The Adamas Blueprint

by Boyd Morrison

  “What do we do?” Kevin asked.

  “We can’t do anything. Just get to the hospital.”

  Murray continued to gulp for air, clutching his chest. As the truck sailed through a green light doing seventy, Kevin spotted a blue sign with a large capital H. Below it, another blue sign said two miles.

  * * *

  Dr. Jake Hammersmith studied the board, looking to see who could be admitted to make more room in Community North’s ER. In his new position as chief resident, he had to make the tough decisions. Maybe he could get Neurology to take the head trauma in room 3. It was really a toss-up; the man was babbling about miniature robots living in his brain, but Psych had already said they wouldn’t take him without insurance. Maybe if…

  The ER door burst open and a man ran in, skidding to a halt in front of Jake. The man was covered in blood.

  “I need help!”

  “It’ll be okay,” Jake said as examined him for wounds. “What happened to you.”

  “Not me! My dad! He’s outside! Come on!” The man ran toward the door, waving for Jake to follow.

  “Peter!” Jake yelled. “Get a gurney outside, stat!”

  He ran outside with the man. Peter was right behind him with the gurney.

  A huge dualie was parked with the driver’s side next to the ER door. “What happened?” Jake said as he climbed into the truck.

  A woman in the passenger seat had her arms around a large man who was unconscious. Both were soaked with blood.

  “At least one gunshot wound to his chest,” the woman said. “He’s lost over two pints of blood. Possible hemothorax.”

  “How about you two?” Jake said.

  “It’s his blood,” she said. “We’re fine.”

  Jake removed the bundle of torn clothing the woman had been using as a compress. He tore away the man’s shirt and inspected the wound. “You a doctor?” he asked the woman.

  “Not yet. Just started my fourth year at South Texas.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Erica.” She pointed at her male companion. “This is the patient’s son, Kevin.”

  Jake didn’t waste time with formalities. “Kevin, is he on any medications?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s possible,” said Erica. “He has lung cancer.”

  Kevin’s eyes widened. “What? How do you know that?”

  Before she could answer, Jake said, “Kevin, what’s your father’s name?”

  “Murray.”

  Jake lightly slapped Murray’s face. “Murray, can you hear me?”

  Murray nodded groggily, still struggling for air. Then he passed out again.

  They carried Murray from the truck and placed him on the gurney. Jake kept pressure on the wound, knowing it wasn’t going to do much more than keep the gurney clean.

  In seconds, they burst into the trauma room. Kevin started to follow them in. Jake was about to ask him to leave when Erica pulled him outside.

  “They’ll take care of him,” he heard her say. “We’ll just be in the way.”

  An orderly moved the portable curtained partition so the trauma scene couldn’t be viewed from the hall. Still, Jake knew that Kevin and Erica would be able to hear the commotion.

  “On my count!” he said. “One, two, three!” They lifted Murray onto the trauma table, and the five doctors and nurses in the room were on him immediately, starting IVs, hooking him up to instruments, and intubating him.

  Jake put the stethoscope to Murray’s chest listening for breath sounds. The med student was right about the hemothorax. Breath sounds were present on the right, absent on the left. Blood filling the chest cavity on Murray’s left was not letting his lung inflate.

  “I need a chest tube,” Jake said. He kept talking while he inserted the chest tube. “Call the OR. Get a surgeon and a perfusionist ready.”

  Once Jake had the tube in, blood came out in a torrent. For a moment, it seemed to subside but then it resumed.

  “I’m losing the pulse,” one of the nurses said. “BP 60 over 40.”

  “Tamponade?” the intern said.

  “Let’s find out!” Jake said. “Where’s the pericardiocentesis tray?” If the bullet had nicked one of the coronary arteries, the pericardial sac would be filling with blood, resulting in cardiac arrest.

  Jake eased a needle into the pericardial sac and withdrew the plunger. It filled with blood immediately. “Good call,” Jake said to the intern. The pressure of the blood on the heart wasn’t letting it pump. Jake continued to remove the blood. “Where’s Kirk?” Kirk Mannheim was the surgical resident on call.

  “I paged him a minute ago, Dr. Hammersmith. Haven’t seen him.”

  “No pulse,” said a nurse.

  “Damn!” Jake said. “Start CPR. Give me an amp of epi. And get the paddles over here.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, they continued to attempt resuscitation, but the blood loss had been too great. After listening for a heartbeat for the required 60 seconds, Jake had to call it. Time of death was 7:41 PM.

  Jake threw his scrubs away and went to break the news to Murray’s son. He was surprised to see that Kevin and Erica weren’t still standing on the other side of the partition. He went to the waiting area, but they weren’t there either.

  Jake stopped one of the orderlies.

  “Did you see where this guy’s son and the med student went?”

  “I think so. They went outside five minutes ago.” The orderly pointed at the ER loading doors.

  Jake walked out onto the ambulance platform, thinking that he would see them smoking a cigarette or crying on the truck’s tailgate. He looked around for a minute, but the dualie was gone. They were nowhere to be seen.

  It wasn’t until an hour later when the police came to investigate the shooting that Jake realized Kevin and Erica weren’t coming back.

  CHAPTER 24

  Soft lighting bathed the Houston Grill dining room as white-gloved waiters flitted around the room like bees tending the hive. The private dinner club was unusually crowded for a Monday evening due to an oil convention in town for the week. Executives found it a convenient way to elegantly entertain guests while charging it to their companies’ tab and taking the full allowable tax deduction. Many of the groups would later head to one of the numerous “gentlemen’s clubs” on Houston’s west side for further tax-deductible entertainment.

  Clayton Tarnwell not only found the gentlemen’s clubs-actually high-class strip joints-to be useful for convincing business associates to partner with Tarnwell Mining and Chemical, but they were also a frequent source of his overnight companionship. The dinner club was adequate, but Tarnwell was not a gourmet. All he needed was a good steak, which he had finished twenty minutes ago. Since then, all he had been thinking about was getting on with the evening’s entertainment.

  Milton Senders, the only one Tarnwell had invited from his company, knew about Tarnwell’s eagerness to get to the gentlemen’s club, so he hadn’t ordered dessert. Unfortunately, the three executives from Forrestal Chemical ate with infuriating leisure, lingering over Bananas Foster and their third bottle of Dom Perignon ‘57.

  Eight days, Tarnwell thought, suppressing what would have been an out of place smile. Eight days from now, Clayton Tarnwell would be making his speech to the stockholders of both Tarnwell Mining and Chemical and Forrestal to praise the synergy the two companies brought to the merger. A speech in which he was to announce a revolutionary new process that would take advantage of each of the companies’ skills and make billions of dollars. Of course, he wouldn’t mention that it would also make him one of the wealthiest men on the face of the earth. His skin began to tingle at the thought.

  Tarnwell suggested they continue the celebration of the merger at Ladies Inc., his favorite club. Diedre and Pauline were supposed to be working tonight, and he couldn’t resist thinking about how willing and adept they had been the last time he’d had them over to his River Oaks mansion.

  As T
arnwell got up from the table, the thoughts of the girls vanished, as did his anticipatory tingling. David Lobec stood waiting for him in the lobby. As usual, Lobec’s expression conveyed nothing about the success or failure of the operation.

  “Gentlemen, I have to take care of some other business for a few minutes. Mr. Senders will escort you in my limo to our next destination. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

  Tarnwell walked the three staggering Forrestal executives and Senders to the elevator. When they were safely on, Tarnwell headed for the stairwell, followed closely by Lobec.

  When they got to the third floor, Lobec said, “This way,” and went through the door to the parking garage.

  After entering the relative security of Lobec’s new Pontiac, Tarnwell got his first close-up view of him. A thin bandage stretched across Lobec’s nose, which seemed swollen, and an ugly blue and green bruise circled his left eye.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Tarnwell said.

  “Which club?”

  “Ladies.”

  Lobec put the car in gear and drove toward the exit. “Mr. Hamilton is proving more troublesome than we had anticipated.”

  “You mean, this Hamilton kid’s father did this to you?”

  “Yes, but I was referring to Kevin Hamilton. He was in Dallas today.”

  Tarnwell tensed. “Tell me you got him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “At least tell me you got Adamas.”

  Lobec shook his head.

  “Goddammit! Did you even see Kevin Hamilton?”

  “En route to Dallas, I received a call…”

  “Answer my question.”

  Lobec sighed. “Yes, I did.”

  “All right,” Tarnwell said. “See how easy that was. Now tell me how you found him.”

  Lobec logically stepped through the events leading up to his confrontation with the Hamiltons and the Jensen girl. When he got to the part about Murray Hamilton ramming the Taurus, Tarnwell exploded.

  “You mean, you let them get away because you got snuck up from behind?”

  Lobec looked slightly embarrassed, an expression Tarnwell had never seen on Lobec before. He definitely liked it.

  “Although I was concentrating on the two students, I should never have let that happen. It was raining heavily, and neither Mr. Bern nor I could hear his truck approach. I realized only later that Mr. Hamilton must have spotted our Dallas operative, Mr. Vincent, as he drove past. I believe Mr. Vincent was not careful while following Mr. Hamilton. He was parked much too close to the building where we found Kevin Hamilton. I suppose the elder Hamilton spotted Mr. Vincent and became suspicious because he was watching the LuminOptics building and speaking on a cellular phone. After Mr. Vincent left, he must have seen us pursue Kevin Hamilton and Miss Jensen across the parking lot.”

  “You’ve taken care of that idiot Vincent, I assume.”

  “Yes, I have,” Lobec said. Tarnwell knew that meant Vincent was now dead for not only failing Lobec, but allowing Lobec to get injured because of it.

  “So then what?”

  After detailing the shootout, Lobec said, “It was not until this evening that I learned of Kevin Hamilton’s record of marksmanship in high school. He was very efficient in disabling our car.”

  “Did you hit any of them?”

  “Murray Hamilton was driving the pickup and was the easiest shot. I suspected at the time that we had hit him because the truck was steered into a ditch.”

  “You checked the hospitals?”

  “Of course. Murray Hamilton was brought to Community Hospital North and died of a gunshot wound to the chest this afternoon. Kevin Hamilton and Miss Jensen left before they could be questioned by the police.”

  “And we have no idea where they are now.” It was a statement rather than a question since Lobec was now here instead of out searching for them.

  “That is correct.”

  Tarnwell threw his hands up in disgust. “Well, you just fucked this up all the way around, haven’t you?”

  “Failure is not something I prize.”

  “What now?”

  “We continue our operation as planned. We’ve tapped both of their phones in case they try to retrieve messages from their answering machines. Their known friends are under surveillance, and we are still searching for other people with whom they may seek refuge. Tomorrow I will return to LuminOptics and determine why they were there.”

  “Have you questioned their friends?”

  “We have discreetly attempted to find out if they have knowledge of Mr. Hamilton and Miss Jensen’s whereabouts, but we did not want to raise undue suspicion. I believe that the lower profile we maintain, the better.”

  “There’s no time for that. Question all of them. I want you to see to it personally. Tell them you’re the police and that their friends are wanted for questioning. Something like that. I really don’t care. But we need to find them now. If I don’t have the formula for that process by next week, I’m ruined.”

  “In the long run, it is best that we try to be as discreet as possible. If for some reason I am connected to them, it may prove difficult to explain, particularly since I am an employee of yours.”

  “I said I don’t care. That’s your problem. We have to find them.”

  Lobec continued to protest. “In addition, our resources could be applied better elsewhere…”

  Tarnwell banged on the Pontiac’s dashboard. “Maybe I’ve been sending the wrong message to you, David. This is not a partnership. You do what I say. As my chief of security, you can give your advice, once. I’ll listen. But I am the boss. I make the decision. Is that perfectly clear?”

  “Of course, Mr. Tarnwell.” Lobec pulled to a stop inside the Ladies Inc. car port, which glittered with light. Porsches and Mercedes lined the most visible valet parking spots.

  A doorman opened Tarnwell’s door and welcomed him by name. Tarnwell didn’t acknowledge the man or get out.

  “David, I bought you because you produce results. Therefore, I expect results. You’re too much of a professional for all of these excuses. In fact, you should feel a little degraded.”

  Another embarrassed look from Lobec, but this time almost controlled. Tarnwell smiled inwardly.

  “You can be assured,” Lobec said, “that Mr. Hamilton and Adamas will not elude me again.”

  Tarnwell clapped him on the shoulder. “You sure know how to sweet talk me.” He unfolded his towering frame from the Pontiac and saw the posters advertising this week’s main attraction, a nightly performance by Diedre and Pauline. Even though Adamas wasn’t in the bag, at least he had something to look forward to. Again, Tarnwell felt an overwhelming urge to smile. This time, he did.

  CHAPTER 25

  Erica turned up the truck’s fan, hoping to speed up the evaporation of water from the truck’s upholstery. The first thing she and Kevin had done after leaving the hospital was to head for a self-service car wash and spray the blood out of the interior with a high pressure hose. Even though they had vacuumed up most of the water, and after 18 hours of drying, the seats were still squishy.

  Since the car wash, they had been driving toward Ted Ishio’s house in Blacksburg, Virginia, stopping only to gas up the thirsty Chevy pickup. Most of the drive had been spent with one of them driving while the other slept. It was Erica’s turn at the wheel now, and Kevin dozed, his head against a pillow they had bought for the trip. Meals consisted of fast food sandwiches, fries, and soft drinks dispensed from drive-through windows. Erica grew tired of the greasy fare, but like Kevin, she wanted to put as much mileage between them and Texas as they could. The prospect of getting a more balanced meal at Ted and Janice Ishio’s home almost made her drool.

  As they crossed the border from Tennessee into Virginia, a sign on I-81 indicated only 105 miles to Roanoke. Kevin had told her earlier that Blacksburg was about 45 minutes southwest of Roanoke. Out of their 16 hour trip, they had about an hour and half to go.

  Erica looke
d at the fuel gauge. The 30-gallon tank was still half full; she’d be able to drive the rest of the way there easily.

  She didn’t want to disturb Kevin, who had been unusually silent during the parts of the trip when they’d both been awake. His silence was beginning to worry her because she didn’t know how to gauge his reaction to his father’s death. She had spent more time with him in the last four days than anyone else since her ex, and in that time they had become quite close. Even when they had been hiding out on Sunday, they had laughed a lot, telling jokes to pass the time. Now he was withdrawn, retreating from her contact.

  Which made her wonder about something else. Why he hadn’t tried to make a pass at her during one of the motel stays? Lord knows, she’d given him enough opportunity. Maybe she was being too subtle, although in med school she had never been accused of that. She finally decided that he really was just being a gentleman, and that if the situation arose again, she’d have to make her intentions clear.

  A semi came up fast behind them, moving into the passing lane. The minivan in front of it wouldn’t yield, and the truck blasted its air horn. Kevin jerked. In one fluid motion, he opened the glove compartment with his left hand and plucked the pistol from its interior with his right. He looked around wild-eyed, ready to shoot.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  “It’s okay! It’s just a truck. Put that away before you shoot me by mistake.”

  He calmed almost immediately, sitting back in his seat. “I was dreaming about Barnett and his friend. They began shooting at us. I had the pistol in my hand, but I couldn’t raise it fast enough to shoot back. It just moved inch by inch. It was taking forever. I was so…frustrated. I didn’t know what else to do. All I could do was look at my damn hand not responding.”

  She patted his knee, not knowing what to say.

  “I want you to learn how to use this,” Kevin said.

  Erica was taken aback. “I couldn’t…”