Michael Palmer

by The Last Surgeon

  “I’ll find you, Doctor. And I’m going to make you watch what I do to your pretty girlfriend. You hear me? I’m going to make you watch!”

  Nick breathed fresh air using a rotted-out hole in the trunk. He could hide out inside the log, but hypothermia was now a serious concern. Nick closed his eyes. He listened. Then he waited.

  Thirty minutes was probably too long to survive in this cold. There had been no sign of Koller for at least the last ten. Nick shivered violently. He had to move soon, before his body began to shut down permanently. Another five minutes and he slipped out the other end of the log. He floated with the current, praying that Koller had abandoned the search. The water slowed considerably. After another ten minutes, virtually helpless and barely conscious, he saw the lights of passing traffic.

  It took every bit of his will and remaining strength to crawl toward them.

  Waving his arms on the side of the road, he watched with growing dismay as car after car zoomed past.

  Why aren’t they stopping?

  His teeth continued snapping together like a jackhammer.

  Please, stop! I’m in trouble!

  Every muscle in his body ached. He no longer had the strength to stand. Suddenly a Ford pickup truck slowed and then pulled to a stop in front of him. Responding to a burst of adrenaline, Nick rose and ran over to the truck. The old man behind the wheel sized him up.

  “You okay, son?” the man asked.

  “I . . . could use a blanket and a ride,” Nick said, through chattering teeth. “But first, do you have a phone I can borrow? It’s very urgent.”

  The man considered the request, then tossed Nick a blanket he fished out from behind his seat, and handed Nick a cell phone.

  Jillian was probably in Koller’s control. But he could still reach Junie. With his hands shaking, he could barely dial her number. On the third ring, he gratefully heard his call being answered.

  “Thank God you’re there,” he said, not even waiting for her to say hello. “Junie, we’ve got big trouble.”

  “That we do,” Koller’s voice responded over Junie’s phone. “Big trouble indeed.”

  CHAPTER 47

  “Goddamn you, Koller! If you’ve hurt Junie, I swear . . .”

  “Zip it, Doc. I’m nowhere near the woman. But obviously, I had calls to her cell forwarded to me, so I do know where she is. She’s unharmed . . . for the moment at least.”

  “The RV has scheduled stops all over Baltimore and D.C. Police will be looking for her when it doesn’t show.”

  “Actually, the whole evening’s been canceled already. Dr. Saunders, that’s who’s listed for tonight in the log book, knows all about the mechanical problems you’re having with the RV. In fact, you yourself told her—at least she thinks it was you. As we speak, that woman is visiting each stop to break the bad news to your patients.”

  “This isn’t over, Koller. Not by a long shot.”

  Nick could no longer tell if he was shaking from cold or rage. The old man, as easygoing as his faded denim jeans and button-down cowboy shirt, sat patiently in the front seat of his pickup, keeping a watchful eye on his cell phone and Nick through the open passenger door.

  “You know something,” Koller replied. “I sort of wish that were true.”

  “Believe me. It is.”

  “No. It is over, Doc. And you’ve lost. You just don’t realize it yet. But I must confess, you’ve impressed me.”

  “I hurt you, too. A big hurt. And I’m going to do it again. Next time it’ll be a hammer to the mouth. I have a score to settle with Ramsland, too.”

  “Now, don’t you start naming names there, Nicky. Or whoever’s phone you’ve borrowed will be none too pleased to have helped you out.”

  “This is between you and me, Koller.”

  “You bet it’s between you and me. Do you know how many contracts I’ve executed in my career?”

  “I know what you did to Saul and Noreen. Belle Coates too.”

  “The answer is, I’ve lost count. But suffice it to say, it’s an impressive number. And do you know how many of those marks have managed to hurt me?”

  “A monster like you has no feelings.”

  “Oh, wrong again, Doc. I have plenty of feelings. The point I’m making here is that after all those people I’ve taken out, you’d think at least a couple of them would have left a scratch or two behind. But there you’d be wrong. Turns out you’re the first to, how should I put it, nail Franz in any way. For that I commend you.”

  “Where is Junie? Do you have Jillian too? Tell me, you bastard!”

  The old man slid across the cab and poked his head out after hearing the commotion.

  “Everything all right out there? I’m afraid you have to be moving on before long. My daughter’s got dinner waitin’.”

  “Tell whoever that is you’ll only be a minute,” Koller instructed. “You and me have some business we need to discuss.”

  “Everything is okay, sir. Thank you. Just another minute and I should be all set.”

  “No worries, son,” said the man. “At my age, time is something I might not have in bulk, but I got no trouble giving away.”

  “Now, Nick,” Koller said, “I want to offer you a deal.”

  “No deals.”

  “Really? Even when I have something precious that you want? Two things, as a matter of fact. And you have a couple things that I very much want, too.”

  “Which are?”

  “The DVD . . . and your life.”

  “You won’t get either.”

  “I think I will. Let’s get down to business, shall we, because you don’t have much time.”

  “Nobody else dies, Koller. I won’t let it happen.”

  “I’m afraid that’s an option that is well out of your control. It’s not if you’re going to die, Doctor, or your two friends . . . it’s how.”

  At Koller’s words, much of Nick’s bravado faded.

  “What are you saying?”

  “Give yourself over to me, the last DVD, too, and I promise that when I kill you and the ladies, it will be instant and painless. A single shot to the base of the skull. Oblivion in an instant. You won’t even know what hit you. But should you refuse me, should you give me any further trouble, I will torture Ms. Coates and Ms. Wright in ways so horrible you couldn’t possibly imagine. And I’ll enjoy it. I always do. Then I’ll burn them alive, Nicky. But I’ll take my sweet time doing it. Piece by piece until they’re nothing but cinders. That bus of yours will be their incinerator.”

  Clearly, Koller was relishing the description.

  Nick began to shake. “You wouldn’t dare,” he managed, with no authority whatsoever.

  “You’re a doctor. You know the degree of pain I’m talking about. And the ladies’ miserable, agonizing deaths will be on your head, too. I’ll make sure you have souvenir photos of the aftermath and give you ample time to think about what you did to them before I do something similarly creative to you.”

  Nick froze at the words. Tears of helplessness and sheer anger blurred his vision.

  This isn’t happening. No, not like this.

  Nick’s index finger hovered just above the phone’s red-lettered End button, but he could not bring himself to disconnect the call. His mind was filled with the imagery and hideous screams of Jillian’s and Junie’s horrifying final moments. He pictured their blackened bodies in some landfill. He smelled their deaths.

  “This offer has a limited shelf life, Doc. You know how Belle Coates died. I cut her a similar deal. A painless, peaceful end for her, and in exchange, sister Jillian got to live. I’m a man of my word. That you should know by now.”

  Nick was hesitating, stalling as best he could, desperate for the sudden brilliant flash of an idea. Each turn in the maze led quickly to another dead end. Beaten, he bowed his head.

  “The location of the DVD only after I know for certain that nobody suff ers. I have to see their deaths for myself. I can handle it so long as I know mine is n
ext.”

  It was Koller’s turn to think.

  “My, my,” he said. “You are a source of constant surprises. I can always torture the information from you if you try and hold out on me. Okay, it’s a deal. You get to watch, I get the disc.”

  Nick found it strange, but he believed Koller would keep his word. There were aspects of the monster that he had come to understand, including a twisted code of keeping his word, testified to by Jillian’s continued presence on the planet. What other option did Nick have? At least if he gave himself up, Jillian and Junie would be safe a while longer. Meanwhile, he would spend every moment searching for an opening. And in the end, if there was any chance, however small, of defeating Koller before he killed the women, he would take it.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “Give the phone back to the man you borrowed it from. Allow me to speak with him.”

  Trembling, Nick handed the old man back his phone. Exhaustion, his wounds, and the battering his body had absorbed had him bracing himself on the front seat to remain upright.

  “He wants to talk to you,” he said.

  “Who is it?” the man asked.

  “Better if you don’t know. But I really need you to talk to him.”

  The man pressed the cell to his ear.

  “Yes? . . . That would be exit thirteen, sir. . . . Yes, I can do that. . . . Okay, two and a half minutes, then. . . . Yes, I understand.”

  Nick could feel panic tightening his throat.

  “What did he say?” he asked.

  “I have two minutes and thirty seconds to get you down the highway and to drop you off at exit thirteen, or the deal’s off. That’s what he said.”

  Nick leaped into the truck’s cab.

  “Drive! Please drive! Two people’s lives are at stake.”

  “Anything I can—?”

  “Nothing! Just drive and drop me off, and then get as far away as possible.”

  The old man’s weathered face blanched and he hit the gas pedal before Nick had even closed the door. His tires squealed on the wet pavement and the pickup skidded into oncoming traffic, nearly broadsiding a minivan.

  “We got two minutes, but the exit ain’t that far. What sort of trouble are you in, son?”

  “I’m dealing with a very bad, sick, dangerous man. It won’t concern you as soon as I’m gone, but take this card.” Nick worked his sodden wallet from his back pocket and fished out Don Reese’s limp business card. “When you’re far enough away, and I mean several miles down the road, call this man. He’s a detective. Tell him that Nick’s been taken somewhere. Leave a message if you get his voice mail.”

  “Nick’s been taken. That all?”

  “The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”

  As it is he’s probably going to get a look at your license plate number.

  Nick set Reese’s business card on the truck’s dash.

  “We got a minute and a half,” the man said. “I ain’t got no wife anymore. Died some years back. Nowadays, I live for fixing up old trucks, driving new ones, and watching NASCAR with the boys. But I sure wish I could help you out more.”

  “That makes two of us,” Nick said.

  “Almost thirty seconds to spare.”

  “Nice going. I really appreciate it.”

  The man pulled the truck off the highway just past the exit thirteen cutoff. They peered out through the rain-dotted windows for another vehicle, but saw none that were parked.

  “Doesn’t seem to be anybody here,” the old man said.

  Suddenly, the driver’s side door flew open as if blown by the wind. Koller leaped inside, shoving the driver over as if he were a doll, sandwiching him between himself and Nick. Then, without uttering a word, Koller grabbed the man’s head between his hands, and in a single, powerful twist, snapped his neck with a sickening crack of bone. The cab instantly filled with a foul stench as his bowels and bladder let go.

  “You fucking bastard!” Nick screamed.

  Koller leveled his gun on him.

  “Nothing you can do will save him now. But a deal’s a deal, Doc. And you just cut one with me you don’t want to go back on. That’s a promise.”

  With the dead man riding between them, Koller eased the truck into the flow of traffic. The rain was falling harder now.

  CHAPTER 48

  “If you light up in here, young man,” Junie said, “I promise you I’m going to throw up.”

  “Even with the door and windows open?”

  “You could cut the roof off this bus with a giant can opener and I’d still vomit. It’s like an allergy. A person smokes around me indoors, I throw up. Just go outside. You’ll be looking right at us through the windows while you give yourself cancer and emphysema and heart disease. But what you won’t be looking at, darlin’, is this old lady getting violently ill.”

  The guard, a handsome, well-built African-American man in his thirties, glanced about the RV, clearly pondering what problems could possibly arise from leaving the two women handcuff ed to the supports of the dining table while he smoked outside. Finally, he unfolded his six-foot frame from the passenger chair and stepped easily down to the dirt-covered floor of the barn.

  “I’ve seen you smoke, Junie,” Jillian whispered.

  “Only one a day. It’s a deal I made with Sam when we got married. I’ve never broken the deal, not once, but God, does that one Marlboro taste fine.”

  “Junie, we can’t just sit here waiting for them to kill us. We’ve got to do something.”

  “We’re not going to be as easy as I was when they hijacked the RV. The guy was already behind the curtain in the exam room, waiting for me when I left to go pick up Nick’s replacement for the night. Let’s vow right now we won’t go down without a fight.”

  “Any sense of where Nick might be?”

  “I’m worried, that’s for sure. But I’m also worried they might be using us to get at him.”

  “All the more reason to fight. The question is, how do we deal with an armed guard while we’re handcuff ed?”

  “You may not be able to tell yet, but I’m softening him up. I remind him of his mother.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I remind every man of his mother.”

  “What do we do after you’ve got him softened?”

  “I’m counting on you for that one, sweetie. You’re the psych nurse.” It had been five uncomfortable hours since Paul Regis, or whatever his name was, had led Jillian to his car on the pretext of getting some papers for her to sign. Over coffee, he had been charming, worldly, funny, and complimentary, even after she had told him she had met someone, and so she was totally unprepared when he grabbed her wrist and viciously twisted her arm behind her back. In almost the same movement, he shoved her facedown onto the passenger side floor, hoisted her into the car by her belt, and demanded she hold her hands together behind her back. By the time they arrived at the farm—somewhere north and west of D.C., she guessed—her forehead and one cheek were rubbed raw by the carpet.

  It was late afternoon when the car finally stopped and Regis opened the passenger’s side door. They were parked in a broad field, flat and verdant. Facing them, in parallel, were four large, weatherworn barns, the sort used for storing and curing tobacco. Some distance behind the barns was a small whitewashed house, but there was no farming equipment anywhere, and no corrals or other signs that livestock was about.

  Parked in front of the second barn from the right was a black pickup truck, and beside it was a man in dark slacks, sunglasses, and a white shirt, wearing a shoulder holster. It bothered Jillian greatly that Regis had made no attempt to keep her from viewing the setup or from gazing around. Apparently it didn’t matter to him what she saw because she wasn’t ever going to leave the place alive.

  At the second barn, Regis spoke briefly with the man on duty, turned her over to him, and left in something of a hurry. She was handcuffed and led through the side door into a surprisingly vast raftered space, two s
tories high, poorly lit by three widely spaced naked bulbs. There were dozens of boxes and crates of all sizes stacked along the walls, and a small Jeep parked at the rear. In the center of the barn, beneath one of the three hanging lights, was the Helping Hands Medical RV. She was devastated but not completely surprised to see Junie through the windows, sitting calmly at the table. A minute later, Jillian was sitting across from her, also handcuffed to the table leg.

  “Looks like he’s almost done with his smoke,” Jillian said. “Any ideas?”

  “I feel certain I can get out of these handcuffs, at least temporarily.”

  “How?”

  “No man wants to sit around and watch while an old lady wets herself. In fact, I’m not going to have to act very hard to convince him of that threat.”

  “What comes after that?”

  “Coffee,” Junie whispered urgently, as the guard stubbed out his butt and turned to mount the stairs.

  “I gotcha,” Jillian replied as the man settled back wearily into his seat.

  “Hey, thanks for doing your smoking out there,” Junie said.

  “No big deal.”

  “You really shouldn’t be doing that at all, you know.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  “My name’s June—Junie, everyone calls me. This here’s Jillian. We’re both nurses. We know about smoking.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “You got a name?”

  “Call me Butch.”

  “This can’t be much fun for you, Butch, holding two ladies prisoner like this.”

  “I do what I’m told.”

  “I have a son your age. He never did what he was told.”

  “That’s nice.”

  Jillian sensed that she was watching a master at work—a queen of swaying people to her point of view.

  “He’s a lawyer now—a public defender. You some kind of cop?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “I don’t know. Just something about the way you carry yourself. I been around for quite a while. I know people. For instance, I know that underneath that gruff exterior, you’re a good guy—sort of a John Wayne type. You got kids?”