After the last of them had filed out, Radcliff and Pat were left alone.
"I'm sorry, Pat. I did the best I could under the circumstances."
“I know Senator. I’m not that concerned. At least we have some time to show progress and I'm sure we can." (He was lying. He didn't know how his organization would be able to do what he had promised in so short a span.
The senator saw through his friend's optimistic words, but chose to continue the lie anyway. "I know you can do it too, Pat. Why, my career is at stake as well as yours on this one."
Pat knew he was telling the truth about his own career being in the balance, but it struck him as unusual that Radcliff would make such a remark about his own future. The senator certainly didn't seem to worry about his career when his pecker got hard and he continued to chase the young secretaries around in the Senate building. Maybe something more was bothering him, but he didn't know what that could be. It was his neck on the line as he saw it, not the senator's, but before he could delve further into the reason for Radcliff's remark, the senator stuck out his hand and grabbed his shaking it briskly. "Good luck, Pat! I'll be talking to you soon," he said curtly motioning for him to leave.
Pat was still thinking about what Radcliff had said as he reached for the buzzer to let himself out of the vault.
CHAPTER 7
Pat swung the vault door open and entered the hallway again. It was vacant. Captain Jennings, his escort, was nowhere to be seen. He looked at his watch and noted that only twenty-five minutes had passed since he had entered the conference room to defend his project. He still had five minutes left until the captain would come for him so he decided to use the time to develop a plan for dealing with the circumstances the committee had dealt him and sat down in an empty chair next to the vault door he had just closed. It was clear he hadn't succeeded in gaining the support he needed as he had hoped. Even Walker's testimony hadn't helped that much and his own briefing was a disaster. He was disgusted with himself.
Pat closed his eyes and began to weigh his alternatives. With only three months to save his dream, the only obvious thing to do was to make sure that his organization achieved the progress that he had lied about in the meeting. O'Shaunessey was his only hope. He decided then and there that whatever it took to get the old geezer to perform he'd do it.
As he sat there, he wrestled with the thought of going back into the vault and telling the senator that the report he sent was contrived, but quickly gave up the thought as foolish. He was too proud to admit that he'd lied about the progress his chief scientist had made. He remembered the oath he'd taken as a midshipman at the Naval Academy--that a midshipman didn't lie or cheat or steal or tolerate anyone else who did. This thought hurt. Had he become so involved in wanting SIGMA ONE to succeed that he'd abandoned his basic principles? Had he become so greedy? He didn't want to admit it, but the answer was clear: of course he had. But he rationalized that under the circumstances that principals didn't matter anymore. The fate of SIGMA ONE to him was synonymous with the fate of mankind. A lie to a friend paled in comparison to the significance of that.
At that moment, Captain Jennings came around the corner and approached him.
"Mr. Huxley?"
Pat ignored him. He was too deep in thought. His eyes were closed.
Jennings tried again. "Mr. Huxley, have you been waiting long?"
Still no reply.
Jennings tapped him on the shoulder and Pat opened his eyes.
"Huh," Pat replied, still not focused in this world.
"Have you been here long, sir? I got detained and hope that I didn't keep you waiting," Jennings apologized. He was still feeling slightly guilty for his earlier lack of consideration for Pat's handicap when he caught himself from running down the hall, leaving Pat behind, and he was trying to make amends.
Pat cleared his head and answered. "No, son, I just got out of the meeting." His voice indicated his meeting hadn't gone well.
Jennings picked up on it right away. "Everything okay? I mean did the hearing turn out okay?"
Pat snapped. "I don't want to talk about it and I'd appreciate your not intruding into matters that don't concern you. Do you understand?"
Jennings back stiffened. He was only curious. "Yes,sir. I understand." All thoughts of apologizing further for his earlier actions evaporated. Jennings then did a curt about face and proceeded down the hall not even waiting for Pat to get up. His gait was decidedly crisper than when he was hurrying to the meeting earlier.
Were it not for Pat's good sense of direction, he would have never made it out of the Pentagon, Jennings having sprinted purposefully until he was nearly out of sight. As it was, when Pat got to the front desk, Jennings was gone. Luckily for Pat, the guard seated at the front desk didn't check his escort-required badge and he was able to pass out of the controlled area without incident. Pat made a note to himself to call one of his old classmates at the Naval Annex and have the insolent Captain Jennings get a very choice assignment which, after he was through with it, would put any chances he may have had for career advancement out of the question.
Pat stood at the steps to the Pentagon and buttoned his overcoat to protect himself from the chilly October air. Scores of military men and women walked briskly past him. Each had a thinly disguised overworked look in their eyes as if their jobs would determine whether or not the country would go to war based upon which piece of paper they pushed that afternoon. This thought sickened him as he recalled the numerous zealots he had had to associate with in his brief tour of duty at the Naval Annex.
To him, people assigned to the Pentagon were more of a hindrance to military progress than a help.
He turned and limped toward his car. When Pat finished the half mile hike to the lower river front entrance parking lot and finally reached his car, he was physically and mentally exhausted so instead of going back to his office, he headed home to rest and to think.
Driving past the Washington Monument, he looked up at the white stone edifice and marveled at its beauty. The stone pillar stretched up into the cool October air pointing at the sky and reminded him of a Minuteman missile on lift-off. The sight also saddened him as he flashed back to the meeting and recalled the mandate he had been given to make progress or face the consequences of cancellation.
As he turned right onto Constitution Avenue and passed the tall grey government buildings, his cellphone beeped.
He lifted the receiver and put it to his Par.
"Hello!"
The voice on the other end was clear and crisp. "Mr. Huxley, this is security. I've got an urgent message for you from Ms. Hunt."
"What's up." Pat didn't like the word "urgent" especially when used in conjunction with Ms. Hunt. Pat wondered if Radcliff had more good news for him and was relaying it through Cherisa, his plant.
"I'm not sure, Mr. Huxley," the security guard said. "I just got this from the SIGMA ONE folks. Ms. Hunt said I should call you immediately.
She didn't give any details….”
Before he could continue, Pat interrupted. He was perplexed. "Put Ms.Hunt on the line. I want to speak to her now."
The guard paused, unsure how to respond, having sensed the anger in Huxley’s voice.
"Put her on! Dammit!" Pat repeated.
"I can't, sir. She's left the building. She wants you to meet her at Washington Mercy Hospital."
Pat was annoyed, but also concerned. His tone of voice changed as he probed for more information. "What's going on?"
"I'm sorry, sir, she didn't give me any further detail. She just left with the paramedics. They were carrying someone out on a stretcher. She said I should notify you. That's all I know."
"Did they say who was ill."
"No. I didn't get his name. I think you'd better hurry, sir. Ms. Hunt seemed pretty upset."
"Okay. Thanks. I'm on my way." Pat replied.Pat didn't know what had happened, but immediately after hanging up the receiver, he whipped his car to the right, changing direction
s without first looking in his rear view mirror and barely missing a new 450 SL Mercedes as he did. Obviously something was wrong at the NSF and it involved SIGMA ONE. He knew he had to hurry.
Pat drove for another twenty minutes and cursed each time he got caught behind a slow truck or missed a light. Finally, he pulled into the hospital parking lot. The red and white emergency entrance sign was on his right and as luck would have it, there weren't any parking spots near the door. Pat didn't have time to search the lot for a more convenient place, so instead he pulled into a reserved slot. He'd have to deal with whatever problem this caused later.
Pat hobbled toward the door and as soon as he entered, the clinical hospital smells of alcohol and sterility hit his nose. Ever since his airplane accident, hospitals had given him the chills. He didn't like to see them, or think about them, and to enter one was totally intolerable. Were it not for something involving SIGMA ONE, he wouldn't have even considered following Cherisa's request.
He stepped forward slowly ignoring the old man clutching his chest seated in the waiting room immediately opposite the admitting window. Once there, he cautiously looked around and seeing no one, began beating on the glass to get the administrator's attention. He could see her halfway across the room on the other side of the glass with her back turned. She was ignoring him and continued to pour herself a cup of coffee.
The old man spoke up. "Don't try to hurry her, son. I've been sitting here for nearly an hour and a half with chest pains and she's been ignoring me all that time. I think probably have to die before I see a doctor." The old man was breathing laboriously as he spoke.
Pat stopped beating on the window long enough to turn around to see who had spoken to him. "Huh?" he asked.
"I said don't try to hurry that old battle-axe up. She's kept me waitin' here and besides that, I'm here ahead of you. So why don't you just sit down and wait yer turn. She'll be along readily." He clutched his chest again and gasped, "I hope."
Pat could see the man was in distress and forgot his own problems momentarily. He approached the old guy, who must have been in his late seventies and knelt down in front of him.
"You okay, Mister?" Pat asked quietly.
The old man answered. "I'm okay. Just got me a bad ticker, that's all. Ran outta nitro yesterday and came her to get a prescription for some." The old man began to wheeze again and coughed deeply and continuously. The sound made Pat want to retch.
"You sure you're okay?" Pat repeated after hearing the man nearly cough up a lung.
The old man caught his breath and became indignant. "I said I'm okay. Now why don't you leave me alone. You'll get yer turn. After me!" He sounded bitter.
Pat was taken aback. He was only trying to help the old bastard. He took one last look to insure the guy was truly all right and then got up off his knee and went back to the window and began banging on the glass again. This time he used his keys to make more noise. He was tired of waiting.
Shortly, the administrator turned around and slowly, but deliberately came towards the window. A snail could have moved quicker. It was as if she were trying to taunt him by deliberately delaying.
When she finally arrived, she leaned into the cut out in the window, and with the voice of the old witch from the Wizard of Oz spoke. "You needn't continue your rapping, young man.”
The old lady was seventy-five if she were a day, Pat thought as he studied her from behind the glass. Her blue-grey hair was neatly piled in place under her white nurse's cap and her lips were covered with bright red lipstick which gave her a comical appearance. She had entirely too much powder on her wrinkled face and it looked to him that if she laughed or even so much as smiled, that her powdery foundation would crack and fall to the floor. Pat wondered if Tammy Fay would look like this in a few years.
Pat held back his laughter and spoke up. "I'm Mr. Patrick Huxley and I'd like to know if a Ms. Cherisa Hunt from the NSF has checked in or left any messages for me. She told me to meet her here."
The old lady looked sternly at him. I've got a message for a Mr. Huxley, but if you're him, I've a good mind not to give it to you."
This infuriated him. "Listen, Ms."....he squinted to read her name tag, "Darnell, I haven't got the patience to play your games. Give me the God Damned message now!"
Darnell wasn't the least bit impressed by his display of anger. She ignored him altogether and moved away from the window where she sat down at her desk and picked up a romance novel and began reading.
Pat was to the boiling point, but held his anger, sensing he couldn't coerce Darnell into giving him his message. If he lost his temper, chances were he'd never get her to tell him. He decided on another tactic and leaned forward toward the window and put his face near the circular cutout.
"Ms. Darnell, I'm terribly sorry I snapped at you." His voice was as sugar coated as he could make it.
"If you would please give me my message, I'd be most grateful." Pat gritted his teeth while he fought back the urge to pull her face through the circle of glass.
Darnell slowly turned around and approached him. (Apparently his ploy had worked.) "May I see some ID please," she asked, obviously buying his apology.
He opened his wallet and held it up to the glass for her to see. Darnell studied the photo, looked back and forth from it to Pat. Finally satisfied, she poked a white envelope through the hole.
Pat grabbed it and ripped it open.
The message was scrawled sloppily on a piece of hospital stationary It read: "Pat, something has happened to O'Shaunnesey. We're on the fifth floor in the cardiac care unit. Get up here as quickly as you can." It was signed Cherisa.
The message stunned him. Something wrong with O'Shaunnesey? As if he didn't have enough troubles today. Cardiac rare unit? He stared blankly ahead as the shock of the note sunk in. He stayed like this for at least thirty seconds. His jaw was slack and he was blanching. His face had lost all color.
"You okay, Mister?" The old man asked.
"Yeah. I'll okay." He answered autonomously. He wasn't thinking.
"You sure you're okay? You don’t look so good,” the old man asked again.
Pat looked at the man and nodded. 'Where's the elevator?" The old man pointed down the hall to the left but remained silent as Pat turned and left. Pat didn't even thank him.
Halfway down the hall, a twinge of guilt came over him and Pat turned around and bade the old man good luck. The old man raised his hand in reply just as the elevator doors slid open.
As he was riding up to the cardiac care unit, he wondered what might have happened to O'Shaunnesey. He knew it had to be bad. Being put in the CCU couldn't be good. The question was, how bad?
The elevator doors opened and Pat stepped out into the hall. The first thing he saw was Cherisa standing before him. She had apparently telephoned down to the front desk and Darnell must have told her he was on his way up.
"Mr. Huxley I didn't---- know---- what else to do." Cherisa was shaking and sobbing as she tried to tell Pat what had happened back at the NSF. Her words were hardly understandable. "It...all....happened so quickly," she continued. "I didn't know what else....to ...do."
"Calm down, Ms. Hunt! What happened so quickly?"
Cherisa let out a big sigh, lowering her head as she did. She then began to breathe deeply to relax herself. The paramedic who had brought O'Shaunnesey in was standing ten feet away smoking a cigarette. From his vantage point he caught Cherisa's profile and watched as her breasts rose and then fell with each deep breath she took. Pat was standing directly in front of her and even he couldn't help but notice her cleavage as well. He could now understand why the senator had been interested in maintaining his liaison with her. Cherisa had a knockout figure and her strawberry blonde hair, big blue eyes and pouty lips were reminiscent of Bardot. Pat stared at her just a moment longer, making a mental note to himself that he should probably be more tolerant of her recent tardiness. He wasn't even aware of his chauvinistic attitude. He rationalized his feelings by tell
ing himself that Cherisa really was interested in doing a good job at the NSF and that she was dedicated. Why else would she be crying?
"Come on, Cherisa," Pat said as he reached his hand around her neck to comfort her. He began to slowly rub the top of her shoulders as he spoke soothingly to her. "Come on now, calm down so you can tell me what happened."
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