Go! - Hold On! Season 2

by Peter Darley

  “You gave a direct order to take out Brandon Drake. We’re not a law-enforcement agency. It was a breach of protocol.”

  “Sir, he’d put down four men. I made a decision I’d make again in a heartbeat.”

  “We need him!” Wolfe said with undeniable assertion. “And why the hell did you permit all of that goddamn commotion through the streets of Denver? They were just supposed to track her. We’re covering our asses here. Everything about this has to be off the record, and those idiots made a public spectacle of it.”

  Wilmot was silent, having no words to justify his actions.

  Wolfe took a deep breath, exhaling loudly. “He used a sonic force emitter and tear gas. Hardly lethal.”

  “I had no way of knowing that, sir. I wasn’t there.”

  The director’s expression relaxed. “Neither was he, as it happens.”

  Wilmot frowned. “What do you mean? They saw him.”

  Wolfe walked back to his desk and rummaged inside a drawer. “Reports from Leavenworth show that in two years he had only one visitor, and according to sworn statements, he took a bullet in the shoulder. He wouldn’t have been in any condition to rescue his girlfriend, I can assure you.” He took out an eight-by-ten black and white photograph, and placed it on the desk.

  Wilmot studied the image of the young man in the shot. “That’s Drake. Isn’t it?”

  “A Drake. Not the Drake.”

  Wilmot shook his head, bemused.

  “That’s a photograph of Tyler Faraday, Brandon Drake’s brother. He’s also the adoptive son of Charlton Faraday, founder of the Faraday Corporation. I’m sending you out to Dallas immediately. Find out whatever you can. You can sleep on the jet.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Steven McKay, the brother of your late colleague, Martyn McKay, managed to have an inquest into his brother’s death opened. Now we need Drake more than ever. He just broke out before we could get to him. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his escape from Leavenworth, or the Mach Turbo Swan. McKay isn’t the only one who believes his brother was murdered, and if there’s a shred of truth to it, we have to know. Any last trace of Treadwell in the CIA and SDT has to be rooted out. Brandon Drake may be the only one left who knows anything.”

  “Martyn McKay was unstable and on the edge, sir. There’s no doubt in my mind that he killed himself.”

  “I sure hope you’re right. Let’s be certain. We need Drake. I’ll even try to push for a presidential pardon for him. See if that sweetens him up.”

  Wilmot made his way out of the office, deep in thought.

  Stepping out the building, he walked across the parking lot to his Camaro. After climbing in, he took a cell phone out of the glove compartment, and selected a contact. It was answered almost immediately. “Garrett? We need to get prepared,” he said darkly. “Wolfe has now become a liability.”

  Six

  Cabin Fever

  Belinda knelt beside the bed in the cabin cradling the back of Brandon’s head with her palm. Her clothing was still damp from the snow, but she was barely conscious of how cold she was. Her only thoughts were for her man.

  Brandon shivered uncontrollably, despite being huddled under a thick, goose down comforter. Whenever his eyes opened they rolled, unable to focus.

  Tyler entered the room. “The fire’s blazing and it’s warming up a bit. How is he?”

  “He’s delirious and burning up.” Her voice quivered with the anguished pangs of emotion. “We’ve got to do something, Tyler. He needs medical attention urgently.”

  “I know, but what can I do?”

  “Why did you come for me?” she snapped. “Why didn’t you go get help for him?”

  “He was nowhere near as bad as this when I left him, but my coming for you was what he wanted. You had to come first. He made me promise. If you ask me, it’s a damn good thing he did, otherwise they’d have caught you. God only knows what they’d have done to you, or what information they might have gotten out of you. Absolutely everything could have gone right down the crapper.”

  She was momentarily silent, but finally conceded. “I know you’re right. But what are we gonna do? I mean, just look at him.”

  Tyler moved closer to the bed and peeled back a corner of the comforter to just below Brandon’s shoulder. Carefully, he unbound the blood-caked linen tied around the gunshot wound.

  As the binding came away, Belinda slapped a hand across her mouth in horror. Raw flesh coated with coagulating blood was visible below Brandon’s collar bone. It appeared to be a neat exit wound, but the surrounding tissue was severely inflamed.

  “How well do you know this place?” Tyler said.

  She tried to gather her thoughts. “I suppose as well as anyone could. There’s not much to it. Living room, basement, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. That’s about it.”

  “OK, he obviously drank the gin to ease the pain, so he’s gonna need water. Do you know if there’s anything in here like . . . ? I don’t know. Disinfectant?”

  “I’ll see what I can find.” With that, she made her way out to the kitchen.

  Searching through the drawers and cupboards, her mind came alive with memories, and dreams she’d had of those memories. Her most powerful recollection was of her first view outside the kitchen window, the morning after Brandon had rescued her from Treadwell’s pseudo-terrorists. The peace, the serenity, and the magnificent sight of those snow-coated trees were a treasured memory that had helped her through the last two years.

  The bear cub came to her mind in a moment of desire that this living nightmare had never happened. Snooky. Whatever became of you?

  Abruptly returning to her task, she opened the cupboard under the sink and found a meager offering of dishwashing and surface-cleaning products. But nothing was suitable for application to human flesh. There wasn’t anything that would help with an infection.

  However, she noticed four two-liter bottles of filtered water. Taking one, she returned to the upper cupboards for one of Brandon’s magnum-sized coffee mugs.

  With the bottled water and the mug in hand, she hurried through the bedroom, into the bathroom, and looked through the mirrored door cupboard above the wash basin. There was nothing helpful there either.

  “Bro, can you hear me?” Tyler said, holding onto Brandon’s hand.

  He’d never gotten over how closely he resembled his brother since he first laid eyes on him in the courtroom. On the day he’d met him face to face at Leavenworth, his first words had been hesitant as he’d tried to process the unique moment of gazing directly upon a virtual mirror. He’d been right since he was twelve years old. There had been a part of himself out there in the world he needed to be reunited with.

  But there his other self now lay, injured, shivering, delirious, and kissing the veil of death. “You can’t die. I won’t let you.” Enraged, Tyler hurried out of the bedroom and into the living room. His gaze darted aimlessly all around him trying to find something—anything that might help his brother through the night.

  He noticed the remainder of the gin in the bottle over in the corner of the living room. Alcohol. He took the bottle and ran back to the bedroom.

  Belinda had already returned to Brandon’s side. She unscrewed one of the water bottles, poured it out into the coffee mug, and drew Brandon’s head up. “Try to drink, baby.”

  His lips tasted the rim of the mug, but he was notably senseless.

  “We need washcloths, towels, anything like that,” Tyler said.

  She placed the water mug next to the bed and ran back into the bathroom.

  Tyler took Brandon’s hand and knelt down beside him again. “Take it easy, bro. This may just work.”

  Within a minute, Belinda returned with a handful of towels.

  Tyler turned to her. “All right, I need you to help me roll him over onto his side.”

  She placed her hand underneath Brandon between his shoulder blades, and eased him over. The towel came away from where it had adhered to his dr
ied blood, exposing the horrifying entry wound.

  Tyler took one of the washcloths and poured a splash of gin into his brother’s open flesh. Brandon’s weak groans indicated his delirium, much to Tyler’s relief. Were Brandon fully conscious, the pain would’ve been unimaginable.

  He immediately pressed the cloth against the wound and eased Brandon onto his back again. He then set about emptying the remainder of the gin onto the exit wound.

  Tyler secured another towel onto the exit wound and bound it all up again with the linen. “That’s all we can do for now. Hopefully the alcohol will act as an astringent until the morning. I’m gonna fly back out to Dallas first thing, but I need to think of a plan.”

  “Go back to Dallas and do what?” she said.

  “Get some antibiotics, morphine, and some medical advice, at the very least.”

  Tyler knew there was no chance of him being able to sleep, despite his exhaustion. Two hours there, two hours to sort something out, two hours back again. Such was the reality that tortured his mind with his brother possibly dying beside him. There had to be something he could do to help him.

  And there was.

  Seven

  Desperate Measures

  Tyler took out his android phone and noticed the time on the digital clock: 23:57. He’s gonna kill me. Regardless, he searched through his contacts until he found the number.

  His call was answered quickly, and he exhaled with relief as a familiar male voice came through the receiver. “Brett. It’s Tyler Faraday.”

  “Tyler? What can I do for you at this hour?” It was one o’clock in the morning in Dallas, and Brett Fleetwood was notably lethargic.

  “This is the biggest thing I’ve ever asked of you, but I’m absolutely desperate.”

  “All right, now just take it easy Tyler, and tell me what’s going on?”

  Tyler could clearly hear the man’s wife groggily saying, “What’s going on, Brett?” It was such an uncomfortable moment. He knew he was waking up a man and his wife in the middle of the night, but he had no choice.

  “Somebody—” Tyler paused to collect himself. “Somebody close to me has been seriously injured, and it’s a very delicate situation. I have nowhere else to turn.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I. . . I can’t tell you.”

  There was a momentary silence on the line. Brett was obviously confused by Tyler’s words.

  “Doc, the reason I can’t tell you is for your own protection. I need you to trust me.”

  “Of course I trust you, Tyler. Hell, I’ve been your physician since you were two years old.”

  “If I can get you flown out here, can you be ready by the morning to come and help us?”

  “I . . . I’m not sure Tyler. I’ve got—”

  “Look, I’m begging you! My brother may be dying,” Tyler said, unable to hold back his tears.

  “Brother?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Well, what kind of injury is this?”

  “He’s been shot in the shoulder. It looks like a clear entry and exit wound, but he’s burning up with fever.”

  “When was he shot?”

  “About twenty hours ago.”

  “Oh, my God. Have you been keeping pressure on the wound?”

  “Yes, but it’s drying up now. All I had to clean up the infection was gin.”

  “Gin? You put gin on it?”

  Fear came over Tyler that he may have unintentionally harmed Brandon. “Well, yeah.”

  “Well, it’s better than nothing, at least temporarily.”

  Tyler gave a sigh of relief. “So what do I do now?”

  “Keep him warm. He could go into shock, so keep him wrapped up. Now, I need you to do something for me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I need you to get photographs of both injuries, entry and exit, and email them over to me right away. I need to see them enlarged so that I’ll know what I’m dealing with.”

  “I’m on it. I’ll call you right back.”

  “Wait a second,” Fleetwood said. “Do you have my email address?”

  “It’s in my phone.”

  “Good. Now get those shots to me yesterday.”

  Belinda looked up at him sharply. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m making arrangements to have medical help brought here.”

  “You’re what?”

  “It’s a man I’d trust with my life, and if we don’t do this, Brandon could lose his. I need photographs of his wounds.”

  Eagerly, Belinda unbound the linen from Brandon’s shoulder.

  Tyler took the photograph with his phone camera. “And the back.”

  They eased Brandon onto his side again and removed the towel. Tyler took the second photograph. “All right. Wrap him back up again. I’ve got to get these sent off, pronto.”

  As Belinda redressed the wounds, Tyler located Fleetwood’s email address, forwarded the photographs to him, and then called Fleetwood back. “All right, I’ve just sent the shots to you.”

  “Give me a moment to check my mail,” Fleetwood said.

  Tyler waited for two minutes, the tension getting the better of him. “Doc, you still there?”

  “I’m here. I’m just opening up the file now . . . Wow. Did you take these in HD?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’ve got to tell you, they’re perfect. With the zoom imager I’ve got on here, it’s almost like I’m on top of him.”

  “Well, what do you think?”

  “Do you have any idea how far away he was from the shooter when he was shot?”

  Tyler closed his eyes and tried to think. He didn’t see Brandon get hit, but he’d been waiting around a corner close by when it happened. “Two hundred yards, maybe a little more.”

  “Two hundred yards?” Fleetwood said, clearly amazed.

  “Yeah.”

  “In that that case, whoever shot him wasn’t only a hawk-eye marksman, but he most certainly didn’t want to kill your brother. It’s a clean shot from a distance that’s missed the collar bone, every organ, and caused minimal tissue damage.”

  “Really?”

  “Do you have any idea what kind of precision that would take?”

  “No, I don’t. Look, Doc, is he gonna make it?”

  “He’s going to be just fine, barring the need for a few stitches, pain killers, and a few antibiotic shots. Trouble is, I need to get to him to administer them.”

  “I can arrange that.”

  “How soon?”

  Tyler’s mind raced. Alex and Digswell would be arriving in Dallas by around 2:00 a.m. Fleetwood would have to meet them at the airfield, and Dig would have to fly him all the way back again. That would be another two hours, plus the time to get him, via helicopter, to the ridge, and then the trek to the cabin. “Shouldn’t take more than six to eight hours max, even allowing forbad weather.”

  “Tyler, just take it easy,” Fleetwood said. “I know you’re upset, but you need to listen. Make sure your brother is as warm as possible, and that he has water. The fever is going to dehydrate him, and the shock is going to make him feel cold even though he may not be. If you take good care of him, he’ll make it until I get there, all right?”

  “I’ll make this up to you, Brett.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Now, where do you need me to go?”

  “I’m gonna make the arrangements now. Can you give me a few minutes?”

  “Sure.”

  Tyler noticed Brandon’s eyes opening. He opened his mouth but no sound emerged, and his eyes darted about the room deliriously.

  Tyler searched for Alex’s cell phone number. He knew Alex had an advanced-range satellite phone, but he still had reservations about the possibility of him having a signal in the jet. Nevertheless, it rang out.

  “Hey, Ty.” Alex’s tone seemed to have warmed slightly since their last communication, softened perhaps, by the sight of two beautiful pole dancers gyrating in the middle o
f the jet.

  “Alex, I need to talk to Dig.”

  “Sure. Why? What’s going on?”

  “I’m about to piss him off, big time.”

  Brandon seemed to become more agitated by the moment, but a barely-audible word fell from his lips. “Em-il-y.”

  Belinda rapidly spun around. “Oh, my God. He’s waking up. He’s talking.”

  “Em-ily.”

  Captain David Digswell came on the line. “Yes, sir. Is everything all right?”

  “Dig. Look, man, I know this is a lot to ask, but I’m gonna cut to the chase. When you drop Alex off, I need you to pick up another man, a Doctor Brett Fleetwood, and fly him back out to Denver immediately afterwards.”

  “Mr. Faraday, that’s not safe. You’re asking me to fly through the night without any sleep.”

  Tyler knew Dig was right and screwed up his lips in frustration. And then he remembered he had $7,000 in cash in his suitcase. He was aware it would be a bribe, but in a desperate situation he had no choice but to try. “I know what I’m asking you to do here is run a goddamn gauntlet, Dig. That’s why I insist on paying for a day and a night in one of Denver’s top hotels for you, along with two thousand dollars in cash.”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can, sir.”

  Tyler grinned, ended the call, and turned to Belinda. “We can relax. Brandon’s as good as new. I’ve got the doctor, the pilot, and the money.” And then a thought occurred. “Oh, shit. How much is Fleetwood gonna cost me?”

  “Who’s Fleetwood?” Belinda said.

  “My doctor. I’m having him flown up here. If I don’t have enough money on me—”

  “What?”

  “Dammit!” he exclaimed in humiliation. “I’m gonna have to call my dad.”

  Brandon became frantic in an almost-convulsing manner.

  “Oh, baby,” Belinda said. “You’re gonna be fine. Tyler’s got help coming.”

  He shook his head maniacally from side to side. “N-no. T-Tyler . . .”

  Tyler knelt down and gripped his brother’s hand. “I’m here, bro. Everything’s cool. Try to relax.”

  “N-no. It’s not OK. P-please, Ty. Don’t . . .”