"Let me go back to my contact," Archer said, interrupting the standoff. "I'll have him double-check."
"The paperwork looks pretty clear to me, sir," Armstrong said. "Her name is there right along with the hiring date and the ship's name."
"And there are a thousand ways documents can be altered - on purpose or by mistake," Archer shot back.
"Detective, once again, read him his rights. . ." Josie stepped between them. "If you aren't then . . . if you aren't. . ."
Josie's voice faltered. She seemed to have forgotten her words. Archer started for her but he wasn't quick enough. She cried out, clutched her middle, and fell sideways, pulling a chair down on top of her.
“What the—,” Billy cried.
"Jo!" Archer got to his knees beside her. Hannah did the same, taking Josie's hand in hers and calling her name. When she didn't respond, Sparkle dialed her phone and handed it to Archer.
"I've got 911," she said.
Archer gave the operator the address, Josie's age, and name as she gripped his hand tight. Her head rolled back and forth on the floor, her knees pulled up with each painful spasm in her gut. Hannah tried to soothe her as Archer answered each question that came his way.
"Lower left abdomen. She's in and out," he said. "No lower left. She's had her appendix out. Hannah, feel her pulse."
"I've got this." Billy was there instead. He took Hannah by the shoulders, moved her away, and then put his fingertips to Josie's wrist. "Forty-two, Archer."
Even as Archer relayed that information, they heard a siren in the distance. He held the phone away from his ear and said: "Sparkle. There's a blanket in the bedroom."
Sparkle didn't need to be asked twice. When she brought it back, Archer handed off the phone, took the blanket, and swaddled Josie tight. She had gone suddenly still, her legs relaxed, her cries turned to moans. She was white as a sheet and clammy to the touch.
"Hang on with the operator until they get here," Archer said, handing the phone back to Sparkle.
Billy moved away and Hannah took over, stroking Josie's hair. Archer kissed his wife's cheek, murmuring encouragement. Sparkle put an arm around Billy’s shoulders, giving him a quick hug. When Billy turned to look at her, when he opened his mouth to speak, he caught Armstrong's eye. It was clear that the detective didn't think much of Billy or his story. Billy's eyes held a message too. He wasn't afraid of the detective, he was only afraid of what might happen to Josie.
When the knock sounded at the door, it was Billy who went to answer it. Paramedics displaced Archer and Hannah, Sparkle pulled Billy back to give them plenty of space to work, and Armstrong was forgotten as vitals were taken, an IV started, and one of them said:
"What's her name?"
"Josie Bates," Archer answered.
"Josie. Josie, you hear me?" The younger one spoke to her, but received no response.
"Any allergies?" the man asked.
"No." Archer answered.
"Josie." This time the older man spoke to her. "We're going to give you something for the pain. Okay? And this will help you breathe."
The man slipped an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Josie swiped at it, knocking it askew. They put it back, but she tried to pull it off again.
Archer positioned himself above her head he leaned close and said: "Jo. Keep it there, babe. Be good. Keep it on."
His face was impassive, his hands were steady, and there was no sign of the terror that gripped him each time he heard Josie moan. She reached for the oxygen mask; he moved her hand away. Each time she cried out and jackknifed, he leaned back to give her room to go with the pain. Archer held her shoulders down as the middle-aged paramedic filled a syringe, rolled up her shirt sleeve and plunged the needle into her arm.
"That's it. Thanks." The younger man touched Archer's hands, signaling him to move. "We're going to take her now. Okay?"
Archer gave a curt nod and got up off the floor. Hannah did the same and they watched the men count to three, lift Josie onto the collapsible gurney, and then raise it waist high.
A minute latter they were wheeling her down the walking street, hurrying toward Hermosa Boulevard where the ambulance waited, lights flashing. A crowd had gathered, but the lookey-loos stood at a respectful distance. Archer and Hannah hurried after the gurney, Sparkle and Billy were behind them stopping only when the paramedics shoved the gurney against the van, collapsed it, and slid it inside.
"Who’s going?" the younger man asked.
"We are." Archer helped Hannah into the back of the vehicle and swung in after her.
"Where are you taking her?" Billy asked.
"Torrance Memorial," the man said as he started to close the doors.
"Wait. Wait." Suddenly, Hannah stood up and jumped out of the ambulance.
"Aren't you going?" Billy asked, as he took her by the hand.
Hannah shot a glance at the house, pulled on Billy, and motioned Sparkle to follow them around the ambulance and out of sight of Detective Armstrong who was standing at the gate of Josie's yard watching the commotion.
A second later the ambulance sped away, siren screaming. The crowd that had gathered dispersed. Armstrong went back inside Josie's house where he waited for Billy Zuni, Sparkle, and Hannah to come back.
Twenty minutes later he was still alone, so Armstrong picked up the chair that had toppled when Josie Bates fell, folded a copy of the fax that Archer had given him, put it in his breast pocket, and pulled out his phone.
"Commander Nelson? Detective Armstrong. I need to see you."
The weather had kicked up, clouding over the port with a coastal gloom that blocked out the sun. The decks were slick with mist and the Faret Vild rose and fell atop the choppy sea. Inside, gathered in the crew mess, were Adeano Bianchi and the five handpicked members of his crew that had the most to lose should the Coast Guard have their way and board the Faret Vild. The waiting hours had taken their toll on everyone. Some of the crew sat silently in the mess. A few lay on their bunks. One or two walked the decks; smoking, thinking, and watching the cutters bob at stern and bow.
For Adeano Bianchi the hours of waiting had become almost unbearable. He was not a patient man, especially when he was afraid. And he was afraid of so many things all at once that his fear could cause him to do something truly stupid. Not wanting to be the only one culpable should a bold decision to outrun the Americans be made, Adeano was setting the stage to share the responsibility, and it started with these five men. The bottle of whiskey he passed was the first step in his plan.
Bojan had been happy to help empty the bottle. Two others —the Filipino and the man from Serbia — had their share, but had not become drunk as Adeano had hoped. Guang had no taste for whiskey, so he remained as always: silent, attentive, but seemingly bored.
"How fast could we be on our way if I give the order?" Adeano asked. "If it were only us in this room making the ship ready?"
"Without the engineer?" Bojan took another drink and thought for a moment. "Fifteen minutes. If the cutters stay in the positions they hold now, we can raise the anchor without much notice. But there will be ten minutes more before we can get up to any speed and make the three miles."
"Ah, that's long. That's long." Adeano sat back, and put his hands to his head. "It is less than a mile more from this position."
“These old engines. They've been cold, shut down for hours now. We need the engineer. He could rig something, maybe," the Filipino man said. Adeano could not remember his name.
"You cannot do this? Rig something?"
The Filipino man shrugged. Adeano took that as a no.
"The engineer would do it if we all said," Bojan suggested. "He might not like it, but he would like it better than if we beat him."
"True," Adeano said. "But if we beat him then he can't help anyway. He might do it and then run tattling to the owners to make trouble later."
"So? It's not like there aren't other ships," Bojan said. "By the time he whines, we will all be gone."
"Guang?"
Adeano turned to the Chinaman who sat hunched over a bowl of rice and beef. Adeano seldom saw him without food and often wondered if he had been starved as a child. Without looking at them, Guang raised one shoulder. An eyebrow wiggled. His brow furrowed. The man had no hair so his entire head wrinkled with the effort.
"He won't go to the company," Guang mumbled.
"And why won't he?" Adeano asked.
"Because he will get us out of here, and then we will kill him."
The statement was made with no more emotion than Guang asking for extra rice in his bowl. The men in the small room — all of whom had done bad things, immoral things — remained silent. Certainly each had killed, but they were not murderers. There was a difference between doing something wrong in a fit of anger or passion rather than by plan. Tala Reye's death was Adeano Bianchi's passion, not theirs. The engineer's death was not anyones passion.
Bojan reached for the bottle of whiskey again. Guang continued to eat. The other three men cast furtive glances first at Guang, then at one another, and finally at the captain. Adeano knew something was expected of him, but what? A reprimand? A promise not to do such a thing? How could he do either when he secretly rejoiced that Guang might carry out just such a plan? But then the Chinaman changed things again and Adeano knew where he stood with the man.
"Or we let them on the ship." Guang set his bowl aside and rested his arms on his bony knees. He pulled at his fingers and his knuckles cracked. "I have nothing to hide."
The other men murmured a bit. They laughed a little. A few confessed to contraband, but joked it would be better to heave it over the side than to do the same to the engineer with whom they had no quarrel. Guang did not look at any of those men. He looked at Adeano Bianchi and Adeano looked back at him. Guang had tired of the game, tired of Adeano, tired of babysitting Tala Reyes, but Guang was also a practical man. Before the captain could dismiss the others and deal with him, the Chinaman said:
"What is onboard this ship that you would go to war with the Americans to protect it?" He leaned back, his small stomach protruding beneath his shirt. He smacked his lips and smiled. "If it is enough, we will protect it. We will make the ship ready and run for safe waters. If it isn't, perhaps we should give you to the Coast Guard."
24
Day 2 @ 5:00 P.M
"Archer?"
Archer looked up at the sound of his name, and realized it was not the first time he had been called.
"David. Sorry." Archer started to get up, but the doctor waved him down.
"Stay put. I'll sit for a minute."
David Piers took one of the club chairs that flanked the sofa where Archer sat. He slid the green paper cap off his head, the matching surgical mask hung around his neck. Gone was the gown he had worn in the operating room. His scrubs were the same sea-foam green as his cap and did nothing to hide the paunch at his middle.
The last time David Piers had seen Archer was the day Archer married Josie in a ceremony on the beach. That was too long a time for old friends not to be in touch, but Archer had married life to adjust to, David's practice kept him busier than ever, and Josie's work threw another wrench into the works. Now David was delivering news he knew would be hard to hear - harder to say because he was talking to a friend.
"How is she?" Archer asked.
"Fine. Really," David said. "It just took a little longer than I thought it would. We've got her all cleaned up. She'll be good as new in no time. You're lucky she's as fit as she is. Josie's a strong woman."
"But?" Archer said.
"But. . ." David drew the word out just enough to give Archer fair warning the situation was far from perfect. "The internal bleeding was massive. You got her here just in time."
"She hasn't had an accident, David. Nothing that could have caused anything like that," Archer said.
"I know."
David went through a ritual that had become second nature in situations like this. He licked his lips as he leaned into Archer, locking eyes with him.
"Josie had a ruptured fallopian tube, Archer. It was caused by an ectopic pregnancy."
"Jo was pregnant?" Archer's voice was a whisper, so low that David barely heard him.
"Were you two trying?" David asked. "Were you going to start a family?"
Archer shook his head in the negative, but even as he made the gesture he wasn't sure if that was exactly true. They weren't guarding against a pregnancy any more than they were trying to make it happen. The fact of the matter was that they hadn't discussed children. David took the ensuing silence and the head shake as a good sign.
"Okay, then that makes this a little easier," David said. "But just a little. I won't kid you, an ectopic pregnancy is pretty serious. Had Josie complained of pain in her abdomen? Any kind of belly distress?"
"She didn't say anything. She looked tired," Archer said. "I asked her if she felt okay. I believed her when she said yes."
"No reason not to, so don't go beating yourself up. She could have had symptoms and not put them together. She might have had pain in her shoulders and neck. You see, an ectopic pregnancy . . ."
While David talked, Archer stood up. He paced the room only to pause beneath the wall-mounted television. When Archer looked at the doctor, he saw the man's lips moving, explaining medical facts to a worried husband, but he heard nothing. Archer's mind had defaulted to idle, his body remained upright through sheer muscle memory.
"This doesn't mean she can never have children. It's good to remember that the chances of another ectopic pregnancy are only about ten percent. Now that you know what to look out for —"
"But she's fine now, right?"
Archer kicked back into the conversation. David stopped talking and smiled. He knew the man had heard every other word because there was only one thing on his mind, his wife. Josie and Archer were like links in a chain: individually strong but unbreakable when linked together.
"She's in recovery." David got up. "She'll have quite a bit of pain. We'll want her to lay low for about six weeks. I mean it. No running marathons, no volleyball, no extended time on her feet. We're going to take this slow."
David crumpled his paper hat and tossed it in the trashcan as he headed to the door. Before he opened it, he put his hand on Archer's shoulder and smiled fully.
"Think you can keep her down that long?"
"If I have to cuff her to the bed, I will," Archer said.
"Do you know who to call about her work? I'd really prefer that she not move her office into your house during recovery."
"I'll make sure of it," Archer said.
"Good".
David opened the door and let Archer through first. The two men walked into a short hall, made a turn, and found themselves in the rotunda of the surgery wing. The day was winding down, and since most surgeries were scheduled for the morning few people were around.
"Thanks for coming on short notice," Archer said.
"Nothing I wouldn't do for my friends," David said. "Not that the on-call doctor wouldn't have done fine, but I'm glad you called me. She's in good hands now, so I'll head home."
Archer shook David's hand. There really were no words to thank him properly.
"Come on, let's get you to recovery. I think Josie would rather see your face than mine when she wakes up."
Archer started to follow the doctor but paused to ask: "David, does she know what caused this?"
"Not yet, no," David said. "Do you want me to tell her?"
"I'll do it," Archer said.
"If she has any immediate questions, call me at home. Any time. Seriously," David said.
"Appreciate it."
"Okay, then." David swept a hand in front of him. "On to recovery?"
"In a minute. I've got a call to make."
"Through those doors, down the hall, and you'll see a sign when you're ready. If you have a problem there's always a volunteer around here to help."
With that David Piers went on his way, home
to a wife of thirty years, and an early dinner. Archer took out his phone to call Hannah but held off. He would see first hand what the situation was before talking to her. He started across the high-ceilinged rotunda only to pause at the door of a glass enclosed atrium. Beyond the doors there was a veritable forest of plants and bushes, exotic flowers and fountains. It was a beautiful, serene space built to comfort the bereft and calm those who were frightened.
A woman was sitting on a bench inside, her shoulders hunched and her head bowed. Archer had no doubt she was praying, but she looked defeated and hopeless and he felt for her. He understood all too well the temptation to put your problems in the hands of something greater than yourself. He had prayed when Lexi got sick — prayed hard to a God he truly believed in — but Lexi, Archer's first wife, had died. When he was a cop, Archer's partner had taken himself out on God's watch. There were times Archer still picked up his rosary and let the beads run through his fingers, and there were even moments when prayers ran through his mind that Archer believed God heard him. But Archer also knew that praying didn't save anyone from the challenges and horrors of this world. It was up to humans to fight and try to save themselves.
In this case, it was David Piers who had saved Josie and Archer was grateful, but he wasn't comforted. For the first time in his life Archer felt old, tired, and empty even though he was none of those things. He felt lonely and alone, even though he was far from either. He felt a hole in his heart and an empty space in his soul even though both were overflowing with love given and received. Archer turned away from the defeated woman and walked on to see the woman he loved more than life itself.
In the recovery room, he took Josie's hand and tried not to think about what had been lost that day —the child that would have been his and Josie's, the one that never had a chance.
Lost Witness Page 19