Knockdown

by William W. Johnstone; J. A. Johnstone

  Barry lifted Durant and dumped him into the truck, as well, handling him like a sack of feed and not being too gentle about it, either. He went into the sleeper, where Jake was kneeling beside the bed and working to stop the bleeding from Gretchen’s wound.

  “It looks worse than it is,” Barry said over Jake’s shoulder, “if the bullet missed the lungs. You can tell it didn’t hit her heart or the spine.”

  “There’s no exit wound,” Jake reported. “So the slug’s still in there somewhere, and there’s no telling where it bounced around.”

  “We can’t go digging for it . . . but I know somebody who can.”

  Jake glanced up at him.

  “A doctor?”

  “Yeah, a really good one.” Barry frowned in thought. “Lives about an hour away from here, or at least he did the last time I was in touch with him.”

  Jake looked at Gretchen and said, “I don’t know if she has an hour.”

  “She’s tough. She’ll make it. And we need to be gone from here.”

  “You’re right,” Jake said with a sigh. “I’ll do what I can for her. You get us out of here.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Barry said.

  * * *

  The next hour seemed longer—a lot longer—to Jake than it really was. Using the first aid supplies in Barry’s truck, he stopped the bleeding from Gretchen’s wound, taped a rough dressing in place, and gave her shots of painkillers and antibiotics.

  But he had no way of knowing whether she had internal bleeding, and if so, how bad it was. Judging by how pale and drawn her face was, he didn’t think the situation was good.

  After leaving the scene of the shoot-out, Barry had taken the first exit off the interstate and stuck to back roads and smaller highways as he drove through this mostly rural area of Pennsylvania. There were bound to be APBs out on the truck by now. Even with the armor plating, the big rig had taken enough damage that it really looked beaten up, which made it distinctive.

  After a while, Jake called up to the cab, “Are we getting anywhere close yet to this doctor you know?”

  “Not much longer,” Barry replied.

  “I assume he won’t feel duty bound to report a gunshot wound?”

  “I think that’s safe to say.”

  A few minutes later, Barry turned off the county road he had been following onto a paved driveway that ran between a pair of hedges. The driveway was a long one, at least a quarter of a mile. It ended in a parking lot with room for a dozen vehicles. Barry pulled the truck to one side of the lot.

  A concrete walk led from the parking lot across a well-kept lawn to an old farmhouse, with a newer brick building set to the right of it.

  “We’re here,” Barry told Jake, who already had his arms under Gretchen’s shoulders and knees as he prepared to lift her from the bed.

  With Barry’s help, Jake got her out of the cab and turned toward the building with her in his arms. He paused when he saw the sign on the wall that read MCINTIRE ANIMAL CLINIC AND HOSPITAL.

  “Wait a minute,” Jake said. “You brought us to a veterinarian?”

  “Still a doctor,” Barry said. “And don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions. I texted Doc that we were on our way.”

  Indeed, there were no other vehicles in the parking lot, and in the middle of a weekday like this, at least a few clients should have been there with their sick pets. Unless whoever ran the place had canceled all the existing appointments.

  A man came out of the farmhouse. Jake could tell that he’d been watching for them. The stranger was a tall, middle-aged, muscular black man with a closely trimmed beard. He moved like a soldier, so Jake wasn’t surprised when Barry said, “Hello, Captain.”

  The man made a slight gesture as if swiping that away.

  “That was a long time ago,” he said. He went on, addressing Jake, “I’m Caleb McIntire. You’d be Jake. I’d shake hands, but you’ve got yours full right now. Bring the young lady inside.”

  Jake carried Gretchen up the steps to the porch. As he did, a couple of dogs pushed out through the screen door, a good-sized golden retriever and a shaggy little miniature schnauzer with just about the happiest expression Jake had ever seen on a dog’s face.

  “Max, Clifford, get back,” McIntire said in a firm but kind voice. The two dogs responded instantly, moving over to the side of the porch to give Jake plenty of room. Their tails wagged with great enthusiasm.

  McIntire held the door open and told Jake, “Down that hall there, first door on the right.”

  Jake nodded. He assumed this was the veterinarian’s residence, with the brick building next door housing his office and practice.

  There was a hospital bed in the room Jake entered, along with several pieces of medical equipment such as IV stands, a blood pressure monitor, and a pulse oximeter. From the looks of the setup, Gretchen wasn’t the first human patient McIntire had treated.

  Carefully, Jake placed Gretchen on the bed. She stirred a little, making a small sound of pain, but she didn’t regain consciousness.

  Jake stepped back, looked over at McIntire, and said, “Iraq? Afghanistan?”

  “Yes,” McIntire said.

  From the doorway, Barry said, “If there’s been a hotspot anywhere in the world in the past thirty years, odds are that Doc has been there. Isn’t that right, Doc?”

  “Both of you get out and let me get to work,” McIntire said.

  That seemed to Jake like good advice to follow.

  CHAPTER 51

  “So . . . is he a real doctor, or a vet?”

  “He’s both,” Barry answered Jake’s question as they sat in the parlor of McIntire’s house. “Doc Caleb finished top of his class in med school, was a surgical resident at one of the best hospitals in the country . . . and then enlisted. He didn’t just stay at a hospital on one of our bases, though. He wanted to be out in the field.” Barry shrugged. “I suppose he saw more than he expected out there. He came back, said he didn’t want anything more to do with humans, and got his veterinary degree and license. But I guess he couldn’t stand the peace and quiet. I met him in Central America, where he was working as the medical officer for a private contracting company.”

  “Mercenaries, you mean,” Jake said.

  “Call it whatever you want. Point is, there’s not much he hasn’t seen or can’t handle when it comes to the damage human beings can do to each other. Gretchen’s in good hands, I promise you.”

  They were quiet for a few moments. Then, to distract himself from worrying about Gretchen and to satisfy his curiosity, Jake asked, “How did he wind up back here taking care of animals again?”

  “Finally burned out on that other life for good, I suppose. We’ve never really talked about it. I don’t normally pry into another man’s life. All I know for sure is how good he is at what he does.”

  “He’s patched you up before?”

  “Once or twice,” Barry replied with a smile.

  Jake nodded, then frowned in thought.

  “Wait a minute. You said the two of you met in Central America. I thought you operated in this country.”

  “For the most part, that’s what I’ve done. But now and then somebody would come to me with a job outside the country, and I’d take it on . . . if I believed it was the right thing to do.”

  “Do you even remember all the places you’ve been and all the things you’ve done?”

  “I don’t even try to remember all that,” Barry said. “The past is over and done with and never coming back. And all it’s good for is meeting some people you might need to connect with again later . . . like the doc in there.”

  They fell silent again. Time stretched out. Jake thought about how many trees and how much brush there was on McIntire’s property. That made the buildings and the parking lot difficult to see from the road. It wasn’t likely anybody would spot the truck.

  That kept him from thinking about Gretchen for a while, but really, it didn’t take long for her to fill up his thoughts a
gain. He had known her for only a few days, and he had a hunch that they were in fundamental disagreement about some things, yet despite that, she took up a sizable amount of room in his mind.

  Jake didn’t want to think too much about what that might mean. Not while she was lying in there, maybe on the verge of death, maybe gone already . . .

  McIntire came back into the room. Jake and Barry both stood up hurriedly.

  “Take it easy,” McIntire advised them in his deep, solemn voice. “I believe there’s a good chance the young lady will be all right.”

  Relief flooded through Jake, but wariness tempered it only a few seconds later.

  “A good chance, you said. What are the percentages?”

  “Percentage is a mathematical term,” McIntire said, “and mathematics is an exact science. Medicine isn’t. But I’m guardedly optimistic about her survival. That’s the best I can do.” His formal attitude unbent a little as he went on, “I was able to extract the slug without much trouble. It missed all the vital organs, but there was enough internal bleeding for it to be a problem. I cleaned that up, tied off the bleeders, and closed the wound. The blood loss is what I’m worried about, but I’ve given her a transfusion, have IVs hooked up for plasma, antibiotics, and anti-inflammatories, and her condition is stable. Now she’ll get some rest, and we’ll see what happens. Barry, I don’t believe you told me her name.”

  “It’s Gretchen,” Barry said. “Gretchen Rogers.”

  “Is she in the same line of work as you, or is she an innocent bystander?”

  “Does that make a difference?”

  McIntire shook his head and said, “Only in satisfying my curiosity.”

  Jake said, “She was an agent for the Department of Homeland Security.”

  “Was?” McIntire repeated with an arched eyebrow.

  “After everything that’s happened, she probably doesn’t have a job there anymore.”

  “She started keeping unsavory company,” Barry added dryly. “Us.”

  McIntire snorted and said, “I knew who you meant. Do I need to know the details?”

  “Not really. I can tell you, though, that no matter what you might hear, Jake and I are the good guys.”

  “I never doubted that. The way Clifford and Max seemed glad to meet you was enough for me to go by. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to trust dogs.”

  Jake asked, “When will Gretchen be able to travel again?”

  McIntire frowned at him and said, “She shouldn’t move much for a couple of days. And she won’t be able to run around and keep up with you two for a month.”

  “We don’t have that long to wait,” Barry said. “We’ll have to leave her here, Doc.”

  Jake was about to object, but he knew his uncle was right. With another terrorist attack looming, one that might be carried out at any minute, they had to get on the move again and check out the lead Barry had turned up on Long Island.

  “I thought maybe that was going to be the case,” McIntire said, nodding. “It won’t be a problem.”

  “Taking care of her won’t interfere with your practice too much?”

  “I have a partner who can handle most of the regular patients, and she can help me out with Ms. Rogers, too, if need be.”

  “You can trust this woman?” Jake asked, maybe a little more sharply than he meant to.

  McIntire smiled and said, “I hope so. We’re engaged to be married.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, I’m sorry.”

  McIntire made that waving-off gesture again and said, “Don’t worry about it. And even if it meant closing down the vet clinic for a while, I’d do that. Your uncle saved my life more than once, you know.”

  “I didn’t know,” Jake said, “but I’m not surprised.”

  Barry said, “We’re going to have to ask another favor of you, Doc. Is there a place where we can leave my truck, and maybe a vehicle we can borrow?”

  McIntire looked surprised. He said, “You’re going to leave that big rig of yours, Barry? I thought you were too attached to it for that.”

  “I don’t like to,” Barry said with a sigh, “but enough people are looking for us now that even with all the things I can do to make it harder to recognize, the odds of somebody spotting us in it are just too high. We need to move fast, and we can’t afford to be looking over our shoulders all the time.”

  McIntire thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

  “Follow the little dirt road to the left of the house,” he said. “It goes back to a barn that dates from the days when this was a working farm. There’s room in there for the truck, and nobody would have any reason to go poking around. It’ll be safe and out of sight. As for another vehicle, you can use my old pickup. I’ve hauled a few hogs and goats in it, but these days I pretty much confine my practice to small animals.”

  “We don’t want to cause any extra trouble for you—” Jake began.

  “It’s no trouble, son. If it was, I’d say so.”

  Barry stood up. “That’s settled, then.” He extended his hand. “We can’t thank you enough, Doc.”

  McIntire shook hands with both of them and gave Barry the keys to the pickup. Jake said, “Can we see Gretchen for a minute before we go?”

  “That should be all right. She’s sleeping, though, so don’t expect her to talk to you.”

  Jake nodded and followed McIntire into the room where Gretchen was lying in the hospital bed. The sheet was pulled up over her breasts, but her shoulders and arms were bare after McIntire had had to cut her clothes off her to get to the wound. She had two IVs going, one in each arm.

  Barry and McIntire stood back while Jake went to the side of the hospital bed. Gretchen was still pale, but Jake thought her face had a little more color in it now than the last time he’d seen her.

  “You rest easy,” he told her quietly. McIntire had said she couldn’t talk, but maybe, somewhere deep inside her, she could hear him. “We’ll take care of this.”

  He reached out tentatively with his left hand, closing it around Gretchen’s right hand.

  Jake couldn’t see it, but over by the door, McIntire looked at Barry and cocked an eyebrow. Barry nodded. It was clear to both of them that Jake had fallen for Gretchen, whether Jake had come around to understanding that himself or not.

  After a moment, Jake let her fingers slip out of his and turned to the other two men.

  “Let’s go,” he said to Barry. “The sooner we take care of this mess, the sooner we can get back here.”

  CHAPTER 52

  Dr. Caleb McIntire’s pickup was ten years old and as nondescript as could be, so it was exactly what Jake and Barry needed as they drove across a couple of towering bridges, through New York City, and onto Long Island.

  Barry looked at the city in the rearview mirror and said, “I don’t think I could ever get used to being around that many people all the time.”

  “You don’t like people,” Jake said.

  “That’s not entirely true. There are a few I like. It’s just that most of the ones I run into in my line of work are pretty sorry specimens of the human race.”

  Jake couldn’t argue with that. He had encountered the same thing as an FBI agent. Like the rest of the law enforcement community, it wasn’t a profession designed to make anybody optimistic about the future.

  Jake was driving while Barry did the navigating. His contact was a transit cop who worked for the Long Island Rail Road, he explained between telling Jake which turns to make, and worked mostly out of a station called Babylon, about forty miles out on the island.

  “Lots of passenger traffic through there, according to Hank,” Barry said. “It’s supposed to be one of the busiest train stations in the whole country. And nearly all of them are commuters who work in the city.”

  “Sounds like a perfect target for that sorry bunch of terrorists,” Jake said. “With the tension those earlier attacks have caused, if Saddiq pulls this off, the nerves of everybody who rides a train will
be so tight they’re liable to snap.” He paused. “Of course, we don’t know for sure that this is the next target. It’s only a possibility, based on the information you’ve turned up. Like Gretchen said—”

  He stopped short. A scowl appeared on his face. Barry saw that and said, “I know you’re worried about her. I am, too. But she’ll be all right. She’s in good hands.”

  “Medically, maybe. But what if one of those blasted death squads, either from the government or the cartel, tracks her there?”

  “Then the doc will deal with them,” Barry said confidently. “You don’t think anybody could just waltz in there, do you? If I hadn’t let him know we were coming, we might have had an unexpected and unpleasant welcome.”

  “How’s that possible?” Jake asked. “He has to deal with the public to run that vet clinic. He can’t have booby traps all over the place.”

  “You’d be surprised. Just figure that if anything comes up, Doc McIntire will find a way to deal with it, and Gretchen will be all right.” He pointed at an intersection ahead of them. “You’re going to want to turn right when you get to that red light.”

  Jake did so, and the road he followed took them through what seemed at first glance to be a picturesque fishing village. Long Island Sound was visible in several places, and they passed nice housing developments arranged along the banks of canals.

  Just looking at the place, it was hard to believe that the population was well over two hundred thousand. The people must be really packed in, but somehow, the village didn’t give the appearance of it.

  “We’re going to your friend’s house, right?” Jake said.

  “Yeah. We’ve been messaging back and forth, and he said to meet him there instead of at the station. That’ll give him the chance to give us the lay of the land first.”

  That sounded like a good idea to Jake. He made a couple more turns, following Barry’s directions, and then pulled up in front of a small but neatly kept frame house with a postage-stamp front yard in a neighborhood of similar houses. He could see the waters of the sound several blocks away.