by William Cook
Relief flooded her, like a river overflowing its banks. The thought that she might get home became a reality at last. Her final bit of self-control succumbed, and she began to weep. Dallas slid toward her on the bench and opened his arms.
She collapsed in his embrace.
41. The Cost
The hospital allowed one visitor into ICU at a time. Whitehorse sat in the stiff chair by Chloe’s bed, listening to the regular beeps of the machines that were monitoring her well-being. One device was drawing a graph, while another was maintaining her breathing with a rhythmic hiss. A plastic bag half-full of bloody urine hung from the side of the bed, its connective tube snaking under the blankets. Two different IV bags were suspended from a silver pole at the head of the bed and dripped life-sustaining fluids into her arm. A large, stiff collar was wrapped around her neck. Her eyes were closed.
All emotion had drained from the policeman’s face. He recalled for the hundredth time what the doctor had told him, reciting a list of problems as though he were reading from a menu in hell.
“She had a ruptured spleen, so we took it out right away. Contusions on—”
“Contusions?”
“Bruising. Her liver and her kidney are severely bruised. It looks like the bleeding has stopped, but we’ll have to monitor her closely to make sure. Internal bleeding can be dangerous. Three cracked ribs. One cracked cervical vertebra—blunt force trauma from something he hit her with, we think. Thankfully, no injury to her brain. If the EMTs hadn’t gotten her in here so quickly, there’s no telling what would have happened.”
“Tell me something good, doctor.”
“She’s alive. Once the anesthesia wears off, she’ll open her eyes and wake up. I’m guessing we’ll be able to take her off the respirator tonight—tomorrow by the latest. She’ll feel like she’s been hit by a truck, but she’ll heal. We expect a complete recovery.” He paused and shook his head back and forth.
“What? Something else? Something sexual? Did he…?”
“No, nothing sexual, but something that seems way off the charts. When the EMTs brought her in, they said her assailant was on the phone with her when she called 911—before he attacked her. Told her what to tell the dispatcher. Made her leave the phone on while he…” He extended his hand and rested it on Whitehorse’s shoulder. “So cold—premeditated. It wasn’t an impulse crime. He wasn’t there to rob her. That sonofabitch wanted to hurt her bad, but not let her die. And he did it quick. The dispatcher said it sounded like it was all over in less than a minute.”
Whitehorse staggered backward, as though the surgeon had punched him. He felt tears well up in his eyes. What he had always feared had come to pass. The reason he had held off so long in proposing marriage to Chloe—what he did for a living could hurt the people he loved most. And now it had. He looked into the doctor’s face.
“It was a message meant for me. I know who sent it, and I can’t do anything about it.”
“You know who assaulted your wife?”
The policeman spoke through gritted teeth. “No, but I know his boss. So far he’s been untouchable, but I swear, I’ll nail his sorry ass.” It sounded like a sacred pledge.
“Well, one other thing you should know. The guys told me the dispatcher sent the recording to the FBI. Maybe get a pattern match on the voice and identify the bastard.”
He felt his eyelids grow heavy. The constant beeping of the machine was becoming hypnotic. In the dream, he was in the ghostly caverns of Moria, deep in the dark under the mountain. He was Gandalf, facing the Balrog on the bridge of Khazad-Dum. Only the Balrog had Volkov’s face. “You cannot pass!” Whitehorse yelled, startling himself awake.
He stood up, embarrassed, and looked about the ICU. No one else was looking in his direction. Apparently, the shout had occurred only in his dream. He vowed to maintain his vigil, but he needed a cup of coffee and a good stretch of his tired muscles. He walked out into the waiting area, where Harper and Esperanza were sitting, engaged in a heated conversation.
“San Francisco is gonna make a comeback this year. I can feel it. You just wait.” The former SEAL sounded completely convinced.
“Well, don’t hold your breath. Anyway, my money is on Seattle.”
Whitehorse interrupted their debate. “Hi, guys. Thanks for being here, but I think you can go home now. She’s still not awake, but I expect her to come around any time. Like I said, the doc is really optimistic.”
“What are friends for, man? Glad we could be here for you. I just talked to Diana on the phone. She’s getting the boys ready for bed. I should probably go give her a hand. School tomorrow.”
“If there’s nothing more we can do for you, Charley, I’ll drive Tony home.”
“I think I’m gonna spend the night here. Tony, can you cover for me in the morning? I’ll try to get there after lunch.”
“Sure thing. Give her our best when she wakes up.”
When the men left, Whitehorse found his way to the cafeteria and got himself a cup of coffee and a Danish pastry. He sat to eat, but was anxious to get back upstairs to his fiancée. How can I get the bastard who hurt her? He hoped the FBI would be able to ID the attacker, give him something to go on. He wanted that sonofabitch. His teeth clenched as the rage boiled impotently within him. Even more important, how can I catch Volkov, this goddamn Russian ghost haunting my every move? He finished a second cup of coffee, got up from the table, and rode the elevator to the third floor. Chloe was awake and struggling against the respirator.
“Easy, honey. You’re gonna be OK. Don’t fight it. I’ll get the nurse and see if they can get that thing out of you.”
He ran into the hall and grabbed the first person he saw at the nursing station. “She’s awake. Can we get that breathing tube out of her?”
In moments, a team assembled at Chloe’s bedside and detached the breathing device. She moaned in pain.
“The doctor said you’ll make a complete recovery, but for a while you’ll feel like you’ve been hit by a truck.”
“More like a semi.” She gasped as a spasm of pain wracked her slim frame. “I thought having a baby hurt. This is another level.”
Whitehorse touched the shoulder of the nearest nurse. “Can you get her anything for the pain?”
“Let me check the doctor’s orders. I’ll see what I can do.”
Chloe was weeping. “Oh, Charley.”
He grasped the hand without the IV lines and brought it to his lips. “I’m so, so sorry. This shouldn’t have happened. I should’ve been there.”
“You can’t be with me all the time.” Her voice was a dry rasp. “And you have a job to do.”
“But my job shouldn’t be exposing you to danger.”
“Like I’ve told you before. This is a cost I’m willing to pay to be with you. Don’t you go getting cold feet on me. We’re getting married in September.” She pursed her lips. “Either that, or I’ll have to shoot you.” She chuckled at her attempt at humor, and looked as though she immediately regretted it when a wave of fresh pain washed over her. “Don’t make me laugh, damn you.”
“The nurse is checking on pain medication for you.”
“Good. This is no fun. You need to call Kaitlynn and let her know I’m all right. And call my work tomorrow morning.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. You need anything else, you just let me know. I’m gonna spend the night here.”
“You should go home, Charley, and get a decent night’s sleep.”
“Hey. No argument. It’s all decided. I told Tony I’d come to work after lunch tomorrow.” He frowned and exhaled. “You feel up to a few questions?”
“Once a cop, always a cop, huh?”
“Something like that. Can you tell me anything about the guy?”
“First, my throat. Feels like somebody’s been driving dune buggies up and down it. Can I have anything to drink?”
“I’ll check.” He dashed out of the room and came right back. “Ice chips only for now. There’s some in
this bucket. Here.”
“Shit,” she mumbled. “Like giving water one drop at a time to somebody who’s dying of thirst.”
Whitehorse shrugged. “Do you remember anything about the guy?”
“Russian. Thick accent. Told me to call him Al because his name was so difficult. And he was old. Late seventies. Maybe even eighty.” She winced as the pain zapped through her like an electric charge, leaving her out of breath. “Crap.”
Whitehorse sat patiently, his heart breaking for what had been done to the woman he loved so much.
When the spasm subsided, she said, “Can’t believe an old guy like that could do all this to me.”
“He’s a professional. Probably doing this shit his whole life.”
“Said he had some research you asked him to do on that warehouse in Depoe Bay. Gave me a sealed envelope. Don’t know if it’s still in the house.”
Whitehorse was shaking his head back and forth. “I never asked any Russian for help, but that clinches it. Volkov sent the sonofabitch.” The rage that had been smoldering in him burst into flame. He pounded his fist on the arm of the chair. “When I catch that…”
“Stop, honey. Don’t go there. How many times have you told me that emotions like that will only cloud your judgment?”
“I’ll get him, I swear. I’ll get that old guy and break every brittle bone in his body. Then I’ll send Volkov to prison.”
“My hero. My knight in shining armor.” She smiled till the pain stopped her again. “Would you check on that medicine for me?”
The charge nurse accompanied Whitehorse back to the bed. “I’ve got a shot for you, Ms. Denhurst. It’ll probably make you real sleepy.”
“Sounds good to me.”
In a few minutes, she drifted off. Her fiancé resumed his vigil.
The next morning, the sky was swept clean of any remaining tatters of cloud, and a warm, almost-spring sun began to coax the buried crocus bulbs to awaken. By 10:30, the temperature had climbed to the mid-fifties, and it promised another ten degrees by that afternoon. Chiara was busy at her monitor, while Esperanza was out tending to a fender-bender on 101. The door opened, and a man in a dark suit entered. His nose and cheek were stained pale gray from what must have been a recent bruise. He looked around the cramped office space as a special agent might, assessing threats, looking for exits.
Chiara swung her chair around and faced him. “Can I help you?”
“Is Officer Whitehorse available? I’m a friend of his, and I have something for him.”
Chiara felt her stomach tighten. After all that had happened, she was on the alert. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied the paperweight on her desk, a crude weapon, but it was all she had. Striving to calm the tremor in her voice, she said, “He’ll be back after lunch. I expect his partner, Officer Esperanza, will be back any moment. Would you like to leave the package with me? I’ll make sure he gets it.”
The man smiled and turned back toward the doorway. “Come in. It’s OK.”
A young woman in a winter overcoat several sizes too large entered the office. She wore black pants, and her hair was in complete disarray.
“I’d like you to meet Patricia Carmody. I believe Charley’s been looking for her.”
Chiara shrieked. “Oh, my God! You’re alive! Charley’s been trying so hard to find you!” She leaped forward and embraced the girl, who squirmed uncomfortably in her grasp. Chiara released her and stepped back. “I’m Chiara. I work for Charley and Tony—Officers Whitehorse and Esperanza. I tracked down the Facebook ad you responded to, and I found Elysium. Welcome home!”
Patricia wept.
42. If It Quacks Like a Duck
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 2019. “Radnoi, you have been on the phone all morning. Please tell me what has happened.”
“It is crumbling, lapachka. All our careful planning, all our building, step by step. All for nothing. Unless…” Volkov laid his phone on the table by his coffee cup, the look of defeat on his face being replaced by a glimmer of hope. He lifted the cup toward his wife. “Is there more?”
“Of course. Fresh. Here, let me fill that.” She poured him his fourth cup of coffee. “Tell me.”
“That girl on Elysium. She has escaped.”
Ana put her hand to her mouth. “When?”
“Yesterday afternoon. The man guarding her was found unconscious. My men learned that a cab picked up a young woman at the hotel and took her to the ferry. They were waiting in Anacortes at the dock, but they never saw her get off.” He took a sip of his coffee and pursed his lips. “We must assume she’ll go to the police.”
“And?”
“And the police will arrest Ethan, that vile boy.” He harrumphed. “I would not be surprised if it is happening as we speak.”
“I confess I never understood why you let him live, let alone fed his dark appetites.” As she shook her head back and forth, her long blonde hair gleamed in a golden swirl about her shoulders.
“I thought it was necessary for the plan to be successful. It was a terrible mistake on my part. Now I must remedy it.”
“What will you do?”
“I have alerted Mangold. Hopefully, he reaches Ethan before the police do. He will coach him to say nothing and will represent him at the arraignment.”
“What then?”
“And then Alyosha will get there with the bail money.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Alyosha?” When she realized the implications, she nodded. “Of course.”
“Ah, radnaya, I forgot to tell you. The good news is that Alyosha has fixed our other problems.”
“The crabbers and the thorn in Driftwood? I knew he would. That man is a machine.”
“Yes, but an old one, and getting older. He made a strange request of me. I am reluctant to honor it, but I will. It is probably for the best.” Just then, his phone rang.
“Hello, Peter.” He listened intently. “Excellent. Of course.” He gave a nod to his wife. “My man will be there. Thank you.” He terminated the call.
“Mangold was on Elysium when the police arrived. They are taking the boy to the jail in Anacortes. Mangold thinks he will be arraigned tomorrow and will get back to me with the time. I will let Alyosha know.”
“I knew you would fix everything.” Her voice was the purr of a beloved cat.
“So long as the boy remains a cypher. If anyone connects the dots—is that how the Americans say it?—the plan is ruined.”
“Have faith, meelyi.”
He stood and embraced her. “What would I do without you?”
At 1:30 that afternoon, Whitehorse walked into the station. He was greeted by Chiara, who was sitting at a small table with Esperanza and two other people, all of them eating submarine sandwiches and munching on individual bags of potato chips.
“Hey, Boss,” she said around a mouthful of sandwich. “Look who’s here!”
Dallas stood and grinned. “Hi, Charley. I’d offer you my hand, but it’s covered with mustard and mayo. Got somebody here for you.” He motioned toward Patricia, who smiled as she pushed her chair away from the table.
“You’re the guy who wouldn’t give up on me?”
“He’s the one,” Esperanza affirmed.
Whitehorse nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty stubborn. And I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Her eyes misted over. “I am so, so happy to be here. Thank you—all of you—for saving my life.”
“She’s given her statement. I’ve contacted my friends in Washington. They’ll have Ethan in custody any minute.”
“Ethan?”
“Oh, sorry, Charley. We have to bring you up to speed. Patricia, why don’t you fill him in on the details.”
Whitehorse gave his full attention as the young woman told her story, from the moment she found the ad on Facebook until her harrowing escape from Elysium.
“No one knows you’re here?”
“We got completely under the radar, Charley,” Dallas interjected. “Nobody knew I was
there, so I got her out in my car.”
Whitehorse began to pace the office. “I don’t know who this Ethan is or how he fits into everything, but I’ve been working under the assumption that Volkov is the main honcho behind it all. We don’t have any solid proof that he is, but I think we still have to go that way. Which means…” He looked at Patricia. “We have to get you into Witness Protection.”
Patricia’s eyes went wide. “What does that mean? I’ve only seen it in movies and TV shows. Dallas told me a little about Volkov, and he sounds pretty scary.”
“Vasily Volkov is the head of the biggest crime syndicate in the Pacific Northwest. If we can make the connection between Ethan and him, he’ll do anything to stop you. That means we have to get you to a safe house first, then we have to get you a new identity so the Russians can’t find you before you testify.” He saw her shiver. “Oregon is one of a handful of states that has its own program. They call it WISP—Witness Intimidation Support Program. I’ll get on that right away.”
“But that will mean I can’t…” Her voice trailed off into a whimper.
Whitehorse frowned and sighed. “Right. You can’t go back home—here or to Rhode Island. You’ll have to start a new life somewhere else. You’ll be a new person.” He watched her shoulders slump. “They’ll probably let you keep your first name, maybe even the first initial of your last name, just to help you not screw up.”
Patricia began to cry. After a few minutes, her sobs subsided. “I kept myself alive in that closet, in the dark, by thinking of my mother. What I’d say when I saw her. What I’d say to my professors at RISD when I applied to get back in and return to my art. I never imagined the choices I made would change things forever. I always thought I could get a do-over if I needed it.”