Blood Contest

by P. K. Abbot

  When he heard this, Mueller’s first thought was about Annie. He had to reach her before she would see this report, before she could think that he had died in the helicopter crash today. He called Central Jersey Hospital and asked the operator to page her immediately.

  “I am sorry, Sir,” the operator replied, “but Annie Morgen is not working today.”

  “Please page her. I know that she is working today. She may not be on the duty roster because she is on suspension.”

  “I am not allowed to page someone on suspension. I can lose my job for doing that. I am sorry.”

  “I need you to page her, ma’am. It’s an emergency.”

  “I am sorry. I can’t do that,” she said. Then she terminated the call.

  Mueller cursed to himself and then called Ryan’s cell phone.

  “Did you hear the news?” Mueller asked as soon as Ryan answered.

  “What news?” Ryan asked.

  “They are reporting that Burton’s helicopter crashed in the ocean. I was supposed to be on that flight, but Burton left without me.”

  “Damn — that was fortunate for you.”

  “But I still have a big problem.”

  “What is that, Pete?”

  “The news is reporting that I was on the helicopter when it crashed. I have just tried calling Annie to tell her that the story is wrong, but I cannot get in touch with her at the hospital — She can’t use her personal cell phone while she is working, and the switchboard operator will not page her.”

  “Don’t say any more, Pete. I can be there in ten minutes. I will run over there right now, find her, and explain what is going on. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks, Billy.”

  Ryan disconnected from Mueller’s call and headed out the door toward his squad car.

  When Ryan pulled out of the parking lot, his tires were squealing, and his flashing lights and siren were already on. He blew past all of the traffic on 295 and was able to walk into the hospital lobby a few minutes after speaking to Mueller. The receptionist wasn’t sure if Annie was working today, but she told Ryan where she usually worked.

  When Ryan stepped off the elevator on the third floor, he saw Annie at the far end of the corridor. She was on candy striper duty while she was on suspension. She could not have unsupervised contact with patients while she was on suspension, so she was doing what a candy striper would do: stocking supplies and changing bed linens.

  “Annie,” Ryan called, “I need to talk with you right away.”

  Annie’s arms were filled with pillows, blankets, and bed linens. “I have to put these things down before I drop them, Billy. Follow me in here. I can make up the bed while you talk,” she said as she disappeared into a room.

  Ryan walked up the corridor to where he had last seen Annie, and he followed her into the room.

  When he pushed through the door, he saw Annie standing on the opposite side of the bed. He was surprised to see how she looked. Her eyes were wide, her face was pale, and her chin and hands were trembling.

  Then he felt the cold steel of a gun barrel press against the bone behind his left ear.

  “Not a word, Sergeant.” The words were whispered by the voice which he had heard on Roshan Roshni’s recording. It was the voice of Amnestris Pahlavi — the one whom Roshni called the Angel of Death.

  “Not a single word,” she whispered again. She had been standing on the side of the entrance door when Ryan entered the room.

  “Now, Sergeant,” she continued, “slowly raise your hands above your head and keep them there, where I can see them. Stay still, and do not make any sudden movements.”

  As Ryan complied with her orders, she reached around him, lifted his side arm from its holster, and tossed it onto the bed, out of his reach.

  “You are Amnestris?” Ryan asked.

  “I am Amnestris. How did you know that?”

  “We have been looking for you.”

  “I suppose that I would have been disappointed if you had not been looking for me.”

  “I don’t understand why you would risk exposing yourself by coming here today.”

  “It seems to me, Sergeant, that you and Miss Morgen are the ones who are exposed here.”

  “But why are you here?” he asked.

  “I have unfinished business. Two nights ago, Miss Morgen made a grave but unproven accusation against Governor Jamieson on national television. Her accusation threatens to unravel everything that we have worked to accomplish for the last few years. Miss Morgen has made herself a loose end, and I am here to eliminate that loose end.”

  Then Ryan said, “I came here to tell Annie that her boyfriend is safe. He is safe because he was not on the Governor’s flight to New Hampshire this morning.”

  “What does that have to do with me?” Amnestris asked.

  “The Governor’s helicopter crashed a short time ago into the Atlantic Ocean, presumably killing all on board. Governor Jamieson’s body has already been recovered. The Governor is dead, Amnestris, so there is no longer a plot. Without a plot, there are no longer any loose ends.”

  “Have they recovered all of the bodies from the crash?”

  “When last I heard, they had recovered all but Doctor Black’s body.”

  “Then Black is alive.”

  “No. He is not alive. Given the temperature of the water and the severity of the crash, the Coast Guard has said that there will be no survivors.”

  “The Coast Guard is wrong,” she said. “Black is alive. He always finds a way to survive. It does not matter what he must do or whom he must sacrifice to save himself. If you do not have his body, I know that he is alive.”

  “How can you be so certain about him?”

  “Because, Sergeant, I was once the one whom he chose to sacrifice in order to save himself.”

  “I do not understand,” Ryan said.

  “Black is my father. He once abandoned my mother and me to save himself.”

  “Is he the one who taught you how to kill for a living?”

  “Yes, he taught me a very useful and lucrative profession.” Then Amnestris chuckled softly to herself and said, “He always told me that a young woman should have a skill to fall back on, if marriage were not in her future.”

  Ryan did not laugh. He felt the situation was becoming grimmer as he pleaded with her.

  “With Governor Jamieson now dead,” he said, “there is no longer a reason for you to kill Miss Morgen. Let her live, Amnestris.”

  “Oh, but there is a reason, Sergeant. I am still a professional. I have been paid to complete a task, and, whether my employer is alive or not, I am still obligated to complete the task.”

  The situation seemed hopeless to Ryan now. He had no reply to make to her. Amnestris now gave him an order.

  “With your left hand, Sergeant, I want you to remove your handcuffs and handcuff yourself to the chair at the foot of the bed. I will be very quick and painless with Miss Morgen. If you follow my instructions and stay out of my way, Sergeant, there is no need for you to die today too.”

  Ryan was now desperate. He turned around quickly and positioned himself between Amnestris and Annie.

  Amnestris was shorter than he had expected. She was shorter than Ryan, but he found himself staring into the muzzle of her gun. She held her gun above her head, sideways but parallel to the ground, and trained on Ryan’s head. This must have been how she managed to shoot Trey Jamieson with such a flat trajectory.

  Amnestris brought her gun down and pressed the tip of its silencer against Ryan’s chest.

  “Don’t be a fool, Sergeant,” she said.

  “I won’t let you kill Annie.”

  “Why would you risk your own life for her?”

  “She is important to Mueller. That is enough reason for me.”

  “You are a fool, Sergeant… an aggravating and disappointing fool.”

  Ryan stared hard at Amnestris’s face. Her disguise had been impenetrable. Her large dark glasses hid her eyes
and most of her face from him, but he noticed the crack in her facade. She had drawn her lips into a hard, thin line.

  He nodded toward her glasses and said, “Take them off.”

  “You know then?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I do. It is the way you hold your lips when you get angry.”

  She said nothing to him.

  “Take them off,” he repeated.

  She did not move.

  He reached up and pulled her glasses from her face. He could see fury flashing in her eyes — those unmistakable, blue-green eyes.

  “Alex,” he said.

  “It’s Amnestris,” she said. “Alex was never real, Sergeant. She was just someone I played at being, because I needed to get close to you. She was simply a means to an end, Billy.”

  He could see cold hatred now displacing the rage in her eyes. She clutched his tie and pulled him close to her.

  “Why did you have to show up here today?” she asked. “Why did you have to ruin everything, Billy?”

  Then she pushed the muzzle of her gun against his thigh and pulled the trigger.

  Ryan doubled over in pain, but, as she started to turn the gun toward Annie, Ryan grappled with her and pulled the gun from her hand as he fell to the floor.

  Amnestris lunged toward the spot where Ryan’s gun had been on the bed, but Annie was already holding it. Annie was pointing the gun at Amnestris with trembling hands.

  “Killing in cold blood requires something special in a person,” she taunted Annie, “and you are not that special, Miss Priss.”

  Amnestris looked at Ryan and observed the widening pool of blood beneath him. She smiled to herself and turned back to Annie and said, “You should tend to him before he bleeds out. You do not need another death on your watch, Nurse Morgen.”

  Then Amnestris turned away and started to walk calmly out of the room.

  Annie pointed Ryan’s weapon at center mass, between Amnestris’s shoulder blades, but she was shaking violently. When she fired the gun, it went off with a deafening roar. Its bullet slammed into Amnestris’ hip and dropped her to the floor.

  Annie walked over to where Amnestris was lying on the floor. Amnestris’s face was grey. She had tears in her eyes, and she was biting her lip.

  Annie bent low over her and waited until Amnestris looked into her eyes. Annie gently caressed her cheek with the tip of her finger and smiled at her.

  “Your mistake was misjudging the prissy girl,” she said.

  Chapter 33

  5½ Weeks later, Sunday, February 14, Valentines’ Day

  Mueller had promised to meet Mike Kieran and Ryan at noon for a drink at Rocco’s Bar in Trenton.

  Trenton had seen its third snowfall since Christmas Eve, and this last one had stayed around too long. The once pristine snow was piled along the curb and was now covered with soot. The sky was threatening another storm of sleet or cold rain.

  Mueller found a parking space on the street, directly across from the bar. When he stepped out of his car, he shivered from the damp, bone-chilling air. An icy drizzle had just begun and pelted him as he walked across the street toward the rundown building which housed Rocco’s Bar. He climbed the three steps to the entrance, and pushed against the grimy door to the bar.

  Once inside, Mueller needed a moment to adjust his eyes to the room. It was dark inside, but the noise level there was intense. It was rowdy.

  Six older men in tattered coats were sitting elbow-to-elbow along the bar and baiting the Latina barmaid, Lupita, but they were no match for her. She was young —only in her mid-20s — and she was gorgeous with flawless mocha skin and fiery dark brown eyes.

  When one of the old men said something coarse to her, she simply smiled at him.

  “Why are you here so early today, Charlie?” she asked him.

  Charlie replied in his phlegmy voice, the product of decades of booze and cigarettes.

  “I thought I would make the effort... in case your boyfriend... you know... ‘cuz it’s Valentine’s Day... in case he decides to stand you up tonight.”

  Lupita smiled to herself as she came closer to him.

  “My boyfriend stood me up six years ago when I told him I was pregnant. By now, I got used to the idea.” Then she leaned over the bar, caressed Charlie’s grizzled cheek, and said in a breathy, seductive voice so that his friends could hear, “But I do appreciate your offer, Sexy.”

  The other five howled with laughter and started to mock Charlie with their gravelly voiced imitations of her.

  When she looked up and saw Mueller laughing at them, she gave him a bright smile.

  Mueller smiled back and asked, “Is Mike here?”

  She pursed her lips and pointed with them to a table in front of the bar.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Mike was sitting facing the doorway, and he had three beers on the table in front of him. The two men smiled when they saw each other.

  “Hi, Pete. I hope you don’t mind that I ordered drinks for you and Billy.”

  “No… No, the beer’s just fine.” Mueller took a sip from the top of one beer and then said, “It’s been a long time, Mike.”

  “It was Frank Burton’s funeral, wasn’t it?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah. I am still amazed that you managed to have him buried next to JR in Arlington.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t me. Father Fred prevailed upon the bishop to phone the congressional delegation. The congressmen were delighted to make that happen for two American martyrs in an election year. To the congressmen it was political gold — an election year no-brainer.”

  Mike stared into the distance for a moment and then looked back at Mueller. “You know, Pete, they found Frank’s cover at the crash site.”

  Mueller grew pale as he realized the significance of what Mike had just told him.

  “I didn’t know,” Mueller replied. “Then Burton definitely made up the story about misplacing his cover. — So he just wanted to get me out of the helicopter?”

  “I am sure of it, Pete.”

  “Then do you think he crashed the helicopter deliberately, Mike?”

  Mike looked away again for a moment. When he turned back to Mueller, he sighed.

  “I don’t know for sure, Pete, but I think he probably did.”

  “But why, Mike?”

  “With Trey’s murder investigation, we were all faced with a nearly impossible situation, but I think Frank decided that he was the one who had to do something because he no longer had anything to lose. He was the one who had the courage to do the only thing possible.”

  “I guess I misjudged him.”

  “Not many people really knew him, Pete. That’s the way he wanted it.”

  “Do you think there will be an inquiry now, Mike?”

  “No. No one wants to prove that Frank Burton deliberately crashed the helicopter. If they blame Frank for the crash, then they would have to explain why he crashed the helicopter. And no politician wants to open that can of worms.”

  “So, how will they explain it?”

  “Because both Amnestris and Roshan Roshni were Iranian nationals, the politicians are trying to implicate the Iranians, but, with no hard evidence those charges will never be proven, Pete.”

  “What about Black?”

  “Black’s body has not been found – and probably it never will be found. Jamie, Elliott, and Frank are all dead. And Amnestris has been moved to the high-security wing of Mahan.”

  “Has anyone been able to get Amnestris to talk yet?”

  “No. She is not talking at all, Pete. There may be someone who is taking care of her from the outside, or she may feel that she can escape Mahan – because it has been done before.”

  “Is she walking now?”

  “Annie messed her up pretty well, Pete. Annie’s shot chipped her ileum, so Amnestris only recently began walking with the help of a cane.”

  “One thing that I don’t understand is why she didn’t kill Billy and Annie when she had the chance in the hospi
tal.”

  “I think it was her pride — hubris. As a psychopath, Amnestris believes that she is superior to everyone. She gets her kicks by having power over other people, by manipulating them. I think that she was not finished with Billy yet, and I think she felt that Annie would let her walk away that day.”

  “She certainly misjudged Annie.”

  “Yes, she did.” Mike was chuckling now. “How has Annie been, Pete? How is she coping with all of this?”

  “On the surface, things seem okay. She has been cleared of any culpability in shooting Amnestris, and she has been exonerated from any blame connected with Roshni’s murder. The hospital has reinstated her to her former position…”

  “But?” Mike asked.

  “But all of the past accusations have affected her. She is hurt, and she is not sure if she wants to stay at the hospital after all of this. We are leaving for vacation in the Bahamas tomorrow, and she will make her decision while we are there.”

  “And what about you, Pete? What have you decided about your future?”

  “My future with the state police?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know, Mike. I want to do something worthwhile with my life. I thought that the state police was the answer, but then this last investigation – Trey Jamieson’s murder – changed all of that for me.”

  “How is that?”

  “In Iraq I served with guys — guys like JR — who sacrificed their health and even their lives for their ideal of America. But then this case showed me the corruption that exists — how clever, unscrupulous guys like Jamie and Black could benefit from their sacrifice, but then take that ideal and twist it and subvert it until it is no longer recognizable. I am just cynical now about government. I don’t know if I will continue with the state police.”

  “But Jamie was stopped, Pete.”

  “Yes, but he was stopped only with violence. The law did not stop him. Jamie and Black rigged the system so that they were beyond the reach of the law. They broke the system. They broke our country. When the law fails to deliver justice equally in society, justice can only come through violence. And it will come. It always has. That is what Burton must have realized.”