“We’ve given her an angioplasty to open the blocked blood vessel and inserted a stent to help keep the artery from closing up again. Unfortunately, she did not arrive here soon enough after her attack for us to utilize thrombolytic therapy.
“We are at this time actively considering the possibility of open heart surgery for your wife to correct the flow of blood to her heart. We have her on blood thinners to prevent further clotting and beta-blockers to protect her heart right now.”
“Is she,” Roger’s voice catches as he asks, “Is she going to be all right?”
Cautious about just what to say, Adam answers, “We’ve done all we can for her right now. She’s stabilized and is resting comfortably at the moment. There’s no reason to think that she can’t make a full recovery. But there’s also no guarantee that she will.
“With trauma such as this, there are often residual effects that cannot always be anticipated. We’re keeping her here for observation until the cardiac team decides whether or not surgery is needed.”
“Can I,” Roger glances toward the frosted glass doors emblazoned with the logo of Grady Memorial, “Can I see her now?”
“Of course,” Adam offers a weak smile, “I’ll have a nurse escort you to her room. You’re welcome to sit with her as long as you like just try not to disturb her, she needs her rest.”
With a pat on the shoulder Adam leaves him in the care of a nurse who leads him through the closed doors to his wife.
She’s going to be OK. She has to be.
Chapter 32
Hope, North Carolina
The splash of water against their hull is drowned out by the roar of blood through his veins. Drenched by the mist off the ocean waves, Cole Hewitt is shivering from both the cold and the anticipation of what he is about to do.
The cloud cover overhead is dense and warns of further weather to come. Though every now and then the silvery light of the moon manages to peak through and illuminate the otherwise black water.
Looking fore and aft in the rustic rowboat he sees Jebediah Earl working the oars and Jeremy Creed likewise shivering from the elements.
“Y’all ready for this?”
After checking the miserable expression on Jeremy’s face, Cole turns to Jebediah and nods, “Yeah.”
“Y’all is lucky,” Earl says between strokes, “A moonless night will give cover.”
The boat rocks over another wave sending Cole’s stomach careening as he asks, “How much further now?”
Dipping the oars into the water again Earl replies, “We is almost there. I’m a gonna need y’all to stay quiet from here on in. Night like this, voices carry on these winds. Y’all don’t wanna announce your presence just yet I figure.”
Nodding his agreement Cole checks with Jeremy to be sure he stays quiet as well. Aside from the chattering of his teeth and the no doubt inner thoughts of a career change, he is silent.
As the boat rises and falls in a series of waves, Cole watches through the mist and darkness for any sign of the island. All at once it appears out of the ether, looming large before him.
Reaching into his waterproof bag he retrieves a pair of binoculars and presses them to his eyes. The rocking of the boat makes focus difficult but he manages to scan the bluff for movement. Seeing none he increases the magnification and still sees no one up there.
Lowering them he turns back to Jeremy giving him the thumbs up. Half-heartedly and wholly sarcastic Jeremy returns the gesture.
As they move closer to the shoreline the waves seem to abate somewhat while Earl expertly maneuvers them into the shallows. All around them Cole can make out boulders jutting out of the water’s surface and knows without a doubt that without his expertise they would never make it through here.
Passing the last of the rocks, Earl allows the boat to drift a bit as he pulls the oars out of the water. In a hushed whisper he says, “Y’all swim from here. Water ain’t more’n three feet. Y’all will want to get off that beach ‘fore sunrise though.”
“And how do we do that?” Jeremy asks too loudly drawing an irate glare from Earl.
“Climb,” he hisses, “Up to the bluff and then head for the tree line to find cover. From there it ain’t far to the prep school campus. I’s given it some thought and y’all might start looking there.”
As they drift ever closer to shore, Cole glances up at what lies ahead. The climb is steep and will be difficult. Though of course, this is the very reason this ingress point is unguarded. Black Creek doesn’t think anyone foolhardy enough to attempt coming ashore here.
A smile creases his lips as he turns back to Earl. “Thank you,” he offers, “For everything you’ve done. We never would’ve made it this far without you.”
Waving him away Earl says, “Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when y’all get off this here island. Now get going, I ain’t gonna drift here all night.”
With a nod Cole turns to Jeremy and motions him into the water. Grudgingly Jeremy lifts one leg over the side, and with his gear firmly strapped to his back, leaps from the boat. He ungracefully and noisily splashes down into the freezing water.
With a last backwards glance at Earl, Cole follows suit. The last thing he hears before the cold water seizes him in its grip is Earl wishing them “Godspeed.”
Along U.S. 64 East
The wipers of the rented Buick swish back and forth across the windshield, leaving more water behind than they remove. With each pass they stutter causing a streak to remain on the glass.
Behind the wheel, Li Ling Tran squints hard to see through the rain. She’s wearing a black pant suit with an off white colored blouse that hangs unbuttoned around her tapered neck. Her jet black hair is tied back in a loose ponytail that allows several strands to hang down to her neck.
Her dark eyes already exude the weariness she feels from the long exodus out of Atlanta. Beside her in the passenger seat, Caleb is slumped over against the window resting fitfully.
The way he’s leaning tells her that he’s still favoring the broken ribs on his left side—that and the shallowness of his breathing. He’s still sporting an angry purple bruise on his left cheek where the bone was fractured—the bruise at least serving to cover his old scar.
He’s wearing loose fitting black jeans and a battered looking Led Zeppelin t-shirt that shows its age in the faded insignia. It’s far from official issue wear, but the best they managed on short notice. After he was officially released they caught the first flight out.
Unfortunately due to the approaching hurricane their flight was re-routed from Greenville to Charlotte leaving them with a six hour drive to reach Swanquarter—in decent weather which they don’t have.
And what they’ll do anyway when they arrive weighs heavily upon her mind.
With the approach of Fiona and the resultant evacuation of Hope that is under way, she’s skeptical that they will even be able to get onto the island until after the storm passes—a sentiment that she’s in no hurry to share with her driving companion.
She knows all too well how Caleb gets and how he would take to the news of a delay.
From the corner of her eye she sees him stirring as he sits up and stretches his neck. “How you feeling?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” he grins, “Honestly I’m tired of people asking me that question.”
“After what you’ve been through you can’t really blame us can you?”
“I suppose not,” he admits, “But let’s just assume I’m fine unless I say otherwise from here on in, OK?”
“Sure,” she smiles while the wipers jump across the windshield.
“This Fiona?”
Shrugging her shoulders Ling Tran responds, “Not sure; possibly the leading edge.”
“How far away are we?”
“An hour, maybe eighty minutes in this weather.”
He nods, saying nothing for a few minutes before asking, “What did Hofstra say to you in the hallway?”
She glances at him for ten seconds befo
re returning her attention to the highway. “Nothing really.”
“Nothing,” Caleb repeats skeptically, “He had to take you into the hall to tell you nothing. He couldn’t have said that in front of me?”
“It’s nothing Caleb,” she sighs, “He just wanted to tell me to keep you safe.”
“And?” he prods.
“And,” she relents, “To warn me that we might not find Heath here.”
Silence blossoms between them until she adds, “The Task Force has really taken to your theory of him working with someone. Hofstra thinks that it might be the accomplice who is in Hope and that we could be walking into a trap.”
“It’s a trap all right,” Caleb says, “But it’ll be Heath who springs it—guaranteed.”
Pulling out to pass a slower moving vehicle, Ling Tran guides the car back into their lane before asking, “What’s on your mind Caleb?”
Giving her a look he replies, “What do you mean?”
“We’ve been partners a long time. I know that contemplative look you get when there’s something you want to say, so out with it.”
“I’ve been thinking about Lynne.”
Sensing that he has more to say she stays quiet and waits for him to elaborate.
“I’ve been thinking about how she fits into all this; about why he took her in the first place.”
“Just random chance,” she offers.
Shaking his head he says, “I don’t think so anymore. I used to think it was because of me—that he took her to hurt me—but I don’t think that’s it either.
“Lately I’ve been thinking that Lynne is like Theresa Trott—he went out of his way to get to both of them. He knew Trott, does he know Lynne? I mean, what possible reason did he have to go all the way to Toronto? Why would he cross an international border just to abduct a random stranger?”
“Do you,” Ling Tran asks, “Do you think Lynne knows him?”
He’s quiet for a long while. When he finally speaks it’s with grave solemnity. “I’ve been having these dreams about her; where he has her. I don’t know if they mean anything but…it’s possible my mind is trying to convey something to me that was there all along and I just missed it.”
“Like what?”
“Heath surfaced in Stillness, Iowa. He butchered the mayor of that town while Lynne was there. He could’ve went anywhere after that but he came to Atlanta—where Lynne lives. Then he goes to Toronto at the exact time that Lynne is there.
“I don’t think that she knows him but I’m starting to think that he knows her. I’m not a profiler but I’m starting to wonder if this connection isn’t significant in some way.”
“How would he know her?” she queries, “And if he specifically targeted her, then why? And why not just take her when they were both in Atlanta?”
“I don’t have all the answers yet. But she’s alive. He’s kept her alive longer than anyone else he’s ever taken. That means something; there has to be a reason.”
“What do you think that reason is?”
Closing his green eyes to the passing world outside the car, Caleb recalls snatches of his dream.
The blade slides so easily through his stomach…the tip of the knife protrudes from his abdomen…the empty sky yawns open above him before two shadows descend on him…Lynne…
Opening his aggrieved eyes again he mumbles, “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
Chapter 33
Hope, North Carolina
“I just need more time.”
Jing Bai is seated behind the principal’s desk on the second floor of St. John’s Preparatory Academy as he says this urgently into the phone that is pressed tightly to his ear.
He’s dressed immaculately in a tailored three piece gray suit made of Egyptian cotton, a subdued silk shirt, and Italian loafers. Despite the relaxed feel of these expensive clothes he is anything but relaxed.
“Time is the one thing I can’t give you more of,” Secretary of Defense James Riordan says with a South Boston accent. “How is it that you haven’t found the reporter yet?”
“Cummings has been,” Jing admits, “Ineffective thus far.”
“Cummings,” he derides, “You never should’ve bailed his ass out in Iowa.”
“He has his uses.”
“Apparently not,” Riordan cracks, “Trouble follows the man around like the tail on a dog.”
“Is there no way you can extend our stay here?”
“How?” Riordan grunts, “There’s a Category 5 hurricane heading straight for your ass which officially takes this out of my hands. POTUS♦ has ordered that all government agencies pull out until after Fiona passes.
“And we both know once it does Black Creek isn’t going to be calling the shots there anymore. Once FEMA† gets involved…you’re fucked. You got maybe eight hours left in which to find what you’re looking for. After that, it’s in God’s hands.”
With a deflated sigh, Jing hangs up the phone to think. Eight hours. If Cummings hasn’t found Talbot and his damn flash drive by then, they’ll be in the winds. Unacceptable.
Grabbing for the phone again he dials the number for the leader of his private army.
“Major Slade,” it’s answered.
“Major,” Jing begins, “Bring Edlund to me. Time is running out on our operation here. I need to know everything that he does and does not know and I need to know it now.”
Never in his life would Tyler Edlund have expected to hear that a hurricane was headed straight for him and thought it good news—yet as he packs his belongings that is exactly the case.
Thank God I’m getting out of here, he beams inside his head. He’s scheduled to be on the three o’clock ferry back to the mainland in a little more than five hours and couldn’t be more excited about it.
This entire fiasco will be behind me in a few short hours. No more Cummings and his bizarre notions about red tides and Roanoke. No more Chase following me around while hiding something from me. No more of any of this. Just back to Washington and my real life.
Still, as enthused as he is to be leaving, something still nags at him. His water samples showed nothing of any significance. Sure there were low levels of Pfiesteria, but not on a level that would harm anyone. Whatever caused the disappearance here it wasn’t a red tide.
And that in itself is bothersome. They shouldn’t have needed me to tell them that. If a red tide had killed the people of this town they would’ve known from the bodies. So assuming I wasn’t brought here to chase ghosts of a Lost Colony or to disprove a nonsensical theory about red tides, why was I brought here?
For what possible reason was I chosen to be brought here?
The door to his room being thrown open startles him from his reverie. Leaping to his feet he expects to see the lanky form of Paul Chase standing there but is disappointed.
The imposing figure darkening his doorway is far more intimidating than Chase could ever hope to be.
“What is this?” he asks nervously.
“Tyler Edlund?” the large soldier in black fatigues growls at him.
“That’s right.”
“You’re to come with me.”
“And who are you?” Tyler’s ire begins to rise despite his obviously being overmatched. “What for?”
Stepping closer to him, Slade grips him by the back of the neck. His fingers prod the bundle of nerves there forcing Tyler to shrink and almost drop to his knees.
“You don’t ask the questions,” Slade hisses in his ear, “You provide the answers. And for your sake boy,” he smiles wickedly at him, “You better hope you have the right ones.”
As Tyler is dragged from his room and tossed into the back of a black Hummer, Paul Chase watches from the shadows a few doors down.
He recognizes the large soldier from their encounter in Cummings’ office but somehow doubts that the man is acting on orders from the General.
Once the vehicle pulls away he steps out into the light to catch a glimpse of Tyler as he is driv
en away. Their eyes meet just long enough for Chase to recognize the fear in them—just long enough to make him think he’s looking at a dead man.
What are you into kid? Just what are you hiding anyway?
While his men tear apart another house, Alexander Cummings tries for the fourth time to reach Samuel Slade. Again the call goes straight to voicemail.
Where the hell are you Slade?
Angered by his inability to reach him, Cummings stalks back and forth along the wooden deck of the beach house. From there he’s able to see to the marina and the frantic activity taking place.
Everyone remaining on the island is being evacuated as fast as possible—an action that to him is akin to sands running through an hourglass. The closer Fiona gets the closer I get to losing that flash drive forever. Damn it all to hell Savage, just what were you thinking?
Amidst the maelstrom of activity his mind drifts back a month to a night he’ll never forget…
…“Dr. Savage,” Cummings joins him on the balcony, “What’s our status?”
Dr. Robert Savage clears his throat and prepares to address his superior. A graduate of Harvard Medical School, Savage is forty-one years old with short brown hair, green eyes behind round lenses that sit perched on an aquiline nose, and a wide mouth beneath a trimmed mustache.
He’s married—as evidenced by the gold band on his left hand—for going on twelve years now with two children—as evidenced by his incessant need to go on about them. Haley is nine while Jack just recently turned four. They are the light in his eye; the pride of this microbiologist’s life.
“Saturation is complete sir,” he replies over the whoosh of air from the rebreather inside his Racal suit. He is ensconced behind a full face shield, heavy gloves and boots.
Stepping to the balcony railing, Cummings casts his hawkish gaze downward to the seemingly endless rows of beds that stretch out the length of the warehouse; the scene illuminated by generator powered lamps. He is likewise outfitted in a bright red Racal suit.
Realm of Shadows Page 26
