Groff said, “Unit One, do you have the Bronco in sight?”
A woman’s voice said, “I’m fifty yards from the suspect’s vehicle, approaching from the rear, west side of the street. No exhaust—engine’s off.”
“Any movement?”
“No visual on the inside. Rear window is too dark to see through.”
“Unit Five?” Groff asked.
“In position, southeast corner of the roof, in a direct line with the street.” A pause, then, “I can see the subject vehicle’s hood through a break in the trees, but that’s it. I have good line-of-sight if he breaks to the north, toward the hospital.”
“Unit Six?”
“Southwest corner. No visual on suspect, but I got a clear shot on the driver’s side.”
Groff chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, then said, “All units, ready to move on my command.”
• • •
Luke’s arm twitched when the cell phone vibrated. He recognized the hospital’s prefix on the number showing in the display.
“You look good in blue, Calderon. Want me to bury you in that uniform?”
“Ready to settle up, cockroach?”
“Luke!” Megan yelled.
The throaty roar of engines at full throttle reached his ears before the sound of the screeching tires. Luke jerked his head around and saw a small cavalry of cars through the rear window.
• • •
Groff grabbed the handhold above the passenger window and glanced back at the unit behind them as his driver accelerated into the turn and their car hurtled around the corner. The Bronco came up on them as soon as they completed the turn, and Groff’s driver had to do a controlled spin to avoid the SUV.
Three plain blue sedans were already braking behind the Bronco and three-man teams jumped from each vehicle with automatic weapons in hand.
Groff lunged from his car with his semiautomatic in a two-hand grip, sweeping his gun sight across the Bronco’s windshield. A black-helmeted officer at the SUV’s rear plunged his rifle butt through the back window while detectives standing at the forward doors broke through the side windows.
A moment later the men were staring at Groff, the question showing on their faces.
The lieutenant lowered his gun, reholstered it, then slammed the Bronco’s hood with his fist.
“Goddammit! Where is he?”
• • •
They were two blocks from University Children’s and driving south, away from the hospital, when the small herd of police cars screamed past the 1970s Ford Maverick that Luke had stolen from the poodle woman’s garage. Megan was at the wheel, while he and Frankie lay across the backseat.
Luke had decided to abandon their SUV after spotting Calderon, having learned what he needed from his reconnaissance. His enemy was garrisoned inside the hospital.
Calderon had broken off their phone connection just as the black-and-whites raced by their car. When Luke retrieved the stored number and dialed it, no one answered.
Their latest car was the ugliest mint-green he’d ever seen. Luke had wanted to switch vehicles before some vigilant patrol cop ran their plates. He hadn’t counted on trading his Bronco for the automotive equivalent of a peacock.
The question now turning in his mind was, how had the police found him?
However they had done it, it wouldn’t be long before they knew about the poodle woman’s car. They were probably already cordoning off the side streets around the hospital and searching the area. As soon as the woman returned home and reported the theft, the police would have the make, model, and license number of their car.
“Drive a few more blocks, then stop the car and let me out,” he said.
As though reading his thoughts, Megan said, “You can’t go back to the hospital now.”
“I don’t have a choice,” he said. “After you drop me off, drive a few more blocks. Then ditch the car and take care of Frankie.”
“You’ll never get inside the hospital,” she said. “The police are probably swarming the place by now.”
“I’ll find a way in.”
“Wait,” Megan said. “There’s another way to do this.”
61
The helicopter operations of the L.A. Sheriff’s Department’s were located at Long Beach Airport, tucked away on a small plot of land about a half mile from the airport terminal.
It was 5:17 P.M. and the sun had already set when Megan pulled into the parking lot that the Sheriff’s Aero Bureau shared with a helicopter tour company. The place looked the same as Luke remembered it from his time as a member of Search & Rescue, including the security cameras mounted atop each of the installation’s three buildings. The only addition was a chain-link fence topped with coiled razor wire that ran between each of the buildings.
He turned and looked at Megan, trying to decide if he was expecting too much of her.
“You know what to do?” he asked.
“This was my idea, remember?”
She was right; the basic idea was hers. After breaking into Megan’s street-level apartment through a rear window and retrieving her hospital ID, she had called in a prescription to a Walgreens pharmacy for phenylephrine eye drops, hoping that no one would recognize the name or face of the woman who had made a fleeting appearance on local TV channels several days earlier.
No one did. While at the pharmacy, she also picked up gauze, white tape, a pair of scissors, and, reluctantly, a box of vintage “safety” razor blades that Luke insisted were necessary for their plan to work.
After Megan parked and turned off the engine, Luke stared across the parking lot at the Aero Bureau’s main entrance. On the other side of glass double doors, a deputy was sitting at the front reception desk. The rims of video monitors fed by the exterior security cameras showed above the lip of the chest-high countertop.
“Remember what I told you about the security monitors,” Luke said. “You have to draw their attention away from the monitors or they’ll spot me.”
She nodded.
“Okay, let’s do it,” he said.
Frankie looked nervously between them.
“This won’t hurt,” Megan said to the boy. “Lean back and open your eyes as wide as you can.” She unscrewed the bottle top with an attached eyedropper and instilled three drops of phenylephrine into the boy’s right eye.
Luke held open the boy’s eyelid and watched the pupil dilate while Megan went to work with the scissors, cutting away a small, ragged tuft of hair from the side of Frankie’s scalp.
Luke tightened his hand into a fist until his veins corded with blood, then turned away and used the razor blade to make a neat one-inch incision along his forearm.
Blood poured from the wound. “Put his head on my lap,” he said to Megan.
Luke clenched his fist and a sheet of blood oozed over his arm, falling onto the left side of Frankie’s scalp. Within a minute the boy’s head was soaked in blood.
“I starting to feel si—” Frankie retched.
“Sorry,” Luke said.
The boy wiped his mouth with a sleeve. “Me no sorry. I help you, then you help me stay in America, yes?”
Luke tried to smile at the boy, but the dishonor he felt for stoking Frankie’s false dream held down the corners of his mouth.
“I’ll try,” he said while looking at Megan, who didn’t look up from taping gauze over his arm.
When she was done, Luke draped his hand around her wrist and squeezed gently.
“Time to go,” he said.
Megan didn’t hesitate. She was out of the car and running toward the entrance before Luke had opened the door on his side of the vehicle.
He tapped Frankie’s shoulder and grabbed two of the car’s floor mats as he got out of the car. Luke ducked behind the hood of a pickup twenty feet from the Maverick just as Megan threw open the entry doors.
It was a brightly lit room, and the uniformed deputy at the front desk hadn’t seemed to notice Megan approaching the building in
the dark. When the doors swung open, he jumped from his chair.
Megan was shaking her arms wildly and pointing with both arms toward the parking lot. The jet engines of a landing plane drowned out her screams, which made the melodrama appear like a silent movie.
The deputy was already coming around a long countertop when Megan raced out the door. A second deputy charged through a door at the back of the room and followed them only as far as the entrance, where he stopped and swept the parking lot with his eyes. His right hand rested on a holstered automatic.
As soon as Megan and the deputy reached the car, the man shouted back to his colleague at the entrance, telling him to get the paramedics.
Luke had to scale the chain-link fence, which was in plain view of anyone standing in the parking lot. He couldn’t move until they carried Frankie inside the building. Their plan would fall apart if the paramedics decided to work on the boy outside, at the car.
Megan started wailing incoherently. The deputy looked between Frankie and her as if he couldn’t decide whom to give his attention to at that moment. Her glance shifted to the entrance, and Luke’s gaze followed. A man and a woman wearing green flight suits and carrying red tackle boxes charged out the front doors. Paramedics.
Megan seemed to recognize the problem immediately—the paramedics were going to assess and treat Frankie at the car. She lunged into the vehicle and a second later emerged with Frankie in her arms. She started trotting awkwardly toward the building. The deputy made a half-hearted attempt to stop her, then simply jogged alongside her.
The paramedics held up their hands to stop her. One shouted “Whoa” but she jogged past them and continued toward the building like someone who could only hear inner voices.
Luke ran toward the fence.
• • •
“I didn’t see him,” Megan shouted. “I was driving and he just, just came out of nowhere. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“Lady, try to calm down.” The deputy patted her back as if stroking a cactus. “You did the right thing.”
She chewed on a knuckle and her feet bounced up and down as if dancing on hot coals. It wasn’t difficult to feign panic.
The female paramedic lifted Frankie’s eyelids and shone a penlight over them. The boy’s facial muscles tightened slightly but his body remained flaccid. He was playing his part better than Megan had expected.
“Right pupil’s blown,” the woman said. “Probably a bleeder inside his head.” She turned to the second paramedic, who was gingerly fingering the boy’s scalp. “Call it in.”
Unless University Children’s was closed because of the police action, that’s where they’d take him. There were only two centers with heliports designated for pediatric neurosurgical emergencies, and University Children’s was closer.
While the male paramedic keyed in the radio, the other grabbed an IV bag, tubing, and needle. Moments later she plunged a needle into Frankie’s hand.
“Ouch,” the boy yelped. His eyes popped open and bulged like two hardboiled eggs, then just as quickly closed.
The female paramedic looked at the boy with a bemused expression.
Her partner shrugged while speaking to a dispatcher over the radio.
A man with an enormous handlebar moustache came through the rear door. He had a helmet tucked under one arm and was wearing a flight suit. The name on his breast pocket read: R.STEVENS.
“Are we a go?” the man asked as his eyes traveled the room.
Megan stooped near Frankie and put a hand to the side of her face before Stevens’s gaze reached her. If the pilot recognized her from their encounter in the E.R. two weeks ago, her ploy would disintegrate.
The paramedic on the radio held up a finger.
All eyes fixed on him.
“Affirmative,” he said into the handset while nodding at the pilot. “We’ll call you as soon as we’re in the air.”
“I’ll be in the Sikorsky doing the preflight,” Stevens said as he disappeared through the rear door.
While the female paramedic was taping the IV in place, she said to a deputy, “Give me a hand here. Let’s move this kid onto a backboard.”
When the deputy reached down and took hold of Frankie’s feet, Megan said, “Oh my God, I left my car running. I’ll be right back.” She ran for the door.
Behind her the deputy called out, “Hang on. I need a statement from you.”
Megan called back, “I’ll be right back,” knowing she wouldn’t.
• • •
Luke watched from the helicopter’s rear bay as Rick Stevens climbed into the pilot’s seat from a side door. The blades were already spinning and the giant Sikorsky’s engines sounded like unbroken thunder.
Stevens nodded to his copilot, who bobbed his head toward the rear.
The pilot turned.
“Last time we were together, you were sitting in the copilot’s seat,” Luke shouted over the engine noise. “Congratulations.”
Stevens looked at the pistol Luke had trained on the sergeant kneeling next to him—the crew chief. The pilot glanced at his crew chief’s empty holster, then back at Luke. “What the hell happened to you, McKenna? You turn into some kinda monster?”
“It’s a long story. Right now, the only thing I care about is getting to the hospital.”
“Go to hell.” Stevens looked at his copilot. “Power down. We’re not going anywhere.”
“Wrong. You’re going to put this thing into the air.” Luke cocked the hammer of the gun he’d taken from the sergeant and put the barrel into the man’s ear. “That is, after everyone’s aboard.”
Through the side hatch Luke saw Megan peering from behind the corner of a building. She caught his eye, then sprinted toward the helicopter.
Luke flipped off the lights in the helicopter’s rear bay. Against the glare of the landing deck’s perimeter floodlights, the Sikorsky’s interior now appeared as a blackened cavern.
“Any problems?” he asked as she jumped on board.
Megan shook her head, panting. “I found the floor mats hanging over the barbed wire.” She motioned toward the main building. “The medics should be bringing Frankie out any moment now.”
And they did. Luke couldn’t tell whether the paramedics were more stunned by his handgun, or the boy’s miraculous recovery once inside the aircraft.
Luke donned the crew chief’s helmet and plugged the headset cord into a small receptacle on his seat. He motioned for Megan to do likewise with one of the paramedics’ helmets. It was the only way to talk over the roar of the engine and hear Rick Stevens’s ground communications.
Luke instructed Stevens through his headset: “Patch me into University Children’s E.R. on channel two.” He turned to Megan and said, “Stay on channel one with the pilot while I’m talking to the E.R. Signal me if he says anything to warn the ground controllers.”
A moment later Luke heard Dr. Keller, his E.R. director. In a warbling voice disguised by the airship’s vibration, Luke described a mythical head-injury case as though he were one of the paramedics. He finished by inventing a story about being delayed on the ground and gave Keller an ETA of forty-five minutes.
After Luke ended the transmission, Stevens said, “Why’d you say that? We’ll be there in fifteen minutes, maybe less.”
“I don’t want anyone on the roof when we get there.” Luke knew that his E.R.’s procedure was to send a medical team to the heliport ten minutes before the helicopter landed.
“I’ll need their landing lights on,” Stevens shouted. “What if they don’t—”
“You’ll just have to manage. Now lift off.”
Luke waved his weapon in a sweeping motion at the hatch door, and one of the paramedics reached over to secure it.
The door was halfway closed when a dark figure tumbled in through the gap and landed like a brick on the crew chief.
The tip of Luke’s gun barrel was pressed firmly under the intruder’s jaw before the man recovered from his tumble.
&
nbsp; The familiar black man’s mouth opened into a toothy grin and he spread his arms. “Easy, there, Flash. You gonna need some help, and help happens to be Sammy’s specialty.”
62
“Whoa, Flash. Slow down,” Sammy said after listening to Luke run through his litany of accusations. “I’m working for Zenavax. That’s my only gig here.”
After they had lifted off from the helipad, Luke waved Sammy to the rear of the cargo bay and threw one of the flight helmets at him so they could talk. Luke had placed the crew chief and paramedics in front of the ex-Proteus member as a protective buffer. Megan and Frankie were sitting with Luke at the front, just behind the flight deck.
Luke was switching between the pilots on channel one—listening to their communications with ground controllers whenever Megan signaled him that they were transmitting—and Sammy on channel two.
“Flash, I don’t know nothing from nothing about this CHEGAN thing. First I heard about it was from your ol’ man—”
The gun came up reflexively. “Where’s my father?”
“Holed up in my condo with that pathologist, Wilson.”
“What?”
“Protective custody—it’s one of Sammy’s specialties. I took ’em outta the battle zone. Had to cuff ’em to a bedroom door to keep them away from the phone. They seemed a little doubtful of Sammy’s intentions, but they’re safe.”
“Back up. Start at the beginning and tell me what the hell is going on.”
“I can only tell ya what I know. Zenavax hired my company to do electronic surveillance on Kate Tartaglia. She’d come up with this theory that their vaccines weren’t safe. The head of the company told me she was wrong, but he said that she wouldn’t let go of it. Management was worried that Tartaglia was going to spoil their big payday. They’re going public in an IPO this month and—”
“Hurry it up. I don’t have time for the long version.” Luke glanced out a porthole as they flew over the L.A. Coliseum.
“The e-mail Tartaglia sent you? I’m the one who erased it from your computer. When she turned up dead the next day, I thought that Zenavax had had her killed. It looked to Sammy like someone was using me, and making me an accessory to murder.”
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