Nemesis: Innocence Sold

by Ross, Stefanie

  It was only when the doctor and his paramedic, assisted by Mark, had taken over caring for Daniel that Sandra lost all strength. Again Dirk was at her side. “He’s a fighter, Sandra. He’ll make it. He has so much to live for, and none of the boys ever give up.”

  She clung to Dirk’s words. “Why’d he do it? Why? I don’t understand. Why didn’t the vest work?”

  “The second man, the one Tom overpowered, wanted to score points with us; he told us that Paulsen had loaded his pistol with special ammunition that would pierce any vest. Daniel didn’t want to risk you or one of us getting hit and took the initiative himself. If you feel rage at his actions, then keep in mind that he is the way he is.”

  Rage? She was riddled with fear for him but already sensed that Dirk knew what he was talking about. “I won’t be able to bear it if he dies. Please do something. I—” She realized how absurd her demand was and broke off. “I’m sorry.”

  “Forget it. You reacted well with the doctor and earned Daniel some time.”

  Something stroked wetly across Sandra’s hand. Kaspar. The dog seemed to sense that she could use some consolation and pressed close to her. By now, not only Stephan, Sven, and the entire team but also her brother had arrived in the study. Pat was standing next to the doctor and asked a question she didn’t understand, but he seemed satisfied with the answer. A few seconds later, he spoke into his cell phone and earned a surprised, sidelong look from the doctor. With the hint of a smile, he walked over to Sandra. “He’s not out of danger yet, but he’s fairly stable. They’ll take off shortly. They’re flying to Lübeck. I called Konstantin; he’s getting all the experts together and preparing the operating room. Do you want to come on the flight?”

  “Of course.”

  “Excuse me for a moment.” Without further ado, Martin pushed Dirk aside and embraced Sandra. “I’m so damned happy you got through this unhurt. And always believe: Daniel will make it. We’ll have a proper talk later.”

  “You mean then you’ll explain to me why a computer specialist carries a service pistol?”

  Martin turned to Sven. “It will not be easy to portray all this as an official police action, but you’ll have my help.”

  The official side was the last thing on Sandra’s mind. When Daniel was laid on a stretcher, she automatically wanted to go to him. Then she noticed Tom, who was chalk white and seemed barely able to stay on his feet. As much as she felt herself being pulled to Daniel, Tom had a preexisting right. She knew Mark well enough at this point to know that he wouldn’t let any one of his men out of his sight as long as that man’s life was in danger, and the helicopter wouldn’t take more than two passengers. “Would you like to go along, Tom?” she asked, though the thought of staying behind was intolerable.

  Instead of Tom, Jake answered. “Stephan and Tom will follow in the car. They’ll get there a few minutes after you, though at the hospital Tom will make a detour through the emergency ward.” Tom raised a hand in protest, but Jake didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Don’t say you’re uninjured.” He took Sandra by the shoulders. “Don’t worry too much. He has the worst of it behind him, and Daniel won’t dare die because I still have quite a bit to say about his actions.”

  A sound escaped from Sandra that was half laugh and half sob. Then Mark called her over. Daniel’s face had lost all color, and both Mark and one of the paramedics were holding infusion bags over the stretcher. Jake’s and Dirk’s words were gradually having an effect. He would make it; anything else was inconceivable.

  Pat’s announcement was accurate: a team of doctors was awaiting the helicopter and began working on Daniel at the landing pad. Konstantin took time for an encouraging nod before he hurried to the operating room. The waiting was horrible; for hours Sandra stared, almost immobile, at the door through which Konstantin had hurried. At some point it would open, and she would learn how Daniel was doing. There was no longer room for other thoughts; she was only somewhat aware that she was no longer alone. Mark, Tom, and Stephan never left the waiting area for more than a few minutes, and Jake, Dirk, and Pat were also present almost constantly. Several times she was gently urged to drink water or tea. Later, she would be grateful to the men for having taken care of her; now, she barely noticed the extent to which she was cared for. Her lethargy was briefly broken when a loud argument attracted her attention.

  “You’re damned pigheaded, Patrick O’Reilly. But all right—so my child doesn’t grow up without a father because I’ve murdered you, I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Pat came over to them with an apologetic grin. “Sorry. She just didn’t want to give in. But we’ll have an interim report in a moment.”

  Less than a minute later, Maria appeared with her white coat flapping and gave Patrick a look of blazing anger. “I guess you know I was thrown out immediately, which was understandable. I know I would kill any colleague who disturbed me.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Pat agreed in a conciliatory tone. “But this waiting is awful. And I just get nervous after five hours.”

  “You’re going to have to be patient even longer,” Maria said. “Daniel’s readings look good. I saw two colleagues whose specialty is vascular surgery. This could take a while.”

  “God damn it,” Pat said. “But then at least go home. You know what I think about you working so close to the birth; you shouldn’t stay up all night, too.”

  “We’ve discussed that enough. I’m staying; I’ll leave when you leave. And don’t you dare argue with me, O’Reilly.” Maria’s puckered eyebrows sufficed to keep the Irishman from continuing. Rather than sitting down next to Pat, Maria pulled one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs close to Sandra. “This is exactly the nightmare I always suppress.”

  The women exchanged a look of understanding. Then rage broke out of Sandra. “What a completely crazy idiot. There were other ways—there had to be. Why did he have to play the hero? I could kill him.” When she realized how absurd her words were, a tortured sound escaped her.

  Maria reached for her hand to calm her. “Then do it. But wait until he’s gotten well again. You know, we doctors are always very cautious with prognoses during an operation, but his chances are really good. If that were not the case, I’d tell you, because I wouldn’t want someone to keep the truth from me if something like this ever happened to Pat.”

  “Thank you,” Sandra whispered.

  A nurse stuck her head through the door and looked at the men with a somewhat puzzled expression; then she turned to Maria. “About another two hours. No complications worth mentioning up to this point,” she said and left before Sandra could ask what that meant. She turned to Maria while fear again seemed to make her stomach turn. “No complications worth mentioning? That sounds like there had been others.”

  “If there have, they have them under control,” Maria said. “There are many accidents in connection with which family and friends also have to wait for hours, and they’re not lucky enough for a doctor to have already assembled a team of experts before the helicopter has even landed or for the entire operation team to be particularly motivated because they know the patient or at least know that he’s an esteemed colleague.” Maria’s calm words didn’t fail to have an effect, and when she looked around, Sandra noted that this short and well-considered speech had been directed not only at her but also, and particularly, at the men. Even Mark displayed a flash of guilty conscience, examining the room’s simple ceiling light.

  Because Sandra couldn’t find an appropriate response, she was thankful when Sven entered the room with a laptop in his hand.

  “Any news?” he asked with concern and stopped when Dirk raised a hand in warning.

  “Careful, partner. If you ask that question, you risk having Maria rip your head off. Everything unchanged. So we can take some time to think about how we’re going to get back at Daniel. I’m certainly going to enjoy it. He’s a great doctor, but also a punishment for anyone who ends up in his claws.”

  “Tr
ue. Some things occur to me as well in that regard. Since there’s nothing but waiting going on here anyway, I’ll go over the documents with Sandra. The appointment with the custodial judge is purely a matter of form, but the prosecutor’s office would nevertheless like to have the files be as complete as possible.” Sven shrugged. “Starting at midday tomorrow at the latest, there’s going to be an army of expensive attorneys outside the door of the prosecutor’s office.”

  Sven didn’t wait for agreement from Sandra but pushed a table over far enough that she could comfortably look at his computer.

  Sandra wanted to resist; then her sense of duty won. Sven looked as tired as the rest of them, and his casual remarks inadequately hid his fear for Daniel.

  Her cooperation with Sven was free of friction. He voluntarily took it upon himself to formulate much of the statement, so Sandra only had to fill in the details. At the same time, the dry words created some distance between her and the events of the day, helping her process what she had experienced. She managed a halfway-convincing grin when she had to correct Sven. “That was a semiautomatic weapon. Now don’t get careless.”

  “Sorry. How could I overlook that? After all, the choice of weapon is decisive with regard to the sentence. Crazy, right?”

  “You can say that again. If you ask me, the German laws and code of criminal procedure should undergo a major overhaul. I’ve never understood why the type of pistol matters. A bullet’s a bullet.”

  “Well, in some cases logic will not get you anywhere, but take heart: Dirk has convinced me that tax law is even more complicated than what we have to struggle with.”

  Although Dirk was more lying than sitting on the plastic chair and had his eyes closed, he grimaced at Sven’s words. “Is someone interested in the variable taxation of . . . ?” He fell silent when the waiting room door opened. Konstantin entered the room, and his expression didn’t promise good news.

  Missions in Arctic cold, in deserts, or in high mountains had never bothered Daniel—on the contrary, he viewed the different types of terrain as a challenge—but he had never become accustomed to jungles. Thanks to a number of training sessions in the hated environment, he was able to move around perfectly there and, if necessary, survive for weeks without equipment, but that didn’t change the fact that he abhorred both the impenetrable, green thickets and the humidity. His head tilted back, he tried in vain to see how high the sun was. A roof of green and mud-brown leaves triggered a flash of claustrophobia in him and blocked his view of the sky.

  Perplexed, Daniel looked around; he didn’t know how he had come to this place. But actually the question was irrelevant. His thoughts moved in a simple, one-dimensional way: he was simply here, even if he didn’t know why and had no idea where his team was or what his mission was.

  The agitated fluttering of a bird flying through the dense branches of a strangely formed tree caused Daniel to jerk in fright. When peace returned, he heard a distant rushing that could come from a fast-flowing river. He adjusted his heavy backpack, gripped his rifle more tightly, and worked his way toward the river. After a few paces, the fabric of his camouflage fatigues stuck uncomfortably to his back, but it would be fatal to do without the protection afforded by the long-sleeved shirt and pants. Not only thorny vines but also countless insects would assail him, so he could only hope that he would have an opportunity to cool off somewhat when he reached the river. Before he reached the shore, he heard quiet voices. Americans, but not anyone from his team. Sighing, he said farewell to the prospect of cool water and snuck in the direction of the voices. The nationality alone didn’t yet tell him with certainty whether the speakers were allies or enemies. The closer he came to what he assumed was a campsite, the more clearly he heard rage and resignation in the short sentences; then he had reached the little clearing.

  A tree trunk that was so overgrown with climbing plants that it was no longer recognizable as such would give him sufficient cover to get an overview. It was only at the last second that he noticed a silvery flash on the leaf-covered ground. A trip wire. He carefully uncovered the metal and was finally holding a fragmentation grenade in his hand. Considerably more attentive than before, he again approached the tree trunk and observed the three men. Their equipment appeared to be military-issue but out of date, as did the weapons each of them kept close at hand, ready to be picked up. Neither insignia of rank nor other clues gave Daniel any indication of the identity of the men. When he realized one of them was treating a fourth man who lay curled up on an improvised bed, he spontaneously wanted to offer his help, but the SEAL in him won out over the physician. The high-level security suggested the men were professionals, and they wouldn’t be protecting their resting place without good reason.

  Some minutes later, the wounded man had still not reacted; one of the soldiers who had watched the treatment from a safe distance with a concerned expression stepped over to them. “Leave it, Greg. It’s no use. You’ve done everything you could.”

  Now Daniel recognized this soldier. He was considerably younger than he had been at the time of their last encounter in California, but his striking profile was unmistakable.

  He wiped his sweaty forehead and narrowed his eyes. But the scene didn’t change. He still saw his father, Hector Russell, and two unknown soldiers, one of whom had just died.

  “Why him, Hector? What damned rotten luck.” His father’s shoulders trembled as he bent over the fallen man.

  With an empathy of which Daniel would never have thought him capable, Hector laid an arm around Daniel’s father’s shoulders. “It’s not in our power, Greg. We have to keep going. Don’t go crazy now. Think about your family. At some point this will come to an end.”

  His father’s head shot up. “Sometimes I don’t know how I’m ever going to live normally with my family after all this, but I’ll tell you one thing: I’ll do anything to keep my son from having to go through this.”

  Hector pulled his friend to his feet and grabbed one of the dead soldier’s dog tags from his neck. “You mean it would be better for Daniel to become a ballet dancer than join the Navy? Are you sure he’ll look good in pink?”

  His father emitted a croaking laugh. “There are respectable professions that would spare him this shit. If you read something besides the sports pages once in a while, you’d know that ballet dancers are real artists and athletes. They’d easily pass all of our athletic tests and make considerably more money than we do.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. I don’t get anything out of all that jumping around. It just looks stupid, and the music gets on my nerves.”

  “When we’re back, I’ll invite you to a performance at the Met. Then you can take back every word.” His father rubbed his face with both hands. “How far do we have to go before we reach the landing zone? I want to take Paul with us; we owe Carol that much.”

  “A mile or so. We can make it.”

  A dull rushing in Daniel’s ears swelled, and his vision blurred. He had the feeling that he was falling and tried to hold on to the tree trunk. When the world around him came to rest, he saw the brown eyes of his father resting on him. It took some seconds for him to realize that the environment had changed. The jungle had disappeared; they were sitting on the balcony of his parents’ house in San Diego, dressed in jeans and T-shirts.

  “What’s happening to me?” Daniel asked and didn’t recognize his own voice. His mind worked perfectly; he remembered every moment with Paulsen. Then he thought he understood. He didn’t need to express his fear; his father understood him anyway.

  “Don’t be afraid, my boy, you’re not dead.”

  “But—”

  “Look for a scientific explanation later. Call it an intense dream or an excursion into your subconscious.” As though nothing had happened, his father filled two wineglasses and handed him one. “So your mission achieved something good, after all. I can explain how much I regret trying to keep you away from the SEALs.”

  “It would be better for you to apo
logize to the other applicants. I imagine the selective training wouldn’t have been as hard otherwise, and more than three would have passed.”

  With the quiet laugh Daniel had painfully missed, his father raised his glass in a toast. “I thought the connection would become clear to you at some point. But the training was within the usual limits, though it was certainly at the upper end. Can you forgive me?”

  “I forgave you long ago, of course. And there’s nothing I should need to forgive. Tom’s grandmother always says there’s a deeper meaning behind everything. Really, I ought to be grateful to you. Otherwise I would never have joined Mark’s team, wouldn’t have come to Germany, and wouldn’t have met Sandra. Why didn’t you tell me this long ago? All those years I thought you were angry and disappointed because of my job.”

  “A guilty conscience and the fear of losing one’s son are poor advisors.”

  “Then you suffered considerably more than I did. Well, apart from the beginning in Coronado—that was pretty nasty some of the time.”

  With that, they changed the topic and enjoyed the wine and the sunset. It wasn’t until the stars were shining and Daniel could barely make out his father’s face in the light of a garden lantern that his father stood up. “It’s time for you to go, my son.”

  Reluctantly, Daniel stood. “Will we see each other again?” he asked in a brittle voice.

  “Of course. You know what Tom’s grandmother always says: No one disappears entirely.”

  After a close embrace, the rushing in Daniel’s ears swelled again. Again he had a feeling of falling, and when his environment finally became steady again, he saw nothing. Darkness surrounded him, and an irritating, steady beeping reached his ear. A dull numbness lay over his body. He knew Paulsen’s shot had hit him but couldn’t say where. There was no pain to give him a clue to the location or the extent of his injuries. He concentrated on opening his eyes. His hands clenched into fists, and he succeeded. Blinking, he waited for his vision to focus. Again brown eyes looked at him. “Dad?”