Waking Wolfe

by S L Shelton

  “What happened to my stomach?” I asked her.

  “You were shot, Mr. Wolfe,” she said mechanically, though with an ironic grin. “You had a penetrating abdominal trauma. We had to go in to control the bleeding in the branches of the portal and hepatic veins as well as the hepatic arterial radicles. You also had a pretty nasty through-and-through gunshot to your chest. You lost a lot of blood.”

  “Will I live?” I asked, half sarcastically.

  “You will now. I don’t know if you realize it, but you died in transit,” she said with a disapproving grin, like Mom when I made a mess of her kitchen, “three times…the last time for more than eight minutes.” The shock on my face must have been obvious. “Don’t worry. It’s not a record,” she said.

  That provided little comfort.

  The doctor looked over her shoulder at the sleeping figure in chair at the foot of my bed and then returned her gaze to my wound, smiling.

  “That one has been here since you arrived,” she said quietly, her eyes rising to meet mine for a second before returning to her task. “Pulled some strings to get that seat as well. Non-related civilians don’t usually get to do that here.”

  “Where is ‘here?’” I rasped.

  “Landstuhl Regional Medical Center, Germany. It’s a military hospital,” she replied as she continued to work.

  After a moment more of fussing over me, she gave a satisfied grunt at her handiwork and then covered it with fresh dressing.

  “I don’t know what you did, Mr. Wolfe, but you have made quite an impression,” she looked at Barb again, “on a number of people.”

  She turned to walk out and touched Barb on the shoulder as she passed the chair she was sleeping in.

  “He’s awake, dear,” she said gently before exiting.

  Barb rose and walked to my side, grasping my hand gently, smiling through nervous eyes.

  “So what happened while I was out?” I asked.

  “Besides dying?” she asked through her weak smile, tears welling up in her eyes again.

  “Yeah...besides that.”

  “I don’t know much. I was on the helicopter with you back to the Russian airbase and then from the airbase on a plane to Ramstien and then from Ramstien to here,” she said before touching my face softly with her lips. “They didn’t fill me in on much.”

  She reached over, pulled her chair closer to my side, and then sat, placing her head down on my hand at the edge of the bed.

  When she looked up again her tears had been wiped away. “They wouldn’t let the girl who was with you come. She seemed very upset. What’s her name? Gretel?” she asked.

  I smiled. “Kathrin,” I replied. “Gretel was the code name the assault team gave her.”

  “Ah. And they called you Monkey Wrench, huh?” she asked, flashing a mischievous smile. “I can sympathize.”

  “Hey...” I complained. “Go easy. I just found out I died.” Then I winked at her.

  “They told me that if it hadn’t been for you that none of us would be here now.”

  I was taken aback. “Don’t believe everything you hear, sweetheart. I think I caused them as much grief as help.”

  “That’s not the way they were talking on the plane. I heard one of them saying that you and Gretel, I mean Kathrin, climbed into the back of that cargo plane like you owned it...” She tightened her grip on my hand. “‘Hard core shit,’ I believe was the term he used.”

  I just grunted acknowledgment, not knowing exactly how to respond.

  “I’d hit you if you weren’t in such bad shape.” Her emotions welled up in her again.

  “I might not feel it. They’ve got me on some good drugs,” I replied, smiling.

  She adjusted her position, trying to compose her face again, wiping her eyes. “There are some men who asked me to let them know when you were coherent enough for a chat. Do you feel up to that?”

  I nodded. She stood and then bent, kissing me on my forehead.

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a little while,” she said with a supportive smile. “Can I get you something while I’m out?”

  “Cheeseburger,” I said, smiling broadly.

  “I think you’ll have to be satisfied with a magazine,” she replied patronizingly, patting my hand.

  “Okay. Climbing-related if they have it.” Then an overwhelming desire hit me. “Or guns.”

  She cocked her head to the side as she shot me a worried look. She shook it off before turning to leave, blowing me a kiss as she exited the room.

  A few minutes later, Captain John Temple entered the room with another man.

  “Awake at last, you annoying little shit,” he said with a broad smile on his face. “How are you feeling, Scott?”

  “Like I’ve been shot,” I said, matching his original tone. “If that’s the level of protection our government offers tourists, I’ll be staying home for a while.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he said, but I could tell it was in jest. There was affection in his tone. “In all seriousness though, I’m authorized to express gratitude on behalf of the Secretary of State and the President for what you’ve done.”

  Wow, I thought. The president knows my name.

  Too much seriousness. Had to tone it down. “That’s funny. I was half-expecting to be handcuffed and dragged out of here by my heels.”

  “There was talk of that as well. But only from someone who is about to see a world of shit fall on his head. Even Nick asked about you,” John said with a knowing smile. “If you could turn him, the rest of them didn’t have a chance.”

  “That’s good to know. I’d hate to wake up to him paying me back for the broken nose.” I said.

  John laughed. “Yeah...well, don’t expect a pass on that. But I think you’re safe for now.”

  “I’ll sleep with one eye open,” I replied, grinning.

  “We need to debrief you properly at some point. But in the meantime, I don’t think I have to tell you not to speak of this to anyone. Your involvement is not to be made public—despite the rumors already flying,” he said, taking on an official tone. “We’d like to debrief the rest of your team as well, but we have been unable to ascertain who they are.”

  I smiled. “I think they might like to keep it that way.”

  John looked at me for a moment, hesitating, and then caving to the moment. “Okay. We can discuss that at another time.”

  “What happened? I’m not aware of anything after the stream,” I asked.

  “You were right about the device on the helicopter.” John began, but he was interrupted by the man he came in with.

  “Sir,” he said, “Mr. Wolfe isn’t cleared for this.”

  John looked at him with fire. “Mr. Wolfe is the reason we have any of this. And he is lying here like shredded beef because of it.” He leaned in close to the man. “And if your sensitive nature won’t allow you to witness the disclosure, I suggest you leave the room.”

  The man sat back, suitably chastised to keep his mouth closed for the rest of the conversation.

  John looked back at me and continued. “They were able to defuse it outside Mimon. What we didn’t know was that there were others. One was on the cargo plane. We aren’t sure where the others are yet, but we know what to look for now, so we should be able to track them down.”

  I nodded my understanding. I didn’t really think there was only one. You don’t rob a tactical nuclear storage facility and only take one—I wouldn’t anyway.

  “You know Popovich is dead, but what you might not have known was that when you and Nick left the cargo plane, you dragged Jovanovich out the back with you. Ironically, he would have lived much longer if he’d stood trial.”

  “Wow! Of all the dumb fuckin’ luck. But I didn’t know Popovich was dead. How did that happen?” I asked, stupefied.

  “Well...” John started, shooting me a curious look. “You killed him. Don’t you remember? You shot him in the throat while you were lying in the stream. He was standing above you? I yelle
d, ‘Shoot?’ Any of this sound familiar?”

  “Vaguely. It was a blur,” I admitted, shifting my weight to try and ease the discomfort in my chest.

  “Understood. Hell of a shot though. Side armed, half-drowned, bleeding out, and all that…” he said rapidly.

  “In the state I was in, I could have just as easily shot my foot off,” I said. Then it occurred to me—not counting the Serbs who fell out of the plane, I had killed four men.

  It must have shown on my face because John changed gears.

  “I know it’s hard. I’ve been there as well,” he said sympathetically. “We’ve got resources back home who you can talk with, frankly, without worrying about spilling secrets. Sometimes it’s just good to say it out loud.” He shook his head. “Anyway. That’s all stuff we can go over later.”

  “The hostages are all okay?” I asked.

  “Yes. Yes. Everyone is fine. Two of the security detail who were wounded were down the hall from you, but they were released last night. Everyone else is fine.”

  “Kathrin?” I asked.

  “She’s okay as well. She wanted to come and see you here, but there are some irregularities in her back-story that prevented it.” He looked at me pensively.

  “Back-story irregularities? Like what?” I asked angrily.

  “I wasn’t filled in on the details,” he replied. “I was just told there were ‘irregularities.’”

  Anger flashed through my mind. “To hell with that!” I said, raising my voice and then choking. “You—” Then I had a coughing fit.

  “I’m already working on it,” he said, trying to calm me before he turned to call for a nurse.

  Before he could open his mouth, she ran in, pushing past John to check my monitors and help me lay back.

  “We can do the rest of this later,” John said. “I’ll be around for a few days.” Then he turned to leave. At the door, he stopped and looked back at me. “By the way. You were right about Miller, too. That’s being taken care of as we speak.”

  I nodded at him through my coughing fit, watching the nurse press a button on one of my machines.

  A second later, I drifted back to sleep.

  **

  Several hours later—2201 C Street Northwest, Washington, D.C., the US State Department

  DEPUTY CHIEF DWIGHT MILLER pulled into the VIP parking garage of the State Department at 8:45 a.m. He presented his credentials to the guard and then pulled through the gate to the first available parking space. Exiting his Mercedes, he grabbed his briefcase and jacket from the back seat and then started walking toward the elevator.

  Standing in front of him was a man in a black suit who was also waiting for the elevator to descend. The man turned and smiled as the deputy approached. Miller thought about how odd the man looked with his cut and swollen nose and bruised forehead. There was something familiar about him as well.

  “That looks like it hurt,” Miller said to the man.

  He smiled without looking away from the elevator. “It’s nothing compared to what the other guy got,” he said, a strange tone in his voice.

  Miller heard an engine start behind him, and tires squeaked against the smooth concrete in the distance. A second later, a van rolled up behind him and stopped.

  He turned as the door opened. Three men in FBI jackets got out. Miller tensed and turned to flee toward the stairs, but the man who had been beside him was now in front of him. He didn’t see the fist that hit him.

  The next thing he experienced was being pulled backward into the van, looking at the man in the black suit.

  “If you boys need any help with the interrogation, just let me know,” he said, winking at them.

  “We’ll call you if we have any trouble with him,” one of them replied, smiling.

  Miller wet himself as they pulled away. “I’m a diplomat!” he screamed. “You can’t treat me like this. I know the Secretary.”

  “Sorry, pal. You don’t know her anymore. She made the call,” one of the agents replied. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney and have that attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at no cost.”

  He paused and then laughed. “You may need that ‘provided attorney’, actually—now that all your assets have been seized.”

  **

  NICK HORIATIS turned from the elevator and walked back into the parking area toward a black Ford Explorer. It was his own vehicle, but he liked the black SUVs he worked in so much that he’d purchased a similar one. He climbed into the front seat and flipped open his phone.

  “Hey, boss. It’s done. He didn’t have a clue he’d been blown,” Nick said.

  “Good. Finish up your report and send it to me, then take the rest of the week since you’re already back home. I’ll see you at Langley next Monday,” John Temple replied.

  “Got it,” he said, glad for a few days of his own. “How’s Monkey Wrench?”

  “He’s awake and being a smart ass,” John replied.

  “No surprise there.” Nick said, grumbling.

  “He was pretty hot about Gretel not being allowed on base,” John said.

  “I told you,” Nick replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he dumped the princess for her. I know I would. That high kick is hot.”

  John laughed. “I think the strings that got pulled to get Ms. Whitney in that hospital room were the same ones that got tugged to keep Gretel out. I’d hate to be in the room if Monkey Wrench finds out.”

  “The kid can’t catch a break, can he?” Nick said sincerely.

  “He might get one yet,” John said, hinting. “Hey! You aren’t going soft on the kid, are you?”

  “Ha!” Nick replied. “Not till I pay him back for my nose.”

  “Let’s hope you get the chance. I like him too,” John said.

  “Okay, boss. Have a good one.”

  Nick hung up the phone and smiled. He really did like that kid. He had balls and a clean sense of right and wrong. There was a shortage of real good guys...if he could get past the shootings. That was yet to be seen, but Nick hoped for the best.

  **

  8:15 a.m. on Saturday, May 22nd, 2010, Six days after rescue—Airfield, Ramstien Air Force Base, Landstuhl, Germany.

  The Ambulance delivering me to Ramstien pulled through the gate at the small aircraft hangar area and onto the tarmac.

  Barb had been with me nearly every minute since I’d regained consciousness in the hospital. She ran errands, fussed over me, and even snuck in a cupcake with a candle on my birthday two days earlier.

  To be honest, I had forgotten about my birthday, and that had been one of the first questions the doctor had asked me.

  “I’ve already checked, and I can transfer to Georgetown for the next semester,” she said as we rode to the plane in the ambulance. “I’ll have to take a few classes over, but the doctorate will still be from the Harvard program.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk about life changes. Every movement sent fresh flashes of pain through my body, and all I wanted was to lay in my own bed.

  I could also go for some more pot right about now, I thought, remembering how Nyla had breathed the cooler smoke into my mouth. I suddenly wondered how she was.

  “I think it’s time for me to get my own place, as well,” Barb said, looking at me sideways, snapping me out of my thought.

  When I didn’t comment, she continued.

  “Having a roommate is nice, but—”

  I knew she was fishing for some indication of my feelings on her living arrangements—I just nodded and smiled.

  “So apparently, the State Department has already been sending out inquiries about me,” she said, shifting gears. “It’s nice to know the options are open. I understand there’s some interest in you as well.”

  I smiled. “I like my job,” I said.

  “I know,” sh
e replied gently. “But there is more room for advancement at State, and with Daddy there…” She smiled and then shrugged, hinting that strings could be pulled.

  “I just really want to go home and sleep,” I replied tiredly, resisting the urge to ask for more pain medication to help me get to sleep more quickly.

  “Yes,” she said, suddenly snapping herself out of her fantasy life. “First we have to get you healed.”

  The ‘we’ made me feel like I was a project.

  When we arrived at our designated departure point, the ambulance personnel lifted me out of the back of the vehicle in my wheelchair and lowered me carefully to the pavement.

  Barb hopped down behind me and took the handles.

  “I’ve got it from here guys,” she said to them. “Thanks.” Then she wheeled me to the small, executive-style jet awaiting us.

  We rolled to the foot of the stairway, and she set the brake. There was an attendant to help me up the stairs, but as I was about to attempt rising, a black SUV sped up alongside us and stopped. John Temple jumped out of the driver’s side.

  “Good! I was afraid I’d missed you,” he said as he jogged towards us. “Hello Ms. Whitney… Scott.”

  “You said good-bye yesterday,” I reminded him, smiling. “After you spent the day grilling me in the debrief.”

  It hadn’t been that bad. Mostly I’d just told him what I saw, who I saw, and when I saw it—and promised not to tell anyone—although he did a great job of filling me in on the details that I hadn’t been present for.

  “I actually have a couple more things we need to go over before you head home,” he said before turning to Barb. “It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” He stared at her, a hint to give us some privacy.

  “Okay. I’ll just be up here if you need me,” she said and then walked up the stairs to the plane door.

  “Your and the gentleman’s luggage have already been loaded, ma’am. We’ll depart as soon as the Captain gives clearance,” I heard a crewman at the top say to her.