Gregory raised his hand.
Hess motioned to the door. “I would like to speak to you alone.”
Santoso looked as if he might interfere with this, but then he let them leave the room.
“You’re wasting your time,” Ashley said to Dr. Saskia. “You won’t find anything wrong with me or any of the rest of us.”
The doctor appeared to be flustered. Clearly this was not what he had expected.
“These people claim to have discovered a remarkable curative agent,” Santoso said, without hiding his skepticism. He pointed at Addison. “Perhaps that boy is the one you should examine first. The boy somehow fooled us, making it appear that he was injured.”
Dr. Saskia approached Addison with a warm smile and urged him to move to one of the patient beds. Addison was soon lying on his back with his shirt off. The Indonesian doctor hovered near as Dr. Saskia asked Addison questions and palpated his abdomen. Quentin held his breath, hoping neither of the doctors would notice him tensing up.
Hess entered the room, frowning. Apparently Gregory’s words had done little more than irritate him. Gregory followed behind him. His eyes met Quentin’s, and he shook his head.
Hess spoke, obviously trying to keep his voice calm. “I must say, I can scarcely imagine what motives you people have.”
“I assure you,” Quentin said, “we have something that must be taken to the United States right away. You simply need to trust us.”
Hess glared, a darkness gathering in his eyes. The man truly had an imposing presence. But before he could speak, Dr. Saskia’s voice filled the room.
“What in God’s name?” The doctor’s hands were on Addison’s knee and thigh. Even from where Quentin stood, he could see that the leg was moving, as if the bones were shifting beneath the flesh. The doctor gaped at the leg. “How did you do that?” he said.
Addison did not answer. Instead he looked at Hess and smiled.
Hess said, “Paul?”
The doctor’s face had gone white. “I don’t know. I have no way to explain what just happened.”
Hess eyed Addison for a moment, as if trying to make a decision. Then his features hardened, and all signs of hesitation were gone. “Mr. Santoso, we are no longer willing to share this investigation with your doctors. It is clear that these American citizens have medical conditions that can only be addressed in a fully-equipped American facility, staffed by American doctors.” He approached Addison. “Son, can you walk?”
“Yes.”
Hess turned to Santoso. “We will immediately transport these people to the airport, and they will be flown to the U.S.”
Santoso appeared frozen in place. Dark veins pulsed in his forehead. Suddenly he spoke to the two guards standing in the doorway. One of the men yelled down the hall, presumably to other policemen, and the two men entered the room with their hands on their side arms. Within seconds several more armed men blocked the door.
Santoso turned back to Hess. “It seems we are at odds, Mr. Hess. Perhaps you wish to rethink your decision.”
Hess pulled his smartphone from his belt and punched in a sequence of numbers. The guards looked to Santoso for instructions, but he shook his head, allowing Hess to make the call.
Hess spoke loudly. “Cameron, Sterling Hess. We have just been forcibly contained at the hospital. I don’t have details at this time, but there may be something to the UMBRA security report we discussed. We need these people in American custody pronto.” He paused, and his brows shot up as he listened. “You’re kidding me. Why are they interested? It’s just a mistake at Qantas.” He listened. “Good God. I hope it’s worth it. Make sure they know we’re on the first floor, north wing. It doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere.” He returned the phone to his belt. “Calvary’s almost here already. They were sent before I even called.”
“Why?” Quentin asked, but Hess had already shifted his attention to their captors.
“Mr. Santoso, you are minutes away from having an international relations incident on your hands. You and I are diplomats. Let’s talk this out before things escalate.”
Heavy footsteps clattered in the hall, and more Indonesian police appeared outside the door. Quentin heard others in the building, shouting curt commands to each other. It sounded like they were positioning themselves for an attack. The whole situation seemed surreal.
Santoso now sweated profusely, his face still red. “Yes, Mr. Hess. We will begin with you explaining exactly what it is that you are so eager to take from our country.”
“We wish only to take our citizens back to their home where they can receive proper medical treatment. Please have your men stand down and let us pass. You have no legal course for holding us. I have been informed that a United States Special Operations Forces unit will be on site very shortly. A hospital is no place for a confrontation.”
Santoso’s expression was venomous. “We have no intention of using force. We merely wish to know the truth. If force is used, it will be a result of your people’s eagerness for violence. Perhaps you should use your phone again and put an end to this nonsense.”
A cacophony of sounds suddenly poured in from outside the hospital: vehicle tires screeching, men shouting and running, an unintelligible bullhorn voice. Santoso’s eyes grew wide. He started to speak but then thought better of it and left the room. Indonesian policemen now formed a semicircle outside the door, their pistols drawn and held pointed upward against their chests.
Hess stepped toward the door but was repelled by the guards. He wheeled around. “What exactly in the hell are we risking so much to protect? It damned well better be important.”
Quentin said, “What we have with us is more important than you can imagine, but this is a mistake. We can work together—.”
Suddenly there was a gunshot from outside the hospital, and then another.
Hess shouted, “Jesus Christ!”
Quentin and Lindsey forced the students into the corner of the room and onto the floor. Angry yelling from outside the hospital was now constant. But then suddenly, as if it were orchestrated, things quieted down. Only the garbled bullhorn could be heard, but shortly even that stopped. Quentin looked at the nearest policeman, and their eyes met. The man forced a nervous smile. He was visibly shaking. A single gunshot rang out from the street, and the man’s smile faded. For a moment following the shot there was total silence, and the man’s eyes seemed to plead with Quentin. Then the silence was torn apart by a scream of anger from outside. Before the cry ended, gunshots filled the afternoon air. It sounded like someone had lit a whole strand of firecrackers in the street, and for a moment Quentin could almost convince himself that this was all it was.
Santoso stormed into the room. “Do you have any idea what you have done?” he managed to scream in a mix of Indonesian and English. Two policemen followed him into the room, their pistols drawn and eyes wild. “And for what?” Santoso cried. “A boy and his tricks?” Spit flew from the man’s mouth as he spoke, and Quentin realized they were in immediate danger. Santoso had been driven over the edge.
From the corner of his eye, Quentin saw Bobby lean over and whisper to Addison. This was not the time for another wild idea. Quentin started to warn Bobby, but Santoso yelled at them, “Maybe you are not worth it, no?” He motioned for the policemen to point their weapons at Addison. They glanced at each other, but then complied.
“If you are so valuable,” Santoso cried, “then perhaps we should put an end to this!”
Addison rose to his feet. He moved toward the men. This had an almost calming effect on Santoso. He stopped talking and watched Addison approach, as if mesmerized by this unexpected behavior. Both policemen’s guns were pointed at Addison. Addison took another step, until the nearest gun pressed against his neck. The man holding the gun muttered what could have been either a curse or a prayer. Addison stepped directly in front of Santoso, pushing the policeman and his gun back a step. The room was quiet, although s
poradic gunfire could still be heard outside.
Barely above a whisper, Lindsey pleaded, “Don’t shoot. Please don’t shoot.”
Addison deliberately lifted a hand and grasped the policeman’s wrist. With his other hand he reached for Santoso’s hand. He held them, smiling gently. The policeman seemed to relax, and his gun moved away from Addison’s neck. Quentin’s eyes were drawn to their hands. Where Addison’s skin touched the men, it appeared to flow into them like liquid.
“Do not be afraid,” Addison said.
Santoso and the policeman looked down at their hands. Both men tried pulling free, but Addison held tight. The policeman’s gun fell and clattered on the floor. Santoso’s eyes grew wide as he watched his own arm change shape, becoming shorter. He babbled something unintelligible and tried desperately to free himself. The policeman simply stared at his arm, silent but horrified. The other men looked on helplessly. Santoso’s arm was no longer even recognizable, and his babbling had turned into pleading screams.
Abruptly the nearest policeman stepped forward, raised his pistol, and shot point blank at Addison’s face.
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