Michael Palmer - The Last Surgeon

“Just tell me. Tell me how you managed to kill all those people from the OR without having anyone know.”

It looked as if the killer was about to answer him. But before he could, Nick heard the haunting first notes of AC/DC’s “Back in Black.” The man pulled a cell phone off of his belt clip, never for a second lowering his gun or averting his soulless eyes. For several seconds he held the phone to his ear and listened.

“No, he hasn’t given me the DVD,” he said. “I think I can convince him, but it may require more pain than he’s equipped to endure.”

He listened again, then took a step toward Nick, the pistol an accusatory finger now pointing steadily at Nick’s heart.

Then he grinned.

“It’s for you,” he said.

“Who is this?” Nick shouted into the killer’s phone.

“Mr. Koller there intends to torture you, until you give us the disc, or you die,” a man’s gravelly voice said. “I don’t want you to die. I have great respect for you as a man and a patriot who has served his country with honor.”

The voice sounded familiar, Nick thought, but from where? It was unhurried and composed, with an edge of power and entitlement.

“Who are you?” Nick said. “Why are you having these people killed?”

“Dr. Garrity, I believe if you were in my position, you would do the same thing.”

Again Nick tried to connect with where he had heard that voice before.

“That’s insane,” he said. “You’re insane. It was you in the operating room, wasn’t it? You’re the one who killed Umberto.”

“You’d be better off letting me drive this conversation,” said the man. “So I suggest you listen and try to understand what this is all about.”

Nick’s eyes met Koller’s. The gun in his right hand was rock steady and pointed straight at his head. The self-confident smirk etched across the killer’s face had Nick envisioning kicking him full force in the teeth.

Easy , he told himself. It’s going to happen. Somehow it’s going to happen. Just be cool .

“At least tell me who you are,” he said, his composure now largely regained.

“All you need to know is that you have become involved in business that is of the utmost importance to our country’s national security. The danger we are facing is very real. We need you to act like the soldier that you are.”

Ramsland.

Nick caught his breath. He felt his chest tighten. The room seemed to be spinning.

The man’s ads had been all over the media. Alone and with moderate presidential candidate John Greenleigh.

Ramsland the patriot.

It was all starting to make sense. The ads portrayed the man as the consummate American, whose promise to protect every citizen against the threat of terrorism was resonating loudly with voters of both parties.

What in the hell had the man gotten himself into?

“The solider that I am, the doctor that I am would never take an innocent life. Why don’t you come over here and see what you’ve done. Look at the people you’ve murdered, Mr. Ramsland.”

For a time there was silence.

“The people who have died are heroes.”

“No, they’re victims. I’m going to bury you, Ramsland. Just like you buried them.”

Easy…

“An understandable reaction given the circumstances. But Doctor, before you go making any more threats, it’s best we have a little talk.”

“I mean it, Ramsland. I’ll find you, and when I do, you’ll wish our paths had never crossed.”

Easy does it , Nick warned himself again. You need to understand more of where he’s coming from.

“I didn’t want this to happen to these people, Nick. There was no choice. Do you think I’m against peace in this war-weary world?”

Nick hated that the man was now using his first name so casually.

“I think you’re a murderer,” Nick said. “Simple as that.”

“No, sir. That is not any more true than saying that the men in your unit in Afghanistan were murderers. You see, what I am, Nick, is a patriot, just as they are, and you are. The people from that operating room, and lying there now in front of you, are casualties of war, just as were all those blown up in your hospital in FOB Savannah.”

Nick’s sense of the man and his motivations was coming more into focus. Whether it was guilt or zeal, Lionel Ramsland needed to have his actions justified. He was looking for understanding and even praise for the choices he had made and the lives he had taken. And Nick, a decorated soldier and a surgeon, as well as a friend of several of the casualties, was the perfect subject from which to earn such absolution. If Nick had agreed and cooperated by turning over the DVD, he might have been offered a position in Ramsland’s inner circle. But as things were, he was going to die.

“We’re nothing alike,” Nick said.

He turned his back to Koller, who continued blocking the only exit. Keeping the phone pressed tightly against his ear, he stepped farther into the room, trying unsuccessfully to avoid looking at Noreen’s lifeless body to his left, and Saul Mollender’s to his right. His insides quaked with rage as he wondered what their last horrible moments were like.

Patriots, indeed!

“You’re wrong there, Nick,” Ramsland was saying, “you and I are far more similar than you think.”

Nick was eight feet away from Noreen’s workbench now. Many of her impressive array of tools were resting on top in a tool bucket, and in the heavy work belt that surrounded it. Wary of drawing Koller’s attention to the setup, he quickly broke off his gaze.

Maybe , he was thinking, as a plan began to materialize, just maybe I have a chance.

But he also knew it would be one chance and only one. He needed to stall and to continue composing himself for a single, definitive move.

“Yeah?” he said. “You and your friend here kill people and I save them. How is that alike?”

Pacing in front of the workbench, Nick wanted his movements to appear random. It was doubtful Koller missed much, so he had to move carefully. Powerful jolts of adrenaline were coursing through him, bringing the sort of heightened awareness he often experienced during an intense triage or operation.

“You and I are both soldiers, Nick. A guy like you could have made a bundle in private practice. But no, you sacrificed that earning potential for something much more important. Your country.”

“I did what I felt was right.”

“My point exactly. Your devotion to finding your war buddy, Umberto, is in a soldier’s DNA. Never leave a man behind. Am I right?”

“I guess.”

“That’s loyalty.”

“Go on.”

“All I’m saying, Nick, is that you have a very rare opportunity to serve your country in a way few Americans can. You can make a difference.”

“How? Murder?”

“No, Nick. By saving lives.”

“Check again. I don’t see any lives being saved here.”

“Of course you don’t. That’s just my point. You think you know everything about what’s going on, but you haven’t the slightest clue what’s really happening.”

“Yeah? Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Nick glanced over at Koller. The killer stood just a few feet away, like a big cat, lean and sinewy, poised to launch himself at the slightest hint of trouble.

It isn’t time yet , Nick decided. But soon. Keep stalling .

“This wasn’t how we wanted things to play out,” Ramsland was saying. “Mohammad wanted out. He was weary. He had a price on his head, and one of his sons was killed while someone was trying to collect it. We wanted Mohammad to give us information-information that would save American lives. And he did. The Sears Tower in Chicago. The American Embassy in Paris. Grand Central station at rush hour. Thousands and thousands of lives. Attacks against innocent civilians, women and children, who might have been blown to bits.”