“Are you coming home soon?”
“It’ll be a while,” David told her. He knew, in all likelihood, he wouldn’t be home when she awakened, and that would frighten her. And if she learned he was trapped on the Beaumont Pavilion with the President, it would terrify her. She would be consumed by the thought that she was losing the only parent she had left. For an eleven-year-old, that was beyond horror. Goddamn terrorists! David fumed. He wished they’d all be slowly hanged at the end of a very long rope.
“Dad? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, but I’ve got to scoot now. They’re coming to an important part of the operation.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, too, Kitten. Sleep tight.”
David switched off the cell phone and crawled on, now picturing Kit pulling the covers up to her chin with her favorite teddy bear beside her. I won’t take any chances. I’ve got a young daughter who depends on me for everything, and I’m all she has. I have to get out of here alive. No matter what, I have to stay alive.
David moved by a stack of multicolored wires, taking extra care to avoid the metal piping and be as silent as possible. He turned his mind to William Warren, and decided to check him next. All of the old physician’s signs were bad, his recurrent arrhythmias were only the most ominous. Without Carolyn at his side he would almost surely have been dead by now. But even with her, chances are he’d never—
David abruptly stopped. Outside he heard the sound of an approaching helicopter. He concentrated on the noise of the engine and its loudness. Put-put! Put-put! Put-put! Put-put! Too small to be an Apache or Blackhawk, he thought. Way too small. The sound grew closer and closer, then gradually began to fade until it disappeared altogether. David nodded to himself. It was probably a Cobra, a two-seat MedEvac helicopter that was landing on the heliport behind the emergency room.
David continued on, now coming to the suite of William Warren. The silver-haired physician was moving around fitfully in his bed, clutching at the wound on his side, which was now bleeding more heavily. That was probably caused by the anticoagulant effect of the aspirin he’d been given to minimize the size of his coronary clot, David decided. But the bleeding wasn’t serious. A pressure dressing would take care of that.
David’s gaze went to the EKG leads on Warren’s chest, then to the IV bag slowly dripping into his arm. The label on the bag read BRETYLIUM. David grumbled to himself. So the PVCs had returned despite treatment with lidocaine. A bad sign. It indicated there was a lot of ventricular irritability, which was a perfect setup for ventricular tachycardia. Warren needed to be in a CCU where he could be continuously monitored. An elevator ride down four floors could save two lives, Warren’s and Marci’s. But the terrorists weren’t going to let that happen. Two more deaths wouldn’t bother them in the least.
David squeezed past a metal grid and approached the chart room, with its stacked-up bodies. But now the smell had an acrid quality, like burning rubber. No. No, he quickly correctly himself. It was more like an electrical fire. But where was it coming from? He sniffed the air carefully, sampling it in all directions, but was unable to pinpoint the source of the odor. So he sniffed again, holding his nose up to the top of the crawlspace. The smell was coming from the presidential end of the corridor! Something was on fire! And the terrorists would pick up the odor soon. Then they’d remove all the panels to search the crawlspace to see what was on fire. And they’d find him.
David hesitated a moment, then moved quickly toward the source of the smell. He knew it was a risky maneuver, but he had no choice. Maybe I can reach the fire and put it out before the terrorists pick up the acrid odor. Maybe the smell of vomit and blood below will dull their olfactory senses. Yeah. Maybe. The odor was stronger now, and David thought he could see something flashing in the dimness ahead.
In the corridor beneath him, David heard a terrorist yelling, “Aliev! Aliev!”
Then David heard the sound of running footsteps. Oh, shit! They’ve detected the fire! Now they’ll start removing all the ceiling panels!
But the footsteps stopped directly under him.
“Hazha!”—Look! the terrorist cried out. “T’ye televizor!”—On the television!
David gazed down through a crack and saw Aliev rush into the First Daughter’s room, another terrorist a step behind him. Now they were speaking frantically in Chechen, their voices becoming louder and louder. David crawled slowly and quietly until he was directly behind them. Then he slid a panel back an inch and peered down.
Aliev began shouting at the large plasma television screen.
David moved the panel back another inch and saw what Aliev was yelling at.
A news helicopter was transmitting a live picture that showed the roof of University Hospital. It was from a distance, but one could still make out two small figures near the middle of the roof using what appeared to be an acetylene torch to cut their way through. And a reporter was describing it!
The news helicopter was unintentionally showing a rescue attempt. Get out of there! David’s brain hollered. Get your damn camera out of there!
“Dr. Ballineau,” a voice said in the dimness, “we’re going to hand down some medicine for the President.”
It took David a moment to realize the voice was coming through a hole in the roof that was made by the Secret Service agents using an acetylene blowtorch. “How large is the opening?” David asked hurriedly, now wondering if the hole was big enough for a man to squeeze his way in.
“Approximately eight inches,” the agent answered in a low voice. “An arm can pass through without any problem. Are you ready to receive?”
Before David could answer, a spray of automatic gunfire came up through the ceiling. He curled himself up into a tight ball as bullets whizzed by, coming closer and closer.
Fifteen
Carolyn heard the gunshots and dashed to the open door of the First Daughter’s room. She watched in horror as Aliev and another terrorist fired round after round into the ceiling. Oh, my God! David! They know he’s up there!
“Stop!” she cried out. “Please stop!”
The terrorists paused, but only to place fresh clips of ammunition in their Uzis.
“The bullets you shoot up will come down,” Carolyn pleaded, quickly thinking up a reason for them to hold their fire. “You could kill someone.”
“That is the idea,” Aliev said and pointed his Uzi upward. “Somebody is up there and should not be.”
“Nobody is up there,” Carolyn argued desperately. “It’s only a crawlspace with wires and pipes.”
“Someone is on the roof,” Aliev growled and squeezed the trigger on his submachine run. Another burst of bullets tore into the ceiling. “We saw it on television.”
Carolyn turned to the television screen, but now it only showed a news reporter. Why would they televise someone on the hospital’s roof ? she wondered. Was it just part of a program that the terrorists misinterpreted as happening in real time? Maybe. But what about David? Was he in the area of the shots? Or was he watching over the critically ill patients? Please, God, let him have been away from this room.
Aliev exhausted his second clip and tossed it aside. “They will think twice before they try another rescue.”
Carolyn’s eyes widened. A rescue attempt. That’s what it was! They were going to come in through the roof. She suddenly shuddered to herself, wondering if David had crawled over to the area to assist the would-be rescuers.
Aliev barked out an order in Chechen. The other terrorist handed him his Uzi, then pulled Jamie Merrill out of her bed and onto the floor. He climbed up on the mattress, knocked a ceiling panel out, and hoisted the upper part of his body into the crawlspace. Using a flashlight, he carefully searched the area. After a few moments he came down and reported to Aliev. He pointed to his arm and made a dangling gesture, then b
abbled on, repeating the word elektrichestvo several times.
Aliev walked over to Carolyn and said, “Whoever was there is now dead. He will no longer be a problem to us.”
Carolyn swallowed hard. She took a deep breath and forced her voice to remain even. “Was the dead man wearing a white coat?”
Aliev looked at her oddly. “Why is that important?”
“They may have been trying to send a doctor down to treat the President,” Carolyn said.
“The only thing my man saw was an arm covered with blood, and it wasn’t moving,” Aliev said with a shrug.
It might not be David, Carolyn thought, holding on to the slimmest of hopes. She and the patients desperately needed David’s
expertise. And he was their only chance of escape. She had to know if he was still alive.
“We should bring the body down,” she suggested. “It’s very warm in that crawlspace and the body will decompose rapidly.”
“The smell of death will not bother me or my men,” Aliev said, unconcerned. “Now we are faced with another problem. Do you have any electrical tape?”
“Yes. At the front desk,” Carolyn replied. She was talking to Aliev, but her hearing was concentrated on the ceiling, listening for any signs of life. “The ward clerk knows where it’s located.”
“The black man?”
“Yes.”
Aliev gave another order using the term “electrical tape” and waited for his associate to leave, then came back to Carolyn.
“One of the wires is giving off sparks and making a burning smell. Tell your patient to ignore the odor. It is not dangerous.”
“Did you hear what he said, Jamie?” Carolyn asked.
The First Daughter nodded rapidly, still badly rattled by the gunfire and the presence of terrorists. She had to bite down on her lip to keep it from quivering.
“You are scared, no?” Aliev asked her, a sympathetic tone to his voice.
Jamie Merrill nodded again, avoiding the terrorist’s dark eyes.
“So was my daughter when the Russians bombed our house and killed her mother,” Aliev went on. “Can you imagine a ten-year-old child holding her dead mother, trying to bring her back to life?”
Jamie shook her head.
“I see it all the time, over and over in my dreams,” Aliev said softly. “I see my wife’s mangled body. I see the terrified look on my daughter’s face. It is a living nightmare. Can you understand that?”
Jamie tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“No,” Aliev answered for her. “I don’t think you can. Because it wasn’t your family that was destroyed.”
Collecting all of her courage, Jamie requested, “I’d like to see my father.”
“And I would like to see my daughter,” Aliev responded. “Let us hope both of our wishes come true.”
The second terrorist returned with a roll of black electrical tape. He spoke quickly to Aliev, repeatedly gesturing with his hands.
“Idiot!” Aliev muttered under his breath. He then asked Carolyn, “Would the black man know how to use the tape to stop the sparks?”
“No, but I do,” Carolyn replied.
Aliev reached for the roll of tape and handed it to Carolyn. “Fix the wire.”
Carolyn grabbed a chair and placed it on the bed, then said to Aliev, “Tell your man to hold its legs.”
Aliev gave the order.
Carolyn climbed up on the chair and, standing on her tiptoes, was able to put her head and shoulders into the crawlspace. It was dark, with only dim light coming up through the ventilation ducts. Directly in front of her she saw the sparking wire. It was loose, with its insulation partially torn away. It wasn’t really dangerous, and would be easy to repair.
Carolyn began coughing as she tried to clear her throat. The gunfire through the ceiling panels had stirred up the particulate matter in the crawlspace and caused the air to become foul and irritating.
“What is the matter?” Aliev called to her.
“The air is dirty up here,” Carolyn called out loudly. She hoped and prayed David was still alive and had heard her voice and would send a signal that he was all right. As the seconds ticked off, Carolyn prayed even harder that David would respond. But everything remained dead quiet. Her spirits sank even further.
“Is there a problem?” Aliev asked impatiently.
“I’ve got to separate the damaged wires from the others,” Carolyn lied. She gave thought to inducing a short circuit that might black out the entire Pavilion. That would confuse the terrorists, but only briefly since the auxiliary generators would kick in within a minute and restore electric power. But then again, a momentary blackout would give a rescue team the edge, particularly if they were wearing night-vision goggles, like the SWAT units Carolyn had witnessed when she was a flight nurse.
“What is the delay?” Aliev groused up at her. “It should not be taking this long.”
“Do you want the damn thing done right or not?” Carolyn snapped, now using her fingernail to dig an indentation in the ceiling panel so she could recognize it when the next rescue attempt began.
“You had better not be trying anything foolish,” Aliev warned.
“I’m almost finished.” Carolyn tore off a strip of tape and expertly wrapped it around the exposed wire. The sparks disappeared. She climbed down and said, “It’s fixed.”
Aliev looked at her skeptically. He ordered the other terrorist to check and make certain the wire had been repaired.
The second terrorist climbed back up into the crawlspace, and a moment later came down, nodding.
Carolyn put the chair away and helped Jamie back into bed. The IV in her arm had become dislodged and would have to be restarted. “Is your arm hurting?”
“A little,” Jamie replied.
Carolyn stopped the IV, which was now infiltrating into the subcutaneous tissue. “I’ll get this squared away in a little while.”
“Why won’t they let me see my dad?” Jamie asked in a barely audible voice. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Carolyn assured her.
“Then why won’t they let me see him?”
“Because it’s easier to control families if you keep them in separate rooms.”
Aliev had a cell phone pressed to his ear. “Put me through,” he demanded.
After a moment’s pause, he spoke again. “That was stupid, Lady Vice President … What was stupid? Your clumsy rescue attempt! … If you try it again, I will execute a hostage. That I promise you.”
Aliev listened to the response, then stared at the cell phone incredulously. His face suddenly hardened. “What do you take me for? A fool? … Of course it was your people. Who else would have been up on the roof with a blowtorch? … Then you had better control them, or you will have a dead hostage on your hands.”
Again he listened closely to the Vice President’s voice. The corner of his lips curled up into a cruel smile. “So you don’t think that killing a hostage would accomplish anything, eh? Would you be convinced of our seriousness if we tied an old Jew into his wheelchair and dropped him out of a window ten stories down? Of course we would alert the press beforehand, so the whole world could see what your stupidity brought on.”
Carolyn’s face lost color. They’d actually do it, and laugh while they did it! And Al Jazeera would be delighted to show the replay. Out of desperation she said, “If you do that, I won’t do anything more for you.”
Aliev placed his hand over the cell phone and glared at her. “Be careful!” he warned icily. “You may not be as valuable as you think you are.”
“Leave him alone,” Carolyn begged. “He’s suffered enough.”
Aliev cocked his head, as if reconsidering, then went back to his cell phone. “Lady Vice President, the major nurs
e here does not think it would be a good idea to throw the old Jew out the window. So I must come up with an alternative. If another rescue is attempted—any rescue at all—I will execute the President’s daughter. I will put a gun to her head and pull the trigger while you and all your people in Washington listen in.”
Jamie started kicking at her sheet and screaming hysterically, her voice high-pitched and filled with horror.
“As you can hear, Lady Vice President,” Aliev continued on, “the President’s daughter is not in favor of that option.”
Jamie was still screaming when Aliev switched the cell phone off. But not at the prospect of being killed. She was pointing up at a narrow slit between the ceiling panels. A steady stream of red blood was dripping down on her.
_____
David saw a ceiling panel come up, then another. The area above Jamie Merrill’s room was abruptly flooded with light. He could hear the urgency in the voices below and knew the terrorists were on their way up into the crawlspace. Rapidly turning his body around, he wriggled away from the light and toward the easternmost wall of the enclosure. Behind him, the voices were becoming louder. The orders were being spoken in Chechen, but David deduced what was about to happen. The terrorists would search every inch of the crawlspace, looking for the source of the blood that had spilled down into Jamie Merrill’s room.
Up ahead he saw Karen’s figure in the darkness and moved over to her.
“What’s happening?” Karen asked anxiously.
“The terrorists are coming up,” David said in a hurry. “We’ve got to hide.”
“Where?”
“In the area between the large pipe and the wall.”
“There’s not enough room for both of us.”
“Just do what I tell you,” David directed. “Now crawl over the damn pipe and lie on your back, with your arms and legs spread apart as much as possible.”
“What?”
“Just do it!”
David watched Karen climb over the large pipe and squeeze into the space between it and the wall. She made too much noise settling in, but the sound was muted by the loudness of the terrorists’ voices. There were two of them in the crawlspace, David estimated, maybe three. The far end of the area suddenly lit up as more ceiling panels were removed.
Patient One: A Novel Page 17