by David Dun
"Maybe they'll want to look at yours and tell you if there is a difference."
"I'm not gonna deal with games like that. I can always tell the CIA to stuff it and drop France from the group. Tell them that."
"Come on, Sam. The French still have some clout with the CIA. You won't bluff them that easily."
"Get me the damn list."
Sam hung up, disgusted that he had to do this dance with the French. Only God knew what they were really up to.
Then he made arrangements to move Michael to a large hospital in Rio.
As he neared Michael's room, Sam couldn't help asking himself what it would be like if thousands of people sud denly acted like his neighbors, Matt and Frank. As he thought it, he answered it-and wondered just how much time he had.
Chapter 8
Men who piss into the wind wet their own feet.
— Tilok proverb
Grady was describing the differences between Michael Bowden and Sam to Jill when she heard a loud boom over the phone, followed immediately by the screeching of the alarm.
"Oh shit," Jill shouted, then began talking as if recording events. "We've been hit, probably by a small rocket. Pro bably didn't understand the layout of the building. Sounds like it went into the auto parts store. Just a minute." Jill had obviously covered the receiver. The muffled sounds contin ued for what seemed like an eternity; then Jill was on the line again. "They're telling me it damaged the back wall in the men's dorm room. Tons of dust in here already. The com puter room seems safe. I hear someone screaming. God… Sam had a plan if this ever happened. Police will be coming. Oh God, Grady, I gotta go. Have Sam call me."
Grady tried to reassure herself that none of her friends were hurt. She ran to find Sam. At moments like this he became her mother, father, and whatever else mattered. Down the hall from Michael she found him at a nurse's station.
"Sam, they've shot a rocket at the office or blown it up or something. I think everyone's okay. Jill says the computer is safe. But it hit the dorm, I think… I…"
Sam put his arm around her and moved with her to a pri vate room. He called Jill on his sat phone. Grady put her ear up to his and tried to make out what Jill was saying.
"It's bad. Wounded people all over the store. Customers. I'm having them tarp the hole in the back wall as fast as they can. Big Brain is sealed and the dust hasn't gotten to it. The temperature control still works. Grogg's not letting anyone in or out of the computer room."
"Okay. Go to the safe and open it. Go to the lockbox marked Emergency. Punch in my birthday and your birthday followed by 533561298. Then follow the instructions ex actly. It will tell you everything to do. You will be in the new office and running by tomorrow or the day after. All the se curity will be in place seventy-two hours after that. I'm com ing right away."
"We think we got the people who did it. We noticed a van just driving around. I called the local police and some of your retired friends. They followed the van, put it together. The van was actually a getaway vehicle. There were two guys with a rocket launcher in a third-story window of the Grey Building. One of the offices was empty. Our guys were just a little late and watched the rocket exit the window. When the suspects came out, there was a shoot-out. The van driver and the two rocket boys are dead. They must have been shot ten times each. None of our guys were hurt."
"I'm sure it's Gaudet. The question's whether it's a diver sion," Sam said. "Could mean he's setting up to grab Bowden down here. I don't know. But if he wanted my atten tion, he certainly got it. First thing to do is move Bowden to Rio."
While they moved Michael, Sam was constantly on the phone for updates from the office. The van was stolen and had stolen plates. There was no way to trace the men or even to determine their nationality. They were Caucasian and their photos and prints matched no record of the FBI, Interpol, or Scotland Yard.
Using a private jet, Sam moved Michael Bowden to Santa Maria Hospital, a large private hospital associated with the Universidade do Estado do Rio de Janeiro, a teaching hospi tal and medical school. Expertise here would be better and medical supplies more plentiful. They had run out of the antibiotic vancomycin in Tabatinga; before leaving, Michael had insisted that the doctor pack his wounds with honey, ex plaining that it was the first-known antibiotic and a decent substitute for modern medicine.
Sam and Grady raised their eyebrows at the idea of honey- packed wounds, but the doctor went along with the plan, say ing that honey killed bacteria by sucking the moisture from the cells. Although it was unorthodox, it worked to slow in fection.
The move between hospitals was accomplished so effi ciently that in a matter of hours Michael lay in surgery at Santa Maria, where the wounds were debrided and the physicians removed bone chips created by the passage of the bullet through his leg. The prognosis was for a quick recovery and little, if any, permanent damage.
After surgery the staff took Michael to a private room in a corner, where he could be watched by Sam's half-dozen security people on duty at any given time. Sam and Grady sat by his bed at about the time they thought he would awaken.
After a few false starts at consciousness, Michael came to.
"I need to go back to the States," Sam told him.
"I'll be staying with you and the security team," Grady added.
Before Michael could respond, Sam continued. "Some one attacked my offices in Los Angeles, and I'm sure Gaudet was behind it. I'm worried about leaving you because there's a chance Gaudet knows you're here. I'm going to be hunting him, and soon we'll move you to a safer place. Meanwhile, you're in good hands with Yodo."
Michael didn't seem to have the strength or will to respond He simply nodded; then, within minutes, he nodded off.
Sam was gone three hours later.
Devan Gaudet sat in a Tabatinga cafe near the clinic. Across from him was a young English-speaking doctor by the name of Costa. The restaurant was constructed of plywood over studs and had watermarks on the walls and in the corners of the ceilings. The furnishings were vinyl and all the surfaces pastel Formica. It was nothing to brag about in the way of cleanliness, and Gaudet was anxious to complete his busi ness and leave.
The young doctor flirted with the waitress and wolfed down Portuguese sweet bread and linguica sausage while Gaudet spoke to him.
"If you can help me, there will be money in it. A lot of money," Gaudet said.
"I didn't know journalists paid lots of money."
"Well, I'm a writer of feature articles-series pieces- and to get what I need, I spend my own money."
"And you just want me to find a doctor in Rio who can help get you an interview? I don't even know whether Bowden's gone to Santa Maria."
"Why would Dr. Torres be calling surgeons in Rio if Bowden wasn't going there?"
"Any number of reasons. Like asking about the efficacy of putting honey in the patient's wounds."
"I think he's going to Rio. Are you with me?"
Dr. Costa leaned his bearded face forward and held out his hand.
"I'm trusting that you are a legitimate reporter with Le Monde, out to write good things about Dr. Bowden."
"You can count on it."
Dr. Costa met Gaudet back at the cafe two hours later.
"I found someone, a Dr. Ayala. He is not from a wealthy family. Like all doctors in residency, he does not make much. I don't know him well, but I think he'll work with you."
Santa Maria was large and, at least outwardly, looked like any European or American teaching hospital. The young doctor Ayala located the famous Dr. Bowden in the surgical wing fairly easily, even though he was admitted under an other name.
Gaudet met Ayala just down the street from the hospital in a coffee shop. For their purposes they agreed he would be Dr. Burre, a French trauma surgeon visiting relatives in Brazil. Ayala was a good-looking man, big, probably six feet three inches, with Anglo complexion and features. Gaudet discerned the doctor's interest in money almost immediately. He played that to the hilt, asking o
nly for a brief interview with Bowden-alone-and a similar interview with Grady, the young woman, accompanying him.
Gaudet and Ayala each wore a white coat and entered Santa Maria Hospital at eight o'clock on a Tuesday evening. They waited in a radiology section of the hospital, which was quiet at that time of the day.
The doctor left Gaudet and went about his duties. Gaudet used the time well, exploring every portion of the radiology wing and the neighboring radioisotope studies lab. When Dr. Ayala returned at one in the morning, they entered the eleva tor and headed for the med surg wing. His room location was obvious: no other patient had a handful of estrangeiros led by a mountainous Japanese man outside the door.
Dr. Ayala had done substantial preparation with the nursing staff. According to the good doctor, the preparations had included certain intimacies in the broom closet with a fairly fat chief nurse, plus chocolates for the others. The staff was allowed in on the secret efforts of a famous French journalist and agreed to look the other way, if not to help.
Gaudet had one concern. He did not like the way Dr. Ayala stared at his face. No doubt to a trained eye, the beard could be seen as part of a very careful makeup job. Gaudet deliberately made himself up to look like a green-eyed Abraham Lincoln. He wasn't a replica, but the similarity would be apparent to a Lincoln aficionado. The gray-green of the eyes was created with contacts. As they walked down the hall through the glare of the bright lights, Gaudet told Ayala that he needed a moment of privacy so they could talk. The doctor showed him to an exam room.
"You are staring at my disguise. Do you think it is unsatisfactory?"
"I didn't know you had one. Why would a journalist wear a disguise?"
"Bowden is publicity-shy. He has tried to dodge me in the past, and if he recognizes me, he might not give me the in terview."
"I would have thought an author like him would welcome the publicity."
"Well, he will in the end enjoy the publicity for his books. But I believe that he's been having a romantic relationship with the young lady in his room. He worries that journalists will dwell on that aspect of his life. I come from France. I have no interest in writing about that sort of thing, but…" Gaudet shrugged at the silliness of the notion.
Unfortunately, Ayala appeared mildly skeptical.
"Listen," Gaudet continued. "I did not say this would be easy. If you make this happen, there is an extra U.S. three thousand dollars in it for you."
"In addition to the other?"
"In addition."
The doctor nodded. "But you are sure this will be good for Dr. Bowden?"
The young man's innocence was amusing. He was struggling hard to justify his role despite the payoff.
"Publicity never hurts an author. Your job is to get me alone with them without any guards present. With the guards my chances of getting a good interview are much less."
They exited the elevators on med surg and immediately ducked into a shower room. Nobody would be taking showers in the middle of the night. The hallways were gleaming and bright even with the lights slightly dim. They peered out through a small window in the door and watched in the di rection of room 317, where the estrangeiros remained congregated. Gaudet slowed his breathing and closed his eyes. Getting into the room without the guards might not be so easy after all.
Sam was in heavy traffic in a Rio taxi on the way to the Rio airport to catch the 11:55 pm flight to LA. Always he had put a high premium on his instincts. No matter how he thought about it, he couldn't imagine that Gaudet had gone personally to LA to fire a rocket into his offices. Had he done so, the explosion would have been more accurate. What else could it be but a distraction? A distraction de signed to move Sam out of South America.
"Take me back to the hospital," Sam said to the cabbie.
The driver looked back to indicate his puzzlement.
Sam made a circle with his finger and pointed back up the street, the way they had come.
"Ah. You… ahhh… leave… ahhh… forget… the suit case?"
The driver made a couple of turns and headed back to the hospital. Sam began looking at his watch, knowing that in the traffic it could take an hour or more. Using the cell phone, he called Jill and explained his decision. She told him that they would be fine and that the move was already going smoothly.
Gaudet moved in beside the gurney, trying to determine what might go wrong with his plan. They passed through the throng of security people, the towering Japanese immedi ately behind Dr. Ayala, who pushed the gurney.
Grady walked on the far side of the gurney, holding Bowden's hand. They were going to the X-ray lab to perform some X-rays requested by the surgeon. It was a final check for any remaining bone fragments.
It was unlikely that Dr. Ayala, who wasn't assigned to the case, would be talking with the surgeon about Bowden's case, but no one questioned it. It was equally unusual that a first-year resident in internal medicine would be taking a pa tient to the X-ray lab. Normally, it would be done by an X-ray technician and the only doctor who might be present would be a radiologist and then only if it was a special study-in those circumstances the radiologist would wait in the radiology department. Dr. Ayala had told Gaudet all this, and even so, he risked it. So far, so good.
Ayala's face showed the stress he felt. He was probably wondering how he'd explain all of this if someone brought it up when the chief resident returned tomorrow.
Gaudet's greatest concern had been that Grady Wade would suspect him. So far, there had been no sign of any recognition whatsoever. Things were going remarkably well.
It was late evening in Rio. At such times people in a hos pital naturally held their voices down and moved quietly. Almost all of the rooms were semidark or dark and they encountered only two nurses the entire length of the hallway. The hospital was designed with large wings and elevators in the center core. When they arrived at the elevators, Grady, the Japanese, two of the security men, and Dr. Ayala all got aboard. By his own observation it seemed to Gaudet that Grady and the big Japanese were by far the most observant. In the close quarters of a crowded elevator, they, if anyone, would discern that most of his face was a creation.
Grady held Michael's hand and watched his face in silence. When he looked back at her, it felt, as always, as if he were speaking to her, even though they said nothing.
The doctor from France, on the other hand, acted strangely. Actually, it was how he looked. He appeared to wear makeup. Was this a French affectation? And why would two doctors take a man to be x-rayed? She glanced at Dr. Burre. He looked like a man who wanted to shrink. The younger doctor Ayala from the hospital didn't seem comfortable either. It almost seemed as if they had terrible news they were reluctant to divulge.
The dark of the hallway began to make her uneasy, and the farther they went, the more they were becoming isolated. They went through a section subject to remodeling and the ceiling was partially torn out, exposing conduit and wires. This ugly wound in the building reminded her of a war zone.
She looked back at Yodo. He seemed watchful, as always. Their eyes met; now he knew that she was afraid. The gurney rolled silently over the vinyl tile and eight pairs of feet made a quiet patter as they walked. Normally, in a large group in a hospital one would feel completely safe, but Grady did not and she didn't know why.
"How much farther?" Yodo said.
"Almost there," Dr. Ayala replied.
The lights were inadequate here. It was dark enough that Grady could no longer tell the color of the paint on the walls.
They turned a sharp left, then went right through two large double doors and into a waiting area that was obviously closed for the evening. They proceeded through an other large single door and into the back and then into a central working area with X-ray viewing screens all around.
"We'll need you all to wait out here," Doctor Ayala said.
"I'm going with him," said Grady, "and so is Yodo."
"There is radiation in the room when we take a picture. Normally, you
would be in the waiting room and not here. We have brought you as far as we can."
"Perhaps the young woman could come as the patient's representative," Dr. Burre said.
"There is a shield," Yodo spoke up. "In the wall. I have seen them. You stand behind it. So will we."
"I also wear a lead apron. And the rules don't allow for people in the X-ray area. But you can be right here and we will be right through that door."
"It'll be fine," Michael said. "Like the doctor said, Grady can come."
Yodo obviously didn't like it but acquiesced at least for the moment. Grady and Michael passed through the door and into a large room with odd-looking machines. Dr. Ayala kept going.
"Where are we going now?" Grady asked.
"Into another X-ray room with the correct equipment." Dr. Ayala flipped a light switch.
They went through a doorway and into a smaller X-ray room. It was very bare and seemed to have been built and furnished in an earlier era. In the middle stood a large metal bed with an X-ray unit overhead.
Dr. Burre closed the door and walked over to Dr. Ayala. As he did so, the young doctor's eyes seemed to freeze. He was trying to say something. His mouth seemed to be forming an O, as if to express surprise. Then he slumped forward. Dr. Burre was holding him up and then lowering him to the floor.
"What's wrong?"
Then Grady saw it. Protruding from the doctor's lab coat, just below his chest, was a bloody wooden handle and thick, deep red blood flowing onto the floor.
In horror Grady saw the gun aimed at her belly. In that moment she knew who he was.
"Dios mio." Michael sighed. He understood it as well.
"Please go through that door." Gaudet directed Grady to get behind the gurney. Tentatively she pushed it; it rolled easily. "This is going to be a mess here."
Gaudet had the gun to her back and there was nothing she could do. "Don't say a word. You understand?"
They rolled into another room that opened into a back area filled with strange-looking machines. Grady's mind flashed around the place, looking… thinking… how to escape. Having Michael on the gurney was like having her in shackles. Doorways, a hall, a gun at her back. Think, think!