Climatized

by Sally Fernandez

  “You know those conclusions sound an awful lot like Avery’s. Could this be what it’s about?”

  “It’s a brainteaser all right. But at this juncture we have no way of knowing exactly. We can only hope Maieli has the answers—then again, as I said we have to find him first.”

  All of a sudden Max was antsy to get to Sarasota. She noticed that her flight was about to board and needed to sign off. “Great work, Jax!”

  “If our luck holds out, you might get something tangible out of our newfound spy.”

  “This has to be connected to Spark’s death—I can feel it.” Max heard the final call. “Jax, chew on this for a while. Let’s say these scientists had proof that could dispel or at least muck up the water as to the degree of manmade global warming. Then the billions of dollars allocated for the individual projects would dissipate; the taxpayer well would run dry. And let’s assume kickbacks were involved. I don’t know about the other senators, but I suspect Senator Erog would take a pretty big hit.”

  “Max, you have a vivid imagination.”

  “There’s something fishy about that guy. Check him out.”

  “Another infamous hunch?”

  “You got it! Gotta go. Later, Jax.”

  Chapter 18

  SARASOTA SETBACK

  Max’s flight arrived at the Sarasota Bradenton Airport ten minutes late, but she managed to hail a taxi without delay. Hurriedly, she rattled off the address to the driver. Fifteen minutes later she was standing in front of Patrick’s on Main Street. When she entered the restaurant she immediately identified the booth in the far left corner as instructed. Seated at the table under the dim lighting was a rather stocky man. As far as she could tell, he was dressed in a dark-blue blazer and jeans. What was obvious were his piercing eyes aimed in her direction. Yup, that’s my spy, she thought.

  As Max took her seat across from him, she asked, “Should I call you Sam? Or would you prefer Casper?”

  “Sam,” he replied in the same gruff voice that had echoed on the other end of the phone a day earlier.

  Thanks to Jax’s expert sleuthing, Max was armed with Sam’s full identity. The private, unlisted 941 telephone number was traced to a Samuel Ames, a CIA operative Jax had worked with in the past. But he knew him as “Casper,” a man notorious for being one of the spookiest spies and not as friendly as the name would imply. Max purposely invoked Sam’s code name hoping to throw him off guard—but he seemed catatonic in his motionless reaction. She also detected that he was a man of few words. The clock was ticking. She had only a short time to draw out whatever information he was willing to reveal.

  When Max first sat down she noted that Sam had already ordered a bottle of wine and had poured a glass for himself. Now in a presumptive move, he poured a glass for her. Foregoing the usual polite toast, he continued to sip his wine and waited for her to open up the conversation. Max took her cue and spoke in a low, soft voice aware of the other diners.

  “Three scientists died days before they were scheduled to testify in front of a committee on climate-change initiatives. The same committee Senator Sherman Spark co-chaired. I believe all their deaths are connected.”

  “How was Sherman killed?” he whispered back hoarsely.

  “With a Luger. His death is presumed a suicide. But I don’t buy it.”

  “The others?”

  “Veunet died climbing Lou Passo in Provence. Doerfinger was killed instantly when his Lexus slammed into a guardrail.”

  “Any other cars involved?” Sam asked, attempting to hurry along the conversation.

  “No. It was late at night. He had just arrived at the Reagan International Airport an hour before. After renting the car he headed to his hotel.”

  “And the other one?”

  “Von Boehmer apparently died in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.” Max waited a second, anticipating another question, but Sam remained silent as his eyes darted about the restaurant. She wondered whether he was even listening and then feared that perhaps he thought they may be in danger. Max refocused. “There’s one other scientist missing and we believe he’s in fear for his life and he’s nowhere to be found. His name is Antonio Maieli. I have a gut feeling he’s the missing link and can tell us what happened to the Senator—and possibly the others.”

  With a blank face, Sam coolly asked, “What makes you think I can help?”

  “You were the last person Senator Spark spoke with before he died. Did he tell you anything that can help me find Maieli before it’s too late?”

  Sam’s eyes never stopped perusing the room. Either it was a habit from the old days or he knew Max was on to something. Either way, it was obvious that he was becoming uneasy. “Let’s go. We’ve been here too long—I can’t help you.”

  “Sam, this may be the only lead I have to find out what happened to Sherman Spark—your friend,” she implored.

  Sam ignored her plea. He slid out of the booth and stood up. His face was still straight-faced other than his roving eyes.

  Max was deflated. She had reached the end of the line. Sam had been her one real hope. Flustered, she gathered her luggage and trailed behind.

  Suddenly, Sam spun around, his face only inches away from hers.

  A chill shot up her spine. Max could feel his breath as he began to speak.

  “Pliny the Elder once said, ‘In wine there is truth.’ Perhaps the truth you’re looking for is in the wine. Let’s go. There’s nothing else I can tell you.” Sam turned and headed to the entrance.

  Max again followed, but as she started to walk away an eerie sensation came over her. For some inexplicable reason, she turned and glanced back at the booth where they had first met. Resting on top of the table remained the two wine glasses and the empty bottle of Capannelle Solare they had shared.

  Sam, seeming more agitated, waited at the front entrance holding open the door. “Ladies first,” he said when she approached.

  They walked to the curb together.

  “Watch out!” Sam shouted—but it was too late.

  Max hit the pavement hard.

  Sam rushed to her side. “Are you okay?” he asked, not fully comprehending what had just happened.

  There was no response.

  Blood gushed from a gash above Max’s left eye as she lay unconscious on the curbside. It was clear that her ankle was also badly injured. “Sully, grab me a towel and some ice!”

  Jim Sullivan, the owner of Patrick’s, called out to one of the wait staff. He was already on his cellphone calling the ambulance. Fortunately, he had seen the whole scene play out.

  Sam was still crouched down next to Max, cradling her head in his lap. He tried to keep her head positioned above her heart to slow down the bleeding.

  “Here.” Sully handed Sam the ice wrapped in a towel.

  Quickly, Sam placed the improvised cold compress firmly on Max’s head.

  “They’re on their way,” Sully announced. “And hey, I caught the plate number. It was JAF 428.”

  “Let’s keep that between us,” Sam asked.

  Sam had been a good customer and a friend for years, and although he had been very secretive about his past, Sully never meddled. He trusted and respected him.

  In no time at all the sound of the sirens could be heard blaring nearby. Sam knew the ambulance would arrive in minutes. “Sully, take over. I have to go. Make sure they take her to the emergency room at the Sarasota Memorial Hospital. Tell them to get in touch with Dr. Paul Yungst as soon as they arrive.”

  “No problem, Sam.” Without questioning, Sully stooped down to take Sam’s place and cradled Max’s head. He could see that the wound was still bleeding profusely and continued to apply the ice pack.

  By the time the ambulance pulled up to the curb, Sam had left the scene. Swiftly, one of the EMTs moved in to check Max’s vitals. The other EMT wrapped her head tightly with a gauze bandage. Then, in unison, they placed her on the stretcher, giving extra care to her damaged ankle. Sully, as per Sam’s instru
ctions, gave them the name of the doctor to contact.

  Max remained unconscious.

  Seconds after the ambulance arrived, a police vehicle appeared. Two officers stepped out of the car. One of the officers hurled the first question out to the burgeoning crowd. “Who saw what happened?”

  “I did.” Sully was the first to step forward. He proceeded to tell them how a white car had come speeding around the corner on North Lemon and turned on to Main Street the moment the woman stepped off the curb. “The car hit her square on. It never attempted to stop,” he explained.

  “Do you know the name of the woman who was hit?”

  “No, I’ve never seen her before.” Sully answered, realizing he really had no idea who she was; certainly he was not going to mention her companion.

  The police officer then asked the same question of one of the EMTs as he was about to load the stretcher into the ambulance.

  “No officer, no ID,” the EMT replied and then, in haste, returned to his patient.

  Sully overheard the conversation and thought it odd because he remembered seeing a handbag and a small piece of carry-on luggage when the mystery woman arrived at the restaurant. At once, he scanned the area where she had fallen, but nothing was lying on the ground. He was positive he had seen the items, but then again a lot was happening. He admitted to himself that he could have been wrong.

  The police officer redirected the questioning back to Sully. “Can you give a description of the driver?”

  “Excuse me?” he replied, not hearing the question. Sully’s thoughts were elsewhere.

  “The driver. Can you describe him?”

  “Um, a male.” Sully shrugged.

  “Make and model? Did you get the make and model?”

  “I’m not sure. It could have been a BMW or an Audi. They all look alike these days.”

  “You didn’t happen to see the license plate number?”

  “No, officer. Just that it was a Florida plate.”

  In an obvious rush, one of the EMTs shouted out, “We’re off! We’re taking her to Sarasota Memorial!” Swiftly the ambulance doors closed, and it sped away with Jane Doe.

  Chapter 19

  OUT OF A LIMB

  “Maxine Ford? —Ms. Ford?”

  “What?” Max punctuated, clearly annoyed at being disturbed in the midst of a dream. She forced her eyes open with great reluctance. Although her vision was blurry she could make out the silhouette of a person standing over her. She blinked several times, clearing her vision enough to reveal a tall man wearing dark blue scrubs. “Who are you? Where am I?” Panic set in. She scanned the room. Everything still looked fuzzy. But there was no doubt—it was a hospital room.

  Recognizing her muddled state, the man spoke slowly. “Ms. Ford, I’m Dr. Yungst and you’re at Sarasota Memorial Hospital. You’ve been in an accident, but you’re going to be okay.”

  “My phone! I need my phone!”

  “That can come later. Right now, we’ll be prepping you for surgery. I’ll need you to sign a consent form.”

  Max had no idea what he was talking about and her head felt like it was bursting. “Consent for what?” Irritation had displaced her panic.

  “Ms. Ford, you need to stay calm. You have a severe laceration on your forehead and evidence of a concussion. We need to ensure that there is no internal bleeding. I also have one of the best plastic surgeons standing by to stitch up your head wound.”

  Max reached up and touched the bandage. She had no idea what it looked like, but it certainly explained why she felt like she had gone ten rounds with Ali.

  “You also have several nasty breaks in your left ankle that will require my handiwork.” Yungst smiled trying to make her feel more relaxed.

  It didn’t work. She was becoming even more restless. “Why am I here? Where are my clothes? I need my phone!”

  “Ms. Ford, you’ve had a severe head trauma. I know this must be very confusing.”

  “How do you know my name?” she asked, speaking calmly for the first time.

  “Your friend Sam. He’s also a friend of mine. Trust me; you will get the best of care. But please, we must get you to surgery.”

  Hearing the name “Sam” jolted her memory. She remembered meeting him at a restaurant, but that was all she recalled.

  Yungst handed her the form on a clipboard and patiently explained the information. “Please, sign right here.” He pointed to the open space at the bottom of the page.

  Despite the lack of clarity, Max was coherent enough to realize that the sooner she cooperated, the sooner she would get out of there. She relented. With blurred eyesight, she managed to scribble her name on the paper. “Doc, when do I get my phone?”

  Yungst smiled thinking about her priorities. “You’ll be in surgery for about three hours and it will take another hour for you to come out of the anesthesia. Expect to be groggy for the rest of the day. Your leg will also be in traction for a few days, but then we’ll get you out of bed so you can practice using the crutches.”

  “Excuse me—traction—crutches. You don’t seem to understand—I have to get out of here. This can’t be happening!”

  “Ms. Ford. You’ve been through quite a shock. Let’s first repair your ankle. And then we can discuss your options. Are you ready?”

  Max thrust her head into the pillow in a move of reluctant surrender. An action that hurt like hell.

  “Ms. Ford? —Ms. Ford?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Dr. Yungst.”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Yungst. I performed the surgery on your ankle. I just came by to see how you are doing and to let you know that everything went extremely well.”

  “What time is it?” Max asked, still coming out of her daze.

  “It’s Saturday, shortly after noon.”

  “What?” Max shot up from the bed. “Ouch!” She fell back onto the pillow. She realized that she was in the midst of another dream, but this time the handsome doctor standing in front of her was not part of it, nor was her splinted ankle. And somehow she had lost two days.

  “Ms. Ford, please relax. Rest will be your best friend.”

  Slightly embarrassed, Max began to feel her face flush. “Sorry, Doc. You caught me off in another world. And please call me ‘Max.’” Then, staring at her dangling limb in the air, she asked, “What now?”

  Yungst explained the surgery in infinite detail, making sure that his inquisitive patient would heed all precautions. “You broke two of the three malleoli, the bones at the base of the tibia and fibula bones that connect to the ankle bone, the talus.” He used a foot skeleton and pointed to the location of the break. “The first was a medial malleolus fracture, here at the base of the tibia on the inside.” He demonstrated how the tibia bone ran the length of knee to the ankle. He watched her face to measure her understanding and then continued. “The second break was a lateral malleolus fracture at the base of the fibula. This bone also extends from the knee to the ankle as you can see, on the outer side of the leg.”

  Max was listening but had had enough of the anatomy lesson. “Doc, cut to the chase!”

  He scowled teasingly and then continued to demonstrate using the foot skeleton, attempting to maintain her attention. “Max, it was necessary to place a metal rod here and two metal screws here. This is referred to as internal fixation and will provide stability as the ankle fractures heal.”

  “I’m really not into heavy metal, Doc,” Max kidded, allowing him a bit of slack.

  “Actually, the rods and screws are not metal at all.” He retaliated with a smile. “They’re made of a combination of biodegradable polymer and hydroxyapatite, the same mineral that forms in natural bone. The rods and screws function as an internal splint but will dissolve over time. So, you won’t be setting off any metal detectors.”

  “Okay, what now?” she goaded.

  “Your ankle is wrapped in a synthetic posterior splint that will allow room for post-op swelling, but you’ll still need t
o keep your ankle immobilized for a few weeks, giving the bones time to heal partially. Then we’ll replace the splint with a removable boot cast so you can start putting weight on your ankle. It’s going to take another six to eight weeks, so I’m afraid the boot cast will become your new best friend.” Shocked at Max’s sudden complacency, he took advantage and continued. “Let’s give it a few days to allow the swelling to subside. Then we’ll get you up out of bed so you can start using the crutches. Everyone is different, so we’ll take it slowly.” Her facial expression remained sullen. He was beginning to wonder whether she had heard him at all and risked asking, “Is there anything else I can do for you now?”

  “My phone, please.”

  “Max, you really should rest.”

  “Phone, please.”

  “I can tell you’re not going to be easy.” He motioned for the key strapped around her wrist.

  “Join the crowd. That’s what everyone tells me.” Max flashed a grin as she handed him the key. “By the way—who sent the flowers?” she asked hesitantly, spotting the bouquet of edelweiss on the nightstand.

  “They came yesterday,” he answered while he fumbled in her jacket pocket looking for her smartphone. But before handing her the phone, he made one last plea, “Try to get some rest, Max. I’ll check back in on you later.” He doubted that she was inclined to follow orders, but handed her the phone, the key, and the card that came with the flowers.

  Max did not hear a word the doc said, distracted by the odd twinge she felt when he handed her the card. She stared at the wording. It read: Be careful out there. It can be dangerous.

  “Are you okay, Max?”

  “Fine.” She looked up to reassure him.

  Chapter 20