by Cat Connor
“You’re right. For a little while there you succeeded.”
Lee came back in with Grant. They conversed by the door, then Grant left. Kurt gave me three white pills to take in a tiny clear plastic cup. “Tylenol,” he said.
I swallowed them.
In my hand he placed another tiny clear plastic cup containing two tiny white pills. “Codeine, take them.”
I did. I knew that combination would knock the migraine back to a dull drone. Kurt had given me something similar on our visit to New Zealand last winter.
Tim reappeared with another woman. His hand was wrapped around her upper arm and she was swearing up a storm.
Nice.
“What the fuck is that bitch doing in here?” squawked the nurse, glaring at Sandy and trying to wriggle from Tim’s grip.
Lovely.
“Annabelle Richards?” Kurt asked.
“Yes. So?”
“Why were you on the ICU floor,” Kurt said while checking the time, “at two forty-five this morning?”
“Visiting,” she snapped.
“For God’s sake, Annabelle, what is it you’ve done?” Sandy said. It felt like she was trying to defer the blame.
“Did you visit Doctor Richards?” Kurt asked.
Annabelle shook her head.
“What were you doing on the ICU floor?”
“I have a friend who works in the ICU. Our shifts matched up and I went to see if he wanted coffee.”
“Name.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’s not important.”
“Name.”
Sandy spoke up. “Tonight we only have one male in the ICU. A nurse. Bruno Sonnenberg.”
Kurt looked at Tim.
Sandy interrupted before he could speak. “If you are going to bring him in, we need to get someone up there to cover for us. We have patients.”
“I know,” Kurt replied. “What I’m going to do is send Lee up to the ICU to have a chat with Bruno.”
Lee left. He knew what to do.
It was time for me to be me. Luckily my brain was cooperating. It takes more than a little Tylenol and codeine to impair my thought processes. Great, I knew how my body handled drugs but not who Tim was. Stupid brain.
“One of you needs to tell me who came into this room tonight. And now. Because I’m tired. Dead tired. It’s been a long day. And my friend over there is getting plain pissy.” I smiled at Tim who fondled the gun on his hip and kept watch over the door.
Sandy said, “I haven’t left the ICU floor all night.” She shot a nasty look at the other woman.
“What the hell is the relationship between you two?” I asked. They looked so alike they could’ve been sisters. I was pretty sure they were sisters. “Can we get personnel files on these two?”
“Yes,” Kurt said. “I’m searching them now.”
Both women looked uncomfortable. As they should. Considering one of them tried to kill me, I thought I was doing a marvelous job of maintaining my composure.
“Speak. Cough it up. Tell me what the freaking deal with six is.” Right then I saw it. A glimpse of something in Annabelle’s eye. It was enough. “Six,” I repeated. It flashed again.
That’s why Mac held up two fingers when he saw the first woman. Two of them. They were doing it together. The thought flapped about inside my head for a few seconds before I let it out.
“You did it together.”
A rapid movement caught my eye. Mac was back. Grinning and giving me the thumbs up.
Dead men don’t lie.
“Annabelle went up to the ICU with a list of patients from the ER; they chose the victim together. Sandy gave her the insulin already drawn up into a syringe. And she went back into the ICU, leaving Annabelle to do the deed.”
Lee came back in.
“Bruno has been seeing Annabelle for about seven months. He did not see her tonight. They’ve been flat out upstairs and he hasn’t had a break.”
“Bruno is your alibi? For those nights when you’re seen going into places you shouldn’t be?” I said to Annabelle. I had a feeling he didn’t always work in the ICU.
“Look at this,” Kurt said, showing me the screen. “Personnel files. I found the six.”
I read the page he had open. It was sad.
“You want to tell us your version of what happened to your son?” I asked Sandy. “Because right now things are looking grim for you and your sister.”
She turned to her sister. The open hostility we’d witnessed earlier melted away.
“They deserved to die. People like that, making a fuss, pulling everyone’s attention away from those who really need it,” Sandy said. A single tear trickled down her face. “He was six years old and should not have died. But she came in, that old woman, kicking and screaming and causing a fuss. Everyone rushed to calm her down … and he died, alone. Six years old.”
Annabelle took over as Sandy broke down. “He was little and so scared, and he never cried. Not once. We were both on duty that day. Sandy was upstairs. I was in the ER. Aaron came in by ambulance from school. He’d fallen and hit his head on a concrete step.” Annabelle’s voice crumbled. “He shouldn’t have died. But no one was watching him. He tried to get off the gurney and fell.”
I looked at Kurt. We both knew what happened when Aaron fell. He hit his head again – a fatal blow.
“And tragic as this is, you think that justifies killing innocent people?” I couldn’t help myself. “A doctor and a nurse, trusted health professionals, killing people who behave like a lot of injured and sick people do. Yes, in a perfect world the sick would have more grace, but often they don’t. You took an oath to do no harm!”
Lee cuffed them both, called the local police, and escorted the women out to wait for their ride.
Kurt phoned Grant. He looked like shit when he came in. He looked as though he hadn’t left the hospital in at least twenty hours.
“You got them?” he asked.
“Yeah, a doctor from the ICU and a nurse from the ER ... sisters.”
“Annabelle and Sandy.” Grant ran his hands through his hair. “Crap. Ah, Jesus. It never occurred to me that a doctor would—”
“Did you know about her son?”
“Of course. We all did. It happened here. It was tragic,” he said, his voice ringing with sorrow.
“It was the trigger,” Kurt told him. “Local police can handle the arrest and the paperwork. We’ll give them copies of everything we’ve discovered. As soon as Rylee is well enough, we’ll head back to Washington.”
“I can’t thank you enough for coming down,” Grant shook his hand, and then turned to me. “I’m sorry you risked your life here tonight.”
“I’m not. We got them. Your patients are safe. You might want to implement some damage control with the media though.”
“Yeah,” Grant said with a small laugh. “This will be quite a circus. Don’t suppose you two want to stay and help?”
“No, thanks,” I replied. I was beginning to feel desperate to get home; then I remembered it blew up and my new house wasn’t ready yet. Knowing my house blew up and that I was building a new house seemed like quite an achievement considering my patchy memory. Home was out of the question, but even a hotel in Washington felt safer and more like home than Lexington did now.
Grant left. I think he was going home. He looked like he needed to.
I closed my eyes and hoped to wake up and find it was all a nightmare. When I woke I realized it was real. I’d died and come back. That was impressive. My eyes sought out the clock above the door. It was nearly five-thirty.
Tim and Kurt were in the room discussing how safe it was for me to stay in the hospital. Tim declared it foolish considering Arbab had witnessed my collapse in the Interscape Café and had more than likely followed us to the hotel and hospital. The plan was to get him to follow me but not to another place full of civilians.
Felt strange that he hadn’t made his move yet. Chances are he was hoping I was already de
ad, I imagine he saw the commotion my coding caused. Tim was still talking.
“There will be media crawling all over this hospital by morning. We need to leave,” Tim said. “Is it safe to move her?”
“She needs observation – I’m a doctor, she’ll be fine.”
“Good to know.”
“Let’s get ready to move out,” Kurt said. Tim was sent to stand guard outside the door. Moving hurt. I felt like I’d been hit by a train. I stood with one hand on the bed trying to steady myself as Kurt took my clothes from the bag and helped me dress. It didn’t feel weird. The man had saved my life, with a bit of help from Mac. I could cope with him seeing me almost naked and helping me dress. Anyway, he was my husband. A smile reached over and poked Kurt.
“You okay?” he said, helping me put my boots on.
“Yeah. Ribs are killing me.”
Kurt laughed.
As I stamped my foot into the second boot, I sucked up the shock waves that vibrated through my bruised ribs.
“Moving you out of hospital right now goes against every medical bone in my body. But it’s not the first time we’ve had to move you for your own safety …”
“You told Tim I’d be fine.”
“You will be. You’re the toughest person I’ve ever met. You will be fine.”
“Tough? Me?”
“Okay, bad choice of words. Resilient is probably more accurate.”
Bon Jovi’s ‘Bounce’ filled my head. It’s true I’ve been knocked down a few times, and I’ve even been counted out, yet here I am. Guess that’s resilience.
The door flew open. I jumped.
Twenty-Three
We All Sleep Alone
Gun fire erupted in the corridor. Lee slammed the door shut and ducked down.
Tim and I made eye contact, he threw me a Sig. I caught it in my right hand, dropped the magazine into my left hand, checked it was full, and slid it home.
Another burst of fire came from the hall beyond our door. A weird, disjointed, out-of-body type thing happened. I watched everyone and could analyze the situation but felt nothing. Nothing. It was like being on autopilot.
There was one way in and one way out of the room. Tim had a Bluetooth flashing in his ear; he spoke while maneuvering into a better position to cover the door. Kurt and Lee tipped the bed. Not an easy thing to do. Hospital beds are heavy and stable. They rammed it against the door to create a barricade and cover. Two small nightstands provided the only other cover. Besides them there were four chairs and some medical equipment. The bathroom to the right would provide some shelter.
I sat on one of the chairs against an external wall. Internal walls are notoriously flimsy. The external walls of this hospital were brick. No 9mm round was going to pass through brick and mortar. There was no way I was about to consider that 9mm rounds weren’t being used. Breathing as deep as I could, I ran through a check list in my mind. Something which takes milliseconds, but feels like forever.
Focus.
I tuned into Tim.
He was communicating with his team who were already stationed in various parts of the hospital. His team. They must’ve been in place the whole time, waiting for Arbab to show himself. Then I remembered I had a team. Kurt, Sam, Lee, they were my team. A sense of relief came upon me as I realized I knew what I was doing. I may have been flashy-thinged but it didn’t erase all my memory and training.
Gun fire preceded screaming. Hysteria. Panic. Running feet. Fast moving gurneys. Chaos. The purpose of opening fire was to cause chaos. Terror.
Duh! That’s why they are terrorists.
“Tim.”
He looked at me quickly, and then returned his attention to the door as pounding feet ran by.
“Demelza,” he whispered. “You ready for this?”
“Nah, I’ve changed my mind.”
“Demelza?” he whispered.
“Let’s not play this game. Let’s walk out, get shot, and die.”
“Your death is not an option,” he replied with a thick undertone of calm.
Truth is I was confused. He called me Demelza. Lee called me Chicky. I thought I was Ellie and Kurt said I was his wife, Rylee. It wasn’t all falling into place. Parts of the puzzle were free form and the corners were shaky.
Glass sprayed into the room. The small window in the door shattered. A bullet lodged in the wall a half foot from my head. Kurt grabbed my arm and pulled me to the floor. I gasped as pain wracked my rib cage. Tim and Lee shook small sparkling chunks of glass from their hair. Tinkling pieces dropped all over the floor. Light caught some of the broken safety glass on its smashed edges, sprinkling tiny rainbows across the skirting near the bathroom door.
Pretty.
Another bullet lodged in the wall. I looked over. I was sitting there moments ago. Lee returned fire, even though he couldn’t see the shooter.
Wasting ammunition and giving away his location. He knew better than that.
Tim adjusted his position near the broken window, using what looked like a dental mirror. He rotated the mirror to scan the hallway then, without warning, he dropped to the floor behind the bed. Bullets flew.
He used hand signals and told Lee where he’d seen the shooter. Watching them triggered a flood of memories. I saw Tim taking Arbab away in Wellington, New Zealand. Everything slid sideways and Lee was laughing at Mac in an internet café in Lexington. Rapid momentum leapfrogged me forward eighteen months: Lee crouched next to me on the ground watching paramedic’s work on Mac. With a slow fade-out the scene changed again. We were in New Zealand, Lee was mobbed by screaming Grange fans at Christchurch Airport and I was trying not to laugh. A venetian blind effect transformed the airport scene into an interview room. A kid, Joey, was telling me how his friend Carla had disappeared and he thought she’d been abducted.
The kid grabbed my arm; he was panicking and wanting me to find Carla. It was like I was there all over again.
A wave of holy hell crashed over me. I could feel the color drain from my face as the tide receded. I clung to a sketchy image of Carla, as if it were my life preserver. I had to find her. But I couldn’t remember who she was. I knew she was important. The words that spoke of a relationship surfaced. How I introduced her to others. “This is my daughter Carla.”
I had to remember Carla. Remember how it felt to know her, to spend time with her. It didn’t seem to matter how hard I tried, nothing came. Yet, I could remember searching for her once before.
Except this time I’m the lost one and I don’t think shooting anyone in the head will make this all right.
Life faded out. Or maybe it was me that faded out of life.
With an almighty crash it came back. Lee tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped.
“Chicky, we’re out of here.”
Blood dripped down his face.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I know.”
“Kurt can—”
“Chicky, we’re going now. Tim is waiting. Let’s do this.”
He hooked his hand under my armpit and lifted me up. It hurt, but not as much as standing by myself.
My foot hit something solid yet not hard as I tried to walk. Panic wormed its way up my body.
Tim was calling us.
I hit something else with my other foot.
“Doc?”
“Come on, Chicky, let’s get out of here.”
Twenty-Four
It’s All Coming Back To Me Now
There was a definite chill in the air as we climbed out of cars in the hotel parking lot. I don’t think I spoke after leaving the hospital.
Words didn’t hold enough meaning. I had no idea what happened in the hospital. Lee was still dripping blood. I motioned for him to wait then went back into the car and grabbed the first aid kit from under the seat. In the cool pre-dawn I unzipped the field kit and took a thick, sterile wound dressing. I ripped one packet open, tore medical tape from the roll, and stuck the dressing to Lee’s forehead.
“Thanks,” h
e said, touching the tape with his fingertips to seal the edges.
“You’re welcome.” I stuffed the field kit under my arm and closed the car door.
Lee escorted me into the back entrance of the hotel. There was no one around. We hurried down a wide hallway and into the elevator. This time I didn’t care what potential hell could be waiting. I was in no shape to tackle the stairs and wanted to get to my room as fast as possible.
Ragtag is the best description of how we appeared. Behind us I heard footsteps and ignored them. I figured it was Tim and his team coming back. Lee asked for my key card. I slapped my pockets and came up empty. Cologne I knew wafted in the air. An arm snaked between us and swiped a card.
My head turned in time to see Doc turn the door handle. I reached out and touched him, expecting my hand to hit the door and not warm flesh.
“I thought …”
“Wasn’t me on the floor,” he whispered. “I was tending to a wounded nurse.”
I could only remember my boot hitting something that felt like a person. I had no visual to accompany the feeling. “Who was it?”
“I don’t know. Someone who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Kurt held the door. “Inside.”
I followed him in the door. Lee closed it behind us. Everything was a mess. The coffee table was tipped over, cups spilled over the carpet. Files lay in a muddle and my laptop was upside down on the floor.
“What the hell happened here?”
Lee filled the coffee maker. Without looking up he said, “Looks like a natural disaster. But in fact it was you. We bought you back here before going to the hospital.”
Oh.
Doc stood the table back on its legs and picked up the cups. He turned my laptop over and placed it on the sofa.
My phone rang. The noise came from under a sofa cushion. I fished the phone out and answered it.
“Take care. We’re leaving with the target plus one.” Tim’s voice.
“What happened?”
“The target followed you and was in the hospital the whole time we were – what you did worked, we got him. He’s not talking now. It’ll be awhile until we know all the details.”
Not talking but not dead. A distant memory surfaced of removing someone from one country and taking them shrouded in secrecy into another. The target was heavily sedated for the entire trip. Sedated, stripped, given an enema, put in an adult diaper and overalls, and then delivered unconscious to a final destination. Arbab was heading to a black site. He wouldn’t be coming back. I love extraordinary renditions.