by R L Dunn
Chapter Thirty-Two
Friday, August 28th
"Situation report?" Ian entered a trailer on the Bailey farm, fresh from his flight to Silverton.
"Josh is running the other scene. There were explosives and another Post-it wall," Mike said while bent over to tie his tactical boots' laces.
Not looking like a billionaire executive, Ian was dressed head to toe in black as a confident, commanding officer. "Julian, where are we headed?"
Julian diagrammed the plan. A satellite view of the building's exterior, its access points and roadways surrounding it, appeared on a digital screen. He directed the laser pointer. "With information from Spooner and McAllister, this is where they also shot some of the movies."
Tighe pointed at the roof outline. "The exhaust system resembles a turret—Lissa’s castle."
Mike detailed the plan. "McAllister said there is a central area with camera vantage points and a circus ring, for lack of a better description. From his behavior, we know Jenner is unraveling. Janice, you're going to wear a red wig and drive Elizabeth's rental car to the meet location. Kip and Bruce, you will be there to assist and take out whoever Jenner sends to pick her up. Once they are in custody, you will change into their clothing and drive Janice to the warehouse. Upon your arrival, Janice, you will scream and break free. My thought is Clay will send help to catch you."
Kieran said, "According to the most recent update about arrestees, Boyd Thomas, Beck Ferguson, Irvin Lamb, Vernon Gafford, Keene Jensen, Trip Mathias, Hailey Ullman, Indira Choudhury and Henrietta Krump are the missing major players."
"Hedges, do you have what you need?" Julian made sure he was prepared.
Patrick blew out a breath. "I'm set." He double-checked his weapon and his medic bag.
Ian rallied the group. "Last chance for questions. Time to bring Martin home." He was met with tense faces. "For our Air Force and Army members, Hooah!" For our Marines, Oorah! For the Navy in the room, Hooyah! Move out!"
"Clay, we need to forget about this, put a bullet in his head and get out of here while we still have a chance," Gafford said.
"Is that what you think we should do, Vernon?" Clay's tone was ominous.
"Yeah."
"Go. Be my guest." Clay stretched out his hand.
When Gafford got up to leave, Clay drew a gun from his pocket, pointed it and shot him in the back of the head. The blood spray hit against Martin's cheek. Hailey screamed. "Anyone else want to leave?"
"What are you doing? You killed him. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this." Keene bent down to see if Gafford was still alive.
Clay crossed his arms. "It goes how I want it to. Trip and Keene, go get Elizabeth Reed and don't give a thought to running away. Trip, you don't want that fiancée of yours to die, and Keene, your kids could get hurt. Boyd and I could have a lot of fun with them." Trip and Keene drew their own weapons. "If I don't see Elizabeth standing here at 12:15, and I can't make a call—well…"
"He's lying to you. There is no one else out there. You're all that's left," Martin implored.
"Marty, shut up." Clay struck him with the butt of his gun wrapped in his fist. Martin's left eye swelled as Keene and Trip walked out into the night.
The gleam in Clay's eyes declared to Martin his desire. Martin's only immediate help was Hailey. "Hailey, you don't want to be part of this. You said you liked to do things humanely. What these two plan is as inhumane as it comes. Please, you’re better than that," Martin's tone was slow and even.
"Clay, honey, maybe we should consider our escape." Hailey's tone was coaxing as she walked toward Clay.
Martin caught sight of the syringe in her hand. So did Boyd. As Hailey raised her hands to wrap them around Clay's neck, Boyd fired a shot. She dropped to her knees, and in her last bit of strength, she tossed the needle like a dart at Boyd, striking him in his chest. Hailey collapsed to the floor. Boyd's eyes clouded, and he followed her.
Clay yanked down the rest of the prison coveralls Martin still wore. "Well, Marty, just you and me. I think I'll start before Sunshine gets here." He ran a finger over Martin's tattoo and bit his nipple. Clay lived for the struggle and fear he caused in his victims. Though it was an internal battle, Martin held still.
His hands roamed Martin's body. "C'mon, Marty, you don't want to make this easy for me.”
Troy's surgery was difficult and delicate. Elizabeth, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, was grateful Pete was able to anticipate her moves. The pockets of infection had adhered to his liver with small tentacle projections. The final abscess sat in the cusp of the center and the half of the right lobe that remained. The left lobe was removed in the original surgery. There was no choice in how to take the abscess. The infection would be unstoppable if it broke, and without a liver, Troy would die in hours.
"Troy, we are coming off this mountain together."
Pete observed her create an intricate web of sutures over the abscess before she used the electric scalpel to section small pieces of liver surrounding it. Leaving a tentacle behind would spread the infection and mean his death too. With intense concentration, she made the final cut and scooped the mass of sutures and infection into the leak-proof bag. The abscess ruptured green awful-smelling liquid as it cleared the bag's opening. Elizabeth cinched it closed, taking her time to withdraw the bag from Troy's body without spilling a drop. She exhaled and stepped back from the table.
"I can finish. Caine and Keller will help. Please, catch your breath. You've been up since dawn yesterday."
"Thank you, Pete. Connor, George, outstanding work."
Pete took a bracing breath. "Listen to me, Troy. Don't make that work go to waste." It was an impressive surgery, more so considering Elizabeth's recent illness. He irrigated Troy's insides twice before he closed the small incisions.
Tucker stepped into the OR from the observation area with a warmed blanket. He wrapped it around Elizabeth and led her out of the room.
.
The street corner's lights were dark when Janice Fitz pulled up, her Glock resting in her lap. Kip and Bruce sat on the floor behind her, each carrying their own weapons. "An unmarked Crown Victoria is approaching from the north. Two occupants. Jensen and Mathias are exiting."
Kip unlatched the left door. "Count down the approach." Bruce did the same on the right side.
"Ten feet, five, four, three, two, one."
Kip and Bruce thrust open the rear doors, surprising both Jensen and Mathias. Bruce knocked Mathias to his knees with a kick to his legs. "Freeze."
"Drop it, Jensen. I have no problem taking your head off," Kip said.
Within minutes, both men were in handcuffs and in the custody of four personnel from Tango team. Janice hit her com. "We are ten minutes out."
Clay was getting angrier every minute. "Fight me."
Martin pretended to be bored. "Nah."
"You bastard," Clay was shouting and cursing. He ripped apart a crate and swung a broken piece of a board at Martin's right side. It connected with a thud. "I'm going to tear you apart.”
Martin couldn't suppress the groan. "You can do better than that." The words came out between his clenched teeth. Clay swung once more. This time, in his mania, he failed to connect with Martin at all. Martin egged him on, "You missed."
When Clay tackled him, the blow from Clay's weight bounced him free from the hook supporting the handcuffs. Before Clay could recover his balance, Martin hit the ground, catching himself on his hands and knees, then he managed to pull himself free from the tethers tied to his ankles. Though his wrists and ankles remained shackled, he was able to move. "I'm going to kill you!” Clay screamed.
Martin made it to his feet, and before Clay could pull his gun, Martin charged him, punching him in the gut. The gun skittered along the cement floor. Clay grabbed another board from the pallet and struck Martin hard across the back.
Martin used every bit of his training and survival instinct, his strength weakened from the day's abuse. When an intruder
alarm rang out inside the warehouse, Clay clambered for the door. Scrambling for another broken board, Martin flung it at the backs of Clay's knees.
Off balance, Clay slipped in a slick of Gafford's blood, tripping and landing on the body. He pulled the weapon from Gafford's hand and fired in Martin's direction.
Martin crawled for cover. A second shot rang out, and pieces of shattered wood rained over him. When Martin spotted Clay's gun fingertips away from him just as the lights in the warehouse went dark, he grabbed the weapon and fired. A third shot rang out from Clay's direction.
"CLEAR," Martin heard Ian's voice.
"CLEAR," Kieran's voice followed.
The lights came back on. Martin blinked at Julian leaning over him, night vision goggles atop his head. "Merde. Medic, I need a medic," Julian's words reverberated in his head as his eyes closed.
Elizabeth slept in the recliner beside Troy. After the surgery, Tucker forced her to eat a protein bar and drink some milk. Exhausted and satiated, she gave in to sleep. Troy's vital signs were holding. Trask and Len, no longer an undercover CO, sat like sentries inside Troy's door. Tucker and Pete moved between the door and the bed when the glass started to slide open.
Julian kept his voice to a whisper, "He's in the ER. Patrick is with him. He took a bad beating."
Trask and Len nodded in unison. "Jenner?"
"Dead," Tighe said.
"Did he?" Len asked.
"No," Tighe said in a firm voice.
"Troy?" Julian asked.
Pete turned back toward Troy. "Elizabeth operated. There were abscesses on his liver. She gave him a chance."
Julian walked to her side and crouched. "Chère? Beth?"
Her eyes flew open. "Marty?"
"Shh, he's in the ER. Patrick is with him."
"What's wrong?" She almost fell getting out of the recliner.
"Whoa." Julian caught her. "He needs you in one piece." Once on her feet, Elizabeth shot out the door like a cannonball. Tighe stayed behind with Troy while Trask and Julian chased after her.
The control room door crashed open, and Elizabeth stormed in. Patrick held back his laugh at her expression. He wore his lab coat over his tactical gear.
"Well, Viper. What do we have?" Her pulse was visibly pounding at the base of her throat.
He stood with the radiologist and the hospital interventional radiologist, Darwin Simms, staring at Martin's CT scans. Martin lay unconscious on the CT scanner bed, a nurse at his side. "His right orbit is cracked. No brain bleed." The radiologist deciphered the scan. "The ribs he broke earlier are broken again."
"Freeze the shot. Damn, that's a bleed." Patrick's finger settled on the picture of Martin's liver.
"We can just observe him?" Simms was cautious.
"Beth, he has a leak in a tiny vessel in the liver," Darwin's voice was like nails on a chalkboard.
"That's a bleed. Call a team and get me the fluoroscopy room." Elizabeth outlined a black dot with her finger.
"We can wait. His numbers are good," Darwin pleaded his case.
"How many livers have you successfully embolized not related to cancer?" She scowled at the taller surgeon. She could see Patrick scanning her, looking for any sign of weakness or fatigue.
"You win, but if he were my patient, I'd wait."
Elizabeth tapped her foot. "He's not your patient."
"He's not either of your patients; he's mine. Elizabeth, only because of your level of expertise will I let you assist. Darwin, you scrub in too. Eric Seton is en route to scrub in as well. He is embolization-trained." Elizabeth raised a brow at Patrick's expression, which turned lethal as he gave his orders.
Elizabeth ran to Martin's side as the technicians and nurses wheeled him toward the pre-op waiting area. She grasped his bruised hand and kissed his fingers. "Marty, everything is going to be okay." She lowered his gown to inspect his chest, abdomen, and pelvis.
Patrick whispered into her ear, "He wasn't raped."
She muffled a sob. "Patrick, if it becomes too complicated, I'm taking over. I can't..."
Patrick moved to the scrub sinks. "I know. Let's do this."
Eric and Darwin positioned Martin on the table. "Eric, prep both sides, please."
"You like me manscaped?"
"Marty? Oh, God. Marty." She ran around the drape where Warren Chen was attaching the monitors.
"Hey, Sunshine. You're sexy in that hat." His eyes were foggy.
"Farmer, magic questions please."
"Viper, you're a party pooper.” He rolled his head from side to side and creased his brows with a wince. “I'm Martin Aaron Bailey. I'm in… Someone hit me... Damn, my cheek hurts. I’m in a hospital, and I don't know what day it is in August." Martin coughed, "Argh, what hit me?"
Patrick’s brows furrowed. "Versed, please, Warren."
"Ooh, that's better. I'm flying."
Elizabeth chuckled. "Versed is onboard." One of the nurses wrapped her in a lead gown to protect her from the radiation. "Marty, your job is to tell us if something hurts and go along for the ride. You’re lying on an x-ray machine. The table moves; you don't. Ready?"
"For anything, Sunshine."
Patrick injected lidocaine into his groin to numb it. "Little stick."
Elizabeth coached, "Big breath and blow out the birthday candles."
"Whose birthday?"
Patrick took advantage of the distraction to make a small cut and insert the catheter. "Marty, you’re going to feel warm and like you want to pee. Don't worry. Take a deep breath and hold it." Patrick fired the dye injector.
"Can't hold it. Hurts a lot."
Patrick's brows darkened at the first picture. "Okay, do the best you can."
"Always knew you were different." His blood vessel anatomy was not the book standard. Elizabeth pointed. "Patrick."
The first pass of the dye revealed it was more complicated than Patrick thought. The exam of the multiple layers of vessels would be long and arduous. A missed bleed could be deadly. "Beth, you’re gonna need to take over."
"Another breath. Leak in a branch of the right hepatic artery. How are you feeling, Marty?"
"Fine, Sunshine." Another thing that made him different: he did not sleep from the sedation.
"Elizabeth, drink," Patrick said. A nurse offered her some juice.
"Thanks. Marty, deep breath again and hold as best as you can." She shot more dye. "Another one. That's another one."
Patrick scanned between his two patients. “Beth, can you get to the area where you saw the other bleed?"
"I think it’s a shadow," Simms whined.
Elizabeth ignored him. "That is a bleed. Eric, Patrick, recheck the CT. What vessel does it look like to you? There are multiple layers of collateral circulation from previous injuries. He follows his own book."
"You like that about me, Sunshine." No one could hide their amusement.
She cracked and forced her shoulders back. "What happened to the strong, silent type?" The long day and the weight of the gown were tiring her, but she refused to give in when Patrick asked.
Eric placed his fingers on her throat to take her pulse. "You need to let Simms finish."
"I'm fine." She shook him off. "Left hepatic."
"I see nothing," Simms held his ground.
She read off Martin's blood pressure. "Warren, his systolic is up. Are you running fluids?"
"The systolic is only up five points; he came in dry. I'm also trying to flush his kidneys. I'm not overloading him." The anesthesiologist was defensive.
"Did I say that? Listen to me, Marty. I'm going to give you a nasty headache. It will go away."
The high in his earlier tone gone, he answered, "Okay."
"Warren, we can't let his BP bottom. Patrick, are you ready to cut? Simms, load the gel foam slurry." She bit her lip hard. The sharp pain would create an endorphin rush.
On her feet, she had stopped three leaks over two hours. Sweat began to soak from her brow through her cap despite the frigid room.
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Simms repeated, "There's nothing there."
Patrick lifted his head, signaling Eric to come closer. "She's about to drop. This is her last pass, and I'm taking over."
Elizabeth signaled for and took a long pull on the juice. Her temper flared. "Load the damn slurry. Warren, give him 0.4 milligrams nitroglycerine under his tongue, now. Marty, here comes that headache. Deep breath and hold." She shot more dye.
"I don't believe it. Jesus." Simms shook his head as the leaking aneurysm lit up the screen.
Elizabeth deployed gel foam into space. "How are you, Marty? More gel foam." Her breaths were coming faster, her eyes staying fixed on the screen. Eric put supportive hands on her waist.
"Hurting. Sunshine, you sound funny."
Elizabeth injected more gel. "Here comes some relief. Ten milligrams of morphine IV, Warren. Last heat sensation." She shot a set of post pictures. "Looks good. Everyone agree? Marty?" Elizabeth steadied herself. "Darwin, can you finish for me?"
"Better," Martin sighed.
Darwin Simms stepped in and started to back the catheter out. "Beth?"
Elizabeth backed up from the table and made it clear from the field and out of Martin's sightline before she leaned against Eric and fainted.
"Sunshine?" Martin asked.
"Martin, she has to use the facilities. Time to rest. Warren, give him 2.0 milligrams of midazolam over two minutes." The benefit of oversedation outweighed the stress seeing Elizabeth faint.
"I'm going to push on your groin for a few minutes. Enjoy your nap, Martin," Simms said.
Eric fled the room with Elizabeth in his arms, Patrick fast on their heels.
Eric stood beside Elizabeth on a recovery room stretcher. "She's a stubborn woman." The recovery room nurses ran to help.
Patrick ripped off the heavy cape, gown and her gloves. Eric started an IV and drew blood while a nurse placed her on oxygen. Her pulse was high, and her blood pressure was low. “I need a STAT blood sugar." Patrick assessed her heart and lungs.