Hellfire (Sisters In Law Book 2)

by John Ellsworth

  "You've got it."

  She hung up and stood to the side while they moved Jamie out of the room and down to radiology. She wasn't allowed along, so she sat back down in the comfortable visitors' chair where she had been spending her nights all week. She had to admit the hospital was thoughtful in that regard: the chair fully reclined and provided a comfortable footrest. Staff appeared with blanket and pillow in the evening so she could be made as comfortable as possible while she kept her vigil at her son's side. She had no complaints.

  As she sat staring at nothing, a thought occurred.

  She lifted the receiver on the room phone and pressed 0.

  "How do I get an outside line?"

  "Dial nine."

  "And information?"

  "I'll transfer you. Local or other."

  "Ann Arbor, Michigan."

  "Wait one."

  The line went silent then beeped three times over a space of perhaps thirty seconds. Then a female voice answered.

  "City and state, please."

  "Ann Arbor, Michigan."

  "What listing?"

  "For Edward Mitchell."

  "On Holtzman Way?"

  "Yes."

  She had no clue; she just decided to try the first one given.

  "I can dial that for you."

  "Please."

  The phone began ringing. Then a girl's voice came on.

  "Mitchell residence."

  "Hello, is your dad there?"

  "Nope."

  "Is his name Ed?"

  "Yep."

  "Where does he work?"

  "Chicago."

  "Is your dad a lawyer?"

  "Mom, it's for you!"

  "Wait, please. Is your daddy a lawyer?"

  "Yep."

  She pressed the end call button.

  Her hand shook as she replaced the receiver.

  So. New information. She sat back in the chair and closed her eyes.

  Now what? She asked herself.

  Now exactly what?

  48

  Thursday 2

  The documents weren't forthcoming. So the DuMonts went behind the curtain and pulled strings.

  Randall C. Maxwelle, the Naval Academy graduate and navy commander (retired), who headed up Blackguard's military-commercial liaison team, would occasionally task an ex-special forces officer to resolve domestic problems. His name was Alduous McIlhenny and he was from Rockland, New Jersey, just twenty miles west of the George Washington Bridge. Maxwelle made arrangements to meet McIlhenny at Battery Park outside the Ellis Island ferry docks. There was an eatery there, Maxwelle told the Special Forces man, where fried clams were served with large glasses of iced tea in the summertime. They would meet and talk.

  Alduous McIlhenny was a survivor of Iraq and Afghanistan, two tours each. He had been discharged from the Army medically and Blackguard had immediately offered him a position. Officially his designation was Logistics Manager II, but his real work involved public relations that were neither public nor relational. In point of fact he was a shootist, an artist with small arms, whose sudden and blind attacks on unsuspecting corporate officers in competition with Blackguard were well known.

  McIlhenny was short--five-four--but built like a small bull with huge, muscled shoulders and legs and back that could jerk lift four hundred pounds without a drop of sweat. Multiple times. He was a Sentinel Military Academy graduate with honors and remembered fondly by his teachers there as "a little guy with huge potential."

  McIlhenny entered Battery Park from the east side and walked to his meet with Maxwelle. Along the way he bought a Styrofoam cup of black coffee and stood--his back against the counter, surveying the faces around him--while his cup was filled. Satisfied he wasn't being watched, he closed the final one hundred yards to the outside table and sat down across from the ex-navy commander.

  "Mac," said Maxwelle, "thanks for coming."

  McIlhenny turned the Styrofoam cup and took a sip out of the opposite side. "You pay me for it. What can I do for you, Mr. Maxwelle?"

  "Randall, please."

  "All right. What can I do for you, Randall?"

  "There's a young man in Chicago. We want to exchange him for some documents."

  "Can do. Who and where?"

  "Well, the where part is difficult. We've received word he was wounded by the FBI and is now at the UC Hospital."

  "How serious?"

  "He hasn't regained consciousness."

  "Well, what the hell? What do you want me to do, carry him out?"

  "That's exactly what we want you to do. We've looked it over. His health won't be severely compromised if he's removed from the hospital. Besides, it likely will be only for an hour or two while we get what we want from his mother."

  "What is it you want?"

  "Mama has documents. She stole them from us. We want them back."

  "Why not just call in the cops?"

  "The FBI has the case. In typical FBI-fashion they're playing by the rules and so far haven't managed to do jackshit. We need some muscle."

  "Let me see if I have this. You're telling me I should go to the hospital and carry a patient out. Kidnap a patient. Where was he shot?"

  "In the head. There are drainage tubes attached but even that's not critical now."

  "How do I sneak him out of the hospital?"

  "That depends on your imagination. Maybe a wheelchair, maybe wrapped in something, maybe in one of those waste carts they push up and down hospital floors. We leave the details up to you. You've never let us down."

  "There have been close calls. I don't have to remind you. Randall."

  "Yes, there have been. But the brothers believe in you. I believe in you."

  "How much?"

  "Fifty. Plus expenses, of course."

  "Of course."

  "You will take him to an address we'll give you. You will hold him there until we have what we want. Follow me?"

  "Yes. Can you give me part now?"

  "Yes. Twenty-five now, twenty-five when we're done."

  "What if he dies? Do I still get paid?"

  "Of course. You've done your job. It isn't your fault if he dies. We'd only ask that you leave his body off."

  "Where?"

  "Any convenient alley will do. You know the drill on fingerprints and DNA. None of that. So dress appropriately."

  "You're talking scrubs and hair net."

  "I'm talking scrubs and surgical cap like the docs wear. Get yourself an ID badge and you'll fit right in."

  "I think I'm seeing how this just might work."

  "Of course it will work. Doctor."

  "I'm helping transfer a patient. I'm using a wheelchair. I steal a transport van and load him in. With the help of an orderly or two."

  "Now we're talking. See how easy it was?"

  McIlhenny scowled. "Brother, all we've done so far is talk. Leave the twenty-five on the table and leave the park. Now."

  Maxwelle pulled a fat pack of Benjamins from his pants pocket and plopped it down. Without another word, he then turned and left the park.

  McIlhenny waited behind. Fried clams sounded like just what the doctor ordered.

  Dr. McIlhenny, that's who.

  He smiled and pocketed the fat envelope.

  Six hours later he woke up a thousand feet off the O'Hare runway when the cabin lights blinked on with a tone, indicating seat belts should be fastened for landing.

  Groggy, he looked out his window. Raindrops blew past at 180 knots.

  Ninety minutes later he pulled the American United Healthcare transport van into the queue of transport vehicles alongside UCH's west side loading zone.

  Simple.

  He slipped inside, found laundry services, and helped himself to a doctor's outfit: scrubs, footies, and cap. Hospital green. The ID badge was one he had found inside the stolen transport van. Someone had conveniently left it dangling from the rearview mirror. It wasn't UCH-issue, of course, but what the hell? Who was ever checking these things anywa
y?

  A friendly orderly directed him to the trauma center's ICU. He knew he would find his boy there.

  Jamie Susmann, said the inked words on the palm of his left hand.

  "Susmann," he whispered to himself as he rode the up elevator.

  It was almost midnight but the place was crawling with attendants and nurses when McIlhenny made it to the Sixth Floor. He decided to wait several hours until the crowd died down.

  It was a simple matter, finding a physicians' break room to lie down and catch some shuteye. He would need to be sharp.

  What of his transport van? he thought.

  He went to the phone on the desk and buzzed Security. He explained his situation. They agreed to watch the transport van. No one would touch it; no one would move it.

  McIlhenny laid down and closed his eyes.

  He was out two minutes later, but not before setting his watch alarm for seven a.m.

  49

  Friday

  It was eight o'clock Friday morning and Christine still wouldn't leave Jamie's side.

  Neither did she want to confront Ed about her call to Ann Arbor. At least not yet, not while the office was underwater and she had no other attorney to call on for help. It had occurred to her more than once that she might call on Thaddeus Murfee, who had already stopped by twice to check on mother and son. But not yet.

  Ed brought coffee. Then he brought a chicken salad sandwich. An hour later he brought coffee again. In the interim he went outside by the parking lot and managed several pressing legal cases by cell phone. Christine's calendar would have to be cleared for the week, and Ed was already on it.

  The office was fully staffed due to Christine's emergency and would continue to be, 24/7, until some resolution was reached. Secretaries were given orders, Billy A. Tattinger--Christine's key paralegal--was notified, and the wheels were put in motion. The law firm was busy and the attorneys' calendars were packed. It was reminiscent of a small military maneuver to clear a week's worth of court hearings, depositions, client appointments, and re-set case contacts to a later date. But Ed was all over it. Then he would return to Christine, they would speak again while she held Jamie's hand, then he would return to the sidewalk where he would issue more orders and directives to staff.

  He returned a third time with a perplexed, frustrated look on his face.

  "It's the District Attorney. I've got her home phone. She won't agree to a continuance of Monday's preliminary hearing in State versus Brewster."

  "Let me call her," said Christine. "Wait here with Jamie."

  "Roger."

  Christine found her own cell phone and headed downstairs.

  Outside on the sidewalk, she punched in the District Attorney's number and waited to be put through.

  "Regarding what?" came the female voice.

  "Regarding my case. This is Christine Susmann. I'm the lawyer."

  "Why are you people calling me at home? And this early! Seriously?"

  * * *

  Upstairs in Jamie's room a radiology tech came for him.

  "CT scan," the tech told Ed. "You'll need to wait here."

  Ed nodded. "Will do. I'll tell his mom you'll be back in how long?"

  "Thirty minutes, give or take. The scanner is free now."

  "Roger that. Thanks."

  Ed sat back in the hospital room chair--overstuffed for sleeping--and reclined. He pulled his smart phone from his shirt pocket and opened iBooks, where he began reading the latest thriller. Soon his eyes grew heavy. He'd been up all night and was tired. He dozed off.

  * * *

  McIlhenny went to the nurses' station and requested Jamie's room number.

  "Thank you, doctor," the charge nurse said to the man in green scrubs. "Are you here for a procedure?"

  "I need to examine him. ASAP. Where is he now?"

  "They just took him to radio. CT scan."

  "Which way is that?"

  "Follow the black footprints. Take you right there."

  McIlhenny found the CT scan suite and walked by the desk operator.

  "Doctor?" she called after him. "Doctor?"

  He ignored her and opened the door to the scanner room. As he did, the patient was being inserted into the circular ring by means of the sliding table.

  "Put that patient back on the gurney immediately," McIlhenny ordered the two orderlies who were assisting. "He's being transferred STAT!"

  The orderlies looked at each, shrugged, and withdrew Jamie from the CT ring. He was unceremoniously plopped back onto the gurney he had come in on. The orderlies wheeled him out, following McIlhenny's instruction.

  McIlhenny stopped the orderlies in the hospital hallway.

  "Gentlemen, this is my patient and I need help loading him for transfer."

  "Where to?" asked the redheaded orderly.

  "We need orders," said the black orderly. "I don't see no orders."

  "Sir," said McIlhenny, "do you question all the physicians who request help with their patients?"

  "No, sir. I'm just saying."

  "Well please step on it. We're taking him back to the elevator. Hurry!"

  "We can go as far as the elevator," said the redheaded orderly. "But we're assigned to Sixth Floor. We can't leave here."

  "Fine. Just get him on the elevator. I'll get help downstairs."

  They wheeled Jamie onto the elevator and watched the door close behind McIlhenny.

  "Asshole. I hate every one of them."

  "Me three."

  * * *

  Returning from her most recent sidewalk phone call, Christine was shocked to see Jamie on the gurney when her elevator door opened on the ground floor.

  "What?" she said to the man in green scrubs.

  "My patient," said McIlhenny. "Move back, please!"

  "My son!" said Christine and she pushed back against the gurney McIlhenny was trying to force by her.

  "What the hell, lady? I'm a doctor and I'm transferring my patient!"

  "Oh, then," said Christine, "excuse me."

  She stepped aside and allowed the man in the green scrubs to pass by with her son. Then, when his back was to her, she hammered the side of his head with a sweeping kick. She was wearing hiking boots and the blow staggered the man, dropping him to his knees, where she could kick at him again, knocking him face down onto the floor.

  Security came running.

  "This man is impersonating a doctor!" she cried, and pushed Jamie's gurney back onto the elevator. "Arrest him and send someone to help me with my son!"

  The door closed behind her and she was suddenly moving on an up elevator to the Sixth Floor.

  When the doors opened again, the same two orderlies as before were waiting to help.

  They took over the gurney and quickly moved Jamie back into his room. Ed was waiting there.

  "What? What happened?" he asked.

  "Did you even bother to stay with him?" Christine cried.

  "The radiology tech said I should wait here, Chris! They wouldn't let me in there."

  "Dial Security, Ed. We need detectives from CPD and we need protection for Jamie. I think I know who just tried to kidnap him."

  "Blackguard."

  "Certainly. They want their records back. They thought Jamie would make a quick trade."

  "Assholes!"

  "Ed, think about it. They were going to jeopardize Jamie's life for a bunch of paper."

  "It's more than that, Chris. Your documents hold the key to freedom or prison for them. Calm down and think about that."

  "I don't know how I've been so blind. Of course they would try something."

  She stabbed in the number for XFBI, her security service.

  "Gerald, is Janny okay? Everything at home okay?"

  "Yeah, Chris. What's up?"

  "Double down today. More boots on the ground. Blackguard just made a play for Jamie. I'm worried for Janny. And my parents."

  "I'm inside your house now, in my office," Gerald said. "It's quiet here."

  "Well
, double-down anyway. That's an order."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Keep everyone out today. Trust no one."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And get a second crew on the perimeter immediately as well. I'm bringing Jamie home and I want it safe."

  "Should I send someone to the hospital?"

  "Yes. No. Ed's arranging for a transport service right now." She covered the phone. "Ed?"

  Ed waved. "I'm on it."

  "Gerry, we'll be arriving in about two hours. Watch for us."

  "Roger that, Chris. I'm all over it."

  She clicked off.

  "We're outta here," she told Ed.

  He held up one finger. "On the line with Hartz Medical Transport. They're sending a crew."

  "Excellent. The sooner the better."

  "Okay," said Ed. "While you were downstairs they called about my mom.""You have to go to Ann Arbor. Right?"

  "Yes. And I'm sorry. But she needs me."

  "Of course she does."

  "We each have a sick one to care for this weekend."

  "Sure we do. It's tough on both of us."

  "Goodbye Chris," he said, and leaned to kiss her.

  She pulled back.

  "What?" he said and held out his hands. She took another step back.

  "Not now, Ed. We'll talk."

  50

  Sunday

  Ed Mitchell and a young woman entered the First Methodist Church of Ann Arbor for the 9 a.m. service. Accompanying them were three young girls, ranging in age from three to seven. All three were dressed alike and even similarly to the young woman. Pastels and hair ribbons were the order of the day. The three-year-old was taken to the end of the hall outside the entrance to the sanctuary and deposited in daycare where she would remain for the next hour or so. The five-year-old and seven-year-old accompanied the two adults into the church.

  The procession journeyed to the front of the church, second pew, right hand side, where, young woman first, they slid in. The five-year-old, then the seven-year-old and then Ed himself followed the young woman. The two girls immediately pulled hymnals from the wooden pouches screwed to the back of the first pew before them. They then took deposit envelopes from the same pouch, short wooden pencils, and began writing and drawing on the envelopes. Ed Mitchell seemed to be praying, as he sat with his eyes closed, lips moving, a look of deep reverence on his face. At the other end of the small group, the young woman plucked a compact from her straw purse and checked her makeup--eyes, forehead, nose, cheeks, and then quickly smiled and checked her teeth. A daub of lipstick was applied with a brush and spread evenly across her lips.