“Then, why did I die? Mesye Baccus thought I was dead. That’s why he didn’t shoot me again.”
I opened the shirt widely. “Look at the huge bruise on your side. Somebody smacked you with a baseball bat or something. It bruised your lung, and you lost a lot of blood inside your chest. That’s serious enough to kill you,” I said. “Please let me really examine you.”
Jakjak nodded his head but still looked doubtful.
I thumped his chest. There was no resonance on the bruise over the lower lobe of his right lung. The logical conclusion was that there was no air in the lower lobe. Without a stethoscope, I did what the ancient physicians did: I placed my ear on his chest. I heard rattling breath sounds over his upper lobe. But over his right lower lobe, I heard no air movement at all. Then, I listened to the left side. There were sounds, but they were muffled by rales and ronchi. It sounded like pneumonia.
I placed my hand over his forehead. He was hot. Jakjak had a high fever. There was an accumulation of fluid, probably from blunt trauma to his right chest. And the broken rib on the left had partially collapsed the thoracic cavity on that side. He needed to have that fluid removed and the depressed rib pulled out, or even someone as strong as Jakjak would be dead within a week.
Jakjak continued to talk as I completed my exam. “Minis Duran and his son, Doktè Tomas, were just handcuffed and taken away in a patrol car.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s happening. They never did nothin’ wrong in their lives. Neither one of them.”
I told him the police were after me as well.
“Mesye Doktè, they’ll put all of you in jail and nobody will never see any of you again. I seen it happen before with some of our friends, so stay out of sight.”
Jakjak went on to tell the story about the meeting with Baccus, his being shot, the kidnapping, and his escape from the stack of corpses. “Bondye rolled the stone away so I could escape.”
I looked at Jakjak. “They thought you were dead, so there was no need to keep the cave sealed. Bondye didn’t move the stone; the guards did.”
Jakjak looked at me and muttered under his breath, “I know Bondye set me free.”
I saw the pained look on Jakjak’s face and regretted my words. I tried to backtrack. “Either way, you need medical attention now. I’m going to drive you to a hospital, no matter what the consequences.”
“Mesye Doktè, we can’t go to just any hospital. Tomas Duran’s assistant at his hospital in Léogâne is Doktè Christophe Roupe. We can trust him.”
“Then I’ll call him now.”
I called the young doctor and told him about Jakjak. “I need to drain a large hematoma from Jakjak’s right chest and pull out a depressed rib fracture on the left. He also needs IV antibiotics, and some oral antibiotic and pain medication to take after surgery.”
“Anesthesia?” Roupe asked.
“I need him awake and alert after the procedure, to help me figure out why they’re after me and Dr. Tomas Duran. Let’s do local. Marcaine with epinephrine. The Marcaine is long-acting and will keep him numbed up for the rest of the day.”
“But you’re a plastic surgeon.”
“Yes. But I did these operations many times in the past, when I took my surgery residency—the same training Tomas had. It’s something I’ll never forget,” I said. “Speaking of Dr. Duran, have you heard from him?”
“No, but his stepmother called and said the police had him in custody for stealing money from our National Treasury. I had to cancel surgery. I called the hospital ship, but they said you weren’t doing any more surgery.”
“Right. Well, you need to know that they’re accusing me of killing men on the Ana Brigette, so the police are after me, too.”
“No worries,” Roupe said. “I know they are all corrupt.”
“Good. Is it safe for me to operate on Jakjak at your hospital? Somebody tried to kill him and will finish him off if they learn he’s still alive.”
“You’ll both be safe here at Hospital Sainte Croix,” Dr. Roupe assured me.
I glanced at Jakjak. He was pale and had begun to drag his feet. “Is it possible to do this tonight ?” I asked Roupe.
“Not a chance, if you want to keep this a secret from the law. There were a couple of break-ins two weeks ago by some people who stole drugs, so the place is locked up and the police are all over it at night,” he explained. “They leave when the hospital opens at seven. Come around eight tomorrow morning. I’ll have the instruments and medications ready for you.”
“That’s great. Can you trust your staff to be close-mouthed?”
“That might be a problem. I don’t know who to trust, so I’ll have to be your only assistant. And we must do it in the ER. That’s been closed since Dr. Duran left to help find his father,” Roupe said.
I hung up the phone and sat on the bunk next to Jakjak.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“I sure am.”
Jakjak opened two rusted soup cans with a sharp-edged piece of marble and handed one to me. I downed the contents in one long gulp. I was so hungry I could have eaten another can.
I stood to leave. “Do you know where I can find a computer with internet access?”
“We’ll go to Minis Duran’s office—but after dark, when it’s safe.”
Ministry of Finance
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
12:05 a.m.
Jakjak and I stumbled through the rocks and treacherous terrain in the dark. Jakjak used his flashlight to keep us from falling into the bottomless crevasses that popped up all along the streets. Finally, we reached the Ministry of Finance’s temporary building. We entered through a window that Jakjak said he’d broken when he tried to rescue Minister Duran on Monday night.
I activated the minister’s computer, logged into my account, and waited for the message from Elizabeth Keyes. She had special computer skills and had worked with terrorists in the past. Nobody could help me more.
At 12:15, her message popped onto the monitor: “I’ll be at the airport in thirty minutes. I’ll get off on the tarmac to avoid customs.”
I quickly replied: “I’ll be in a white Lexus. I’ll find you.”
Tomas’ car was still parked down the street, and Jakjak knew of the spare key in the glove compartment.
I looked him in the eyes. “Jakjak, you’re sick. Lay down here while I go to the airport. Just tell me how to get there.”
“Doktè James, the roads are so broken up, you’d have to know the city to get around all the detours. You’ll never find it. I insist. I’ll go with you and drive.”
We walked the short distance to the car. As Jakjak reached for the door handle, he began to cough violently and then collapsed, falling to the street. I dropped to my knees to assist him. He was turning blue. As I lifted him to a sitting position, he coughed out a large blood clot. Immediately, his color improved and he began to breathe normally.
I again insisted that he lay down in the minister’s office, but he refused. “Please, Doktè James, the thing that would make me feel best is to go with you. I am fine now!”
I tried arguing with him but eventually gave up. Jakjak finally agreed to at least let me drive. I helped him into the passenger’s seat of the car.
As I drove through Port-au-Prince, Jakjak directed me to the passable roads.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Aboard the Ana Brigette
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
12:15 a.m.
THE Ana Brigette HAD left Léogâne the night before. By timing the trip and estimating the ship’s direction, Lars Paulissen figured the ship had docked off Port-au-Prince.
Now, Lars heard the motors of a large number of boats and the steps of groups of men boarding the ship from the entryway in the stern. There must have been thirty motor boats moving to and from his ship. In addition, he heard sounds o
f construction—saws, drills, riveters, hammering. The construction was on the back part of the deck and the first floor below it, the section he’d so carefully converted from his fish operation to one that housed hospital beds and operating rooms.
Lars looked at Tobias, who had been chattering incessantly for hours. He’d become quite talkative since he and Mobuto had spoken to each other in fluent French. “Shut up!” Lars bellowed.
Tobias shrugged. “What did I say wrong?”
Lars’ face grew red. “My question is, whose side are you on? They found the things that were well hidden. Only you and I knew where they were. So, then, which of us is the snitch?”
“Captain,” Tobias said, “these men are pirates. They’ll kill both of us when they’re through with us. I’m in as much trouble as you are.”
“Did you work for these people before joining the crew of the Ana Brigette?”
Tobias shook his head. “No, sir. I was working on a Swedish coal ship when your man got ill. I was docked in Jamaica when you made your call to the Seafarers Database for someone to replace him.”
Lars took a deep breath and sat on his bunk. “Sorry for accusing you.”
“That’s okay,” Tobias said.
Glancing in the mirror, Lars saw Tobias move aside a long-bladed hunting knife as he searched for a shirt, and then cover the knife with clothing. Tobias was unaware he was being watched.
As Lars opened and closed his fists, the veins on his neck ballooned outward.
Toussaint Louverture International Airport
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
12:30 a.m.
There was trouble at the airport. Police were everywhere. I slowed as we passed the long, narrow building that housed the airport terminal and looked for an access away from the police. We needed a place to stop where we could watch the planes land and see Elizabeth Keyes as she got off the aircraft.
Jakjak leaned forward and pointed. “Take that dirt road. It goes to the end of the runway.”
“The runway? There’s only one landing strip?”
“Just one, Doktè, but it be very long.”
As we approached the dirt road, I saw the flashing lights of a cop car. Should I try to out run this guy? I made a wise decision and stopped.
As the policeman got out of his car and walked to the Lexus, I had an idea. “Jakjak, lie down and play sick.”
“Doktè, that be the easiest thing I ever did, to play sick the way I feels.” He lay against the window and began to moan.
Before the cop could say anything, I did some acting myself. “Officer, officer! My friend’s been shot. He needs to go to a hospital. Badly!”
He peered into the car as I opened Jakjak’s shirt and exposed the bruised chest and bullet holes.
“I’m taking him to Project Medishare Hospital.”
He nodded. “I’ll call them now.”
As he lifted his phone to his mouth, I said, “I’ve already called them. They want him right away!”
“Then I’ll escort you.”
“No, I’m a doctor myself. I’ve been there before; I can take him now.”
“Yes, sir.”
He got in his car and drove away.
Jakjak sat up. “You be good doktè. How did you know about that hospital?”
“I used to give donations, back when I had money to give.”
I found a place at the end of the runway and parked in the shadow of a hangar. After a ten-minute wait, a private jet landed and moved to the end of the runway. As the jet taxied toward the terminal, someone jumped out.
It was Elizabeth Keyes.
I got out and waved. She saw me and ran, carrying a small suitcase. I smiled as I watched. Her blonde hair outlined her beautiful face with her green eyes, strong cheekbones, and silky, porcelain skin. I’d helped her a little, as plastic surgeons do, but even without the work I’d done, her five-seven frame was trim, fit, perfectly shaped, and gorgeous.
Unfortunately, the police saw her, too. Three cop cars raced across the tarmac, sirens blaring. The pilot of Keyes’ plane turned and tried to take off, but two of the police cars raced ahead of the jet and screeched to a stop, blocking the runway. The third car chased Keyes.
I drove toward Keyes and just before reaching her I slowed down and threw open the door. She jumped in and I turned the car and drove away.
Over my shoulder, I saw the drama on the runway. The jet was screaming toward the two patrol cars. The cops chasing Keyes saw it, too, and slowed down to watch. The plane was going to ram into the patrol car.
At the last moment, the nose of the plane rose slightly as the jet’s speed reached over 100 miles per hour. The plane lifted, but not in time. It wouldn’t clear the car. It was going to crash.
Suddenly the patrol car burned rubber and shot off the runway, leaving an open runway for the jet’s escape. The pilot won that game of chicken and lifted off, bound for a more friendly gas pump in the Bahamas.
In the side mirror, I saw flashes of gunfire from the cop car that had been chasing Keyes and was now heading straight for us.
“Jakjak, how do we get outta here?”
Jakjak sat up and looked around. “Try that road to your left.”
The Lexus fishtailed as I made the sharp turn doing fifty miles per hour. Gaining control of the car, I gunned it down the single-lane dirt road. As we flew past a disabled truck on the roadside, I got an idea and slammed on the brakes.
Throwing the car into reverse, I backed up until my bumper hit the corner of the truck’s bumper. Then I stomped on the accelerator and the Lexus ground its wheels as it pushed the load. The cop was getting close. I saw his head out the window. He shot at us just as the truck flipped over onto the road. I shoved the Lexus into drive and screeched off into the night while the cop riddled the truck with bullets.
In the rearview mirror, I saw the cop stop and pick up his radio. Perhaps he was calling for backup. That seemed pretty futile. The airplane chase had captured the attention of all the patrol cars in the vicinity.
Sweat poured from my body as I slowed the car and tried to act inconspicuous.
Elizabeth Keyes was so close to me she was almost in my lap. “Good job,” she said, as she wiped my head with her handkerchief.
I cleared my throat. “Jakjak, I’d like you to meet my friend, Eliz—”
“Helen Hart,” Keyes interrupted. “Pleased to meet you, Jakjak. I hope you will forgive me for all that nonsense back there.”
“Good to meet you, too, Madmwazèl, uh, Hart. And no worries. Doktè James and I are runnin’ from the law, too, if you didn’t already know.”
Shame, shame on you, Doctor,” Keyes cooed as she wagged her finger at me playfully. “I don’t want to be tangling with any outlaws.”
I laughed and said, “You’ll be an outlaw if you travel with us.”
“An outlaw I am, then,” she said.
To avoid the police, I took back roads to where Tomas had parked the Lexus before his arrest. As I drove, I told Keyes what was happening.
“The Ana Brigette was hijacked, but I couldn’t go to the police for fear they’d arrest me for shooting up the ship and killing some people.”
“Another murder indictment? You have a bad habit of gathering those.”
I failed to see the humor. Memories of the trial I’d escaped in North Carolina two months earlier were still painful. Ignoring her comment, I told her of my suspicions that the Ana Brigette was going to be used in some type of terrorist plot and that the terrorist leader knew about our involvement in blocking their work in Carolina.
“What is the leader’s name?” she asked. “I know a lot of their people.”
“I have no idea, other than his title, Emir. He’s a short, scrawny, cocky bastard who wears robes that are too large for him.”
She laughed. “That descri
bes a lot of men I know.”
“Am I one of those guys?”
“Just the cocky part.”
I updated her on our situation, the events of the last three weeks, and the surgery I would perform on Jakjak the next morning.
With Jakjak incapacitated by his injuries, Lars Paulissen being held captive on his ship, and Julien and Tomas Duran incarcerated, we had no one in Haiti to help us. Keyes and I were on our own. The terrorist activity was slated for Saturday. We had only three days to stop it. Our biggest problem was that we didn’t know what the activity was or where it would take place. The only thing I knew for certain was that the Ana Brigette was somehow included in the terrorists’ plan.
When I asked Keyes what had been going on with her, she glanced back at Jakjak. She put her head on my arm, and whispering, told me about vacationing on a lake and the life of leisure she’d been living. She didn’t reveal where she was in hiding, and I was glad, because terrorists have a way of torturing information from people.
“You’re the only person I’ve contacted since I left America,” she said.
“Well, lucky me.”
“Nobody knows where I am except my pilot. But he won’t tell. He has secrets of his own.”
I glanced over at her and raised my eyebrows, but didn’t pursue the subject.
Looking into my eyes, she had my full attention when she said, “But I’ve dated no men since I last saw you.”
I believed her. I put my hand on her thigh, and she moved it higher.
“Nice,” I said, as I kissed her quickly before straining my eyes on the dark, rough road ahead.
“Where are we going?”
“To the Haiti Hilton,” I said with a smile.
Jakjak chuckled in the back seat.
Keyes turned to Jakjak. “What’s the joke?”
“Madmwazèl, the maids were out sick today and they won’t be no room service.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
In the Rubble
The Zombie Game Page 7