The Missile Game (The Dr. Scott James Thriller Series Book 1)
Page 17
He returned his attention to Keyes. “Ms. Keyes, you’ll be our ‘guest’ in D.C. a while, until we’ve had access to all your information. If you continue to cooperate, we will allow you to return to Great Britain, your only place of apparent citizenship. Of course, we’re fully aware that ‘Keyes’ is not your real birth name. But at this time, we don’t have enough information to locate your actual birth certificate, if there ever was one.
“As we see it, ISIS attacked our country, and the two of you—an American physician and an English woman—fought valiantly to protect it. But the press won’t get that part of the story. You will both be signing a mountain of confidentiality agreements. Prepare yourself for a case of writer’s cramp.”
Perkins smiled a little.
“The only thing the press needs to know is that American defense systems are operational and have outwitted ISIS.” Perkins chuckled. “Maybe that will help us when our next budget goes for Congressional approval.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Jackson City
8:30 am
THE HOMELAND SECURITY AGENCY took complete control of the media coverage. They were ably assisted by the National Security Agency and the U.S. Air Force. We were sequestered at Camp Peary. All other witnesses to the events in Jackson City Hospital’s Emergency Disaster bus were dead, except for Colonel Edwards. No ISIS group stepped up to claim responsibility for the attack, so the American news makers had the privilege of telling the story as it best benefited the interests of the United States, a real triumph in the war on terror.
The President of the United States received strong commendations for his actions in dealing with the terrorist attack in Jackson City. Interviews and polls of the American public showed overwhelming support in the handling of domestic terrorism with a great deal of praise for the administration, the performance of Congress, and the military complex, even though they had nothing to do with the outcome.
Throughout the next several days, foreign and domestic headlines alike read:
“America Thwarts ISIS Attack”
“North Carolina Hospital Bombed by Terrorists”
“American Military Captures Terrorist Missile Site Within Minutes of Attack”
“Terrorists Kill 5 at North Carolina Hospital”
“America Successful in Counter-Terrorist Strike”
No mention was made of either Dr. Scott James or Elizabeth Keyes.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Camp Peary Airfield
11:30 pm
ELIZABETH KEYES AND I said our goodbyes on the tarmac before she boarded the military transport to Washington. I held both her hands as we talked. She was headed to D.C. for an extended stay. Afterward, she would go home. She wanted to stay in America, and I wanted that, too, but immunity didn’t stretch that far. She was forbidden from ever entering the United States again.
“Well, Scott, I can’t say our time together was boring.”
“Hard to debate that.”
“Yeah.” She looked down. A tear rolled down her cheek. Then she lifted her chin, wiped the tears from her eyes, and smiled. “I check my e-mail now and then. Who knows? Someday you might need someone with my special talents … if you ever get in trouble again.”
“I don’t know what your e-mail address is.”
“I’m changing it. To the name and number you gave me when you resurrected from death. Just remember, I’m a ‘hot girl.’ You’ll figure it out.”
I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her, and she looked like she wanted the same. As we moved together, a federal officer stepped forward and pulled her away from me. “What will you do now?” Keyes called back to me, as she was led away.
“Water my orchids. I think I can resuscitate most of them. If I don’t, they’ll die.”
“You can buy new ones.”
“I don’t want new ones. I’ve nurtured these for years. People think everything can be replaced. But that’s not so. There’s a value in things in which you invest your time, energy, and soul.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
211 Pin Oak Drive
Jackson City, North Carolina
IN OUR DIVORCE SETTLEMENT, Alicia made it clear that she wanted money, not responsibility. So I gave her a fat check and she gave me full custody of the kids. The kids and I moved into a small house close to the hospital, and we all tried to get our lives back on track.
My dream of a surgical practice was gone. I transferred all the orchids from the surgery center to my office at the hospital. The sunlight was too bright at my new office, so I bought special shades with my first paycheck.
The sale of my surgery center to a young plastic surgeon who’d come to the area from the University of Virginia erased all my debts. My new job as chief administrator of the Jackson City Hospital provided plenty of challenges in straightening out the huge financial mess, and returning the hospital to a workable, not-for-profit medical center.
For starters, I brought back free coffee for doctors and hospital employees.
Acknowledgments
To my mentor of the past three years, Richard Krevolin, who transformed a storyteller into a writer. Many times he had reason to think it was an impossible task, but due to his perseverance, this book finally can be printed. And he gives me hope that some of the dozens of other stories I have to tell might also be published.
My special thanks to Jeremy Fitzpatrick, a concerned citizen who discovered that the charter of a community hospital had been changed over the years, making it possible for the publicly funded hospital to be sold to a private entity, with potentially adverse financial consequences to the community. While it was not clear to him what the end result might have been at the time, the public opinion he generated in contacting local leaders and publishing a revealing letter to the editor of a local newspaper mysteriously seemed to stop the potential sale of the not-for-profit hospital. His revelations motivated me to investigate the matter further and to write this book.
To Steve Babitsky, whose SEAK courses for MD writers introduced me to other aspiring writers, accomplished authors, and publishers and opened the doors of book publishing.
To Paula Munier, who was kind to review my book and offer valuable suggestions about style that are included in it today.
To Lt. Col. Phillip Greasley, a retired Air Force flyer, who opened up to me the world of drones and military logistics and supplied references that allowed me to explore this fascinating subject.
Jim Williams, my medical illustrator for thirty years, who contributed to the original cover design.
Ana Magno, who created the original book cover and interior design.
To Colleen Sell, who did the edit on the original book.
To my son Glenn Jr., who has possessed mature writing skills since he was in the fifth grade—skills I will never have the talent to equal. But he encourages me to keep trying.
To my son Barclay, a computer geek, who kept me sane by pulling my story from the ashes of many computer crashes.
To John Hanson, who struggled through the reading of a half dozen of my earlier, primordial books and was kind enough not to criticize.
Thanks to John Haslett and Annie Biggs, who were very helpful in directing the book to its final form.