by R L Dunn
"Scalpel." Patrick made the first abdominal incision. Blood flowed freely.
"Pat, the spleen is ruptured; I can't save it." Elizabeth’s hands flew.
"Parts of his liver look like ground beef; I’ll try to salvage as much as I can. Hemodynamic status?" Patrick asked.
Warren Chen checked his monitors. "Ninth and tenth unit flowing. His vitals are fluctuating. Hurry."
"His colon is ruptured. Keep irrigating. Warren, full antibiotics," Patrick said as he and Elizabeth started on opposite ends, checking every inch. "Beth?" A long piece of Troy’s bowel was beyond repair.
She shook her head. "We need to clamp and cut. He's not going to survive more table time tonight. We need to initiate damage control procedures and go back in tomorrow. Clive, how are you doing?"
"Sternum is stabilized and every other rib on the right. He can move oxygen."
"Dr. Reed, who did this to him?" a very young surgical nurse, Jackie Clemente, asked.
"I don't know their names, but I'm sure it was the guards and not the prisoners."
"How do you figure that?" she asked.
"Someone dressed him after they beat him. Then the wounds. They’re symmetric. Possibly from a flashlight. Those marks are from a baton. And this one is a steel-toed boot. Prisoners wear sneakers."
The orthopedist entered the room. "Another skel from the jail?"
Elizabeth's temper flared. "He's a man. A patient."
"Beth, c'mon, these people are a waste of resources," the orthopedist told her. "Just pack him off, drug him and let him go."
Her voice was shrill, "What do you mean, ‘these people’? Get out!"
"Hedges, it’s her head injury. She's hypersensitive. Should she even be in here?" the orthopedic surgeon appealed to Patrick.
Patrick tossed a clamp toward the wall. "Out!"
"You two are insane. I'm the only orthopedist in the building." No one said a word when he stormed from the OR.
Dr. Hoyt passed the arrogant orthopedist as he left. "He's got diffuse brain swelling. I'll put a pressure monitor in. And when he’s ready, I'll fuse the two vertebrae in his spine. Full immobilization. Warren, methylprednisolone for forty-eight hours."
Ira Thorne, the urologist, cursed. "I'm packing off his right kidney. He's going to need a significant reconstruction. I'll make a temporary connection.”
Devastated, Martin still couldn’t forget Julian’s text, Greece is burning, as he huddled with Mike and conferenced with Ian and Kieran, devising a new plan. “They will know you’re coming for them, Martin," Mike said.
"We can regroup, Farmer," Kieran said.
"There are six dead agents, and we may lose Greece. This has to be shut down," Martin insisted.
Ian's inhale rattled their ears. "Farmer, the mission is a go."
Tuesday, August 15th
Martin and Julian wore out the floor tiles pacing outside the OR while Mike stayed off to the side waiting to speak with Patrick. It was horrific enough with news about Troy, then a letter arrived from the DEA requesting Elizabeth's prescription records.
It was almost noon before the operating room doors swished open. Patrick's arm supported Elizabeth as she walked out, his jaw ticking.
Distraught, Elizabeth collapsed into Martin's arms. "The guards almost killed him. Something needs to be done."
"Sunshine, I..."
Elizabeth stopped him. "Marty?" She peered around. "He has the same word tattoo you do. Tate told me a story—I remember only bits of it. I think it was Troy...Greece. The mountain. The kidney stones."
Martin was shaking his head no, but as he met her eyes, it was clear she didn't believe him. He hoped she remembered their discussion about keeping things secret because of his job. His voice deepened, "Elizabeth, I need you to listen to me. I’m leaving for a while, and I need you to trust me. Trust in us." He tucked her head under his chin, his eyes closed. "Promise me you’ll take care of yourself and Lola. I love you. Today and always."
"Where are you going?" Tears began to fall from her eyes as Tate and Patrick's conversations filled her head. Martin never asked of others what he wouldn't do himself.
"I need to finish something, Sunshine. Julian is going to stay with you. Please listen to him and do what he says. I’ll be back soon." He took a deep breath, slanting his lips to meet hers in a soul-wrenching kiss.
Next, he did the hardest thing he ever did—again. He walked away from the woman he loved.
The late August afternoon was gray and foreboding, and dust puffed up around the car as Martin drove up to the Reed house. He stepped on the porch, his neck prickling with awareness. The front door was ajar. Martin pulled his gun. "Talbot Reed," he called.
When a crash of glass caught his attention, he went inside the home and started to check each room. Papers were strewn across the dining room table, including Elizabeth's letter. He slipped it into his pocket. As he backed out of the room, a sharp sting burned in his calf. His vision dimmed as the floor rose to catch him. His brain shut down, and everything went black.
The ground was scratchy beneath his cheek. His mouth was bone dry. Gunpowder and copper tainted the air. He pried his dry eyes open and, through blurred vision, scanned his surroundings to see blood spattering the walls. Shaking off the fog, he struggled to stand. Something in their plan had gone wrong. Sprawled in an over-sized leather chair, Hal Dufour was dead. A mug, once filled with coffee, was spilled on his leg and lay empty on the floor. A double tap—shot to the head and one to the chest were visible.
Slouched on the couch, Talbot Reed looked to be the victim of the same assassin. A portable phone lay on the floor covered with blood drops. On a coffee table sat a Ruger P-228. Martin reached for his phone. CLICK. A weapon cocked, and a cold gun barrel pressed against the back of his head.
SQUAWK, chirp chirp. The sounds of a police radio became background noise. "FREEZE," a male voice demanded.
Martin raised his hands, dropping his phone to the designer rug.
"ON YOUR KNEES! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!"
Martin knelt and followed the officer's directions. A rough set of gloved hands grabbed his right wrist, then the cold metal of a handcuff wrapped around it. After cuffing both wrists, Officer Pellegrino dragged Martin up to his feet before a second pair of hands patted him down. He realized his weapon was gone.
"I didn't shoot them. I was about to call it in," he uttered.
Shaun Murray climbed from his patrol car with Bravo team’s Emerson “Coach” Davis as the two officers were bringing Martin out.
"Lieu, we found him standing over two dead men. A gun is on the coffee table," Officer Forrester said.
Shaun Murray shook his head. After a rapid discussion with the officers, he wrapped a palm around Martin's elbow. "Martin Bailey, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent.” The walk to the patrol car was short. Shaun repeated the pat down then guided him into the back seat of the car.
Martin banged his head against the seat rest. A white Lexus sped toward them and stopped. Celine McAllister ran right into Shaun, pounding on his chest, and he caught her before she fell to her knees. "He threatened him. He killed him," she screamed.
The door to the police car opened, and Detective Danny Logan introduced himself. "What happened out here, Mr. Bailey?"
"I'm invoking my rights; I want to speak to my attorney," Martin said.
"Now, we don't need to go that far. You're not under arrest yet."
Coach was sitting in the driver's seat. "Detective, Lieutenant Murray arrested him. He was read his rights."
Danny Logan couldn't disguise his fury. He turned from the car and roared, "Murray!" Outside the car for all to hear, Shaun pointed to the bars on his shoulder during an intense argument with Logan. “Do you realize, thanks to you jumping to arrest, invoking his rights means he can avoid any conversation with us, including making a confession?”
Martin looked up at the patrol car’s ceiling. Thank you, Shaun.
The coroner's va
n drove up, and an old man went into the house. "Farmer, I'll notify command,” Coach said.
"I didn't kill them, Coach. Tell them I'm still working the plan." The clock on the dashboard read 16:27. Martin lost a half hour.
"We’ll figure this out." Coach didn't say anything else.
Two black sedans rolled up, and Jason Krebs, Loren Ragan, and a handful of aides exited one car. Paul Young and Wilbur Blake exited the other.
Shaun spoke with the group and returned to the patrol car. Sliding into the seat beside Martin, he closed the door. "Donner, head to the house," he told Emerson. Turning to Martin, he asked, "How could you do this to Austin?"
Martin knew this would destroy Elizabeth. He tried to replay the afternoon in his head. His mind was foggy, and his gut seized. Who was going to tell Elizabeth her father was dead, and he was the prime suspect? On the ride, Shaun arranged for a crime scene technician to head to the station to process any evidence on him they could find.
Julian placed a firm hand in the center of Elizabeth's back. "Let me take you home; you're exhausted."
"I'm exhausted because some corrections officers beat and sodomized an inmate, and I tried to put him back together, but I couldn't. I'm not going home. I want to be with Lola. I'll wait for Marty there." Her emotions swung between anger and tears.
"At least eat and drink a little."
Elizabeth spooned down a cup of yogurt and some fresh fruit with a cup of tea. "Enough? I want to hold Lola." In spite of trying, she couldn't outpace Julian.
Her anger lifted at the sight of her sweet baby. Seth was bathing her when Elizabeth came in. "Precious, Mommy is here."
Seth opened his stance. "She's eating. The incision is healing well. Joyce thinks she can go home soon."
Elizabeth took over for Seth, who shrugged at Julian's worried expression. Elizabeth often checked with the ICU about Royce Mills, but, unable to keep her eyes open, she slept in the lounger.
Around five, Julian's phone beeped. "Dupart."
Mike growled, "There’s a problem.”
"Hold on."
Martin sat handcuffed to Shaun Murray's desk. As Shaun asked for his demographics, a short man with glasses entered. "Shaun, here's the court order. Where are we going to do this?"
Shaun introduced Martin to the crime scene technician. "Mr. Bailey, I have a court order to photograph you, collect your outer clothes and examine you to obtain any potential evidence, including swabs for gunshot residue."
"I would like to make a phone call," Martin said.
"After we search you, I’ll let you make a call," Shaun answered.
"I didn't kill them, Shaun."
"Mr. Bailey, are you revoking your rights?" Shaun asked in a calm, professional tone.
"No." Martin stood in a private room while the tech took photographs. Standing on white paper, the tech had him remove his outer clothing, socks, and shoes. Each item was deposited in separate paper bags. His hands were tested for gunshot residue. As he removed his right shoe, a reddened area on the back of his calf was visible. It stimulated his memory. "Could you take a picture of that? I think I was drugged."
Shaun gave permission to the technician. "Are you revoking your right to remain silent?"
Anxiety gripped him. "Yes, damn it. I think I was drugged. I didn't kill them. I want you to take blood and urine samples."
Shaun handed him an orange jumpsuit and a pair of flip-flops. "Put this on."
"Shaun, please?" The swab for gunshot residue turned positive.
"Come this way, please. Mr. Bailey, I need to do a risk assessment. Please answer the following questions. How are you feeling now?"
"Groggy, nauseated."
"Do you have any illness or injury?"
"I broke some ribs. A concussion. Stitches in my left calf."
"Are you experiencing any mental health issues or depression?"
"No."
"Would you like to speak to a doctor?"
"Yes."
"Have you seen a doctor or been to a hospital for these injuries?"
"Yes, Horizon Hospital."
"Name of the physician?"
"Patrick Hedges."
"Are you taking or supposed to be taking any tablets or liquid medication?"
"None."
"Is there a family member who is aware of your health problems?"
"Yes, my family and my fiancée."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Shaun asked in a deliberate tone.
"I need a doctor."
"Donner, we’re going to Horizon, but first, he can make his call."
Martin made his one phone call. "I'd like to speak to Undersecretary Brynn Hackman, please. This is Martin Bailey. Tell her it's an emergency."
Brynn came on the line. "Bailey, what's going on?"
"I'm under arrest. The police believe I murdered Talbot Reed and another person. Brynn, I have more."
"I'm in DC. I'll call Ian. He'll retain an attorney. Hang tight and don't say a word."
"I understand. I don't feel well—they’re taking me to the hospital." Keeping to the plan, he added, "Brynn, we need to talk. I figured something out."
"I'll call Ian. Put the custodial officer on the line."
"Lieutenant, Martin Bailey is in the process of retaining counsel and has invoked his right to remain silent," Brynn said.
En route to the hospital, Murray made a call. "Young, Bailey is sick. I'm taking him to Horizon for a fit for confinement."
At Emerson’s notification, Ian contacted Terry Newsome, who called his sister. Cordelia's firm dropped Talbot after he lied regarding his relationship with Elizabeth. He made another call. "Zach, Cordelia Snow is coming in from Des Moines. Martin is in Silverton PD custody. He's been arrested for two murders—Hal Dufour and Talbot Reed."
Zach, expecting a protection order violation, choked, "I'll make the notifications.”
"Mike, we have a SNAFU. I don't have all the details yet, but Martin was arrested for double homicide—Reed and Dufour. Where's Elizabeth? Someone will be heading to notify her soon."
Mike ran his hand through his hair. "Zach, we need to find out where the plan went wrong. Go to the scene and nose around. I'll reach out to Ian. Patrick is due to meet me in the cafeteria with more news about Troy. I'll notify Julian."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Shaun Murray and Officer Elvis Donner, Emerson’s cover name, escorted Martin to the ER with Pellegrino and Forrester. The bombing precautions were reduced in visibility in an attempt to draw the bombers out. Shaun registered his prisoner, and they were escorted to a private examination room. After Martin was ordered to sit on the stretcher, Emerson loosened one handcuff and attached it to the bed.
Dr. Lou Miranda joined them. "Mr…Bailey? What brings you here today?"
"Hi, Doc. I am nauseated and a bit groggy. I think someone dosed me."
"What makes you think that?" she asked.
"There is a sore spot on my right calf, and I lost some time."
"Let's look at you." Patrick opened the curtain. "Dr. Hedges, Mr. Bailey states he is nauseated and groggy. He believes he's been drugged. What do you make of this?" She exposed his right calf.
Patrick gloved and examined the irritated area. "It's a puncture wound. I want to swab and excise the area. But first, I want blood and urine samples."
Martin had been in the ER two hours when the firm voice of a woman penetrated the glass door. "I am the patient's attorney. Officer, if you don't let me meet with him, I will have your badge."
Shaun Murray allowed the woman to enter. "My name is Cleo Nolan. I've been retained to represent Mr. Martin Bailey."
"Ma'am, for my safety, I need to check for weapons." Shaun's demeanor turned forceful.
"Fine." Cleo allowed Shaun to search her. "May I speak to my client now?"
Shaun closed on Cleo's space. "Speak away. I am not leaving this room."
"Hello, Mr. Bailey. I am Cleo Nolan. We've met. I’m here at the request of Cordelia Snow and Ter
rence Newsome. They asked me to advise you I will represent you through the morning. Mrs. Snow is en route. You will be held overnight and arraigned before a judge in the morning, either in the hospital or in court, depending on what the doctors say. Other than your demographics and what kind of soda or sandwich you want, say nothing. Do you understand?"
He lifted his chin to ask a question. Instead, he said, "Yes, ma'am."
"Martin, I must warn you: this is capital murder. You will be remanded to custody. They will not grant you bail. You are accused of killing the former Governor of Iowa and a prominent businessman. You violated an order of protection by going to the Reed residence. I will do my best, but I need you to be realistic. Let the doctors check you out. Mrs. Snow or I will see you here or in court. Can I do anything for you?"
"Could you ask Julian Dupart to make sure Elizabeth and Lola stay safe?"
"Ian, I received a call from Martin Bailey. The Silverton police arrested him." Brynn Hackman’s attempt at sounding upset was a poor acting job.
"What you’re saying is insane, Brynn. Martin wouldn't commit a crime. What is he accused of?"
"Murder. Talbot Reed and Hal Dufour."
"Did he say anything else?"
"No…I guess he thought I could intercede."
Ian smiled at Kieran. "Did you catch it?"
"She never mentioned Martin telling her he figured something out. Who passed the information that Hal Dufour was the other man killed? Run down who knew specifics and when. Now I hope we can keep Martin alive long enough to reel her in."
"I'll stay here if she doesn't fly out to Silverton. You better catch your flight," Ian said.
Inside Lola's room, Julian squatted at Elizabeth's side. "Beth, chère. Can you wake up for me?" Used to functioning on no sleep, she awakened clear-headed. "Chère, come outside with me. We need to speak with you."