W. Griffin - The Hostage

One of the medical people was pushing what looked like a clothes tree on wheels. There were three plastic bags hanging from it, with clear plastic tubing leading from them to under the blue sheets. One of the bags contained human blood.

Charley could only guess what the other two bags held.

Betty was wrapped in pale blue sheets. They were fresh and crisp but bloodstained near the groin and in the side. Her head was swaddled in white bandage, also bloodstained. Her eyes were open, but there was no reaction when, as the gurney was rolled out of intensive care toward a bank of elevators, he pushed one of the nurses aside to look down at her.

"I don't see any reaction," Charley said.

"I don't speak English," a man in surgical greens answered in broken English.

Charley repeated the question in Spanish.

"She has been sedated," the man answered.

They reached the elevator bank. A button was pushed and eventually a door whooshed open.

"We are taking the patient to the operation theater," the man in surgical greens said. "You are forbidden."

Charley was about to say, "Fuck you and your forbidden!" when he felt Munz's hand firmly on his shoulder.

"The chief of surgical staff will explain what's going to happen to her, Karl," Munz said gently. "You just can't go into the operation theater with her." The chief of surgical staff looked like Santa Claus with a shave. His more than ample belly strained the buttons of his white nylon jacket. His name tag read JOSE P. ROMMINE, M.D.

There was an X-ray viewing device on one wall of his office, holding so many large X-ray films that in places three and four were pinned by the same stainless-steel clip.

"I regret my English is not good," Dr. Rommine said, as he shook Castillo's hand.

"Herr Castillo speaks German," Munz said in German.

"That would be easier," Rommine replied in German. "I took my university in Germany. First at Philipps, in Marburg an der Lahn, then at Heidelberg."

"I know the schools," Castillo said.

German doctors-and I'm sure she had the best- couldn't keep my mother alive. I hope you can do better for Betty, Herr Doktor Santa Claus.

Please, God, let him do better!

"We're interested in your diagnosis, Herr Doktor," Munz said.

"Of course," the doctor said, turning to the X-rays and picking up a pointer. "As you can see from this, the wound to the leg, while it has of course done some muscle damage-and there will be more as the projectile is removed-could have been much worse."

Yeah, sure, those bastards could have used a 20mm and blown it off.

Jesus, if they wanted to whack me, and they obviously have access to weapons, why didn't they use a hand grenade? Once they got Roger to lower the window, all they would have had to do was drop it inside the car. Heroic stories to the contrary, when a grenade lands close, very few people have ever been able to toss it back.

Castillo had an unpleasant image of Roger Markham desperately searching for a grenade on the floorboard, and then finding it just before it went off. Grenade shards would have gone through the upholstery and thin sheet metal of the seats without trouble. And of course probably bounced off that wonderful bullet-resistant glass.

Dr. Rommine's learned lecture concerning Betty's leg wound, illustrated with half a dozen X-rays, took at least three minutes.

So did Part II, the wound in the groin area, which was also serious but not as serious as it could have been. The X-rays revealed no damage to the reproductive organs, except for the sympathetic trauma-

Whatever the hell that means.

– and the surgery to remove that projectile would of course clear up the questions unanswered by the X-rays.

"I think the wound to the face is going to cause the greatest difficulty," Dr. Rommine said, turning to the X-rays of the patient's cranium with emphasis on the mandible area.

"As you can see, the projectile is rather deeply embedded in the bone here." He used the pointer, and then turned to first one, and then a second, and then a third X-ray, covering the mandible area from all angles. "There is a fracture and some to-be-expected splintering. Removing the projectile will be somewhat difficult. We don't do much oral surgery here, and I attempted to locate a good man I know, but he's skiing in Bariloche and he won't be available for several days."

I hope the bastard breaks both his legs.

Castillo asked, "Are you saying you're going to leave the bullet in her jaw until you can get this guy back from Bariloche?"

"Dr. Koos is his name. Oh, no. The projectile will be removed now. But the restorative surgery-her jaw will of course have to be wired closed-is quite important, and should be placed in the hands of the best man available."

Jesus, that's Betty's skull I'm looking at.

Castillo suddenly felt light-headed, then dizzy.

What am I going to do, pass out? Throw up on Santa Claus's shiny floor?

No, goddammit, I will not lose control of myself!

He steadied himself with a hand on the X-ray display rack.

"Doctor, how soon can she be moved?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How soon could I fly her to the United States?"

"Oh, I see what you're thinking." He thought the question over and then continued: "That would depend in large measure on what sort of support you could provide, in terms of oxygen, blood-in case of unexpected bleeding-et cetera, on the aircraft. And there would have to be provision to feed her. Liquids, of course. Her jaw, as I say, will be immobilized for at least two weeks. She would have to be accompanied by a physician and a nurse. I'm speaking of moving her soon-say, tomorrow or the day after. If you were willing to wait, say, seventy-two or ninety-six hours-three or four days-while she would be in some discomfort, she could travel far more easily. With medical personnel in attendance, of course."

"How long is she going to be in the operating room now?"

"Oh, I would say…" Dr. Rommine began, then thought that over for a good twenty seconds before finishing: "Two hours, perhaps a little longer. And I'd better get scrubbed. They almost certainly have the patient prepared by now."

"You're going to operate?"

"Of course. El Coronel Munz has explained the situation to me. It will be my privilege."

Dr. Rommine then walked out of his office without saying another word. He left so quickly that Castillo doubted Dr. Santa Claus had heard his somewhat belatedly expressed thanks.

"You all right, Karl?" Munz asked.

Castillo nodded.

"You looked a little pale there for a while."

"I'm all right. Thank you for everything."

"Let's see if we can find a cup of coffee," Munz said. "And we'd better start thinking about getting a little something to eat."

"Alfredo, I'm not hungry."

"If people don't eat, their blood sugar drops, especially after they have been subjected to stress, and they pass out," Munz said.

Castillo looked at him a moment, realized reluctantly that he was right, and nodded his thanks.

"Okay," Castillo said, starting for the door, "let's go."

"Sit down, Karl," Munz said. "I'll have something sent up."

"Alfredo, do you really think these bastards would try to whack me in a hospital cafeteria?"

"That seems to be the problem, doesn't it? If you don't have any idea who the villains are, then it's rather difficult to assess their plans or their capabilities."

Munz punched an autodial key on his cellular and told someone to go to the cafeteria and bring up some sandwiches-lomo sandwiches, if they had them, otherwise ham and cheese-coffee, and some very sweet pastry.

Castillo sat in Dr. Santa Claus's chair and looked at the bullet lodged in Betty's jaw. Jack Britton showed up at the same time as the sandwiches. He had a Madsen submachine gun under his arm, hanging from a web strap around his shoulder.