"Yeah... that's a thought. Okay, I'll give Gabe a call."
I took the opportunity to say, "I'd like you to speak to Walsh about making me the case agent."
He seemed prepared for that and said, "I have to agree with Walsh that you may not be the best man for that job." He reminded me, "You're assigned to the case, and between us, you may be better off not being the case agent." He explained, "You'll have less bullshit to deal with and more freedom to... do your own thing. Understand?"
There was a logic to that, and a subtext. I said, "Okay. I understand."
"Good." Paresi changed the subject. "Do you think this asshole has any other mission here? I mean, is this all a personal revenge thing with him? Or is he here to blow up something? Spread anthrax? You know?"
That was a good question, and I replied, "I'm not sure. But my instinct tells me he's here for his own purpose, which is to clip the people who pissed him off three years ago." I added, "Plus maybe a few people we don't know about yet."
Captain Paresi had come from the NYPD Intelligence Unit, so he had some training and background in this world, and he said, "But even if he's not working for Libyan Intelligence this time, somebody has to be backing this guy--like Al Qaeda--and maybe his deal with his backers is that he gets money and resources to come here to settle some personal scores, and in exchange he's got to blow up the Brooklyn Bridge or something."
"That's a thought. What did Walsh think?"
"We didn't discuss theories. Basically, he just wants me to call out the troops and put these people under the eye."
"Right." I informed Paresi, "Khalil is a loner, but it's possible something will turn up. Like a dead body or two." I added, "He kills people who help him kill people."
"Yeah? That's not nice." He asked me, "What's his beef? I don't know how this started."
I replied, "It started on April 15, 1986, when Reagan sent a bunch of fighter-bombers to blow the shit out of Libya. Asad Khalil lost his whole family in that bombing."
"No shit?" He observed, "I guess he's still pissed off."
"Apparently." I advised him, "That's not public information." I explained, "It sort of gives Khalil justification for what he did three years ago--and we don't want to confuse the news media with questions of moral equivalencies."
"Right, whatever." He asked, "What exactly did he do three years ago? I mean, aside from killing his two escorts and three of our people on the ground?"
I asked Paresi, "Did Walsh mention Chip Wiggins?"
"No. Who's that?"
Apparently Walsh didn't want to share this information with his junior partner. And to be fair to Walsh, Asad Khalil's first visit to America was, as I said, mostly classified information, and the need-to-know about that visit was yet to be determined. Nevertheless, I said to Captain Paresi, "Wiggins was one of the F-111 pilots who bombed Tripoli. Khalil came here three years ago with a list of those pilots and he began murdering them."
"Jeez..."
"I can't say any more about that, Captain, but I can tell you that Kate and I and others stopped Khalil from killing Wiggins."
Captain Paresi thought about that, then said, "Okay, I get it." He asked, "Do we know where Wiggins is?"
"His last known address is Ventura, California."
"I'll bet Khalil knows where he is." Paresi concluded, "Wiggins is already dead."
"Probably."
"For sure. Khalil would take care of unfinished business first. Then... Kate." He asked, "Why not Kate and you?"
"He wanted me to see her die."
"Sicko."
"Very," I agreed.
"Well... maybe we can catch a break here. I mean, think about this--this guy Wiggins, if he's been clipped, was a soft target. He never saw it coming. Same with Kate. Now everybody is a hard target. Including you. Right? The next move that Khalil makes will be his last."
That sounded very optimistic, but I replied, "Hope so."
Paresi said, "Okay. I'm headed right now for the office. I'll call Gabe and have him meet me there and we'll look at your folder."
"Tell him to watch himself. Also, maybe his family wants to take a vacation. He's got a wife, and I think one daughter."
"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, whi
ch 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?"
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