Three Gorges Dam
Page 31
Brannigan plots the dam’s coordinates and gets underway. His visibility decreases as he enters the eastern edge of the darkness. That forces him to reduce his speed. He doubts the Raven can get above the clouds. He’ll try to outrun them. He had almost forgotten about his shoulder, but the pain is back and sharper than ever. First the train wreck, now this. He wonders if someone put a hex on his left arm.
Ranking his health challenges, he decides the bullet wound isn’t at the top. That won’t kill him. Dehydration might. He reaches for a bottle of water and guzzles it down. He tosses the spent container in a rucksack and calls the dam. Rocky gives him an earful. “I told you to come right back.”
“You can yell at me later.”
“I gave you a direct order—”
“The guy I told you about—”
“Something else came up—”
“Sorry to interrupt—”
“Then don’t.”
“My situation can’t wait.”
“How bad is your shoulder?”
“That’s not why I called.”
“Don’t ask to stay—”
“I’m on my way back.”
“Good. We’ll talk—”
“Now, goddammit.”
“Three turbines are down—”
“Shut up, Rocky, and listen.”
“Make it quick.”
“Terrorists blew up Xiling Gorge.”
“Did what?”
“They set off hundreds of bombs.”
“There’s nothing out there.”
“You’re forgetting the mountains.”
“What about them?”
“That’s what they blew up.”
“Why the hell—”
“They aren’t giving interviews.”
“I thought you saw one guy.”
“The rest weren’t visible.”
“How many are there?”
“A hundred fifty on the south bank—”
“That many?”
“—Or more. Probably the same across the water.”
“Who are they?”
“Uighurs.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“Those dumb bastards.”
“Dumb couldn’t pull this off.”
“Where should I send the army?”
“The mountains behind Xintan and Lianziyan.”
“Are we next?”
“They won’t go after the dam.”
“Why not?”
“They lost the element of surprise.”
“How bad is the reservoir?”
“It’s a bleeping disaster.”
“Is the channel navigable?”
“I wouldn’t risk my boat.”
“I’ll come out.”
“Don’t. Wait until tomorrow.”
“I need to assess the damage.”
“You won’t see anything.”
“Is the air that thick?”
“It’s like flying through molasses.”
Brannigan hears Rocky talking to someone else. “Shut down the waterway . . . I don’t care if they’re angry . . . Call the port authorities first. Then the major shippers . . . Have an assistant call the vessels that are already underway.”
Rocky is back on the line. “Did I miss anything, Michael?”
“We better expedite the dredging. If we don’t get right on it, all that rock and sediment will migrate to the wall.”
“Can you get on that?”
“Sure. Who does your marine excavation?”
“My secretary will send you their contact sheets.”
“Can you loan me two of your engineers?”
“Pick whoever you want.”
“Have you felt—”
“I have to go.”
“One more thing—”
“Later.”
“—Is the ground shaking?”
“I would’ve mentioned it. Why are you asking?”
“Murphy’s Law.”
“Is that an Irish joke?”
“Not in my family.”
The Raven is approaching the landing zone. When its nose continues to drift downward, Rocky grabs his phone. “Are you all right, Michael?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“The front end is wobbling.”
“I thought it was me. How’s that?”
“Marginal.”
“Better?”
“Keep it there.” Seconds later, Rocky hollers as the helicopter starts to tilt sideways. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Looking for something to drink.”
“Staying upright is more important.”
“I’ve never been this thirsty.” Brannigan checks the water bottles in his rucksacks. They’re all empty. So are the ones on the floor.
“How is your shoulder?”
“Good enough to land.”
“I reserved an OR at the hospital.”
“No can do.”
“Why not?”
“Prior commitment.”
“You need to see a doctor.”
“Schedule a house call.”
“We’re not equipped for surgery.”
“Good. I don’t have time for one.”
“You’ll make time.”
“Not today. There’s something I have to do.”
“Put it off until tomorrow.”
“I can’t. I’ve only got time for a transfusion.”
“What should I tell the hospital?”
“That they can patch my fender in the morning.”
CHAPTER 49
HIS LANDING WON’T win any style points.
But the Raven comes down on its skids.
Rocky rushes over from the apron. He enters the cockpit and shuts down the engine. The medic lifts Brannigan out of the helicopter and seats him in a wheelchair. There are two Tsingtao cans in the ALS bag. Rocky hands them to Brannigan who guzzles the first and sips the second during the short drive to the infirmary.
The medic parks his van near the entrance. He applies the parking brake, walks to the rear, and opens the back doors. Brannigan pushes his arm away and gets out by himself. That’s the end of his forward progress. Rocky blocks his path and insists on wheeling him inside. The head nurse is waiting for them. Scowling at the medic, she confiscates the beer. Rocky assists Brannigan onto the gurney. The nurse—she hasn’t said a word—slides a thermometer into his mouth and cuts off his shirt with surgical scissors.
Brannigan is lying on his back. He’s running a high-grade temperature. Sweat is oozing from every pore in his body.
The nurse is standing to his left. She’s old school, right down to her winged cap and hospital whites. One of Deng Xiaoping’s highfliers, she trained at the Florence Nightingale Faculty at King’s College London. Brannigan suspects empathy wasn’t part of her curriculum.
The debridement has been a slow and arduous process. His attitude hasn’t helped. He sounds off again. “Why’s this taking so long?”
“To avoid more damage.”
“I don’t have all day. Speed it up.”
“Other than cranky, how are you feeling?”
“The lights make me nauseous.”
“Shut your eyes. I can’t work in the dark.”
The medic comes over and donates his sunglasses. He adjusts them until the stems fit snugly over Brannigan’s ears. “Does that help?”
“Yes. Thanks a lot.”
The nurse lays a bloody scalpel in the soaking tray. After wiping his brow, she rechecks his vital signs. His blood pressure, pulse, and respirations are outside normal limits but not worrisome. She goes back to work on his shoulder with a sterile #10 forceps. Several minutes later, she extracts a lead fragment from deep inside his entry wound. He lets out a loud grunt. “Unhook my lines or I’ll rip them out.”
“Are you always this disagreeable?”
“No. But I’ll bet you are.”
“Only with patients who misbe
have.”
He had tried talking to the nurse in Chinese. It didn’t go well. His cognition was off and he butchered their initial conversation. She replied impatiently, “This isn’t the time to practice your Mandarin. Speak English.” He was going to tell her where to get off. Realizing it would delay his discharge, he bit his tongue and complied.
“Nurse.”
“What is it this time?”
“I have to be somewhere.”
“You’ve told me that five times.” Without looking up, she exchanges the forceps for a retractor and moves a nerve out of the operative field.
“I’m already late.”
“Please be quiet. I need to concentrate.”
Brannigan turns toward Rocky. He’s on the opposite side of the gurney in front of the IV pole. “Since when is she running your dam?”
Rocky gets out, “Our nurse—” before she cuts him off.
“This is my domain, not his.”
When Rocky stares uncomfortably at the floor, Brannigan tries to get off the gurney. The nurse arrests his ascent before his legs clear the table. She presses her right hand against his chest and realigns his body with her left. “Lie still or Mr. Zhou will strap you down.”
Brannigan considers making a dash for the helipad. But decides it won’t work. This nurse would tackle him, bad shoulder and all.
“I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”
“Then please cooperate. Let me do my job.”
Pain and dehydration have sapped his energy. His dissatisfaction with her bedside manner is making things worse.
“I’ve had enough of this. Just give me some blood.”
The nurse points to the monitor. “That tantrum raised your heart rate.”
Rocky answers his phone when it buzzes. He shares the message. “The blood bank doesn’t deliver.”
“Send a clerk to get it.”
“They only release biologics to medical providers.”
“Then ask my doctor to pick it up.”
“That’s the plan.”
“How close are their offices?”
“Same building.”
“Something had to go right.”
“It hasn’t yet. She’s tied up in the OR.”
“How long?”
“Three hours.”
“Call a different surgeon.”
“The others only operate at the hospital.”
The nurse is holding a long, skinny blade. “This is going to hurt.”
“It already hurts.”
She digs deeper into the wound. “This will be worse.”
“JEEZ-us Christ! Getting shot wasn’t this bad—”
“Relax your shoulder.”
“So you can stab me again?”
“Stop fussing.”
“Give me one good reason.”
She rotates him farther to the right. “I can think of two. You don’t want to lose your arm or die from sepsis.” When the nurse finishes dissecting the exit wound, she tells her charting assistant, “The bullet missed the artery and major nerves.”
“How much longer?”
“That depends on you.”
She suctions both sides with a microdebrider. A smile almost crosses her lips. “We’re through with the sharp instruments.”
“Slap on a bandage and be done with it.”
“Not until we irrigate. Front first.” She uses a bulb syringe to bathe the opening. Then repeats the process on the exit wound. After drying both sides of his shoulder, she puts on a dressing and takes down the IV.
“Finished?” he asks.
“Everything but the suturing. I can’t do that until the surgeon gets a look.” Brannigan is sliding off the gurney. “You should stay here until she arrives.”
He looks at the nurse as if she’s delusional.
She shakes her head and hands him a bottle of antibiotics. “Here’s a glass of water. Take one now and another at bedtime. Then morning and night for nine days.”
He opens the lid and washes down one of the pills.
“I appreciate your fixing me up.”
“Drink lots of fluids and eat healthy food. That’ll increase your blood volume and restore your electrolytes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you want some morphine?”
“No, thanks. The pain will keep me awake.”
“You should go to bed.”
“I need to do something else first.”
“Is it more important than staying alive?”
“They’re one and the same.”
“I can’t save you from yourself, Mr. Brannigan.”
“Join the club. Neither can I.”
The wheelchair didn’t make the trip. Brannigan refused to use it.
Contrary to the nurse’s advice, he’s walking back to his room. Each step is an effort. Rocky gets there first and uses his master key to open the door. Brannigan goes to the fridge and opens a grape Powerade. He repairs to the couch and gulps it down.
Rocky’s cellphone is ringing. His eyes are closed. He’s sitting on the edge of the desk rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine, Nigel. How are you doing? . . . Unusual in what way? . . . How strong are the signals? . . . Thanks for calling. Let me know if anything changes.”
“What was that about?” Brannigan asks.
“Electromagnetic pulses.”
“Anything to worry about?”
“Don’t know. He’ll run it by Kylie.”
“Any news from the gorge?”
“So far, no sightings.”
“They probably changed clothes and scattered.”
“Ground troops are on the way. We’ll find them.” Brannigan becomes lightheaded when he bends over to take off his sneakers. Rocky joins him on the couch.
“Go back to the infirmary.”
“And do what?”
“Wait for the doctor.”
“It’ll be hours before she gets here.”
“Your shoulder looked awfully raw.”
“This isn’t a Miss Universe pageant.”
Brannigan wants to shower. But he remembers the warning in his discharge instructions. Running water will spread bacteria into his wound. He decides it’s not worth the risk. A sponge bath will have to do. Disrobing is a chore. He wraps his clothing inside his medical gown and throws the sweat-soaked bundle in the general direction of his hamper.
He felt a migraine coming on when he left Kylie’s hotel. It went away after he was shot. He thinks it’s because the bullet kicked his adrenal gland into high gear. The grace period is over and a full-blown thumper has arrived. He goes into the bathroom and washes down a Treximet. The combination pill—Imitrex and Naprosyn—won’t get rid of his headache. But it sometimes reduces the pain.
The migraines are a genetic present from his mother. Hers were more frequent and debilitating. His are bad enough. The usual triggers are stress, red wine, blue cheese, and bright light. Lack of sleep is another. Last night qualifies in that category. So does getting shot and losing a pint of blood.
His armpits feel like they’re coated with cement. He goes to the sink and scrubs his upper body with soap and a wet cloth. He rinses and does it again. While he’s drying off, he has the sudden urge to urinate. He stands over the toilet but nothing comes out.
Rocky is in the bedroom reading a text.
“Trouble?” Brannigan asks.
“Yeah. I have to get back to my office.”
“What’s going on?”
“Another turbine is acting up.”
“Same cause?”
“Don’t know.”
“What else could it be?”
“Nigel’s thing.”
Brannigan is sitting at his desk. When he finishes tying his tennis shoes, he dials Kylie’s number. She answers on the first ring.
“Hello, Michael.”
“I can’t wait to see Teddy.”
“Mum told him today’s special.”
“Is he old enough to understand?”
>
“He clapped and gave her a hug.”
“What if he won’t share his mother with me?”
“Stop worrying. Your son will be crazy about you.”
“How do you know?”
“He loves my father. Now he has his own.”
“I won’t force myself—”
“You’ll be best buds.”
“How was your morning?”
“Uneventful. My warriors are on their way home.”
“You’re too soft. I would’ve fired them.”
“Boys will be boys.”
“Punching a coworker?”
“They deserved another chance.”
“People don’t get mulligans over here.”
“Enough boy talk. How’s my man feeling?”
“Guilty for keeping you up so late.”
“Last night was glorious.”
“Still . . . I shouldn’t have—”
“Your crime was making me fall asleep.”
“Teddy should be landing any minute.”
“He would’ve been. But their plane was delayed.”
“Have they posted a new time?”
“Not yet.”
“What’s the problem?”
“The AC. It’s no big deal.”
“How are they doing?”
“Teddy’s asleep. Mum was reading.”
“I’m glad they’re not stressed out.”
“You’re the one I’m worried about.”
“I don’t need much sleep.”
“What time did you leave this morning?”
“Early. I wanted to revisit the gorge.”
“Thanks for doing that.”
“It’s a good thing I did.”
“Did you get a closer look?”
“Are you alone?”
“People are milling around.”
“Find a quiet place.”
“Wait a sec . . . I’m by myself. Go ahead.”
“That flashing light—”
“I thought you didn’t see it.”
“It must’ve been a signal.”
“About what?”
“Attacking the gorge.”
“How do you attack a gorge?”
“With cluster bombs.”
“When did the Chinese learn about it?”
“This morning—”
“Thank goodness—”