James Benn: The First Wave

"What's wrong with him?" I asked. "Why is he here? In Post-Op I mean."

That question delayed her for a second. She looked at me as she went to check the chart hanging on the end of the gurney.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked. "You look like you should be lying down."

"Can't disagree," I said, trying to smile. "Will you just check his chart and tell me what's wrong with him? His breathing doesn't sound right."

She seemed exasperated, but relented, putting a hand on Kaz's chest. His uniform blouse and shirt were open, but not cut away like the others. She frowned as she read the chart. I checked the front pocket on his blouse where Kaz had kept the notebook. It was unbuttoned, and empty. I checked his other pockets. Nothing. It was gone.

"Probable concussion, X-Rayed, no visible fractures. No subdermal bleeding, re-dressed existing wound. Patient was conscious upon admission," she said, summarizing the information on the chart.

"In other words, he was fine except for a bump on the head," I said. She didn't say anything. She checked his pulse.

"It's weak," she said.

"He has a bad heart," I said.

"Billy," Kaz said weakly. He half opened his eyes. "How are you?" He sounded almost giddy.

"Kaz," I said, "what happened to you?"

"I feel much better now…" I swear he smiled, then closed his eyes. I opened one with my fingers. His face swam back and forth in front of me. The ringing grew louder and the floor started shifting from under me again. I held onto the gurney with one hand, trying to get his face to hold still.

For just one second it did. I saw it, a tiny, contracted pupil, just like Jerome's, only he had already been dead, and Kaz wasn't. Other images popped up in my mind, Kaz in the jeep waiting to go back to the hotel the first time he was admitted here. Dunbar giving him the okay to leave. Rita kissing him goodbye. Gloria and Harding having a heart- to-heart before he got into the jeep for the drive back to the hotel. Jerome. Harry's grandmother. Click, click. Things fell into place and I had to tell this nurse before the floor came up and whacked me.

"Nalorphine," I said. Both hands were on the gurney now and my legs were shaking. "Nalorphine, now! Hurry!"

I turned to look at her and try to explain, but all I saw were her eyes; wide with a fear of me, a raving lunatic. I tried to step forward and tell her something but I couldn't remember what. And why was I thinking about Harry's grandmother? I couldn't remember what was so important and then the goddamn bells drove everything else out of my head and all I felt was the gritty concrete floor slam into my cheekbone as someone picked up the floor and hit me with it.

It was dark when I awoke. There was a light on a small table next to a window. A dark blackout curtain was drawn over the glass panes, the light from the gooseneck lamp lost in the black fabric. It was quiet. No bells rung. A figure was slumped in a chair next to the light, in shadow. I turned to my right and in the half darkness I could see two other beds with sleeping forms lying on them. I lay there, eyes adjusting to the darkness, trying to remember how I'd gotten here. The train. Bombers. The jeep. Ambulance. Kaz.

"Kaz!" I said out loud, and sat up as memory flooded into my waking mind.

"Billy, it's all right," said the form in the chair, getting up and limping over to me.

"Harry? Is that you?" He came closer and I saw that it was. Dressed in U.S. Army fatigues and sporting a. 45 automatic in a holster. "Kaz, is he…"

"He is fine, sleeping right over there, thanks to you."

"Where's Major Harding?"

"Right here, Boyle," said Harding as he sat up on the bed facing me and swung around. He had been sleeping with his boots and gun belt on, ready for anything. He spoke in a soft voice. "Lieutenant

Kazimierz is fine. He's in the last bed against the wall. I don't know how you knew, but you were right. He'd been overdosed with morphine. They administered the antidote to him just in time. You nearly scared that poor nurse to death, but as soon as you fainted, she checked on him. Doc Perrini figures Kaz had about ten minutes left before it would've been too late."

"Is he going to recover?" I had visions of paralysis, brain damage, all sorts of terrible things to add to the agonies Kaz already had to bear.

"According to the doctor, he has recovered. He'll have a headache from that knock on the head, but that's it. You were X-Rayed, too. You have a very slight fracture of the skull and a moderate concussion. You should be fine if you can avoid getting hit on the head for a while."

"The penicillin shipment?"

"It's safe, under heavy guard at the train station. No one is going to get within fifty yards of it and live."

"Have you seen Diana?"

"Miss Seaton is fine. The young French girl Lieutenant Kazimierz hired is with her, and there's a guard on their room. No need to worry, everything's fine."

It was too much good news, it just couldn't be all true.

"Are we going to pick up Villard?" I asked.

"We'll talk about that later," Harding said. "Lieutenant Kazimierz was awake for a while, and said you had evidence Colonel Walton was involved in these murders?"

"I thought I did, sir, but now I think I was wrong. I need to talk to you about that."

I didn't know how to tell Harding what I had to say. Or what he would do when I told him. I changed the subject quickly to give myself a few minutes grace.

"What time is it anyway?" I asked.

"Just past five-thirty," said Harry Dickinson, glancing at his watch. It was nice to hear a military type tell time the old fashioned way. He pulled the blackout curtain aside. The sky was lit up by a red dawn. "No need for this," he said as he pulled the curtain aside.

"Harry, what are you doing here?"

"I heard you were causing trouble, and came to see you. Major

Harding asked me to stay and stand guard with him. I was going stark raving mad sitting in a hospital bed, so this seemed a nice alternative."

"How's the leg?"

"This little scratch? Just a through and through, as we say."

I was glad to have Harry as a friend. I was glad they were all here, and I thought about nights back in Boston when Dad and Uncle Dan had something going and the house would fill with cops, all watching out for each other. It felt good to be part of something that brought men like these together. Part of it was suffering; I knew that much from Harry and Kaz, and I think Harding too. It was the possibility of death that made men look each other in the eye, grip shoulders, give a nod that said Yes, I will risk everything for you. Harry had that look in his eyes, and I returned it.

Harding opened the door and asked an orderly to bring in a pot of coffee and four cups. Daylight began to fill the room, so he turned out the lamp. Then he cranked up Kaz's bed so Kaz was sitting up. His face was scratched and bruised, and he looked incredibly thin in the hospital pajamas. I wondered how much strain and abuse his body could take. I wondered the same about mine. Then Kaz opened his eyes.

"Billy! So glad to see you." He looked around for his glasses and Harding picked them up from the nightstand, handing them to Kaz. Almost tenderly.

"Same here, buddy" I sat up too and let my feet hang off the side of the bed. It wasn't too bad. I had on the same hospital pajamas as Kaz, and that reminded me: his clothes.

"Kaz, the notebook is gone," I said.

"Major Harding has already asked some of the orderlies to go through the discarded clothing. They should find my jacket there."

"No, you don't understand. It wasn't in your pocket. I searched for it while you were still wearing your jacket."

There was silence in the room, and Kaz and Harding both looked at me, uncomprehending. The door opened and an orderly entered, a tray with a pot of coffee and cups in his hands.