"All right…"
I said to him, "I'll get to the office as soon as I can."
"John, don't worry about it. Take care of Kate. We'll stay in touch. And call me if… Kate takes a turn for the worse."
That would be a very short turn. I said to him, "There is a chance she won't make it."
There was a short silence, then Paresi said, "She'll make it. She's in my prayers." He added, "She's tough."
We hung up, and I sat on one of the chairs in the waiting room.
Kate was on my mind, but I tried to think about Asad Khalil and get into his mind.
Asad Khalil was a showman-a show-off-and like a lot of psychopaths, he enjoyed taunting the authorities. And the authorities were happy to be taunted with phone calls and letters from the guy they were looking for. We call it clues.
Also, Khalil was on a mission of revenge, and revenge and hate distort your judgment and get you caught or killed. That almost happened to him the last time he was here. And I had no doubt that this time Asad Khalil would be captured or killed. But I didn't know how many people he'd murder before we got him, or if Kate or I would be alive to see this case closed.
I heard heavy footsteps in the tiled hallway… a man, walking by himself.
I put my hand in my gun pocket and watched the door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man in green scrubs with a surgical mask around his neck.
We made immediate eye contact, and the next half second lasted an eternity.
"Mr. Corey?"
"Yes."
We walked toward each other, and he put out his hand and introduced himself as Dr. Andrew Goldberg. He put his other hand on my shoulder and said, "She's resting comfortably in ICU."
I closed my eyes and nodded.
He continued, "Her vital signs are stable. Blood pressure and breathing are good."
Again, I nodded.
He steered me toward the chairs, and I had the random thought that he'd been on his feet for over two hours and needed to sit. My second thought was that he wanted me seated for the rest of his report, which might not be so good.
We sat side by side, and he reported in a soft voice, "The surgery was successful in closing the laceration to her right carotid artery."
Once again, I nodded.
He said, "I noticed a contusion to her face, and her lips were swollen, but the anesthesiologist said there were no loose or missing teeth. " He speculated, "That injury may have been a result of her hitting the ground."
Actually, it was a result of Asad Khalil punching her in the face, but I didn't mention this.
He continued, "In any case, it's not significant." He went on, "There were other contusions as a result of her fall, but I don't believe there were any internal injuries, and no internal bleeding, though there may be bone fractures." He assured me, "We'll get her to radiology as soon as possible."
"When will that be?"
"I'm not sure." He continued, "It was a deep puncture-type wound, and there was no other major vascular involvement-no injury to the jugular, or other veins or arteries, and no injury to her trachea." He remarked, "I understand it was a knife wound."
I nodded. It was meant to be a cut across her throat severing everything in its path. But Kate had done something to stop that. I hope she had also kneed him in the nuts.
I asked him, "Prognosis?"
He stayed silent a second too long, then replied, "Guarded."
"Why?"
"Well… she lost six units of blood, and we-and you, I understand-needed to stem the flow of blood… which goes to the brain…"
I knew this was coming, and I waited for the verdict.
Dr. Goldberg continued, "Six units is a significant loss of blood. Also, her windpipe was swollen, which may have caused some oxygen deprivation before the paramedics got a breathing tube down her throat." He stayed silent a moment, then said, "We just don't know if there will be any neurological impairment."
"When will we know?"
"Shortly after she recovers from anesthesia." He added, "Maybe in an hour or two."
I did not reply.
He hesitated, then glanced at my bloodstained jumpsuit and said to me, "I understand that a skydiver attached himself to her during your skydive and caused this injury with a knife."
"That's right."
"I assume this was not an accident."
I replied, "You may have noticed the State Trooper outside the operating room."
He nodded, then asked me, "Any more questions?"
"No."
Dr. Goldberg stood, and I stood also. He said, "She'll get a complete evaluation as soon as possible, including a neurological evaluation. In the meantime, you can check in with the ICU nurses' station. I assume you'll want to stay here until she regains consciousness."
"That's right."
We shook hands and I said, "Thank you."
He patted my shoulder and suggested, "Some prayers would help." He further suggested, "Take a break in the cafeteria. It will be awhile before we have any further news for you." He assured me, "She's in good hands."
Dr. Goldberg left the waiting room, and I gave him a few minutes to clear out, then I went into the corridor and followed the signs to the ICU.
At the nurses' station I identified myself as John Corey, the husband of Kate Mayfield, who had just arrived from the OR. I showed my creds and also said I was a Federal law enforcement officer. The nurses seemed sympathetic to the former and indifferent to the latter.
In situations such as this, Murphy's Law is in effect, and I couldn't be certain that the ICU staff had gotten the same information as the OR staff, so I said, "My wife was the victim of an attempted murder, and the assailant is still at large and may attempt to gain access to her."
That got their attention. I asked if they'd been told about this, and asked if there were any State Troopers in the unit. They hadn't been told anything, and they said there were no State Troopers in this unit.
I informed them, "You are not to disclose this patient's location or condition to anyone except an authorized medical person, or a law enforcement officer who can show you identification. Do you understand?"
A nurse, who identified herself as Betty, a supervisor, said to me, "I understand, and we will call security."
"Thank you. And also call the OR nurses' station and tell them to have the State Police reassigned here."
One of the nurses picked up the phone to make the calls.
I said to Betty and the other four nurses, "If anyone is looking for Detective Corey, I'll be at my wife's bedside."
Betty was scanning a clipboard-probably Kate's chart-and said to me, "I don't have any orders yet about visitors."
"You do now."
Betty made a note of that on her chart and escorted me toward the ICU.
On the way down the corridor, she informed me, "We're not used to these things here."
"And I hope you never get used to it."
She pushed through a set of double doors and I followed.
Betty, chart in hand, led me toward Kate's bed and said in a quiet voice, "Don't be alarmed by her appearance, or all the monitors and infusion tubes." She added, "She's on a ventilator to help her breathe." She assured me, "Dr. Goldberg is a wonderful surgeon."
But no one, including Dr. Goldberg, knew what was going on, or not going on, in Kate's brain.
We reached Kate's bed, and I stood over my wife and looked at her. Some color had returned to her face, and her breathing, aided by the ventilator, seemed steady. There was a thick dressing around her neck, tubes in her arms, and wires running under the blanket that connected to three different monitors. I looked at the screens and everything seemed normal, though her blood pressure was a little low.
Betty glanced at the monitors and assured me, "Her signs are good."
I took a deep breath and stared at Kate. I could see the swelling around her mouth where Khalil had hit her. Bastard. I bent over
and kissed her on the cheek. "Hi, beautiful."
No response.
Betty advised me to sit in the bedside chair, which I did, and she said to me, "Press the call button if you need anything." She informed me, "No cell phones." She turned and left.
I took Kate's hand, which was cool and dry, and I could feel her pulse. I kept looking at her face, but it remained expressionless. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, and I glanced at the monitors several times.
Having nearly bled to death myself, I knew what Kate had gone through in those minutes when her blood was pumping out of her body-the very frightening, runaway heartbeat, the falling blood pressure that caused an awful ringing in the ears, the sense of being icy cold on the inside, unlike anything you've ever felt… like death… and then, the brain becomes cloudy…
When I had awoken at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital, I had no memory of why I was there or what had happened to me. I wasn't allowed visitors, but my partner, Dom Fanelli, had bullied his way in and engaged me in a long, stupid conversation about why the Mets were a better team than the Yankees. Apparently I didn't agree with him, and he went back to Homicide North and told everyone that I was definitely brain damaged. I smiled at that memory, and the memory of Dom Fanelli, who died on 9/11.
I looked again at Kate and thought, Too much death on this job.
I prayed that Kate would come through this as well as I had, against all medical odds. But if there was some impairment, then I'd quit the job and take care of her. After I killed Asad Khalil.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I continued my vigil beside Kate's bed, holding her hand and looking for signs of her coming out of anesthesia.
My cell phone was on vibrate, and I'd gotten three calls in the last half hour, which I let go into voice mail.
I listened to the first call from Tom Walsh, who said, "The hospital tells me that Kate is out of surgery and resting comfortably. Glad to hear that. Also, I spoke to Investigator Miller about his search for Khalil. No news there. I called George Foster, and he understands the situation." Walsh had paused, then said, "We can't seem to locate Gabe." Another pause, then, "Or Chip Wiggins in California." He ended with, "Call me."
The second call was from Vince Paresi, who said basically what Walsh said about Gabe Haytham, though Paresi added, "I'm a little concerned about Gabe. We can't get hold of his wife either. I'm sending a patrol car to his house in Douglaston. Glad Kate is doing okay. Call me."
I, too, was a little concerned about Gabe Haytham-and his family. Every agent is theoretically reachable by cell phone or text message, 24/7. But if you're off-duty, you might not be checking your job phone as often as you should. In any case, today was a nice Sunday, and maybe Gabe and his family were at the beach, or at an amusement park, or… dead.
As for Chip Wiggins, last I saw him three years ago, he was a cargo pilot. So he could be in the air. Or he could be in the ground.
The third call was from Investigator Miller, who informed me that my vehicle and luggage were in the hospital parking lot and the keys were at the ICU nurses' station.
Inspector Miller also said, "The vehicle and the luggage are clean. We did not find your wife's cell phone in the room or in the vehicle, and the search of the drop zone hasn't yet turned up her weapon or her cell phone." He also advised me, "We checked Sullivan County Airport, and we found an Enterprise rental car in the parking field, and the renter is a man named Mario Roselini, but nothing in his rental agreement checks out. The tire treads on the rental might match the treads we found near the woods. We've taken latex impressions and we're trying to do a match. The car is under surveillance. Also, we checked with the fixed base operators at the airport, and a Citation jet landed there Saturday evening, then took off Sunday about thirty or forty minutes after the incident, destination and passengers, if any, unknown. No flight plan filed. We're following up on this." He added, "Your guy Walsh was not clear if you're the case agent, but call me directly if you need more." He ended with, "The hospital tells me your wife is resting comfortably. Some good news."
I put the phone back in my pocket and thought about Investigator Miller's call. It was fairly obvious how Asad Khalil made his escape-he jetted away. But to where? There was no flight plan filed so it would have had to be a short low-altitude flight.
Another thought was that my colleague, FBI Special Agent in Charge Tom Walsh, hadn't passed on that information to me. But to be fair, I wasn't sure of the timing of all these calls or who was speaking to whom and when.
I turned my attention to Kate and leaned close to her. I tried to see if there was anything in her face that would give me a clue about her mental condition, but her expression revealed nothing.
There are different degrees of mental impairment, as I knew, and I had to prepare myself for anything from mild impairment to… whatever.
***
Another half hour passed, a few nurses came by, and one of them brought me a cup of coffee. I asked for a pen and pad so I could make some notes.
I used the time to recall, in detail, the events of three years ago, and try to apply that unhappy learning experience to what lay ahead. I wished that Kate was helping me with this, and I was sure she had some ideas that we could toss around.
I was about to get up and take a walk in the corridor, but I thought I saw her move.
I stood near her bed and watched her closely. She moved her head, then I saw her right arm move. I was going to press the call button, but I decided to wait.
Every few seconds, she moved an arm or a leg, and her head rolled from side to side.
I leaned closer to her and touched her arm. "Kate?"
She opened her eyes, but kept staring up at the ceiling.
"Kate?"
She turned her head toward me and we made eye contact.
"Kate. Can you hear me?"
She didn't show any sign of recognition.
The breathing tube kept her from speaking, so I took her hand in mine and said, "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
After a few seconds, she squeezed my hand. I smiled at her and asked, "Do you know who I am?"
She stared at me, then nodded tentatively.
I said to her, "Squeeze my hand if you know why you're here and what happened to you."
She pulled her hand away from mine.
"Kate? Nod if you know why you're here."
She raised her right arm and made a shaky movement with her hand that looked like a tremor or the beginning of a seizure. I reached for the call button, but then I realized she was pantomiming holding a pen.
I grabbed the pen and pad from the nightstand and put the pen in her right hand and the pad in her left hand.
She held them both above her face and wrote something, then turned the pad toward me. It said, Why are you asking me these stupid questions?
I felt my eyes get moist and I bent over and kissed her cheek.
PART IV
Downstate New York
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Asad Khalil looked across the aisle at the west-facing window of his chartered Citation jet as it began its descent into Long Island's Republic Airport. In the distance, about sixty kilometers away, he could see the skyline of Manhattan Island. He checked his watch. The flight from Sullivan County Airport had taken twenty-six minutes.
From his window on the port side of the aircraft he could see a vast cemetery with thousands of white crosses and headstones standing in rows across the green fields. In Libya, the dead did not need such fertile land because the Koran promised that their souls would ascend to a Paradise of flowing streams and fruit trees.
His two brothers, two sisters, and his mother, all of whom had died in the American bombing raid, had been buried in simple graves at the edge of the desert, beside his father who had been killed five years earlier by the Zionists. They were surely all in Paradise now, because each of them had been martyred by the infidels. And he, Asad Khalil, had been given a special status by the Great Leader, Colonel Kha
dafi, as the sole survivor of a martyred family. And with this status came a great responsibility: revenge.
The copilot's voice came over the speaker. "We'll be landing in two minutes, Mr. Demetrios. Please make sure your seat belt is fastened and your seat is in the upright position."
As the aircraft made its final approach, Asad Khalil reflected briefly on his interesting parachute jump. He had two thoughts: one was that he could not be absolutely certain that he had killed the woman; his second thought was that he should have taken the opportunity to shoot the man named Corey.
As for the woman-Corey's wife-she had struck his hand, and he had not been able to complete the cut across her throat. He was not accustomed to women who used physical force against a man, and though he knew this was possible, it had nevertheless taken him by surprise. Still, he had severed her artery, and she undoubtedly bled to death before she hit the ground.
As for Corey, the plan had always been to leave him until the end. Khalil wanted to prolong the man's suffering for his dead wife and to engage him in a game of wits that would end when he, Khalil, delivered to Corey a mutilation of the face and genitals that would be worse than death. And yet… something told him he should have changed his plans right there and shot this man as he hung from his parachute-using his wife's pistol.
The Citation touched the runway and the aircraft began to decelerate.
The copilot, whose name Khalil recalled as Jerry, announced, "Welcome to Long Island's Republic Airport."
Why, wondered Khalil, did the pilots always welcome him to a place that had no meaning to them, or to him? They had done the same thing when he had begun his journey from Santa Barbara in California, to the refueling stops in Pueblo, Colorado, and Huntington, West Virginia. And finally, when he had landed at the Sullivan County Airport, he was again welcomed by the copilot, who also said to him, "I hope you have a successful business meeting."
To which Khalil, the Greek businessman, had replied, "I am sure I will."
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