Do Unto Others-ARC

by Michael Z. Williamson

  Jason got a vein by the expedient method. He wrapped a hand around Prescot's arm and clenched, and shoved her fist into a ball with the other hand. Horace saw a nice vein pop up. Cady was back on her feet with an alcohol pad, and swabbed the area off.

  Phenomenal teamwork, he thought, and stuck the needle in and plunged it.

  "Now Elke," he said.

  "Got it," Cady agreed, grabbed the other syringe. She jabbed Elke as two men loaded Caron, then jumped back down for Elke and rolled her into the second one.

  The vehicles were not intended for more than one caregiver. Horace went with Miss Prescott though he really wanted to be with Elke. He had Aramis and Bart up front. Elke had Cady for care, with Jason of course, and one of Cady's drivers. Cady's team piled into two limos and drove block and tail.

  "Where are we going?" Bart asked. "Family hospital is Mercy Gardens."

  "Negative. Divert somewhere else right now."

  "Understood, though there isn't anywhere closer."

  Horace said, "All the more reason not to go there."

  "Diverting to Lady of Peace."

  "Do not announce that anywhere."

  "Roger, obviously." He heard a radio comment cut off in the middle. Aramis had killed the radio.

  Bart juggled radio, shouted instructions, driving and phone. Horace heard him say, "AIC Cady, we will need immediate security at the door. Armed. Do you have weapons with you?"

  "Shotguns and a couple of carbines."

  "Excellent."

  "The hospital won't like that."

  "Fuck them."

  Horace raised an eyebrow. Had Bart ever sworn in English? That laconically? It was probable he was more worried about Elke than Prescot.

  Aramis flipped his phone.

  "Boss, scramble me at once and dial me back out. Thanks . . . Yes, we have an emergency and are en route to your location. Stand by for medical staff."

  He handed the phone to Horace, who grabbed it. Aramis then lit a monitor and zoomed in on the hospital.

  "Hello. Attending physician speaking. Two victims. Paralytic toxin with muscle flaccidity and no tetanus. Nicotine is palliative, so it's likely to be a cholinergic antagonist. They'll need ACE inhibitor, full cardiopulmonary support and dialysis."

  "Er . . . sir, is this a nerve gas attack?"

  "No. Ingested poison. There is also a security issue. Patients will be escorted by armed undercover officers."

  "I can't allow that unless it's cleared through the police."

  "Then please start clearing. We're arriving in two minutes. I have your floorplan on screen. Where are we going?"

  "Sir, we'll take care of that after triage."

  "I will have our supervisor call you at once and explain the situation. Expect the police to be advised, too."

  "Very well, sir. We'll have a room standing by as soon as we can verify."

  "Very good. Arrival pending," he said, and clicked off. They'd discuss it alright, though they were not likely to like his method.

  Aramis took the phone back and called Alex.

  "Aramis here. Please call the hospital and the police and clear our arrival and equipment with them ASAP."

  Horace checked the monitors again. Still alive.

  He faced Aramis and said, "Stow weapons on the gurney. We'll secure the facility from the inside," he said. "Inside, turn left, Isolation Room One. If it's occupied, we'll proceed to Two."

  "And if that's occupied?"

  "That would mean a serious disaster already happening, and someone with lesser needs getting unceremoniously shoved out the door by Bart."

  "We have an open bay," Bart announced as he whipped into the hospital ER zone. He'd driven manual the whole way without a hitch.

  "Arriving. Out fast."

  Bart led the way, Aramis a moment behind. They looked big, intimidating, and their expressions suggested no one should argue. They shoved the doors wide faster than the servos could open them, then turned left immediately inside the door, pushed into the isolation room. Horace rolled Caron in, two others wheeled Elke in right behind. The lead men kicked the releases. The doors wooshed shut and sealed. Aramis shoved a manual bolt in place. Jason ripped the panel off the controls with a pair of pliers and cut wires.

  "Who's outside?" Bart asked, snagging a shotgun from under Caron's gurney.

  "Both original drivers and two of mine," Cady said. "Stand by." She rapidfired into her mic, then said, "They have the outside door under surveillance and cover, discreetly."

  "Good," Bart said. "I have escorted a high profile patient before. I expect we will have security at the door—"

  Bang! Bang! Bang! "Open this door!"

  "—about now."

  Horace went to work. He wanted everything set up before he allowed anyone else in, and he would supervise the procedure until the end.

  "Cady, I need a high dose of stim for me, please."

  Cady was good. She had the IV lines hung, and a tray of every acetylcholine stimulant or inhibitor he might need. She rolled over a dialysis machine and an external pacemaker. She reached into a drawer and grabbed out a pack of stimulants, peeled one out and slapped it onto his neck where it would absorb faster than the arm, but without shocking his system too much.

  Jason knew enough to roll sensor pads up, slap them on, and step back. He'd correctly placed them on the upper curve of the right breasts and just outside and down from the left.

  "I can hand implements if you need, or help with the door."

  "Help with the door," Horace said.

  He sprinkled a pinch of powder over each of them, more as a tradition and habit for himself than from any expectation it would help. Neurotoxins were very powerful natural magic themselves. One had to actually cleanse the blood, and fast.

  "Watch for V Fib," he told Cady. "Advise me if you see it and prepare to shock or pace. I'm going to cut down for dialysis."

  Behind him, he could hear Bart and Alex arguing with hospital security.

  Aramis said, "I don't care who you are. We have our own doctor, we just need the facilities. Everything else can proceed as normally, and we apologize for the inconvenience."

  It was obvious there wasn't going to be any shooting. The doc sounded as if he was trying to guess if they were undercover UN cops or soldiers. For now, that was fine. They were not going to admit that a Prescot was in there, and they were not going to let anyone else in.

  "You've shut down the whole ER! We have to cordon and evac, and—"

  "And if I'm really a threat you should not be discussing your security protocols with me, should you?" It sounded as if Aramis was enjoying being reasonable with someone so distraught.

  That seemed to shut the man up. Then Aramis got on his phone and talked at length. That was not Horace's concern, though. Right now, he had two young women to save. He ignored everything but their vitals and treatment.

  Jason knew he was stressing out. There was nothing more he could do, except let a real physician and an advanced EMT handle things. It would be a waste of a beautiful woman to lose Prescot, and a black mark they didn't need, but he was more worried about Elke. Beautiful. Deadly. A good friend and a fine operator. He also knew if she did die, he wouldn't have anyone to take revenge on. It would just be one of those things.

  One of his character flaws was not dealing well with not getting his way. He wasn't as bad as Alex, but his anger lit off when he was blocked, and there was not a damned thing he could do about this. He steamed and twitched. He was moderately nauseous from the cigar as well.

  At least I have plenty of adrenaline if I need to kick someone's ass, he thought. It helped calm him just a few percent.

  He was too pissed to think straight, so he left the ugly expression on his face, the one that said, "I want to kill you. Please give me an excuse," and let Aramis argue with the rentacops outside the door.

  Yeah, he was pissed. He was better trained, but they were still part of the same career, and "rentacop" was a phrase he tried not to use, e
ven about mall security.

  He looked over, and Bart seemed twitchy, too. Bart almost never betrayed emotion. That was a little reassuring, but then he remembered why they were both nervy. They had a woman down, with a neurotoxin.

  If he prayed, he'd pray for Shaman to outdo himself. The man was a master with a knife, pliers and cargo tape. How was he with all the high tech gear and a high tech problem?

  Horace breathed a sigh and stretched kinks from his back. It had taken an hour, but he was sure he had both women stabilized and breathing normally. They'd need some recovery time, but they were definitely going to live.

  Somehow, Alex was in the room. How or when that had happened, he didn't know. Somehow, he'd gotten in, and none of the crowd of staff outside had.

  Horace looked over at him and asked, "How is the burden?"

  Alex looked as exhausted as Horace felt.

  "New Scotland Yard, UN Bureau of Safety, British Region. Local police. Board of Health. Corporate. National and UN Disease Vector Control. A bunch of pissed hospital administrators. It doesn't end. The important thing is, we're all alive."

  "We should all stay that way, too. I am confident both women will survive, barring unforeseen disasters."

  Alex grinned and looked younger and more awake at once. "Good. When can we transport?"

  "At once, and we should. The longer we're in a hospital, the longer someone has to mix up drugs, food, atmosphere or other issues."

  "Understood. I'll get us transport. Five ambulances. Jason, let's make calls."

  "Yes, sir!" Jason agreed, with a grin of his own. He let his weapon down on its sling, took three bounding steps, and grabbed Horace in a tight embrace.

  As Horace returned it, Jason said, "Well done, my friend. You have confirmed your reputation as a miracle worker."

  "Was there ever any doubt?" he replied. Hugging was not normal for him. This wasn't the most comfortable act, but it was heartfelt.

  "Not of your abilities, just that some things are not fixable."

  "Luckily, sometimes a cigar is not just a cigar."

  Another man was very upset with that turn of events. They'd saved her. A neurotoxin he was assured killed in minutes, before it was possible to reach a hospital, and they'd saved her, and that frightening freak of a woman with them, nor had any of the others suffered. It was impressive, and Bryan Prescot was certainly getting his money's worth, but that just drove home that he had to go down. He cheated businesses, governments and now death.

  How to reach him, though? The inside intel source was iffy at this point; hell, unreliable. Bloody loyalties. The guards were, grudgingly, the best. Short of large bombs, what was there?

  Some of the spy gadgets were defeated, others showing obvious false images, and the "good" ones couldn't be trusted. Most of them could be abandoned, but one set of cameras . . .

  She really was a very pretty girl. Very pretty. It was a shame he'd had to have that camera removed, but he had a good archive.

  If he played it right, he might get a closer look soon enough. Move or kill the father, get the daughter, and take the money. It was not an easy challenge, but there were more zeroes involved than most astrophysicists dealt with. That made it worth it.

  So, this attack had failed. It was time to change tactics. They'd be harder to reach on that desolate rock, but harder to protect as well, and channels were slow and limited. They should just be encouraged to go there. It might take a year to work it, but that was a fair timetable. Also, most of the family hadn't spent much time there. There were arrangements in place they couldn't know about, and wouldn't be able to respond to.

  The game was more exciting as it progressed.

  Chapter 11

  "You saved my life . . . again," Caron said. She didn't enjoy being in a wheelchair, but it helped with mobility. She wanted to lie back down. Horace had said that as soon as medical monitors were set, she could lie down in her own bed.

  From her own wheelchair, Elke said, "It's what I get paid for, but you're welcome. I didn't plan to get poisoned."

  "Still, I'm sorry . . . dammit, I'm sorry about all of this. I just wanted to be a mining engineer in the family company . . . I never wanted to be some exotic trillionaire."

  "We're often trapped by circumstance."

  "Why do you do it? It can't be just the money."

  "It's a professional challenge, and we have pride in ourselves and our company," Elke said. "I have my own circumstances, too."

  "Oh? Like what?"

  "Caron," Elke hesitated. "I'm the only woman on our team. Our industry is ninety percent male, and few females in front line, unless they're guarding women. It's probably worse for Cady, being trans, but I know for myself, I can't ever be a woman in public."

  "Why not?"

  "Culture. I'm one of the team, one of the guys. Aramis especially took a long time to get used to that idea. So I have to be more masculine than he is. He has to think of me as 'Agent Sykora, nuclear explosive disposal technician and executive protection specialist.' He tries very hard not to think of me as, 'Elke, the Czech woman he wants to bed.' It would be cruel of me to taunt him, it would be unprofessional, and it would make working together harder."

  Caron flushed. She had been taunting him a lot, from sheer frustration.

  "It also would mean he'd have trouble with my professional position. So as far as anyone is concerned, Elke's a nun with no interest in sex, and a cold-hearted technical bitch with no interest in anything girly. If you think you're frustrated . . . " she tapered off, looking bemused and slightly embarrassed.

  "You're not a nun, I gather."

  "If you'd seen Bart with his shirt off . . . " Elke grinned. "And if I hadn't been half dead, and if Jason hadn't had that awful cigar . . . "

  "Lucky you. Agent Cady did not have a good time with the cigar, and I can honestly say that was one of the most horrible intimate experiences of my life, but I'm very grateful for it." She'd found out about Cady's background, and wasn't sure whether she didn't like that Cady was female, had been male, had transitioned between them, or that she was a stranger with a cigar. All of it was dizzying and unpleasant.

  "It's odd like that," Elke said. "Very intimate, and very professional. We have a bond we'd never have as friends, lovers or family. But really, someone should have told you this early on: if you need to get spread, it's not a problem. We are not present, socially, only professionally. Use your apartment, the limo, a hotel. We are absolutely going to be there, and you could invite in a horse and nothing would be said. We've guarded a lot of people with a lot of quirks. Our job is to guard you and be silent about it, nothing more."

  Caron was both relieved and embarrassed. Yes, Elke had been in the toilet with her, but she was a woman and that happened. The exhibitionism had been a challenge, a protest, but . . .

  "So why did it get you all flushed and sweaty?"

  "Honestly?"

  "Please."

  "You were being an utter bitch to my friend and needed a lesson. So I did a bunch of pushups and gave you a leer. Sorry."

  "He had a great ass, though, didn't he?" Caron grinned.

  "Yes, he did. You were being a bit of a bitch to me, too, you know."

  "I didn't know. I wasn't thinking of you as a woman."

  "Well, thank you."

  It took her a moment to grasp that. Then she grinned.

  "You're welcome, Elke."

  "Next time I'm sending Bart to the toilet with you. Or Alex."

  Caron cringed. "You wouldn't."

  "I would, and it shouldn't matter, but I probably won't."

  "But if I'm a bloody bitch again you might?"

  "That, or if it turns out to be necessary. Look, Jason and Alex are married, old enough it's not an issue, and Jason is a paramedic. Shaman's a doctor. Bart's been in the dressing room with singers and actresses. I'm female. Aramis is the only one who might be uncomfortable, and he'd never let you know it."

  "I just have never had this before. Ewan . . . damn hi
m . . . was family, and I never needed a guard standing over me to take a crap."

  "Pretend we're not there. It'll be a lot easier. Have we ever commented or given any indication that it matters?"

  "No . . . though that's almost disturbing, too. One expects jokes, comments. Look, genetics were good to me. I know men like my body, but the blokes act like robots."

  "That's our job. But if you make a few jokes, we might make a few back, but you have to set the tone."

  Caron nodded. "Thanks. I feel a lot better. If there's anything I can do for you, let me know."

  "Don't offer me anymore food."

  "I was going to have you test it all."

  "Absolutely. I have chemical sniffers now."

  "What quirks?"

  "Hmm?"

  "You mentioned people you'd guarded who had some unusual quirks in the bedroom. Who?"

  "None of your bloody business," Elke said with a smile.

  "Just checking."

  Horace came in, and Elke looked relieved.

  "I'm going to hobble to next door and collapse," Elke said. She raised her arm stiffly. It still showed purple bruises from needles and handling. She grabbed the manual knob and turned for the door.

  "Rest well," Caron offered.

  She still couldn't fathom why someone would have a job like that. She didn't like the need and she didn't like that people got hurt on her behalf, even if they were well paid.

  If only she could get rid of that bloody fortune.

  She mulled it over while Horace helped her through the door and into her bed, now set with bio monitors.

  By the next day, Alex had resolved all the outstanding issues, with the help of Ripple Creek HQ. The Prescot family, their lawyers, the company lawyers and some friendly Assemblypersons, plus the fact that two people were saved from near certain death made a good case for the team's actions being justified. Opposed to that, those who blindly supported the rules had little to point to more than those rules . . . which would have likely led to two dead women and a political mess that would also cause bad PR for the hospital and the arena. There'd be grumbling for a few days, but Alex' superiors told him not to worry, so he'd make occasional checks and otherwise ignore it.