. “But you have to get me back to my room in the living quarters.”

  “I know.”

  “If I can go back, the others will help,” she said. “Then you wouldn’t . . .”

  It was breaking Jack’s heart that she thought he didn’t want to help. That wasn’t it. It wasn’t it at all. He just didn’t want to lose her. How could he make her understand?

  He picked up her wrist, like he was taking her pulse. “No, I will . . . I want to help, but why now? Why not wait?” Her weakened condition would make escape even more risky than if she were strong. How could she run, if it came to that? She could barely walk.

  She shook her head. “No. It’s now,” she said, pulling her hand away. She said it so firmly, it drew the attention of the guard, who looked over at them.

  “Yes, your pulse is good now,” Jack said, trying clumsily to cover for them. In actuality, her heart was racing. As was his.

  He stood and looked down at her. She looked so helpless, lying in that hospital bed. “You’re going to be fine,” he said. And as he turned to leave, he looked back and said, “I’ll see you later on this evening.” He smiled, to reassure her, but she only stared back in wonder.

  He left, now committed. There would be no turning back.

  40

  Groom Lake, July 1964

  Jack spent the rest of the day trying to stay busy. It was hard to do anything productive because he was too wired, too frazzled. But he couldn’t sit still either. He wandered the complex, hoping that one of the patients would come out to the commons area so he could try to get a little more information about what was going to happen that night, but he never saw anyone. He was in and out of the research wing several times, building his credibility, he hoped. He didn’t actually see Blankenship, which suited him fine.

  The one person he did see wasn’t one who he wanted to see: Ernst, now a colonel, who came up to him as he was walking through the commons room.

  “What are you doing, still here?” Ernst asked, frowning as usual.

  “I’m still—” Jack was caught off guard. “I have a patient.”

  “Your old girlfriend is being taken care of just fine by Dr. Blankenship,” said Ernst, squinting at Jack, who thought he must be aware that something was going on. “You should have left after Neptune died. We don’t need a surgeon now.”

  “I don’t think that’s your call.”

  That slimy smile appeared. “When will you learn, Captain? Everything is my call now. Everything. That’s why you keep coming back here—because that’s my call, and I love to keep you close.”

  Jesus, Jack hated this asshole. “Well, don’t worry. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “Good.” Ernst started walking away but continued to stare at Jack. “But I’ll see you again. Soon, I hope.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.”

  Jack stopped by Aphrodite’s room again, feeling a little better after getting in the last word with Ernst. Wouldn’t he b
e surprised in the morning?

  Aphrodite was dozing when he went in. He didn’t want to wake her, knowing that she’d need every bit of energy she could muster later tonight.

  He went to his room to try to rest up, too, but couldn’t relax. He sat, playing with the all-important key, trying to think through what he was going to do that night, and what it might mean for the future. His thoughts were not good thoughts.

  By 11:30 Jack was back in the commons room, checking to see if the research wing was dark (it was) and whether the door was locked (ditto). Satisfied, he went to Aphrodite’s room. She was awake, sitting up. Based on her shifting eyes, she was also nervous. And probably scared. He knew he was.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Good,” she said.

  He took her wrist, as much to stop her from wringing her hands as to take her pulse, which was racing. “I can see that you’re getting tired of being in this bed,” he said, for the benefit of whoever might be listening in. “We have some tests I’ll be running a little later, so we’ll be moving.”

  “Yes, that would be nice,” she said, reaching up and squeezing his hand.

  Jack knew that she’d never say that tests would be nice, but figured the listeners wouldn’t necessarily know that.

  Jack’s plan hinged on one key fact: the guards tended to stay in their assigned wing; e.g., the guard over at the living quarters would stay there, and if a guard were present in the medical wing, he’d also stay in position. That meant that the research wing would be free. That is, if things went perfectly, which he knew seldom happened.

  When he showed up in Aphrodite’s room with a wheelchair thirty minutes later, things immediately went off track.

  First, the guard challenged him, asking, “What is the wheelchair for? Where do you think you’re going?”

  Calmly, Jack told him that he needed to take Aphrodite for some tests. He helped her out of bed and into the wheelchair, carefully moving the feeding tube that gave her a constant flow of water and nutrients. He placed his medical bag on the shelf under the seat of the wheelchair; he didn’t want to leave the hospital without it, and hoped the guard wouldn’t notice.

  “But they always use a gurney when they’re taking patients for testing,” the guard insisted. He didn’t even glance at the bag.

  “There’s no need for a gurney,” said Jack, preparing to wheel Aphrodite out.

  “What about the nurse?”

  “I won’t be needing a nurse, either.”

  “I . . . I should check on this.”

  “No,” said Jack, getting frustrated and more than a little concerned over the interference. “I’m the doctor. I know how to do this. You don’t. Excuse me.” And he pushed past the guard into the hallway.

  The guard followed, but slowed when Jack reached the commons, standing near the entry to medical, watching.

  Jack continued pushing Aphrodite in the wheelchair, while pulling the stand with the glucose drip. The commons was empty, not unusual for this time of night. There wasn’t even a guard across the large room near the entry to the living quarters. That, Jack thought, was unusual, but lucky for him.

  He stopped at the door to the research wing, just twenty feet from where the guard had stopped, still watching, and pulled the key that Mercury had given him from his pocket. He fumbled with it, trying it upside down at first. He could feel the sweat building on his brow as he managed to get the door open. He could sense the tension in Aphrodite, too, as she sat silently, wringing her hands.

  Unlike the doors in the medical wing, this door had no auto-open function, and he struggled to hold the door open while pushing the wheelchair and drip stand though. The guard, apparently noticing the struggle, came over to help, holding the door while Jack got control of the rest.

  “Thanks,” he said, nodding to the guard while silently cursing that he hadn’t removed the drip from Aphrodite’s arm, but he’d wanted to make it appear that she was in much worse shape that she actually was, to help allay any suspicions on the part of any onlookers. He proceeded down the hall, hoping that the guard wouldn’t follow. Fortunately, the guard held his position at the door, watching but not interfering.

  Jack turned into the large operating room that he’d toured with Blankenship the day before, flicking on the lights. As soon as the door closed, Aphrodite stood, pulling at the tube in her arm.

  “I need to get this out,” she said, swatting frantically at the tape holding the tube in place.

  “Stop,” said Jack, grabbing her hand. “I’ll do it.” He carefully removed the tube, used an alcohol wipe to clean the site.

  “This is where he did it,” she said, looking around the room.

  “Did what?” He pressed gauze onto her arm to stanch any bleeding, and a strip of tape to hold it in place.

  “Everything.”

  He felt a surge of anger, imagining, seeing the operating table, seeing her on it, thinking about the years.

  “Let’s go, please.” She pulled at him, urging him toward to door at the back of the room, the door that led to the scrub room, then to the hallway, where there was a doorway, and a flight of stairs.

  When they emerged from the dark doorway, hidden in the back of a building Jack couldn’t place, into the blackness of the nighttime desert, they were alone. They’d left the wheelchair below, in the operating room where Aphrodite would never return. He’d remembered to grab his bag before leaving. She was walking fine, although she was a little unsteady, so Jack held her, as much because he couldn’t stop touching her as because she needed help.

  Peering into the darkness, Jack asked, “Where are we to go?”

  Aphrodite looked at him. “They didn’t tell you?”

  “No. Only to get you out.”

  She frowned.

  He was worried. Afraid he’d made a mistake. Could he still get back in? “I thought you’d know.”

  She looked straight ahead. “They’ll be here.”

  “Who? Who’ll be here? Do they know where we are?”

  She shrugged.

  She has nothing to lose. If she’s caught, they’ll just put her back inside. But God, I’ve got my whole life on the line here.

  Fortunately, before he started hating himself for that thought, a truck rounded the building, appearing just down the alley from where they stood. A figure stepped out of the passenger door.

  “Hurry!” the figure Jack recognized as Mercury said, motioning them to come.

  Aphrodite wasn’t quite able to run, but the two of them hurried to the truck. It was what was referred to as a 4x4, a cab with the rear cargo area covered by a canvas tarp. Jack helped Aphrodite into the rear, where the rest of the patients were waiting. Jack started to climb in too, but Mercury told him to go up front and get into the passenger seat.

  “We need you up there to get through the gate,” he said.

  Jack did as he was told, and found the driver to be the guard, the average man with the incredibly boring job, who’d most often been the one manning the post at the living quarters. His name was Chet. Corporal Chester Martin.

  Chet nodded at him and gunned the truck. Jack nodded back and held on.

  41

  Groom Lake, July 1964

  They got through the main gate much more easily than Jack had feared. Chet simply told the guard that he was taking “Doc,” referring to Jack—all the doctors were called “Doc” by the guards, as far as Jack knew—to the Las Vegas airport. In answer to the question, “Why do you need the truck to ferry one guy?” Chet said he was picking up “some shit or other at some depot in south Vegas first thing in the morning.” That’s why he was leaving in the middle of the night, after all.

  It worked, and they were through.

  A couple miles down the road, Chet made a left and headed into the desert, instead of taking a right, which would take them to the main road into Las Vegas.

  “You know where you’re going, Chet?” asked Jack, holding on as Chet floored the gas. The tr
uck bounced down the road, which was little more than dirt, even here near the base where it was traveled frequently.

  “Not really, Doc,” replied Chet, nearly shouting to be heard over the roar of the truck’s diesel engine. “I just know that if we were really going to Vegas, we’d go the other way. Since we ain’t . . .” He shrugged.

  “How long before they find out we’re gone and they come after us?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure they’re already headin’ for their vehicles and checkin’ their ammo, Doc.”

  “Shit!” Jack said, after the truck took a bump that sent his head banging into the roof of the cab. He could only imagine how those in the back were taking the ride. “How would they know already?”

  “Well, let’s see. I stole a truck. Private Harkness, the little prick, he’s the guard in medical, saw you leave and probably noticed that I’m not at my station at the entry to living quarters. Plus, you probably set off a silent alarm when you left the facility. So there’s that.”

  “Jesus.” Jack sat in silence, trying to hold on as Chet flung the truck around the winding track at speeds far above what would have been reasonable. After a time, he asked, “Whose plan is this, anyway?”

  “It got us all out, didn’t it?”

  “Well, but what now?”

  “For that, you’ll have to ask them,” Chet nodded his head toward the back.

  “And why now? Why not wait until Aphrodite was back in living quarters, so she didn’t have to go out the research door—with the silent alarm?”

  “It had to be tonight. Don’t know why, but that was the deal.”

  They had another long pause as the road turned rougher, and Chet had to slow just a bit. They were starting to climb into some foothills, out of the desert floor. They could see back toward the base now, and could clearly see headlights on the road they’d just traveled.

  “Coming after us, I’d guess,” said Jack, pointing at the lights.

  “Yeah. Figured as much.”