Кэтрин Коултер - Whiplash

Sherlock nodded and walked quickly toward the ICU doors. She punched a single number on her cell. "Dillon? It's done. The senator is on his way down. You can take him."

She slipped her cell back into her jacket pocket, next to a small recorder.

GEORGETOWN

Monday evening

"Excellent pizza," Bowie announced when he'd finished off the last slice of deep-dish pepperoni with cheese baked into the crust. He looked over at the remains of Savich's pizza-artichokes, olives, peppers, onions, and just about every other vegetable known to man. He called out, "How about you, kiddo, you full yet?"

Georgie didn't hear him. She was on the floor with Sean and Astro, their slices of pizza cold and forgotten as they took turns designing their own houses on JumpStart World. They were busy arguing over Sean's selection of bright red shag carpeting in his living room.

Sherlock said, "Would you like to try the Big Dog's coffee, Bowie? I have to admit, Starbucks would pay Dillon big bucks for his skill with the coffee bean. Erin, how about you?"

Savich toasted Erin with his teacup. "This is a nice dark oolong, Erin. Would you like to give that a try instead?"

Erin sighed. "Yes, thanks, I guess I'd better go the tea route, otherwise I'll be bouncing off the ceiling half the night. I doubt if either Sean or Georgie will spare us in the morning."

Sherlock said, "Since Georgie's sleeping in Sean's room, maybe they'll play awhile before they drag us out of bed. For you and Bowie-" She paused a moment. "Well, there's a guest bedroom across from Sean's room. And this sofa pulls out into a double bed."

Bowie said easily, "We can decide about that later. Thanks for letting us crash, Sherlock."

They listened a moment to Sean telling Georgie, "I don't think Astro's going to like you having a cat for your pet, Georgie. He might bite it good and you'd be mad."

"Astro won't try to hurt my cat. Crookshanks is a really big cat. She could bat Astro around, make him sorry he was ever born a little doofus dog."

"Astro's not a doofus! Papa, is Astro a doofus?"

"Not the last time I checked. Best beg Georgie to choose a kitten, though, Sean. That way, Astro will have time to train it."

Sean and Georgie were soon going at it again, this time over kitchen appliances.

Sherlock said, "Sean believes the purpose of a microwave is to present him with popcorn, so you can't do without one of those, Georgie." To Bowie, "You and Erin have had a long day, the flight down with Georgie, the hospital."

"There are more media there than patients," Bowie said, shaking his head, "trying to get in to see the family, the vice president's spokesperson, anyone who will step in front of a camera."

"Actually, it's the A Team," Savich said as he handed Erin a cup of tea and Bowie a cup of coffee that had Bowie smiling blissfully just smelling the aroma. "The B Team is hounding the Hoffman family and staff. This isn't going to blow over for a very long time."

Sherlock raised her cup. "At least our part in it is all over."

Bowie said after a moment, "Erin got to meet Uncle Alex."

"Poor man," Erin said, shaking her head. "I felt so sorry for him, but he was charming to me, said he wished they'd let Georgie in to give him a kiss." She laid her hand on Bowie's thigh. "The Valentis and your family are wonderful, Bowie."

"I think they sort of like you too."

"Ah, Bowie, your mom wants me to have lunch with her tomorrow."

Bowie's fingers froze on his coffee mug. "Lunch, you said? With my mom?"

"Yep. She asked me if I liked French. When I said I only ate fried snails under extreme duress, she heaved a sigh of relief and said she'd much rather eat Mexican."

"My mom isn't what you'd call subtle, Erin. Be prepared for nosy questions. Actually, she asked me if we'd like to spend the night with them. I said we'd already agreed to staying with Savich and Sherlock. I hope she didn't know I lied." He grinned toward Sherlock. "I hadn't asked you guys yet. Thanks again."

"Not a problem," Savich said.

Erin said, "Let me add my thanks. Since Dr. Kender promised me he'll never mention my name again, I guess I'm clear of all this, too. Bowie told me you all had made it official that the Culovort papers came to you anonymously."

"I wouldn't like Georgie to have to visit you in jail," Bowie said. "I hope this will be your last foray into the criminal world."

"Only the straight and narrow for me from now on," Erin said. She drank down the last of her tea, checked her watch. "It's past Georgie's bedtime. Bowie-"

He was frowning. "I forgot to pick up some stuff. Have you got a store nearby?"

While Savich told Bowie where to find the Shop 'N Go, Sherlock said to Erin, "Mr. Maitland seems to think the DOJ will force Laboratoires Ancondor and Schiffer Hartwin to make restitution to the cancer patients who had to switch to Eloxium when the Culovort ran out."

"I don't believe it."

Sherlock grinned. "Mr. Maitland says the French will publicly blame us for the Culovort shortage, but privately, they'll slam Claude Renard really hard. We're talking huge fines here, maybe hefty enough that the industry will stop their corporate shenanigans for a while."

"I doubt it," Erin said, "they'll just get more careful."

When they'd gotten Sean down for the night, a major undertaking since he was so wired, Savich said to Sherlock, "Erin said she'd keep Georgie with her until Sean was out, then move her into his room."

"Probably a good idea. All Sean could talk about was Georgie. He said he might marry her instead of Marty. He's thinking hard about it. I told him Georgie was an older woman, that she might not believe he's serious. He smiled at me and said it was good she was older, that meant she could teach him things. Because he's five years old, I knew he didn't realize that what he'd said would make a mother's hair stand on end."

Savich laughed and moved over to lie against her. She rested her head on his chest, and he stroked his hand over her curly hair, winding the curls around his finger. "It was too close," he said, "just too close. It was like last time when you got shot. You could have died and I wasn't even there."

She lightly butted her head against his chin. "Bowie and Erin came blasting in to save the day. It's over and I'm okay. It's Kesselring who got shot up."

"You were very lucky Jane Ann and Mick were amateurs, and it didn't occur to them to check for an ankle gun. So many things could have happened."

"Isn't that true of just about everything in life? Dillon, we do the best we can, and keep moving forward. It's what we do. It's who we are, both of us."

"How are the cuts on your hands and wrists from sawing away on that duct tape?"

"Just fine." What he needed, she realized, was distraction, and so she slipped her hand down over his stomach. "Just little cuts, Dillon. Nothing more." Another couple of inches and he was thoroughly distracted.

There is a dark wind blowing. The camels shuffle about, pulling on their leads, ducking their heads up and down, making the plaintive sounds camels make when they know something is wrong. The women press close to them even though the camels' breath is foul and their bites sharp. The women don't care because the camels are real and solid in a world that has become something they can no longer understand. They don't know that camels never bite when they are terrified, that they are struck dumb, even their feet stop moving, their humps stop swaying. Terrified camels hunker down. The camels are relieved the women are so close.

The women can't see, can't hear, can only feel the dark wind blowing, stinging their faces, and they know the wind is bringing something very bad. They wait. The camels wait with them. There is nothing else to do. But wait.