Secure Again

by R L Dunn

  A screaming alert gave her little time to work through her emotions.

  Late Morning, Tuesday, July 9th

  "Time of death: 11:42. Thank you, everyone." The students stood in the resuscitation room saddened by losing the nineteen-year-old man. "Dr. Perry, come with me. Time to tell the family," Elizabeth said.

  "I’m not sure how to do this." Dr. Keith Perry, an intern, appeared frightened.

  "Time to learn. Stand by this time. Grief takes many forms, so be prepared for anything. What happened to their family member must be conveyed with respect, using understandable terms. Do not use euphemisms. Be sympathetic, share a tear. Never pretend to feel something you don't. Stop being a doctor the second you lose the anxious feelings rumbling in your gut. Stay with me, Dr. Perry. Everyone else, we will assemble in the conference room for a post mortem."

  The two fellows pursuing surgical critical care curricula, six other residents in the surgery education path, two additional interns and four students filed out.

  Dr. Randall Knox sat eating a sandwich and reading a cigar aficionado magazine at the conference room table with his feet propped up. Chuckling, he perused the fourteen sad faces walking in. "What, Wonder Doc kill another one?"

  "Dr. Knox, I think we did everything conceivable," Dr. Connor Caine, a senior fellow said.

  "You think, Dr. Caine? As an attending physician here for ten years, let me teach you something. Wonder Doc shows up here eighteen months ago from Hopkins, and the earth revolves around her. The scalpel she wields isn't a golden lasso of obedience, compelling a person to live. Not everyone is salvageable."

  A group of people sat huddled in the corner of the waiting room. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Arthur Maxwell's family."

  A man appearing to be in his forties stood. "I'm Ruben Maxwell, Arthur's father."

  "Mr. Maxwell, " she said, then introduced herself and her intern. "We are sorry to tell you, but despite extraordinary measures, his injuries were too grave. Arthur died.”

  One woman wailed. Ruben pulled another woman into his embrace. "This is my wife, Leslie. Tell us what happened to our boy."

  Keith witnessed Elizabeth sit with the family while she explained everything attempted. "Arthur didn't respond. Please accept our condolences."

  "May I see my baby?” his mother spoke in a hushed voice.

  "Yes, of course. Follow us.”

  A sheet concealed everything but Arthur’s head. A social worker and the chaplain, Reverend Harold Brookfield, attended to the Maxwells to offer support.

  Leslie Maxwell turned to her. "Thank you for trying to help my son."

  "Again, our deepest sympathy is with you. Here is my card, if you need to speak with me." Elizabeth leaned over her deceased patient and whispered, "Lord be with you."

  After the intern and surgeon stepped into the meeting room, Randall Knox gave her an unsettling once-over. Most colleagues would exit the room, but he sought every opportunity to irritate her and lower the opinion of her apprentices. They discussed the patient's death, with Elizabeth praising their work and pointing out ways to remedy difficulties. With patience, she encouraged and answered questions about procedures and options.

  "You got some practice, but it’s a waste of resources. What you did was useless. A lesson for you all: don't let pride rule you," Randy spoke without looking up.

  "What do you mean, Dr. Knox?" Krystal Slater, a second-year resident, knitted her brows.

  "A still heart is a dead heart." Knox's voice turned Elizabeth cold. "The kid died in the helicopter. Wonder Doc can't resist a glory call, poaching from the peds service too."

  Straining to stay composed finishing the critique, Elizabeth dismissed everyone to return to their assignments after she felt assured, they dealt with the loss—some for the first time. Aware of the “July effect,” or what the most morbid would call “the killing season”—when the majority of experienced trainees moved on, and the new residents were more prone to mistakes—she had to be diligent. What they absorbed would impact their future abilities. Early in her career, Elizabeth promised herself when the time came, she would be the teacher she wanted and sometimes never had.

  After the room emptied, she turned her ire on Knox. "Who the hell do you think you are? Please tell me. First, I did not poach a pediatric patient. The ER asked for my help because the child’s condition would not wait for Kat. And glory? That is plain offensive. About MY victim, Arthur Maxwell, bad enough you questioned my call, but if you doubted my reasoning to continue the efforts, it was unprofessional to ask in front of anyone, much less fresh learners. For your information, a teenager with a healthy heart warrants every benefit.”

  Her outrage and frustration exploded. "You've been on my case from the day I started. What gives?"

  His eyes remained fixed on the article he was reading.

  Furious, she left the room and grabbed a small protein smoothie from the cafeteria, downing it in no time. The Neonatal ICU, her place for comfort, was located on the eighth floor. The neonatal ICU cared for the region's premature or sick newborns. Dressing in an isolation gown, she entered a nursery for the addicted.

  Babies born to addicted mothers suffered severe effects, including seizures, twitching, fussiness, excessive crying, poor feeding, slow weight gain, breathing problems, fever, trouble sleeping and lots of yawning, diarrhea or throwing up, and stuffy noses, which could easily make them stop breathing. They all benefitted from love.

  "Hiya, Beth." Colleen Rice smiled at her. "There is a new little one. Claude is in isolette 4. His mom used meth until her labor. The meds help a bit, but..."

  Elizabeth waved away the nurse's guilt. A tiny boy was wearing a blue hat and crying in jags. "Hey, handsome boy." When she scooped him up, his body stiffened. She opened the blanket to let his limbs move.

  Balancing the newborn over her arm, she sat in a rocking chair. A couple of tries and the little boy latched on to a bottle. Singing a song filled her with fond memories as she thought about the man she never stopped loving. “Home Alone” –he sang it to her the night she had her wisdom teeth extracted. The medication made her scared and upset her stomach. Unlike her parents, who left her to attend a function, he refused to go. A warm remembrance of a baritone voice merged with her version.

  Nothing to worry your head about today,

  You are always safe in my embrace.

  As I gaze into your beautiful face,

  My heart fills with my love for you.

  We have a lifetime of things to do,

  But all you need is to rest without dismay.

  The infant settled down, and, once he fell asleep, found some peace. Dr. Lois Massey, an obstetrician, joined her friend. "Adorable, isn't he?"

  "Yes. What's his story?"

  "Mom is a long-time meth user. Urine and blood are positive. After detox, he’s going to her mother in Nebraska. Thankfully, Mom signed over her parental rights. Not great, but better than most.” The two women pondered Claude. "Bad morning, huh?"

  "You could say that." Before saying more, her pager vibrated. Elizabeth returned the baby to his isolette. "Gotta go."

  The intensive care unit was busy. A duo of corrections officers guarded one of the rooms. "What's going on?"

  Miles Gerba, the intensivist on duty, stood to answer her. "There’s an issue concerning one of Randy Knox's patients, a Silverton jail admission. Came in last night after a dispute. Dr. Simms did a liver embolization, but I don't think it worked. I paged Randy, who thinks he's malingering. Ordered Hailey Ullman to evaluate him, and per Randy, she cleared him. His BP is holding, but the man is pale, sweaty and shields from any touch," Miles reported worriedly.

  "Order another CT. I'll evaluate the patient and deal with Knox. Don't ever worry about calling me."

  "Thanks. Beth. These bruises happened over time. The man can't go back to the same cell—he will end up back here or worse."

  "The warden decides placement; we can only ask."

  The lead physicians, accompan
ied by two third-year residents, Byron Hall, the wide-eyed Hailey Ullman, and the intensivist, walked to the prisoner’s room.

  Two State of Iowa corrections officers from Strongford Penitentiary stood in front of the door. "Good morning." The taller CO held the door for her. "Miles, thought you said Silverton?"

  "The prisoner is in our custody now. After his conviction, he was due to be transferred to us. We took over this morning," the polite second guard said.

  "Thank you." Elizabeth stepped between the CO's. The patient demonstrated a gray pallor and a sweat-covered forehead. "Sir, I'm Dr. Reed. Not feeling so well, hmm? Can you tell me when this started?" She washed her hands, and when she snapped her gloves on, it made him jump.

  "Never stopped, not since I got here," he said. "I'm so nauseous."

  "Did you tell anyone?" She gestured Tommy Kline, head nurse, inside.

  Tommy frowned. “I called Dr. Knox for an order."

  "Give our patient 8.0 mg ondansetron IV for nausea." With no regard for the ordering hierarchy, she took responsibility. "Please, may I examine you?" His abdomen displayed the same bruising she saw on other Silverton inmates. "How did this happen? Who hurt you?"

  "My bunkmate," he replied in a flat tone.

  "Did you strike your head?" She palpated his head and neck.

  "No."

  Elizabeth chewed her cheek. The convict had one round bruise on his back and two on his belly. Holding his hands in her now ungloved palms, she spoke to him, "I believe you’re bleeding into your belly. Radiology will be up to take you for a CT scan to give me a better look. After, I'll meet you in the operating room. Dr. Hall is going to get you ready. If it’s safe for you, I’ll make sure you receive some more pain medication. Don't be afraid. Dr. Ullman, please notify Dr. Knox.”

  "Dr. Knox will be mad." Hailey's lip quivered.

  When Elizabeth's brow arched to a near perfect vee, the two male doctors backed up. "Dr. Ullman, why did you go to medical school?"

  "To be a physician." The resident stared at her feet.

  "Explain why our patient needs more testing and another operation." After listening to Hailey's explanation, Elizabeth's volume notched up. "With someone displaying symptoms like this, do you think Dr. Knox's poor frame of mind or the patient’s life is more crucial?

  "Patient's life."

  "Good answer. Make that call, assist Dr. Hall, and get me the tests. Be ready to go in one hour. One more thing." Nurses and other doctors stopped in their tracks. "No one is to refer to any patient by category again. They are all human beings, entitled to equal caretaking. Are we clear?" Diatribe complete, she spoke with the corrections officers. "Gentlemen, our patient’s condition necessitates major surgery."

  The first guard nodded. "I'll notify the prison."

  "Do all corrections officers carry those?" She pointed to the flashlight.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Making the correlation, she wrote her orders and rushed to her office before she started the operation. From her bottom desk drawer, she pulled a list of other suspicious wounds and the photos. Everyone had circular bruises. Confirming they were transfers from Silverton jail, she googled the number and dialed.

  "Infirmary, please. This is Dr. Elizabeth Reed from Horizon Hospital. An inmate came to us last night. I’m trying to find out any history you have, including how he was injured."

  Trudy Saperstein, clinic nurse, was silent for a long pause. "Dr. Reed, according to our records, the prisoner you received was harmed during a fight with another con. Prompt arrangements for his transport were made after he was found."

  "Is he having trouble with this other prisoner? Also, do you have any idea what he was hit with or how long the incident lasted?"

  "I don't know. The chart says nothing more than you know." Trudy's cheery tone disappeared. "Give me your number, and I’ll ask the clinic physician to call you."

  "Thank you." Elizabeth's phone chimed. The OR and her patient were ready.

  Sergeant Austin Bailey walked the bank of the drainage ditch looking for clues about the identity and circumstances of the young child. An orange scrap of cloth—a piece of a prisoner’s uniform, caught his eye. He bagged it.

  "Shit."

  Another ten feet down the road, inside the trench, a naked, beaten man lay unmoving. He jumped down to assess whether he was alive or dead. At Austin's contact, the man groaned.

  "This is Bailey. I need an ambulance for a wounded man right away; location is down the Jackson culvert." He shook the injured man’s shoulder, trying to wake him. "What's your name?"

  "Ha...nk."

  "Help is coming, Hank. Who did this to you?"

  "Guar...ds...," he said before losing consciousness.

  Austin swallowed back bile as he examined the man in an attempt to render first aid. Hank's ankles and wrists presented with handcuff marks, and there was evidence of a vicious sexual assault. A Be On the Lookout warning about three escaped prisoners was issued earlier that morning. He keyed up again. "What are the names of the three escapees?"

  "Checking, Sergeant... Otis Frable, Ervin Pitts and Hank Price," a voice responded. "ETA on the ambulance is five minutes."

  "Thank you."

  Guards? Waiting with the man, he phoned his friend and colleague Shaun Murray. After it went to voicemail, he called his brother, Martin. "Bro, give me a buzz tonight. Need to talk to you about something." He cued his radio. "Dispatch...." A cloud of dirt moved fast toward him.

  Chapter Two

  "Good afternoon," Martin acknowledged the front desk staff in the modern, glass lobby of the DC Chase Group building. A keycard gave him elevator access to the penthouse. Retired Army specialist Karen Rhodes, his aide, sat at her post in front of PH3, the office for Chase Security International's new chief executive.

  "Hi, boss.” She followed him through the door with files in one arm and a handful of messages in the other. "Qualification records for Echo, India, November, and Sierra arrived by courier." They were four of the specialized teams belonging to the Eagle’s Talon division. Those assigned were required to satisfy the same standards as the U.S. Special Forces. Missions could take them into harm's way. "Christian wants a callback about a few concerns. How was your morning off?"

  "Great. What else?" ‘A few concerns’ likely meant some did not hit their minimum marks.

  "Stop by and see Ian. Mike is on his way back from overseas. Everyone is confirmed for the conference call, but Mia needs to speak to you before that."

  "Thanks.”

  His brother’s voicemail made him uneasy, and the return call made on his way to Ian's office went unanswered. Esther, Ian's Gal Friday, and the organization's unofficial controller, a bit mother and part James Bond's Money Penny, ushered him inside.

  "The switch in my schedule let me catch up on some outside chores. Remind me to do it more often. What did Homeland Security's deputy undersecretaries want?" His brow quirked. "Caught sight of them exiting the building on my way in. Guess they don't want to talk to the new guy."

  Federal agencies consistently contracted on certain high-profile matters. The fourteen men invited to join the Chase brothers’ new private high-level protection company upon separation from active duty were all commissioned Homeland Security investigators. Troy Bremen, the fifteenth man who joined the fellowship two months after the founding, held the title too. The credentials gave them legal accessibility to top-secret databases as well as arrest capabilities. One band of men did everything from crowd control to covert activities, and now, thirty-five Eagle’s Talon teams had been formed. For those privileges, the U.S. government gained help in affairs relating to customs, immigration, weapons, cybercrime and money laundering. The operators could go into gray areas.

  "Doesn't matter what they think—didn't promote you for your roguish looks. Brynn wanted info you refused to share." Ian aired finger quotes. "You're their point of contact. For a moment, I thought they were going to come to blows after she pitched a bitch, and Todd threatened to take
her off the case.”

  Martin shook his head. "Glad I pulled our people out. Threat management is performing another appraisal. Technical analysis traced what's being marketed and linked the purchases to the stolen identifications. An unknown target is filming, copying, marketing and distributing violent pornography, some involving very young children.

  "The identities and credit cards are being usurped from a catalog database. A consumer makes a purchase for an amount over five hundred dollars. A fraudulent bank card is opened in their name. The thief creates an email address, uses a burner phone and a drop box. A cash advance is made, deposited to an account in the assumed name and cashed out. By the time the theft registers, the paper trail is destroyed. They all have one data hub handling transactions inside the continental U.S. in common."

  "Todd shared two new important pieces of intelligence when Brynn stepped out. The details are being appropriated from terminals in Silverton." Ian made eye contact with Martin.

  Silverton, Iowa, was Martin's hometown. A three-hundred-acre farm for corn, soybeans, pigs, and egg-laying chickens on the outskirts of the southeast side was still home to his parents, brother, and sisters and their families. "Can I run this by you? Austin's wife is about to have their first kid. Is it alright with you if I head out and coordinate the case from there when it goes hot?"

  "Ask the CEO. Congratulations, Uncle Martin. You can tell them you’ve had some practice.

  "Need to get used to that.” Martin smiled at a memory from March. Ian had left for a meeting at the Pentagon. While sitting with Ian’s wife, Cassie, discussing potential nannies for their coming twins, an attempt to take a warm shower for a backache turned into rapid onset labor. Kieran scrambled to call his brother home, while Martin turned from her security chief to coach. Ian arrived just in time to stand in wonderment at the birth of his sweet twins, Sarah and Joshua Chase. He shook off the happy memory and asked, “What was the second piece of information?"