Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  “Bring me a blanket from the car,” the surgeon ordered his driver.

  The driver looked at the surgeon and nodded, then glanced at Justin with a questioning look on his face.

  “Eh, he’s okay. He’s not going to kill me,” the surgeon said with a smile, although his voice had a hint of nervousness.

  Justin followed the driver into the hall and kept his gaze on him until he left the apartment.

  “The good news?” he reminded the surgeon when he returned to the kitchen.

  “Yes. The bullet spared his lung and his stomach, but it punctured his small intestine. He experienced profuse internal and external bleeding. I extracted the bullet.” The surgeon pointed at a small bowl on the counter. “He was a lucky man, since large-caliber bullets usually leave a huge exit wound, causing severe damage and instant death. In this case, the bullet ricocheted off some other object before striking him.”

  Justin nodded, thinking of the gazebo’s wall where the restaurant guards had wounded the shooter.

  “I repaired the intestine and the torn skin, cleared fragment of his clothes sucked inside him by the bullet, sutured him. He’s stable for the moment.”

  The surgeon moved to the other side of the table and pointed at the shooter’s leg. “The bullet missed the femoral artery, but it destroyed a lot of tissue and fractured the femoral shaft. Another surgery would be necessary to repair the bone.”

  Justin nodded. “And the bad news?”

  “He could still die at any moment, and the next twelve hours are crucial. He’s lost a lot of blood and he’ll need a few units to replace the loss. Without X-rays, an ultrasound, or CT scan, I can’t tell for sure if there are other wounds or foreign material in him. If he develops an infection and doesn’t get the right treatment, he’ll die.”

  “I’m back,” the driver said from the hall.

  The surgeon took the blue blanket and threw it over the shooter. “He’ll need to go to a hospital as soon as possible.”

  “I know,” Justin said dryly. “When are you coming back?”

  The surgeon shrugged. “My understanding was that the operation was a one-time job. Constant care for the patient in these circumstances is difficult, and—”

  “How much?” Justin cut him off.

  The surgeon waved a dismissive hand at his driver. “I’m almost finished here. Wait for me in the car.”

  Smart, Justin thought, no need for the driver to know the surgeon’s fee.

  The surgeon waited until they heard the creak of the apartment’s door closing, before saying, “Ten thousand dollars for each visit. I will bring all supplies from the hospital to make sure he—”

  “Five thousand.”

  The surgeon shook his head. “This is extremely dangerous, you understand . . .”

  “I do. Dangerous for both of us. Five thousand for an hour of your time is pretty good money.”

  The surgeon opened his mouth, but thought better of it. He let out a deep sigh, then said, “Only because this is for a friend. Any other person and I would have asked for more.”

  Justin nodded. I would have gone up to seven grand if you had only asked.

  “Be here at 7:00 a.m. sharp.”

  “Yes.”

  He walked to the counter and showed Justin a couple of IV packs. “There shouldn’t be a need to replace the IV, but just in case, here you go.”

  Justin nodded. “Where can I reach you?”

  The surgeon looked around for a pen.

  “I’ll bring you one,” Justin said.

  A moment later, the surgeon scribbled his phone number on Justin’s yellow pad. “Call me only if there’s a real emergency.”

  “Uh-huh, like if he’s dying, does that qualify as an emergency?” Justin asked.

  The surgeon rolled his eyes. “I’ve had people wake me up for the most ridiculous reasons.”

  “Well, it’s not going to happen this time. Have a good night’s sleep, Doctor.”

  The surgeon packed his tools back into his suitcases. Justin offered to help him down the stairs, but the surgeon shrugged off his help. Justin saw him get into the backseat of the Volkswagen SUV, and then the SUV disappeared into the night.

  Justin returned to his apartment and secured the door with the deadbolt and the slide bolt. He would have to wake up and let Kayo in, when Kayo returned to the safe house. I probably won’t sleep tonight, he thought as he returned to the kitchen. Not with everything that’s going on. He stared at the shooter for a long moment. The man’s breathing was almost undetectable, and Justin turned his head to the heart monitor.

  “Yes, you’re alive, but I’m not sure for how long,” he said in a low voice, followed by a deep sigh. “And I hope all this was worth something.”

  He returned to his bedroom and checked his cellphone. No new message. What’s going on, Kayo? Where are you? Justin checked his GPS tracking device. The green dot showed the static position of Kayo’s Mazda outside the address he had given Justin, a run-down house right off the neighborhood of Ebute-Metta in Lagos Mainland. The sedan had not moved since Kayo had arrived there earlier that evening.

  Justin tapped a couple of buttons, switching to the view of the other GPS implanted inside Kayo’s cellphone. The location indicated on the screen was a couple of blocks away. Justin suspected it had to be a restaurant or some sort of a bar, where Kayo was entertaining and mining intelligence from his contacts.

  Justin felt his eyelids droop, heavy with sleep. He suppressed a yawn and stared at his cellphone. I better call McClain and give him an update. Then, I should make another pot of coffee as I return to Duncan’s files. And I hope Kayo’s party ends soon and he brings back some good intel.

  Chapter Seven

  Lagos, Nigeria

  March 21, 5:05 a.m.

  Justin opened his right eye and glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand. Its digits showed 05:05. He must have dozed off for about ten minutes. He jumped from his bed and rushed to the kitchen. The shooter was lying in exactly the same place and in the same position as when he had last checked on him fifteen minutes ago.

  He heaved a sigh of relief. He was expecting the shooter to make a gradual and slow recovery, not be able to get up and sneak up on him in less than eight hours from the complicated surgery. I’m getting to be quite paranoid, he thought. I guess better paranoid than dead.

  Justin yawned and stretched his arms and his neck. He wanted to go out for a long run, perhaps seven or ten miles. But it was not a good idea in Lagos at this time of day and especially in his particular situation, with the wounded shooter in the kitchen and Kayo still not back from his mission. Justin sighed and returned to his bedroom. He would have to be satisfied with just a home workout.

  He took his pull-up bar from underneath his bed and installed it quickly over the bathroom’s doorframe. He stretched for a few minutes and began his workout with classic chin-ups, then switched to front grabs. Then he pushed the bed to the side and got down on the floor for a few sets of push-ups. He returned to the pull-up bar for another set, then back to the floor for more push-ups.

  He repeated the routines until his gray t-shirt was soaking wet. His muscles were screaming at him to take a break, but he decided to go for another five minutes. He set the pull-up bar on the ground. He began a set of sit-ups, paused for a few moments in between, repeated the same routine a few more times, and slowly ended his workout with static stretches until his breathing returned to normal.

  Justin put away his pull-up bar and removed his shirt. Then he walked to the kitchen. The shooter was lying still, with no visible signs of improvement. Justin found a water bottle in the refrigerator and took a few slow sips. I don’t think you’ll go anywhere while I take a shower.

  He used as little water as possible in order to minimize his shower noises, as the old pipes screeched if he turned the water to full pressure. He also left the bathroom door wide open so he could hear the footsteps if the shooter somehow miraculously made his way down the hall
.

  Justin was almost finished with his rinse when the doorbell rang. One long ring, followed by two short rings, and another long ring. Carrie’s signal.

  He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself. His feet left water marks on the gray tiled floor of the hall.

  “Who’s there?” he asked in a low voice as he neared the door.

  “It’s me,” Carrie replied. “You forgot our signal?”

  Justin opened the door. “No, just double-checking.”

  “Wow, quite the welcome.” Carrie pointed at his bare chest and dripping-wet hair as she stepped inside. Her auburn hair was tied in a ponytail and she was in a cream-colored shirt and khaki pants. She carried a large tan knapsack in her left hand.

  “Caught me as I was getting out.” Justin closed the door behind her. “How’re you doing?”

  “All right.”

  “Hey, what’s that?”

  He noticed the end of a bandage peeking out of the top of Carrie’s shirt. “You’re wounded. What happened?”

  Carrie gave him a tired look. Sadness was clear in her gray-blue eyes. “CAR is a hellhole, Justin. Lynching, cannibalism, mob violence, and the greatest brutalities that come to your mind. People claiming to be Christians and Muslims are at each other’s throats worse than barbarians in the Middle Ages. The peacekeepers still don’t have a handle on the situation and innocent lives are lost day after day.”

  She sighed before continuing. “I was trying to save a young girl from a violent mob as people attacked her just under our eyes, outside our car. Three men grabbed me and made the mistake of thinking they could rape me. I took one of their machetes and made sure they’ll never touch another human being with their hands.”

  “I’m sorry,” Justin said. “Should have killed the bastards.”

  He wished he had been there for her and with her. He would never have let something like that happen on his watch.

  Carrie shrugged. “It will heal in a few days. Go finish up while I make myself at home. You have anything for breakfast?”

  “Eggs, milk, and cheese in the fridge. And there’s someone on the table,” Justin said as he returned to the bathroom.

  “Oh, yeah. McClain told me about him. Has he woken up yet?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll wake him up after breakfast. Have you eaten yet?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Justin said.

  “Okay, I’ll make us French toast.”

  * * *

  Justin brought Carrie up to speed on the situation on the ground over breakfast. Then they signed onto the CIS server to check for any updates. McClain had found new intelligence about Duncan’s weekends in Paris. According to his expense claims, his business dinners had taken place at La Tour d’Argent, an extravagant restaurant in the Latin Quarter with spectacular views of the Seine. Duncan had wined and dined like a king, with foie gras and “Marco Polo” duckling. No alcohol receipts were submitted with his claims, since alcohol was not reimbursable, but Duncan’s dinner receipt was for two.

  “Are you convinced Duncan’s mysterious guest is our woman?” Justin said as he reached for his coffee cup on the nightstand.

  “It looks that way,” Carrie said. “Duncan’s hotel is on the other side of town. Paris is full of restaurants, and he didn’t have to drive twenty minutes to find a place serving foie gras.”

  Justin smiled. “I’m sure the chef at La Tour d’Argent would disagree with your assessment, but you’re right: Duncan didn’t go to this place for the food. He went there to entertain.”

  “Someone at Duncan’s hotel would be able to tell us if they saw him bring a woman into his room, but he’s probably too smart for that. He must have stayed at the woman’s hotel, which I’m willing to bet is a short walking distance from La Tour.”

  “I’m not taking that bet.”

  A quiet knock came from the door, then a man’s voice said, “Good morning. It’s me.”

  “The surgeon,” Justin said. “He’s early,” he added after checking his wristwatch.

  Justin opened the door. The surgeon was dressed in a suit and a tie despite the warm, humid weather that was promising it was going to be a sizzling hot day. Behind him, the driver fixed Justin with a distrustful glare.

  “Do you need him inside?” Justin asked the surgeon and gestured toward the driver.

  “Hmmm, no. Stay here,” the surgeon ordered his driver.

  The driver frowned but obeyed his order without a word.

  Justin locked the door after the surgeon entered the apartment.

  “How is he?” the surgeon asked while they were still in the hall.

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Justin replied.

  The surgeon shook his head. “I mean, did he have any complications during the night? Did he wake up?”

  “No and no. I hope you’ll be able to wake him up.”

  The surgeon nodded. “We’ll see.”

  They stepped inside the kitchen. Carrie was standing by the window, looking at the shooter. The surgeon exchanged a quick glance with Carrie, then began to check on his patient.

  “He needs to get well enough to answer my questions,” Justin said to the surgeon. “Make it happen.”

  The surgeon looked up at Justin. “I’m not a miracle worker.”

  “Right. Nailah said you are the best, and I know you’re doing all you can. Thank you, Doctor.”

  The surgeon’s face warmed up. He nodded and returned his attention to the patient.

  “Carrot and stick approach, Justin?” Carrie whispered with a smile after they closed Justin’s bedroom door.

  Justin shrugged. “Better than good cop, bad cop. I don’t like having him drag his feet. He has five thousand reasons for another visit and one more after that—oh, and perhaps one or two more sessions the next day.”

  Carrie sat on the bed and rested her head against the wall. “When are we updating McClain?”

  “After we talk to the shooter. And Kayo. Who should have been back by now.”

  Justin reached for his cellphone. “No new messages from Kayo,” he said with a frown after studying the screen.

  “Is he still at his friends’ house?”

  “That’s what the GPS tracker is telling me, but that only shows the location of his phone. If Kayo left his phone behind, he could be anywhere in Lagos or in the world.”

  “But he wouldn’t do that—well, unless someone forced him.”

  Justin shrugged. “He said he was meeting friends, but we know they were not the trusting type. Kayo said their lives ‘took different turns,’ without specifying what they were, but he left no doubt they were up to no good.”

  His cellphone vibrated, then began to ring. Justin glanced at the screen, but did not recognize the local number starting with 0806. “Yes, who is this?” he answered. He listened for a moment, then said, “Oh, yes, Commissioner, yes, that’s me. How are you doing, sir?”

  Justin glanced at Carrie, who was paying close attention to his side of the conversation. He said, “Things are okay, thanks for asking. No, I haven’t.” Another short pause as he paced around the bedroom. Then his forehead wrinkled and he felt his face darkening with anger and grief. “He’s dead. Where did they find him?”

  Carrie jumped to her feet and came near him. Justin mouthed the word “Kayo” and Carrie nodded, offering him a warm look full of sympathy. She had probably already figured out it was about Kayo even before Justin said the name.

  “Thanks for letting me know, Commissioner. Yes, you too,” he said, and held the cellphone in his hand, feeling its weight. “Someone found Kayo’s body behind a garbage can earlier this morning. It seems he was killed late last night. Four blocks away from the house of his friends.” He stressed the word “friends” more than necessary, his wrath evident in his angry tone.

  Carrie placed her hands on Justin’s arms and patted him softly. Her eyes met his and she gave him a little shrug. “Justin, try not to blame yourself. This
was not your fault.”

  “I know, and I’m not blaming anyone,” he said in a low voice. “Kayo knew what he was getting into. Talking to those killers was his idea, and he outright refused my help. I didn’t want him to go alone.”

  Carrie cocked her head to the left. “Oh, I get it now. You’re upset because—”

  “Because I didn’t trust him and I planted those trackers to see if he was telling the truth. And now . . . now we find out the man died for this mission.”

  He sighed and shook his head.

  Carrie reached over and embraced him, holding him tight for a few moments. She whispered, “We’re gonna get them, Justin, and make them pay for what they did to Kayo.”

  “Yes, they’ll pay for that.”

  “Do you think this place is still safe?” Carrie said.

  “Yes. If Kayo had given up this location, whoever killed him would have already come with guns blazing. But we shouldn’t stay here a moment longer than necessary.”

  A knock on their bedroom door compelled them to break their embrace.

  “Yes,” Justin said, and opened the door. “How is he?”

  “He’s awake,” the surgeon said.

  “Good, now he can talk.” Justin stormed out of the bedroom.

  “I’m not really finished with him.” The surgeon rushed behind Justin.

  “Well, you’ll have to wait. If he tells me what I want to know, this will only take a minute. If he refuses, he’ll need a lot more of your services,” Justin replied.

  The shooter’s eyes were open and his breathing seemed to be normal. Justin stood to the right side of the table, next to the shooter’s face. He asked the surgeon, “Can he talk?”

  The surgeon nodded. “Yes, but he’s still under a lot of—”

  “Where’s the hostage?” Justin asked the shooter.

  The shooter gave Justin a look overflowing with hate and disgust. He opened his mouth but no words came out. He tried again, this time lifting his head from the pillow. “I will . . . I will never tell you.” He mumbled the words with a groan.