Робин Кук - Charlatans

Noah tried to cry out for help, but a hand was roughly clasped over his mouth, holding his jaw tightly closed. In the next instant Noah’s arms were wrenched behind him and his wrists clasped with handcuffs. A moment later he felt a sharp, stinging sensation in his buttocks, followed by a sudden localized pain. As a physician, he knew he’d been injected. Within seconds he felt like he was falling, and then blackness.

“Shit,” Keyon said through clenched teeth. “He’s feisty!” He and George together hoisted Noah up to his feet using their hands under Noah’s armpits. Once they had him upright, they started toward the Suburban. Keyon had to walk awkwardly with his legs apart, since Noah’s trick with the car door had caught him in the testicles. Noah was semiconscious from the powerful tranquilizer and would have fallen into a heap had he not been supported. A few people either going or coming from the hospital had stopped to watch the rapidly unfolding spectacle. They were all dumbfounded. It had happened so quickly and unexpectedly.

“FBI!” George called out, holding his fake badge up for all to see. “Everything is under control here. Sorry for the scene. This man is wanted in a half-dozen states.”

Reaching the Suburban, Keyon and George quickly got Noah into the backseat and buckled him in with the seat belt. Noah’s head lolled forward.

“Do you think he should be kept upright?” George said.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Keyon complained.

“That was a walloping dose we gave him. What’s that going to do to his blood pressure?”

“Oh, all right,” Keyon said with resignation. He lifted the shoulder strap over Noah’s head, leaving the waist belt in place. Noah slumped over on his side. “Satisfied?”

“Hey, we both know that if this bastard was delivered as damaged goods, we’d most likely be out of a job.”

THURSDAY, AUGUST 17, 10:38 P.M.

Noah became aware of his surroundings gradually, just the opposite of how he had lost consciousness that morning almost twelve hours ago, something he wasn’t going to learn until later. The first thing he realized was that he was on a much more comfortable surface than the macadam he’d been on when the proverbial lights went out. With his left hand he could feel it was a bed. His right hand was shackled over his head, and when he tried to move it, the binding cut into his wrist. He tried to open his eyes, but they refused to open, even when he strained to use his forehead muscles as an additional aid.

Forcing himself to calm down and relax, he took a few deep breaths. It was a good ploy. A moment later his eyes opened on their own, and he found himself looking up at a plaster ceiling. Raising his head, he could see he was in a narrow, elongated bedroom that was tastefully decorated with chintz curtains and flowery wallpaper. A moment later he realized he wasn’t alone. There was a man dressed in a dark suit in a nearby club chair, his face hidden behind a newspaper.

Glancing up over his head, he could see that his wrist was in a pair of handcuffs that was also attached to a brass headboard. As Noah’s mind continued to clear, he could see he was still wearing the clothes he’d put on that morning, which brought back where he’d been. My God, he thought, I’m in Texas! Then, like an avalanche of bad memories, he recalled the details of the terrorizing episode of his being boxed in by the black SUV, the men flashing FBI badges at his windows, his car window being busted in, and his vain attempt to flee. It was like reliving a bad dream.

With some effort, Noah tried to shift his position, which caused the handcuffs to rattle against the brass headboard. At the sound, the man in the chair lowered his paper. Noah recognized him. He was the African American, and as Noah watched, he tossed his paper aside and got to his feet. But he didn’t say anything. He merely walked out of the room.

“Hey,” Noah called out. “Come back here! Where am I? Are you really FBI?” It was adding insult to injury that the man ignored him. If the man was FBI, what in God’s name was Noah doing fettered in an upscale bedroom?

Left on his own, Noah tried to sit up by throwing his legs over the right side of the bed. As soon as he did so, he felt a wave of dizziness overwhelm him, forcing him to lie down and raise his feet back onto the bed. He closed his eyes and hoped for the dizziness to subside.

“You have decided to wake up and join us,” a familiar female voice said a few minutes later in a solicitous tone. “I’m so pleased. I was a little worried you’d been severely overdosed.”

With a sense of shock and fearing he was hallucinating, Noah’s eyes popped open. Standing at the bedside, hands on hips, was Dr. Ava London. Noah stared at her, half expecting her to disappear like an apparition, but she didn’t. Behind her appeared the African American, whose presence quickly assured him he wasn’t hallucinating.

“What are you doing here?” Noah managed.

Ava laughed her unique lucent laugh. “Where do you think ‘here’ is?”

“Someplace in Lubbock, Texas,” Noah said.

Ava laughed again. It was natural and spontaneous. “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said. “We’re not in Lubbock. We are in Boston — more specifically, in my house. You’ve been sleeping off your tranquilizer doses in one of my guest bedrooms.”

Noah could see that the African American was standing off to the side.

“Who is that man?” Noah demanded.

“This Keyon Dexter,” Ava said, gesturing over her shoulder.

“Does he work for you?” Noah said.

Ava laughed yet again. “No, he doesn’t work for me.”

“Is he with the FBI?” Noah asked.

“I don’t think so,” Ava said. She turned to Keyon. “You aren’t with the FBI, are you?”

“No, ma’am,” Keyon said politely.

“What the hell is going on?” Noah demanded.

“I’ll tell you what is going on,” Ava said in a sternly fake voice as evidenced by a simultaneous smile. She waved a finger at Noah as if he were a naughty child. “You have been causing all sorts of trouble and forcing me and a few other people to lose sleep. Thankfully, all that’s in the past.” Ava’s smile broadened. “We need to talk to clear up a few things.”

Noah suppressed a strong urge to indulge in serious sarcasm, but he held his tongue as everything that had happened to him over the previous week began to come back to him in a progressive rush, particularly the untimely murder of Roberta Hinkle. He rattled his restraint against the brass headboard. “Why am I handcuffed?”

“I don’t know,” Ava admitted. She turned to Keyon. “Why is he in handcuffs?”

“He wasn’t cooperative in Lubbock,” Keyon said evasively.

“Well, take them off!” Ava said.

“Are you sure, ma’am?” Keyon questioned. “George and I think he’s a flight risk, and we found him to be on the feisty side.”

“Take them off!” Ava repeated.

Keyon did as he was told, then stepped back to his former place, available if needed.

Noah sat up on the bed and rubbed his sore wrist. He was dizzy for a moment, but it cleared quickly. He felt reassured that the African American was taking orders from Ava.

“How do you feel?” Ava asked sympathetically. “I understand they gave you a bit more midazolam than I had suggested and then a few hours later repeated it.”

“You suggested?” Noah questioned angrily. “So you are behind all this!”

“Listen, my friend!” Ava said, becoming serious. “If it weren’t for my efforts, I’m not sure what shape you would be in, and you certainly wouldn’t be sitting here in my guest room. Let’s not be judgmental until you’ve heard the whole story. As I said, we need to talk.”