by Gary Birken
“I’m afraid it’s a little late for apologies.”
“I should have seen it sooner,” Morgan said. “Your backyard was immaculate. Most of my friends with kids have yards that look as if they were hit by a toy tornado. I never saw a bike, a baseball bat, or anything that would suggest children live here. There was never another car in your driveway, and your garage was filled with boxes as if you were getting ready to move.”
“Now do you understand why I have been chosen to right this injustice?”
“For weeks,” she began slowly, “I’ve been reading and rereading the charts of every patient I saw that night. But I didn’t look at the transcripts of the Fire-Rescue runs until a few days ago. Michael and Matthew Johnson, the boys in the car accident that night—the ones that North Miami Rescue called me about right after Andy Kaine died.” She found herself forced to stop and take a deep breath. “Your sons were the two boys we sent to Ryder Trauma Center.”
“Not we; you. It was your decision to have them transported all the way to Ryder. They both died because of your stupidity. When the police called to tell me about the accident, they told me to go to Dade Presbyterian. They didn’t know you had instructed the paramedics to take them to Ryder.”
“I was following protocol, Will. Dade Presbyterian is not a state-designated pediatric trauma center. I was doing what I thought would be best for them. Any emergency room physician would have done the same.”
“I believe the state trauma protocol says that any seriously injured child should be transported to the nearest facility for stabilization. It doesn’t matter if that hospital is a pediatric trauma center or not.”
“That’s true, but your sons weren’t unstable.”
“The paramedics disagreed. They told you they wanted to bring Michael and Matthew to Presbyterian, but you instructed them not to. They were only ten minutes away, for God’s sake. There was an accident on I-95. The trip to Ryder took almost forty minutes.”
“But, I . . . I had no way of knowing that.”
“Maybe if you had had the decency to call and check on them, you would have. The pediatric trauma surgeon on call that night told us that Michael and Matthew would have survived if they had received more urgent medical attention. Did you even know they had died?”
“Ryder notified us a couple of days later. You’re right. I should have called, but we were so busy that night.”
“Too busy to take five minutes to come out and talk to me in person? Too busy to explain to me that my sons had been in a major car accident and were being transported to Ryder?”
“I don’t recall if I came out or not but—”
“I’ll save you the trouble of trying to remember. You didn’t. You sent your first-year flunky resident instead.”
“The call from the paramedics regarding your sons came in right after Andy Kaine died. I had already been informed that Jason was only minutes away. I spent the next two hours trying to save him. We stayed incredibly busy until five in the morning.”
“Even if you were too busy to check on my sons, you could have called at the end of your shift or the next day to check on them.”
“There were so many sick patients that night,” Morgan tried to explain again.
“And you think because you were doing your job that exonerates you for your incompetent treatment of my children?”
“I don’t think I was incompetent. That’s what I’m trying to explain to you. I couldn’t—”
“For months, I called the administration at Presbyterian. All I wanted was some answers. But all I got was lip service. Nobody would take ownership for the blunder. I was referred from one inept junior administrator to the next. Finally, I was pawned off on an administrative intern, six weeks out of college.”
“I’m sure they tried to explain things to you. It was a terrible tragedy, but what else could they have done?”
“I wanted them to show me a little more compassion than was shown to my boys. I wanted them to promise me . . . to assure me that no child would ever be hurt again.” With a fisted hand, Will slammed the steering wheel. His eyes exploded in rage. “You said a minute ago that you never saw my wife. Do you know why? It’s because she’s an emotional cripple bordering on catatonia. She can barely get out of bed.”
“All I can say is that I’m sorry for what you’ve had to go through.”
Will turned into the airport. His voice suddenly returned to an impassive tone, “I think you’ve already mentioned that.”
He pulled up to her hangar and turned off the engine. Sliding his hands high on the steering wheel, he stared out of the windshield for a time. Finally he sat back in his seat. He turned to Morgan. He looked down at his watch.
“We’re running out of time. Get out.”
CHAPTER 90
Will led Morgan to the front of the hangar.
A single roof-mounted flood sprayed a sparse amount of light over the area.
“Open the lock,” Will told her.
Morgan spun the combination until it popped open. Together they swung the metal door open. Five minutes later the Cirrus was out of the hangar and Morgan was preflighting the airplane.
While she checked the prop, she said, “I’ll need to know where we’re going. I have to file a flight plan.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “That’s bullshit and we both know it. Finish up and let’s get going.”
Morgan didn’t see any reason to protest. She wasn’t surprised Will knew she was lying. Having some idea of how his mind worked, she assumed he had done a little homework on basic flight procedures. Once Morgan had completed her preflight, she and Will climbed into the plane. Will threw the leather computer case on the backseat.
She was still sure that the safest place for her was in the air. After starting the engine, she radioed flight control, got clearance, and taxied out to the active runway. There were no other aircraft on final approach or waiting to take off. She was given immediate clearance.
Morgan pushed the throttles forward and started her takeoff roll. When she attained enough speed, she pulled the controls back, easing the Cirrus into the air. With the centerline of the runway disappearing behind her, she retracted her landing gear and climbed out to the west.
“Where are we going?”
“Set a course for Freeport.”
“In the Bahamas?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to fly out over the Atlantic Ocean at night?”
“You’re an instrument-rated pilot. Disorientation or vertigo shouldn’t be a problem. Stop trying to con me.”
Will waited until Morgan consulted her charts and then set a course for Freeport. The air was smooth and ten minutes later, they were over the east coast of Florida. Morgan watched as the lights of Broward County faded behind her. It was a cloudless evening with a brilliant full moon clinging to the night sky. Below, the running lights of dozens of freighters dotted the ocean like a distant galaxy.
“Tell me why,” Will said.
“What are you talking about?”
“You said in the car that Dade Presbyterian’s not a state-designated pediatric trauma center. I’m simply asking why.”
Fighting to keep her tone subdued, Morgan said, “To become a pediatric trauma center is a very complicated process. It takes—”
Trampling on her words, he said, “Four years ago, the state informed you that Dade County desperately needed another pediatric trauma center. They had concluded that Presbyterian was the best staffed and in the best geographic area to assume that responsibility.”
“That’s true, but I—”
“You were the director of Emergency Medicine at the time. The hospital relied heavily upon you and the other leaders of the medical staff such as your father for guidance. But the two of you came out strongly against it.”
“Our children’s hospital is still in its infancy. It was our opinion that our emergency department hadn’t yet developed the expertise to competently run a pediatric
trauma center.”
“Then you should have seen to it that you got the staff, equipment, and whatever else you needed to comply with the state’s request.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you, but that’s not the type of thing you accomplish overnight. It wasn’t that we abandoned the idea. We just decided that we needed a few years to create the appropriate infrastructure to support a pediatric trauma center.”
“That was crap for the customers then, and it still is. Do you recall what Bob Allenby’s official response to the state was?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t,” Morgan answered.
“He told them that after careful deliberation, the hospital board had concluded that a pediatric trauma center would be an economic burden that Dade Presbyterian couldn’t shoulder.”
“That’s the point of view of the hospital administration. My decision to advise against a pediatric trauma center had nothing to do with either business or politics.”
“Bob and the board hid behind the lie of limited financial resources, but less than six months later, they announced their plan to pour millions into a new, state-of-the-art Cardiac Care Center. What they didn’t mention was that the county already had four such centers, all of which were cash cows. I guess the projected return on investment justified the expense in constructing a new cardiac program but not a pediatric trauma center. If there was any hope of starting a trauma center for children it died fast on the vine when Bob and the medical staff leadership decided to support a new cardiac center.”
After weeks of being plagued and tormented by the same question, Morgan finally understood why the focus of Will’s obsession was the Cardiac Care Center.
Continuing her climb out over the Atlantic in gentle air, she said, “I’m not disputing your analysis of what happened. I’m saying it doesn’t justify killing innocent doctors and patients.”
“You act as if I had a choice in all this. I’ve already told you; I was chosen to correct this injustice you all perpetrated. You surprise me.”
“In what way?”
“You’re an emergency room physician, for God’s sake. The number one killer of children in this country is trauma. Why is building another heart center more important than saving children’s lives?”
“I’m not trying to say it is. I’m only—”
His voice filled with anger. “Many of those who champi oned the Cardiac Care Center—the ones responsible for this travesty—have to answer for the sins.”
“Alison Greene did nothing to you.”
“My sons are dead today because of her father’s strong recommendation to the hospital to forge ahead with their plan to put up another heart center in Dade County.”
Morgan could sense Will’s grip on reality was becoming more brittle with each passing minute. Unfortunately, she had no way of knowing just how close to a complete psychotic breakdown he was. In the absence of a better plan, she decided the best thing to do was allow him to keep talking. She scanned her instruments. Noting her altitude was now three thousand feet, she dropped her nose a little to maintain her present altitude.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” she asked, still hoping his present state of mind might allow him to give her a rational answer.
“I don’t mind.”
“Killing innocent patients won’t bring your sons back. Making Bob Allenby, Cam Greene, and myself suffer by hurting the people we love won’t either. So, what do you gain by all this? Is this about nothing more than revenge?”
“Revenge? You continue to disappoint me, Morgan. I was hoping you’d be less obtuse. None of this has anything to do with revenge. It’s about justice, and sometimes the only way to administer justice is by the most extreme measures.” Morgan was stunned by the distinct absence of any remorse in his voice. “My one great disappointment is that you won’t be around to be professionally humiliated by the state medical board.”
“Was it worth Faith Russo’s life?”
“She could have lived until she was a hundred and not have died for a more righteous purpose. The Cardiac Care Center is a scar on the face of decent health care. It has to be discredited to a point where AHCA has no choice but to close it down permanently. And those who created it in favor of a pediatric trauma center have to be held morally accountable. They have to answer to God. There’s no other way.”
“And you’re the one responsible for the delivery of this justice?”
“I’m God’s instrument on earth. He has entrusted me with this mission.”
“I have to contact Freeport for landing instructions.”
Will laughed. “It’s a little early for that. Just stay on your present course and altitude.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Will was intently studying the instrument panel.
Morgan’s sense of safety was suddenly shattered. A bolt of anxiety hit her and then spiraled down her spine.
“You’re a pilot,” she uttered.
He smiled. “I’m pretty new at it, but I do have my private pilot’s license.”
Flogging her self for her stupidity, she sat frozen in silence. For the first time she felt that the finality of her predicament was undeniable.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“That’s entirely up to you. You have choices.”
“Still playing games, Will?” Morgan asked, noticing a mild cramp in her lower abdomen. Dreading what was likely to follow, she tightened her stomach muscles.
He laughed. “I assure you. This is no game. I’m going to slow this aircraft down to almost its stall speed. You will then open the door and get out. By the time I land you’ll be winding your way through some shark’s digestive system.”
“You sick son of a bitch,” she screamed. “You’ll never get away with this.”
He chuckled. “Of course I will. I have a nice, secluded airstrip all picked out. Within a day, your plane will be disassembled and its parts sent to South America. This time there won’t be any helicopter to save you. The FAA will investigate, but they’ll just assume you went up for an evening flight and never came back. It’s happened before to a lot better pilots than you.”
Having no doubt that Will was deadly serious in his intentions, she said flatly, “I won’t jump.”
“That’s fine. As I told you, you have choices.” He pointed to his computer case in the backseat. “I’ve brought something along that will help you.”
Morgan looked over her shoulder. The case was right behind her seat. She watched him unbuckle his seat belt and turn in his chair. Hoping to distract him, she prayed he’d make the only mistake that might save her.
“The paramedics who were called to the scene of the accident told me your sons were stable. If you don’t mind me asking, how did they die?”
“One had a brain injury and the other had a massively collapsed lung.”
“A collapsed lung?” Morgan asked. “So, killing my father by injecting air into his chest to create the same injury was some kind of sick poetic justice?”
Ignoring her question, he asked, “What’s it going to be?”
“I’m not jumping,” she told him again.
“A bullet to the head it is, then,” he said with a relaxed shrug.
CHAPTER 91
Unable to reach his case, Will stretched his upper body further into the backseat.
With her eyes glued on the flight instruments, Morgan quickly pulled her seatbelt as tight as she could. She then yanked the controls hard to the left. The high-powered aircraft responded instantly, snapping over into an inverted position. The force of gravity sent Will hurtling out of his seat. Even above the engine’s deafening whine, Morgan could hear the thud of his head and neck slamming against the plane’s ceiling.
Will’s initial cry of pain faded into a series of disoriented moans. After a few seconds, Morgan rolled the plane back to its normal flight path. As she’d guessed, he was conscious but dazed. Holding his head with both hands, he rocked back and forth. His eyes looked as if he
were a fighter on the verge of being counted out.
Fearing he would quickly come around, Morgan slapped and punched Will’s head wildly with her right hand while her left struggled to keep control of the airplane. With each blow she summoned every particle of strength she could. After less than a minute, Morgan became exhausted. Her fist throbbed with pain and she could feel blood dripping between her knuckles.
Grunting and heaving one exhausted breath after another, she let her hand fall to her side. She looked over at Will. He was still in a daze. She stole a few seconds to check her flight instruments. When she turned to look at him again, he had opened his eyes and was looking directly at her. The rage in his face sent a renewed wave of terror flashing through her.
To her surprise he didn’t lunge in her direction. Instead, he struggled to push himself forward. Morgan’s momentary confusion ended when she saw him stretch his arms for the controls. Fearing he’d get control of the plane, Morgan sent the Cirrus into a series of snap rolls. She was well accustomed to aerobatic maneuvers, and even in the presence of her pregnancy, she suffered no motion sickness with its usual inca pacitation. With Will banging around the cabin like a wasp in a glass jar, she prayed he wouldn’t be as fortunate.
The cabin was suddenly filled with the reverberating sound of metal. Before Morgan felt the spiral of cold air fill the cabin, she knew exactly what had happened. Will’s door was no longer secure. Hearing nothing from him and hoping he was unconscious, Morgan decided to resume level flight. The maneuver only took a few seconds. Will was now upright in his chair with his head cocked to the right. He was breathing heavily. He had somehow managed to grab hold of one side of his seat belt. When she saw him reach for the other half, she again rolled the plane ninety degrees to the right. The new attitude sent Will crashing into his door. The force of his shoulders sprung the already tenuous lock and sent the door swinging open into the night.
With his weight and gravity working against him, Will’s upper body slipped farther into the door frame. The only thing separating him from an uncontrolled freefall into the ocean was his death grip on his chair. Morgan’s eyes flashed back and forth between Will and her flight instruments. To her astonishment, he pulled one of his hands from the seat, holding it out in front of himself, motionless. And then, out of complete stillness, his hand shot out at her. Finding her right forearm, his fingers slashed through her skin. The force of his grasp tightened, his fingernails plunging deeper into the soft tissues as if they were searching for bone. She struggled to free herself, but his grip was far too powerful.
