Closure

by Randall Wood

  * * *

  “Where is he?” Sydney asked again.

  “My people have spotted him on the train. He’s removed everyone from the front and is on the first car with the driver and one man who matches the description of the shooter,” Greg replied. “The train has stopped, and I’m deploying people around it, but it will take a few minutes. I’ll keep you informed.” He hung up.

  “Screw this,” Sydney exclaimed and headed for the stairs. “Eric, you’re with me. Bring the laptop.” Eric scrambled to comply.

  “Sydney, don’t go up there mad. Greg will toss you out and you know it,” Larry advised.

  “I know. I’ll cool off by the time I get there. He didn’t even give me a chance to tell him about the letter,” she answered. Sydney continued her march toward the stairs, but was stopped short by an image on the overhead television. The train could be seen stopped in the middle of what looked like an industrial area. As the helicopter circled the train, a smokestack occasionally flashed across the screen. Other helicopters could be seen, and a searchlight from the nose of one lit up the train, turning night to day.

  “Look at the front window. Is that a bullet hole?” Larry asked.

  Sydney strained her eyes to see, but couldn’t make it out as the picture angle changed. Larry changed the channel and a different view popped up. This one showed a steady picture that slowly panned across the windows of the train. A man in a long dark coat could be seen sitting toward the front. Another man was at the rear of the car with a gun clearly seen in his hand. The man rotated his body and the letters on his jacket became visible.

  “It’s Jack,” Sydney voiced. “What the hell is he doing?”

  At that point the picture was lost as the helicopter pulled away. An image of a State of Maryland police helicopter filled the screen briefly and then was gone. An announcer, seated behind the news desk, began to explain the scene to those who just saw it. Evidently the police had seized control of the airspace over the train.

  “Damn it!” Sydney yelled at the smiling woman on the screen. She spun on her heel and walked to the stairs. Again, Eric struggled to keep up.

  “Let her go,” Larry told the room of people once the door swung shut behind the two of them. “Not like anyone could stop her anyway.”

  “Sir?”

  Larry turned to see one of the office crew holding a phone with her hand over it. She had a curious look on her face.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I have Transit Authority on the line. They say they can hear what’s happening on the train and they want to know who they should connect with?”

  Larry’s eyes bugged out with the new information. How the hell...? Never mind.

  “Me,” he said and quickly walked to the phone.

  * * *

  Ron stared at the screen, hoping to see a change. When nothing happened, he began programming the monitor. Janice let go of the IV lines when she heard the distinctive sound of the charging capacitor. She had seen enough television to know what that meant.

  When the numbers had finished scrolling up to 120, Ron put his finger next to the button and turned his head to see if anyone was touching the senator. A quick scan showed Stan with his hands in the air, and Janice holding onto the cabinets to keep her seat. The IV was swinging around as usual, but that couldn’t be helped. It was safe.

  “Clear?” he voiced.

  “Clear!” Stan echoed.

  Ron’s finger moved to the button and pressed it. As the senator’s body shivered on the stretcher, Ron’s eyes were on the screen. The large spike of the defibrillation was followed by a short period of flatline, before returning to V-Fib. He began programming again. The shrill sound of the charging capacitor was accompanied by more cursing of the traffic from the front end. Ron again placed his finger next to the button to avoid shocking his partners with an accidental defibrillation.

  “150. Get ready with that epi. Clear?”

  “Clear!” they both echoed this time.

  The senator shivered again and all eyes turned to the monitor screen. The spike was followed again by the flatline, only this time it stayed.

  “Damn it. Asystole. Start CPR and push that epi now.” Janice scrambled to catch the flying IV line as Stan placed his hands on the chest and took up a steady rhythm. Ron placed two fingers on the left carotid artery and was rewarded with a faint pulse. He watched Janice push the drug into the port and release the pinched line. The chamber showed a steady stream.

  “Good pulse with the CPR, Stan. Janice, go ahead and push the atropine now. It’s the purple box.” Ron checked the chest as he continued to squeeze the bag. Good equal rise and fall still. Little harder than a minute ago, but that could just be his adrenaline pumping. He bagged some more as Janice pushed the atropine. The monitor showed rhythmic spikes that were off the capacity of the screen. He waited to see a change as the drugs made their way to the heart. He made a note of the time and forced himself to wait a full minute while Stan broke out in a sweat. CPR was hard work.

  “Stop for a sec, Stan.” Stan collapsed back onto the bench seat and looked at the monitor screen. Janice craned her head in an attempt to see, but the moving ambulance stopped her. She gave up and watched the chief pull the shirt out of his belt and wipe the sweat from his face. Ron changed the lead selection on the monitor, but found the same thing in all three.

  “Still flat, back on the chest. Janice, check the clock and push another epi and atropine in one minute.”

  “Got it.” She deftly snagged the IV line out of the air and held it between her knees as she opened another box. Stan picked up the rhythm again on the chest. Sweat was already dripping off his brow onto the patient.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  Ron shook his head. “Not sure, but my guess is he nicked something and he’s bleeding out somewhere. Chest rise is okay, so I’m not sure where it’s going. Abdomen maybe? Hard to tell since he’s so fat. Soon as she gets that round in, I’ll try pacing him.”

  “Okay, getting a pulse with this?”

  Ron placed his fingers at the neck again.

  “Fainter.” He looked up at the bag. The drip chamber no longer showed a steady stream, the flow was now slower. It should be faster with the CPR. What the hell was going on?

  —FIFTY—

  The state of Wyoming holds 1,872 inmates in its prisons.

  Approximately 1,254 are repeat offenders.

  It had taken every ounce of self control Jack had to not fire on Sam through the sheet metal partition. Sam had given him enough time to see the angle of the shot, and he’d determined that the window was the only thing in the way just as Sam had fired. The woman’s scream and the orders from Sam had Jack confused. Why was he stopping the train here? He had to know that they had police all around. Was he just choosing the time and place? Trying to stay in control as long as possible?

  The train became very quiet as it came to a full stop. The sounds of the helicopters overhead were distinctive, and Jack was blinded by the occasional spotlight sweeping across the car. Fortunately, the lights stayed on inside the train and made them visible to the outside. He looked out the right side, only to see the vague outline of buildings and a few lights. Most was lost in the reflection of the interior of the car off the glass. He returned his gaze to the front of the car to see Sam still sitting quietly in the bench seat. The khaki clad knees and leather office shoes protruded from behind the partition. The silence was deafening.

  “Sam?”

  “I’m here, Jack.”

  “I’m sorry about Sara and Katie. I was out of the country, or I’d have been there.”

  “It’s okay, Jack. I’m sorry too.”

  “You wanna get some coffee and talk about it?”

  Sam grinned to himself. “No, I’m good right here.”

  Jack’s mind raced for something to say. This was his friend. Why was this so hard?

  “Paulie’s in the Marine Barracks at Quantico. I didn’
t want anything to happen to him.”

  “I appreciate that, Jack.”

  Another long pause. They both listened as the helicopters circled. The lights from some news cameras could be seen on a nearby bridge. Sam broke the silence.

  “When did you know it was me?”

  “I thought of you when I saw the Ping shoot. The range and elevation was the killer. But the check on all ex-military snipers was delayed. I should have known better.”

  “Yeah, that was a hell of a shot. Is the cop okay? Didn’t mean to do that.”

  “On a desk for a few weeks, then he’ll be back at it. Just like the army, remember?”

  “Motrin, light duty?” Sam stated.

  “Yeah, the cure-all.”

  They sat through another awkward pause. Jack felt for the radio before remembering it was gone. What now? The HRT team had to be in place by now. Jack shifted his position so the letters on the back of his jacket were easily visible. Keep him talking.

  “I talked to your doctor. Says you could still have a chance if you start treatment again.”

  “Yeah...”

  “Seemed like a nice guy. Spoke well of you,” Jack added.

  “Yeah...good guy.”

  “Sam, lemme take you out of here. They’ll put you in a nice federal country-club prison with a hospital. You can fight the cancer.”

  Sam smiled at his friend’s attempt to talk him out. “You need one of your fancy negotiators, Jack, you suck at this.” He laughed.

  “You think?” Jack couldn’t help but laugh with him. He was right. The more he laughed the funnier it got, until they were both laughing loud and hard.

  * * *

  The sound of the laughter coming from the speaker made everyone in the room stop and listen.

  “What the hell is going on?” Sydney asked the room.

  “Sierra Three, are you in position?” Greg was busy surrounding the train with HRT members. A blown-up map of the area hit the table and two agents ticked off the positions of the team surrounding the train. Sydney didn’t get an answer to her question.

  “I can only hear the guy he’s talking to,” Eric offered in a whisper. “Can you make any more out?”

  “No.” She bit her lip and pouted at the overhead TV screen. Smaller than the one downstairs, she was having trouble seeing any details. Another one was carried in and set on the table. A green-tinted picture of the train could be seen.

  The radio squawked. “Sierra Three in position. You should have our picture. We are camera-right with a clear view from the east. I can make out both parties.”

  Sydney took a step toward the phone in an effort to hear better, but was blocked by a passing agent toting a sub-machine gun. She let him pass before striding purposefully into the gap, snatching the phone off the cradle and holding it to her ear. She glared at the agent across the table, who wisely closed his mouth and looked at his boss.

  Greg just shook his head at the agent and waved him back to work. He keyed the mic to talk to Sierra Three. “Roger Sierra Three, do you have a clear shot?”

  “Affirmative, all three parties.”

  Greg held up a hand to silence Sydney before she could protest. “Understand Sierra Three. Be advised that one of the parties is FBI, and one is the driver of the train, a civilian. Acknowledge.”

  “I copy. One agent, one civilian. I can clearly see the driver. Black female. Thirties. Seated behind the wheel in the forward compartment. One white male, seated with his back to me. Blond hair, dark coat. Approximately three feet to the rear of the first party. Third party is white male, standing, black hair, dark jacket, handgun drawn. He’s standing about six feet from the back of the car facing forward. He’s turning. Subject is wearing an FBI jacket. That our boy?”

  “Affirm. Your target is the man seated in the dark coat. Basic rules of engagement apply. Do not fire unless you see a hostile threat. We have audio on the car. We’re going to give Jack a chance to bring him out. All teams acknowledge.”

  “Sierra Three, we copy.”

  “Sierra Two, west side of the train. We copy.”

  “Sierra Four, airborne, we copy.”

  Greg tossed the radio down in disgust. Now he had a bona fide hostage situation, a trapped subject with two hostages and unknown firearms. A fugitive on the run was dangerous enough. Once they were cornered, the danger only multiplied. And this man was a professional. That could work both ways. Most pros in this business knew when they were beat. What bothered Greg was the cancer bit. If this guy had nothing to lose, this could get ugly.

  “What are they saying?” he asked Sydney.

  She pulled the finger from her other ear before replying, “I’m not sure. Some talk about some friends. Ft. Bragg. Still a lot of laughing. I...I don’t know.” She replaced the finger and continued to listen.

  Greg watched it all on the TV. He was more than happy to let them talk all night if they wanted. Nobody was going anywhere. He looked over his shoulder at Eric.

  “Did you have something to show me, son?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve got his laptop here. We’ve been cracking it for the last half-a-day, and just a few minutes ago we found this letter written to Jack.” He laid the laptop down on the map and began pounding the keyboard.

  “Sir?” One of the agents working the map.

  “Yeah?” Greg answered.

  “If they have a clean shot, why are we waiting? This guy already shot the senator.”

  “One, are you sure it was him? Two, I pulled his file. His name is in the author section of your sniper handbook. Call it professional courtesy if you like, but I’ll give Jack a chance before I greenlight taking him down. He knows we have him. We wait,” Greg answered.

  “Here it is. You better read it.” Eric slid the laptop around so Greg could see it.

  With a last look at the TV, Greg leaned in and began reading.

  * * *

  “Epi and Atropine are in!” Janice announced.

  “Okay, get ready to do it again.” Ron turned the dials on the monitor. “Stop for a minute, Stan,” he added.

  The screen went back to flatline as Stan stopped chest compressions. Ron watched for a moment as he continued to bag. No change, the line remained flat.

  “I’m gonna try pacing him, guys. Janice, he’s gonna start twitching. It’s okay to touch him and the IV. You won’t get shocked. Understand?” Ron set the rate for 80 before turning on the pacer. He quickly dialed up to 140 milli-amps, the maximum output the monitor could deliver. No reason to mess around. He’d “go big or go home,” as they liked to say.

  He glanced at Janice to see her watching the senator’s body jump in rhythm on the stretcher. Stan had a couple of fingers at the neck. He looked at the screen and saw that he had electrical capture. Now if only the heart would follow.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  “Nothing here,” Stan said with a shake of his head.

  Ron stared at the screen, hoping to see the signs that the heart was being stimulated by the repeated shocks he was giving it. No luck. All he saw were the pacer spikes.

  “Damn it.” He shut the pacer off and returned the screen to its regular mode. “Back on the chest.” What was he missing? He looked at the IV, it was much slower now.

  “How hard is it to push?” he asked Stan. “I mean, is it harder than when you started?”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah, his chest feels stiffer.”

  “Keep going,” Ron instructed. He stopped bagging long enough to reach over and turn the three-way stopcock that he had inserted in the lower chest wall. He got a little blood, but not much.

  “How about now?”

  “No change,” Stan replied.

  “Janice, take the bag.” Ron let go of the bag as she grabbed it and reached over the monitor for the IV tray.

  “What are you thinking now?” Stan asked.

  “Tamponade.”

  “Tampon-what?”

  “Tamponade. Blood around the heart. I�
�ve gotta get it out, it’s squeezing the heart, not letting it beat. Janice, switch with me.” Ron stuck a 60cc syringe in his mouth, before grabbing the overhead rail and stepping over the senator’s head. He flopped down in the seat and pulled the syringe from his teeth. He placed an 18-gauge spinal needle on the syringe and held it in his right hand. With his left, he felt the senator’s chest for the xyphoid process at the bottom of the sternum. When he found it, he stuck his thumb in the spot. His pinky went on the left nipple. He swabbed the area next to his thumb with Betadine.

  “How’s the road look?”

  “We’re gonna stop in just a second. Traffic at the light,” Stan said after looking out the windshield.

  “Don’t stop bagging,” he told Janice. He got a nod in reply.

  When he felt the brakes engage, he lined up the needle and plunged it into the chest next to his thumb. He had it aimed right at his pinky finger, and advanced it an inch or so before applying negative pressure to the syringe as he advanced. Feeling an increase in resistance, he added pressure to push through. A splash of bright red blood entered the syringe and he stopped advancing. Being careful not to yank the needle in or out, Ron pulled until he had passed the 30cc mark. He glanced at the IV chamber and saw the rate increase. He continued to draw until the syringe had a full 60cc of blood in it. Stan’s hand grabbed his shoulder to steady him as Danielle wheeled through the traffic. At this point, he pulled the needle from the chest and tossed it in the sharps container.

  “Wow,” was all Janice could offer.

  “Back on the chest. Switch with me.” Stan and Janice moved quickly to comply and Ron was soon in front of the monitor again. He turned the dials to engage the pacer.

  “Pacing again. Janice, another epi please.”

  The senator’s body began the rhythmic jerking as it had before, and this time Ron was rewarded with the signs of both electrical and mechanical capture.