Patient One: A Novel

by Leonard Goldberg

  There were too many variables, Aliev thought sourly. Too many chances for things to go wrong. He concentrated on the problem and tried to think of an alternative landmark to guide Basagev. But what? Where? It had to be something visible from the cockpit. The cockpit! Of course! He slapped an open palm against his forehead. Idiot! The new cargo plane’s cockpit should have a Global Positioning System. It was the perfect homing device!

  Aliev quickly redialed Basagev’s number. But all he heard was loud static.

  Suddenly from above came the roar of an approaching helicopter, its lights a blur in the heavy mist. The chart room began to vibrate as the helicopter grew closer and closer. A stiff wind from its rotors blew in through the window and pushed Aliev back. He reached for his Uzi, but the wind and shaking floor made it impossible to aim the weapon. Grabbing the windowsill, he tried to steady himself enough to fire off a burst, but the vibrations became even stronger. Abruptly, an intense beam of light broke through the mist and flooded into the chart room.

  Aliev spun away from the blinding light and, jumping over dead bodies, raced for the corridor.

  Thirty-one

  “Just do it!” Carolyn instructed the First Daughter. “Do exactly as I told you.”

  Jamie stared at the nurse, wide-eyed and becoming unnerved. “Sh … should I close the front door to my room, too?”

  “No,” Carolyn replied hastily. “That will just make the guard suspicious. Do only what I told you to do.”

  Jamie’s lower lip began to tremble. Then the tears came.

  “Dry those eyes,” Carolyn ordered, in a stern voice. “First Daughters don’t cry at times like this.”

  “This one does,” Jamie said, her voice quivering with fright.

  “Not in here, and not now.” Carolyn reached for a Kleenex, and handed it to her. “I want you to sniff back those tears and start counting.”

  Jamie dabbed at her cheeks and began to silently mouth numbers.

  One … two … three … four …

  Carolyn hurried into the corridor and checked her watch. She was already thirty seconds behind. Damn it! She gave the guard a fake smile, and dashed into the First Lady’s room. Lucy Merrill was lying on her bed, with a damp washcloth draped across her forehead.

  Carolyn squeezed her hand and waited for her to open her eyes. “Listen very closely to me, Mrs. Merrill, and do exactly as I say.”

  “Wh … what is …?”

  “Shhh!” Carolyn quieted her. “Just do exactly as I say. When I leave your room, count to thirty. Then get out of bed, and walk into your bathroom. Close the door behind you and climb into the bathtub. Lie on your side and curl up into a ball, protecting your face. And stay there.”

  Lucy sat up abruptly, now fully awake. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

  Carolyn smiled thinly. “Don’t forget to cover your head.”

  “What about my husband?” Lucy asked quickly. “Who will help him?”

  “The doctor who has kept him alive through all this,” Carolyn said.

  “No, no! I mean in a non-medical sense.”

  “So do I. Now start counting.”

  Carolyn left the room and walked past the guard, keeping her gait even, so she wouldn’t appear to be rushing. She yawned for effect as she entered the President’s suite. Then she darted to his bedside. David was again lavaging Merrill’s stomach with ice water and ice chips. The gastric juice was still bright red. And so was the blood dripping from David’s leg wound onto the floor.

  “All set?” David asked.

  “All set,” Carolyn replied and moved in for a closer inspection. “I think your wound has reopened.”

  David glanced down at the blood on his ankle and shoe. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I could wrap it for you,” Carolyn offered.

  “We don’t have time,” David said, glancing at his watch. It was 1:58 a.m. Two minutes until zero hour! He leaned down for the President. “Carolyn, you have to do two things very quickly. First, clamp off the nasogastric tube and tape it in place. Secondly, grab the IV pole and follow me.”

  The alarm on a cardiac monitor suddenly went off across the corridor. David and Carolyn stopped in their tracks and concentrated their hearing to determine where the alarm was coming from. It was near. Very near.

  “It’s Dr. Warren’s room,” Carolyn said.

  “Oh Christ!” David groaned. “Not now!”

  They raced out of the door and down the corridor. The terrorist guarding the President stayed put, but another terrorist followed the pair into Warren’s room. The elderly physician was gasping for air, his hand clutching his chest in pain.

  David hurriedly turned on the EKG machine and studied the strip it produced. William Warren was having runs of ventricular tachycardia.

  David called over to Carolyn who was setting up the defibrillator on the other side of the bed. “Can you administer a shock while holding the paddles?”

  “No problem,” Carolyn told him. “This defibrillator has a manual override. All I have to do is press down simultaneously on the red buttons at the top of the handles and the machine will deliver an electric shock. How strong do you want it?”

  “Two hundred joules,” David replied, his eyes glued to the EKG strip. “Get ready!”

  Carolyn applied the paddles on Warren’s chest and moved her thumbs toward the red buttons. “Say when.”

  “Now!” David ordered.

  Carolyn pressed down on the buttons. Warren’s body tensed and briefly lifted off the bed.

  David watched the moving EKG strip. Warren was still having runs of ventricular tachycardia. “Increase the setting to four hundred!”

  Carolyn quickly adjusted the voltage and delivered a second shock. Again Warren’s body jerked and lifted, then settled back on the mattress. The alarm on the cardiac monitor abruptly quieted.

  David gave Carolyn a thumbs-up signal. “We’ve got a sinus rhythm.”

  Carolyn smiled down at Warren and said, “Welcome back.”

  Warren nodded gratefully, his chest pain eased, his breathing near normal.

  David reached up to IV bag containing bretylium and increased the flow rate to two milligrams per minute. “Hopefully this will keep his rhythm regular,” he said hastily. “Now let’s get back to …”

  Outside in the corridor a commotion suddenly started. There were yells and commands, followed by running footsteps.

  David stiffened. Oh shit! They must know the rescue attempt is coming! Somehow they found out! He quickly checked his watch. It was 2:00 a.m! Zero hour! He grabbed Carolyn’s hand and headed for the door.

  The guard stepped in front of their path and motioned them back with his Uzi. When they didn’t budge, he uttered a menacing growl and aimed his submachine gun at them.

  “He’s not going to let us leave,” Carolyn whispered nervously.

  “We’ve got to get back to the President, or he’ll die in the rescue attempt,” David said out of the corner of his mouth. “We’ve got to move him.”

  The guard forcefully jabbed the barrel of his Uzi into David’s ribs, causing him to double over in pain. Then the terrorist shoved David back and pushed him up against the bed. With a smirk on his face, he raised his Uzi and pointed it at David’s head.

  Carolyn was petrified with fright. Oh my God! He’s going to shoot David! He’s going to kill him! her brain screamed. Acting on impulse, she lunged at the terrorist and pressed the defibrillator paddles against his back. Before he could react, she pushed the red buttons on the handles. The terrorist shook violently, stunned senseless momentarily by the strong electric current surging through his body. His Uzi dangled from his hand, its barrel pointing downward.

  David moved in quickly. He spun the terrorist around and, with a powerful jerk, tried to snap the
man’s cervical spine. But the terrorist’s neck was thick and muscular and difficult to grasp. David tightened his grip and forcefully jerked at the spine again. There was a loud pop just before the terrorist went limp and sank to the floor. For a moment he appeared lifeless, but then his left arm convulsed and he began to gurgle loudly. David reached for a pre-filled syringe of Propofol and hurriedly palpated the terrorist’s bulky neck, searching for a carotid pulse. He found it on the second try and injected the entire contents of the syringe directly into the artery. It took the terrorist less than twenty seconds to die.

  “Is he dead?” Carolyn asked, feeling a strong surge of adrenaline. “Good and dead?”

  David nodded and quickly looked to the door to see if the disturbance had alerted the other guard. It hadn’t. He reached down for the terrorist’s Uzi and spare clip of ammunition, then turned back to Carolyn.

  “They know the rescue attempt is about to happen! That’s why he tried to keep us in the room at gunpoint. They wanted clear shots at the commandos coming in.”

  “Should we just wait here, then?”

  “We can’t,” David told her. “We’ve got to move the President or he’ll die in the rescue.”

  “But the guards in the corridor aren’t going to let us leave this room,” Carolyn argued promptly. “They’ll shoot us on sight.”

  “And if we remain here, what happens when the terrorists spot the body on the floor?”

  “They’ll kill us.”

  “Damn right they will,” David said, hurriedly checking his watch. It was 2:05. Five minutes past the zero hour! The President was living on borrowed time. “So we’ll have to take our chances,” he went on in a rush. “Listen carefully and do exactly as I say. You stay put while I clear the corridor. When I yell ‘Go!’ you run like hell for the President’s room. Then disconnect him from his tubes and drag him into the bathroom. Try to get into the bathtub or as far away from the door as possible. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Carolyn said, bracing herself.

  David tiptoed silently to the door and peeked out. The guard outside the President’s room was yawning deeply and shaking his head, as if to clear it. The Valium was taking effect, David thought. The man’s reflexes would be slowed. David crept into the corridor, his Uzi at the ready. The terrorist suddenly saw motion in his peripheral vision and began to raise his weapon, but it was too late. David fired off a quick burst into the man’s chest, killing him instantly. Spinning around, David dropped to a prone position and scanned the length of the hallway. It was clear.

  “Go, Carolyn! Go!”

  Carolyn dashed out of the door and was almost to the President’s room when a terrorist appeared from behind the nurses’ station. David opened up with another burst of gunfire, hitting the man in his legs and lower abdomen. The terrorist fell heavily to the floor, face first.

  Four terrorists down, David counted, with only Aliev left standing. He kept low, with his Uzi pointed in the direction of the nurses’ station, and whispered a silent message to Aliev. Come on, you murdering bastard. Show yourself. Just a little bit of your head. That’s all I need. Beads of perspiration popped out on David’s brow and dripped down into his eyes. He hastily wiped them away, waiting and watching, his weapon steady. In the distance, he saw a foot stepping out of the treatment room. It must be Aliev! David started to squeeze the trigger of his Uzi.

  There was a sudden blast of explosions. David was thrown across the corridor by the force of the detonations. He bounced off a door, then landed hard on the carpeted floor. It took him several seconds to recover and regain his balance. The air in the corridor was now filled with dust and floating debris. David couldn’t see anything through the haze, but he could hear Secret Service agents rappelling down from the roof and entering the suites through large windows that had been blown open by carefully placed explosives. David crawled backwards until he reached the President’s room and entered. He kept his head and body close to the floor, now hearing footsteps across the suite.

  A voice in the dimness called out, “Mr. President! Mr. President! Can you hear me?”

  “We’re in the bathroom,” Carolyn shouted back. “The President is okay. But there are terrorists in the corridor.”

  “Stay where you are,” Geary ordered, then asked, “Is Ballineau with you?”

  “Over here,” David yelled, still keeping low. The dust in the air began to settle and David could make out two black-clad agents wearing night-vision goggles. He sprang to his feet and walked over. “Are you Geary?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me fill you in,” David went on quickly. “The corridor is clear down to the nurses’ station, and four of the five terrorists are dead.”

  “How do you know they’re dead?” Geary asked at once.

  “Because I killed them,” David replied matter-of-factly. “The only one left is their leader, Aliev, and he’s the most dangerous of the bunch. He’ll be heavily armed and ready to kill every one of the hostages he holds. We’ve got to take him out, now.”

  “Let us handle it,” Geary said, giving rapid hand signals to the other agent in the room.

  David removed his used clip of ammunition and expertly inserted a fresh one. “If you want to get to Aliev quickly, you’re going to need me. I know the floor better than you, and better than him. I shift the odds in your favor.”

  “Are you sure you want in on this, doc?” Gear asked gravely. “All hell is about to break loose.”

  David ignored the warning and double-checked his weapon to make sure the new clip of ammunition was firmly in place. “We’ve got to get to him before he starts killing hostages.”

  “Okay,” Geary told him turning for the corridor. “We’re going in fast and low. You stick by me and follow my lead.”

  As they approached the door, Geary abruptly stopped and listened to a message coming into his earphone. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “The President and his family are secure.”

  There were loud cheers in the background, which the Vice President had to shout over. “Do we have any further information on the plane carrying the nuclear weapon? In particular, the plane’s ID, where it will cross the border, and what its final destination is.”

  “I’ll ask,” Geary said and passed the questions over to David, who shook his head.

  “No luck, ma’am.” Geary reported. “But we’ll—”

  David interrupted, saying, “They did mention intense radioactivity that would contaminate some area for years to come. We assumed they were talking about Los Angeles.”

  Geary transmitted the new information, then listened intently before responding, “No, ma’am. There was no mention of Russian oil fields.”

  As the phone conversation ended, David asked, “What’s so important about the Russian oil fields?”

  “That’s where our intel people believe they’re going to drop the nuke,” Geary answered and pushed up his night-vision goggles. “Are you ready to kick some ass?”

  “Ready,” David replied and spat for good luck, just as he’d always done in Special Forces.

  Geary gave final instructions via his microphone to agents across the corridor, then cried out, “Go!”

  Geary and David rolled their bodies into the corridor and opened fire, blazing away from prone positions. Three more agents appeared at their side, shooting at will and strafing the far end of the hallway. David and the agents reloaded and opened up again, spraying the entire area from side to side. Then they held their fire.

  They waited for several seconds in the dust-filled corridor, expecting return gunfire. None came.

  “What do you think?” Geary whispered low.

  “He’s waiting for us,” David whispered back. “And we can’t stay here much longer.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re in the open and he’s
got hand grenades.”

  “Oh, shit!” Geary groaned. He quickly signaled the other agents and yelled out, “Go!”

  The group of five pushed themselves up and ran for the nurses’ station. They were almost there when the terrorists opened fire. Two agents crumpled to the floor. One was hit in the abdomen, the other in the head. More bullets whizzed by.

  At the nurses’ station, David dove in head first. Another burst of gunfire caught a third agent in the shoulder. He rolled over to the elevators, clutching his bleeding wound.

  David pressed up against the wall and hurriedly collected himself. Four of the enemy were dead, which meant there should be only Aliev remaining. But the return gunfire had been too intense for just one man. Maybe Aliev had another Chechen hidden away somewhere. David glanced over to the chairs at the front desk. Jarrin Smith was crouching down behind one of them, his hands still tied. But the Russian security agent was gone. Where the hell was he?

  Geary called out to the wounded agent by the elevator, “Evans, are you okay?”

  “I’ll live,” Evans called back and tried to reload his weapon. But his right arm was useless.

  “Can you get those elevator doors opened?” Geary asked, lowering his voice.

  “I don’t think so, “Evans answered quietly. “It looks like they’ve got the doors jammed with metal spikes.”

  “Try to pry them loose with the barrel of your weapon.”

  Evans attempted the maneuver, but he had only one good hand and the weapon kept slipping.

  Geary considered rolling across the corridor to assist Evans but quickly decided against it. He’d be a sitting duck and dead before he got halfway to the elevators. Geary turned to David and whispered, “That was a hell of a lot of gunfire for only one terrorist.”

  “I had the same thought,” David whispered back. “Let’s make them show their hand so we can see how many they’ve got.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “Watch.”

  David reached over for a large medicine cart and shoved it with all his might. The cart sped across the corridor and crashed against the wall.