The couple’s Army instincts kicked in. They moved down the muddy path in a steady, rhythmical pattern, scanning for potential threats.
“Getting closer,” said Alton. “Thirty yards now.”
“Look!” cried Mallory. “There in that shaded section.” She broke into a run.
Alton set off in an awkward trot. He jogged into the shadows of an organic tunnel and pulled up at the site of Delaney’s crumpled figure lying in a puddle of filth and blood.
“Shit!” Alton dropped to his knees besides the NSA supervisor. “Tell the Gooch to call an ambulance! And have him ask the lobby staff if they have a first-aid kit.”
Alton felt her pulse—rapid and weak. At least she was alive. The sources of blood loss weren’t hard to find. A trickle of blood seeped from a wound on Delaney’s forehead, while a raw cavity on her left side emitted a more serious crimson stream.
Alton pulled his tee-shirt over his head. He ripped off a sleeve and handed it to Mallory. “Put that on her forehead wound,” he said. “I’ll take care of the one on her side.” He balled up the rest of his shirt and pressed it into Delaney’s abdominal injury.
Mallory hit the speaker button on her cellphone. “Gooch! Delaney’s been attacked. We’re putting compression on her injuries, but she’s bleeding out. Tell the medics to hurry.”
Alton’s vision began to shift back to the Afghanistan desert of Gazib. Apparently he hadn’t completely conquered his PTSD. His mind scrabbled after a reality that seemed to be slipping out of reach. He remembered his counselor’s instructions. Pick out an object, and focus on it. Stay grounded in the present. Alton turned glazing eyes to Mallory. He examined her hands pressing the makeshift bandage onto Delaney’s forehead. He examined the crease of her brow. He listened to the directions she shouted to the Gooch.
Alton’s concentration snapped back into focus. Once-muffled noises now sounded crisp and clear, and his vision contained no sign of arid landscapes from half-a-world away. He glanced at Delaney’s side. Despite constant pressure, blood continued to ooze out.
“How’s the head wound?” he asked. “Any more bleeding?”
“No, I think it’s stopped,” said Mallory. “The Gooch is leading the EMTs to us. They’re almost here.”
Alton pressed two fingers to the carotid artery on Delaney’s neck. God—had her heart stopped? No, there was her pulse—weaker, faster, but still struggling along. “Tell them to hurry. I don’t know how much longer she can hold on.”
CHAPTER 33
Alton limped across the floor of the clinic’s cramped lobby. He ran his fingers through his hair. Were there warning signs he should have picked up? Something to suggest Delaney’s attack?
Dr. Cordero, an ER surgeon, entered the lobby and made a beeline to the anxious knot of investigators.
“How is she?” asked Mallory.
“Agent Delaney lost a lot of blood,” she replied. “I’ve stabilized her blood pressure with saline and started a schedule of heavy-duty antibiotics, but her prognosis is still uncertain.”
“You mean she could die?” asked the Gooch.
“I’ll be honest with you. Yes, she could die. The amount of blood she lost would have already killed some people. Add to that the trauma of a concussion and a deep stab wound, plus the risk of an infection her body is too weak to fight off. She’ll need round-the-clock care and constant monitoring the next few weeks.”
Alton glanced around the small medical facility. A breeze blew through a pair of stained, open-air windows, and ancient grime framed the floor’s cracked tiles. “What you’re talking about is an ICU level of care,” he said. “No offense, but will you be able to provide that here?”
Cordero shook her head. “No, we are not equipped for that. Your manager will need to be evacuated to the mainland.”
“Or back to Washington,” said Alton. He turned to the Gooch. “We need to talk to Agent Vega.”
Thirty minutes later, the NSA team met with Captain Fuentes in his office. The police chief initiated a video conference with Agent Ernesto Vega, their Washington-based mission manager.
Alton summarized the details of the attack and Delaney’s fragile medical condition. “Dr. Cordero says Delaney needs to be in an ICU. I’d like to request an emergency transport back to Washington as soon as possible.”
“Will she survive the journey?” asked Vega.
“It’s iffy,” replied Alton, “but for sure she won’t survive here. Our best window of opportunity to get her to a proper facility is now, before any infections finish her off.”
“Okay. I’ll make arrangements as soon as we finish this call. In the meantime, we have a dilemma. We don’t have an on-site mission manager anymore.” He stopped to rub his chin. “Gooch, can you step in until we can get a replacement flown down?”
“With all due respect, sir,” replied the former Marine, “I’d suggest that Mr. Blackwell assume command of the mission. He’s worked the most with Agent Delaney on setting our mission goals and tactics. He’s the one who could solve this case the fastest.”
Vega rubbed his chin again, longer this time. “What do you think, Blackwell? Would you be willing to step in for now?”
“Agent Vega,” broke in the Gooch, “I recommend Mr. Blackwell oversee this mission until it’s complete, not just until we get a replacement. By the time we fly someone down here and get them up to speed, Summit could be gone for good.”
“So how about it, Blackwell?” asked Vega. “Care to see this mission through to completion?”
“It makes sense,” said Alton. “I agree with the Gooch: time is of the essence. Yeah, I’ll do it.”
“Good man. I need to run so I can order Delaney’s medevac. In the meantime, proceed with the team as you see fit. Let’s plan on a debriefing at noon today so you can get me up to speed on your progress.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Alton. He disconnected the call.
Mallory leaned in and murmured, “He couldn’t have picked a better leader.” Captain Fuentes must have overhead, for he nodded in agreement.
Alton smiled. “Now it’s time to justify his faith.”
“Wait a minute…Blackwell is the new mission leader?” asked Cragmire, dragging his attention away from his phone long enough to finally internalize the decision. “He’s not even a member of the NSA.”
“Give it a rest, Cragmire,” said the Gooch. “He’s a decorated Army Captain. If he could lead soldiers in Kabul, he can handle this team—even you.”
The comment took Alton aback. He hadn’t realized just how thoroughly the NSA team had been briefed on his background.
The Gooch looked at him and laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. I was stationed at Camp Eggers the same time as you.”
“You were?” asked Alton. “I didn’t realize we were in Afghanistan at the same time. I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”
“No sweat. I got there just a month or two before you left, but I heard about you.”
“What exactly did you hear?” asked Mallory, moving closer to her husband.
“I don’t think it matters—” began Alton.
“It does to me,” said Cragmire. “I want to know what kind of leader I’m stuck with.”
“He was pretty well known,” said the Gooch. “Stopped an attack on the camp’s rear wall by sniffing out an insurgent decoy message, saved civilians from a bomb outside the camp, figured out an Al-Qaeda plot to blow up soldiers traveling back from some bar. Yeah, the guys talked about him.”
Alton squirmed with embarrassment, but Mallory’s proud smile offered a measure of recompense—as did Cragmire’s stunned silence.
Alton turned to the team. “Thanks for your endorsement, Gooch, but now let’s put together an action plan for today. First things first…Captain Fuentes, I think after this morning, you’ll agree that the NSA team needs to be armed.”
“Our law does not allow foreigners to carry arms in our country until they have applied for a permit and been approved,” said t
he captain.
“And that law makes perfect sense, most of the time. But these are unusual circumstances. We’re all members of a joint team, and our team manager was nearly murdered. Surely the attacker is trying to derail our investigation. If that’s the case, it stands to reason that whoever attacked Delaney will come after us.”
“This attacker did not have a gun,” said Fuentes.
“True, but he—or she—had the element of surprise. That was almost enough to kill Delaney, and it may prove to be enough to kill one of us.”
Fuentes exhaled. “Okay, I’m not crazy about it, but I will issue each of you a Glock seventeen and a box of ammo from my armory. Do not use it unless you have to or I will be fired.” He stood up from his desk. “Follow me.”
The captain led the group out of his office. They traveled down a short hall to the back of the building. Fuentes leaned over a heavy, steel door and spun the dial of a mounted combination lock several times. The lock clicked, and the policeman swung open the wall safe.
Inside, a row of A1 rifles sat mounted in a neat row of notches running along the floor, while smaller notches held a half dozen Glock handguns at waist level. Boxes of ammo lined a higher shelf.
Fuentes removed four of the Glocks and passed one each to Alton, Mallory, the Gooch, and Cragmire. After loading the handgun, Alton slid it into the rear waistband of his pants, untucked his shirt to conceal the weapon, and pocketed the remaining ammo from his box. The others followed suit.
“Now to the next order of business,” said Alton. “We need to track down Delaney’s attacker and Wendy Chin.”
“My men were preparing to look for Chin,” said Fuentes. “Let’s go see if they’ve left yet.”
The group traveled up the hall. As they entered Fuentes’ office, they witnessed Robb Shoemaker walk through the main entrance.
Mallory turned to Fuentes. “Why is Shoemaker free? I thought he was in jail.”
“He posted bail.”
“Wasn’t his bail set at a hundred thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed he has that kind of coin,” said Mallory.
Fuentes shrugged.
“Maybe he has friends in the environmental movement who do,” suggested Alton.
Shoemaker popped his head into the door. “Morning, gents—and ladies. Any of you seen my wallet?” He directed his attention to Fuentes. “Your guys took it from me yesterday. I’d like it back.”
“I’ll get it for you,” said Fuentes. He moved to a filing cabinet and inserted a key in a lock. “Give me a minute.”
Alton eyed the environmentalist. “When did you get out?”
“‘Bout six or six-thirty, I guess,” replied Shoemaker.
“Where do you go after that?”
“None of your business, asswipe. You’re not a cop. Even if you were, once I get out of jail, I can go where I damn well please.”
“So you’re unwilling to tell us where you were around eight o’clock this morning?” Alton shot a glance at Fuentes.
“That’s right. Want to tell me why it’s so important?”
“Agent Delaney, our mission manager, was attacked at that time. She nearly died.”
Shoemaker chewed his lip. “Sorry your boss got her ass kicked, but maybe that’s karma.”
“What do you mean?” asked Alton, incredulous.
“You back the wrong side, the immoral side, and bad things happen to you.”
The Gooch stepped across the room until he stood a foot from Shoemaker. The glint of steel in the ex-Marine’s eyes belied his wiry frame. “It’d be a shame if karma caught up with you, buddy.”
Shoemaker swallowed. “I have no concerns about karma. I’m more worried about policemen who think they’re outside the law. It’d be a shame if I had to take legal action as a result of that kind of officer.”
The Gooch stared down his adversary in silence.
Fuentes broke the stalemate by handing over Shoemaker’s wallet. “Remember what Lieutenant Rios told you. You can’t leave the island until we give you permission.”
“Whatever,” said Shoemaker. “I wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon anyway.” He pocketed his wallet and sauntered towards the exit. He reached the door and turned around. “Ecuadorian citizens and the people fighting to protect native species aren’t the bad guys here. The real criminals are the conglomerates who are willing to kill those species in the name of the almighty dollar. I hope you guys stop marching to orders long enough to figure that out.” He stepped through the door and pulled it shut.
“I don’t trust that guy,” said the Gooch.
“I don’t, either,” said Fuentes, “but I don’t have enough men right now to tail him and track down Chin.”
“If you put your men on Shoemaker, we could look for Chin,” offered Alton.
Fuentes’ cellphone chimed. He looked down at a message and grunted. “We don’t have to. Lieutenant Rios just captured Chin. He’s bringing her in now.”
CHAPTER 34
“Could we bring Chin to the research facility for questioning?” asked Alton.
“Why?” said Captain Fuentes. “This office is closer.”
“I’d like to give Tuttle a chance to participate in the interview. Maybe he’ll recognize her or remember something pertinent.”
Fuentes nodded. “This is true. I’ll have Rios meet us there.”
“Perfect,” said Alton. “I’ll call Tuttle and let him know we’re on the way.”
Alton drove the rest of the Americans to the research facility in the rented Highlander. The team of investigators entered the lab to find it occupied only by Martin Tuttle. Alton exchanged greetings with the allergist and hoped Lieutenant Rios and Chin would soon arrive.
While waiting for the others, Alton let his thoughts drift to the changing nature of the investigation. First Summit disappeared, and then the lead investigator had nearly been murdered. If he and the rest of the team weren’t careful, any one of them could fall under attack. The urgency for solving this case had ramped up another notch.
Alton paced the lab in nervous anticipation of Chin’s arrival. He walked to the lab’s rear window and peered out for nearly half a minute. The Gooch followed him, perhaps wondering what had caught his new leader’s attention.
Alton studied the tortoises in their enclosure. Most remained still, but a smaller one plodded towards a low, black container filled with water and lowered its head to drink.
“Look at them,” said the Gooch. “Not a care in the world.”
Alton’s gaze darted around the enclosure. “I only count fourteen. I thought Gromov said they had fifteen.”
“Dude, I don’t know. Those are the world’s most boring animals, if you ask me. Now you sail down south and snag a six-hundred pound Marlin, then you’d have something worth talking about.”
Alton shrugged. “I’d be happy to, once we wrap up this case.”
“Capitán!” shouted Rios from the lab’s main door.
Alton hadn’t heard the man enter. He’d have to get his head in the game.
Rios ushered in a diminutive, wispy figure. The woman’s jet-black hair set off a pale complexion and soft, pink lips. She moved across the lab floor in a lithe fashion, more like a spirit than a creature of flesh and blood. If being hauled in by a policeman had stoked any emotions, her face didn’t reveal them.
Rios led his captive to the lab bench where his commanding officer sat. Alton and the rest of the NSA team converged on the spot. They all took seats on a collection of lab stools.
“This is Wendy Chin,” said Rios. “I caught her in the Hotel De Santa Cruz.”
“I’d have to be running for you to ‘catch’ me,” said Chin in a mild voice, “and I wasn’t.”
Fuentes glared at Chin. “You think we’re stupid? My men followed you to Isabela Island yesterday, but you managed to escape.”
“I didn’t ‘escape’,” said Chin. “I simply returned after my sightseeing tri
p was over.”
“If you weren’t trying to evade my men, why did you change your shirt and add a hat and sunglasses?”
“My waiter at lunch spilled a coke all over my shirt. You can check it out in my laundry pile back at the hotel if you don’t believe me. That was a brand-new top, too.” She shook her head.
“What about the hat and sunglasses?” challenged Fuentes. “You weren’t wearing those at first.”
“I left Santa Crux early yesterday morning, before sunup, and forgot to bring my own hat and shades. I didn’t realize I’d forgotten them until I was on the ferry, so I bought more for the return trip.”
Fuentes chewed his lip in silence.
Alton turned to Chin. “You’re aware Dr. Jan Summit is missing?”
“Of course. Everyone on the island knows that…at least, every foreigner does.”
“We have evidence that you met with her on several occasions.”
“That’s right,” replied Chin.
“What’s your business with Dr. Summit?”
She gazed at Alton with a steady eye. “I work for Forsberg Ruskin.”
“Forsberg who?” asked the Gooch. Alton noticed Mallory begin to type on her phone, presumably looking up the company’s public financial records.
“Forsberg Ruskin is a biomedical company,” said Chin.
“That’s putting it mildly,” said Alton. “Your employer is one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies on the planet.”
Chin maintained her placid exterior. “That’s right. My business with Dr. Summit is straightforward. Forsberg shares Dr. Summit’s enthusiasm for developing a cure for Alzheimer’s.”
“Fair enough,” said Alton. “Can you explain how that enthusiasm brings you down here?”
“Lexington Labs and Forsberg Ruskin share the same goal: developing an actual cure for Alzheimer’s. Forsberg Ruskin hopes to form a joint partnership with Lexington to pool our resources into developing the cure.”
“And sharing the profits?” asked Mallory.
“Of course. That’s the nature of a joint partnership—shared risk and shared rewards.”
The Evolution of Evil (The Blackwell Files Book 6) Page 15
