The Emissary

by Patricia Cori

  Everything went without a hitch: nobody dead, nobody hurt, and Jamie was alive.

  “You know the way back to the ship from here?” he asked Sam as they ran through the storm to the car.

  Sam nodded and got right into the driver’s seat. Jimbo laid Jamie in the back, and then got in the backseat with her, holding her in his arms to keep her warm. Sam pulled off the mask and then crawled out the driveway, slowly at first and then, once he hit the main road, he pushed the car as fast as he could risk driving through the flooded streets. The waterfront was taking the worst pounding, and the flooding got worse as they got closer to the port.

  “What happens when we get to the ship? Do you have any idea what comes next?” Sam said, watching the road while he talked to Jimbo in the back.

  “I’m making this up as I go along, boy, but I know how it plays out for you. You drop us off at the ship, and then you take the car and drive into town. Stay out of the West End—it’s going to get the full brunt of the tsunami, if it hits. Get into a place inland and check into the top floor. You got money?”

  “I’ve got a few bucks and plenty of plastic.”

  “All the better. You need to create a trail for yourself: your cover. Don’t park in the hotel garage—leave the car on the street somewhere. All the better if they tow it, so don’t worry about that. You go in, looking a little drunk, and make a scene at check-in. You’ll be creating a story line, so you want people to remember you coming in. You tell them you’re with USOIL and you’re looking for another employee—Liz Bartholomew. Ask if she’s checked in yet.” Jimbo leaned over the seat. “You go into the lobby bar and get a drink—hang out, look drunk, be public about it. Sit at the bar … play the bartender, you know what I mean? Talk bullshit—he could be questioned down the road, if it gets to that. Just repeat the story—bad storm, lost your phone, your girl … and you tied one on. You think you can pull that off?”

  “No sweat, Jimbo. I can do obnoxious real well.”

  “That’s true, Sammy boy. You can.”

  They managed a laugh in the middle of chaos unfolding.

  “No matter who you talk to—and I’m telling you loud and clear—trust no one—you have one story. You left me at the Crow’s Nest sometime in the night, you can’t remember … we drank a lot. Rain was pouring down hard, you wanted to find your girlfriend. You understand?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “One of the guys in the bar was going into town—you got a lift in, because there were no taxis, and you figured it was safest to stay in town, a ways from the harbor—so that’s why you went there.”

  “But the bartender saw us leave together.”

  “Don’t you worry about that—these are my people. They know how to do discreet.”

  Sam took a right onto a street that was flooded out a few feet ahead of them. In the darkness of that night, they barely caught it in time to avoid plunging the car into the river that was forming.

  “Damn! Back this sucker up!” Jimbo cried.

  Sam threw the car into reverse and pulled them out, just in time. Close call. “Now what? I don’t know any other way to get down to the port.”

  “Move over—I know these streets,” Jimbo said. He got out of the back, resting Jamie’s head where he’d been sitting, and got behind the wheel. As Mat had told Jamie, Jimbo could navigate his way around water, all right. Even in a car. He headed back up the road, took a side street, and came back down another way, cutting through town, driving down a one-way street. Nobody was out driving. It was a risk he had to take, and it paid off. It brought them to Harbor Drive, two minutes from where the ship was berthed. The streets were flooded, but the worst was about to happen. The ocean water was almost as high as the pier itself—before long, the streets would be gone.

  Jimbo guided the car into the driveway, past the desolate guard station, where, fortunately, no one was to be found.

  “What’s going to happen to you and Jamie?”

  “Huh, that’s a question I cannot even think about—don’t know how this is gonna go. You just do what I say, boy—and don’t look back. Make sure you’ve got your cover clear in your mind. You lost your phone in the storm, your clothes are on the ship, you tied one on big when you couldn’t find your babe last night.”

  Sam nodded.

  “Wait for the latest CNN report in the morning, and then call your old man and tell him The Deepwater sailed, to get out far from the coast, in case a tsunami made it in, and you missed it. Let him get you home, safe, and you stay with your daddy for a while. That’s where you need to weather this storm. Okay? We’re out of time—you go now.”

  Sam handed Jimbo the medical chart.

  “On your way to the hotel, when you’ve cleared the flooded streets down here, find a pay phone somewhere and call 911. Tell them there’s a couple of staff locked up in the admitting office over at the Psychiatric Facility. We can’t leave these people locked up with a tsunami coming in.”

  “I will.”

  “Make sure it’s a pay phone—make the call fast. No more than five seconds tops, and walk right away.” Jimbo opened the door and stepped into water up to his calves. Sam started to get out too, but Jimbo stopped him. “You gotta get this car out of here, while you still can.”

  “Let me at least help you carry her aboard.”

  “No. I got it. It’s safer if nobody sees you. Don’t look back—just follow the story and you’ll be safe, you understand? You can walk away from this, Sam. You get near that ship, your cover is gone—any one of them could be a witness. I don’t know who’s who anymore.” He opened the back door and as gently as he could, and without saying another word, he lifted Jamie’s fragile body out of the car, having first stashed the records under the blankets that enveloped her, and then he carried her, draped in his arms, through the water, up the ramp to The Deepwater.

  “I’ll catch up with you somewhere down the road,” Sam called out after him, knowing that, most likely, it would never happen. He watched Jimbo, his hero, walk away, with Jamie in his strong arms, to whatever safety they could find there. He waited until they disappeared from his line of vision: this bigger-than-life man, his hero, and the enigmatic messenger, intertwined in the strangest of destinies … one that began, and was most likely to end, in the deep.

  16

  Deliverance

  It took all the strength Jimbo possessed to pull the door to the ship’s lounge open. The crew was there, confused and annoyed, waiting for an explanation as to why they were being called back to duty. In conditions where no ships could sail, with a tsunami warning out, they needed to be home with their families, not rolling around on the rough water, waiting for Jimbo. He walked in, drenched through, and laid Jamie down on the couch just as he felt she was about to slip out from his arms.

  “Good god!” Doc cried. He knew there had to be big trouble coming down, but never could he have imagined anything like this. At the sight of an exhausted Jimbo carrying Jamie’s inert body, the crew’s attitude shifted immediately.

  The captain removed his dripping trench coat and handed it to Alberto. “We need so much help right now, I’m not sure where to start.” There was a lake around them from the water he’d carried in. Doc removed the water-soaked blankets and the plastic shower curtain from Jamie. Bobby grabbed some wool scarves and a couple of jackets from the rack and they covered her, as best they could.

  Doc started giving orders: “Start by changing out of those clothes, Jim. You’re drenched through to the bone. Dom, get me towels and blankets—throw them in the microwave, then bring them to sickbay.”

  Jimbo was cold and exhausted. For the first time in his life, he felt old—like he was over, somehow—finished. “Take charge for me, Doc. You see her chart’s there. I need a hot shower.” He headed for his quarters. “Where’s Fin?”

  “We’ve got him locked up in the bridge. He tried to run after you—we couldn’t manage him.”

  “Poor boy—you know he hates the rain and he�
��s up there—all alone? Ten minutes … work your miracles, Doc.”

  “Alberto, get me a whole pot of tea for Jamie and make sure there’s plenty of coffee. Keep it coming. See what you can do about feeding Jimbo. Phil, Brady … let’s get her on the examining table,” Doc commanded. They carried her to sickbay, still in her wet hospital gown, and laid her down on the table. Doc didn’t have time to question why Jimbo had brought her back, but he knew it had to be a life-and-death situation.

  He couldn’t believe Jimbo had had the foresight to bring her medical records. “Way to go, Jimmy,” he said, under his breath. Hopefully he would have enough to go on from the chart to know what medications were racing through her bloodstream, and what would be the best way to treat her.

  Dom came with the towels and blankets. Doc dried her, put a clean gown on, and wrapped her in blankets from head to toe. He opened the metal folder of the chart, fearful of what he would find. First question: How did she end up in the Psychiatric Facility? He couldn’t believe what he was seeing: the woman was laid out on heavy sedatives. What in the hell? He felt for a pulse. She was there, but so weak. He took a bottle of saline solution from the cabinet and hooked her back up to a drip. “Come on, Jamie. Come out of it.”

  He turned the thermostat up to ninety degrees, and then sat down next to her, reading her chart—astounded at what it contained. From the admitting report in ER, where she was reported unconscious, to cardiac arrest: three minutes of death before they brought her back. Jamie had been a Code Red hospital emergency. Reading, skimming over the medical reports: “delirium, hallucination,” and then his worst fear: “possible hemorrhage, aneurism.” He flipped forward hurriedly, bewildered. Why would a patient coming out of coma be immediately sedated? That was completely counterproductive. He kept one eye always on her, waiting for her to wake up, but doing his best to stabilize her and raise her body temperature. He could see eye reflex beneath her lids—a sign she might be coming out of the sedation. As he watched her, he read on. There was a total breakdown in procedure, an unprecedented violation of protocol. From the time she was transferred to intensive care, to being signed into the care of one Dr. Emery Wells, at the separate Psychiatric Facility, a satellite of the hospital—nothing made sense.

  He read Dr. Varja’s report—carefully chosen words—recommending she not be moved:

  “As to the patient’s ‘psychotic’ episodes, the observations posed by Dr. Wells are not consonant; she exhibits severe anxiety, disorientation, and neurological dissonance which, considering the circumstances of her trauma, are not beyond the average range of neurological and emotional response.”

  What could have happened to cause this intervention? Doc was completely mystified, but it was clear that he wasn’t the only one asking the question. Why was Jamie Hastings, a critical patient with possible brain damage, yanked out of the hospital and thrown into a psychiatric facility?

  Jimbo came in, looking human again. “What’s the verdict, Doc?” he asked, fearful of the reply.

  “I can’t even begin to guess what this poor girl has been through. She’s been injected with heavy sedatives—that’s crazy considering her head injury.”

  “Can you give her something to bring her out of it?”

  “I do have the antidote here—flumazenil—it’s used to bring people out of anesthesia, and it’s indicated for what they’ve given her in the hospital, but I’m not sure what they gave her in the facility. The chart just says ‘sedation.’ That’s strange,” Doc said, scratching his head. “For her to be out like this, they must have given her something powerful. With a head injury, if there’s intracranial pressure—flumazenil could cause convulsions. We can’t take that risk.”

  “You have an idea how long it will take her to come out from under the meds naturally?”

  “I’m reading she just had a last dose administered a few hours ago. She’s showing signs of activity. She sure doesn’t need to be on this ship right now—I can tell you that for certain.”

  Jimbo sighed. “You’re wrong, old friend. This is exactly where Jamie needs to be.”

  “You call it, Jimbo.”

  “You’ve trusted me until now, haven’t you, Doc?” Jimbo replied.

  “I trust you with my life, Jimbo, you know all about that.”

  “I’m gonna take her back out. You ready to do that?”

  Doc glanced over at Jamie, and then back at Jimbo. “If I’m going to die, I’d at least like to know why.”

  “We’re going to outrun death, my friend. Tsunami’s coming.”

  “I’ve got nobody waiting for me either way, Jimbo.”

  Jimbo put his hand on the shoulder of the man who had been his friend for so long. They’d been through everything together—Doc was the closest thing to a brother Jimbo had ever known. “I’ll gather the crew, and see who’s willing.”

  Doc nodded, and went back to his patient, still waiting for a story that had to be told, knowing Jimbo had the pieces put together. That was all he needed to know, at least for the time being.

  Jimbo called everybody back to the lounge. Gone was the laid-back Captain Jimbo, the guy with a story and a beer. Here stood a man who surely knew he was making choices that would put them all in harm’s way—life-threatening choices. He was solemn. There would be no humor this night: no storytelling, no running away to the captain’s stash.

  Everyone gathered around the dining room table.

  “Boys, you have surely heard about the quake in San Francisco: 9.3 on the Richter. I am heartbroken to report most of the city is leveled. I haven’t had time to hear how far the damage extends up and down the coast. They’re telling us the epicenter was five miles out in the ocean, and a tsunami is due to hit the entire West Coast—all the way up as far as Alaska. And as if that isn’t bad enough, we’re a sitting duck in this killer storm here, the worst I’ve ever seen in my years out on the Pacific Coast.”

  Mike, the chief engineer, burst in from the mess hall, apologizing for being late. His hair was glued to his head from the sweat, and his cheeks were crimson red. He looked harrowed and exhausted, and none of his men had come back on board.

  “I’m sorry, Captain, I’m afraid it’s going to be just me down there.”

  Jimbo nodded. “You see what’s happening out there on the roads—the city is flooding fast. But if a tsunami hits, man, we’re talking catastrophe like you never even imagined. I have made my decision to get this ship out as far as we can move her, before this thing comes in. It’s going to be a rough ride out, but it’s the best bet for saving the ship. It won’t be smooth sailing, you know that—it’s sure to be rough for a while. But one thing I know how to do is navigate a ship—that’s what I grew up doing, and that’s what I do best. We’ll be without satellite tracking, no radar, no nothing—just Jimbo at the wheel.”

  The men looked at each other, nothing less than astounded.

  “I’ve got about five minutes to hear your decisions—you’re either staying back or sailing out. I can’t obligate you, and I wouldn’t try—I know the dangers involved. And this isn’t the Army. If you decide to stay, take your wives and your kids and get as far away from the shore as you possibly can. If you decide to come with me, I can’t guarantee you’ll be back. It’s a coin toss, either way.”

  “Captain, it’s a killer storm. What makes you think we can even make it out?” asked Bobby.

  “I can get her out of port. I know this Lady.”

  “What about Sam and Liz?” Bobby asked.

  Jimbo simply said, “Looks like they’re not gonna make it.”

  Mike was the first to say yes. “Count on me, Captain.”

  Bobby was next. “In.”

  “Alberto, Dom, I don’t need you—you’re welcome to go home,” Jimbo said.

  Domenico looked around at everyone, feeling ashamed to be the first to bail out—but he had his priorities. “I’m sorry, Captain. My wife … any day now.”

  Jimbo put his arm around him and patted him on th
e back. “You go, son. Get home to your wife—I would do the same. Go into the mountains up high. You hurry now,” he said, filled with compassion.

  Domenico went out the crew exit, to gather his few things from his quarters and then leave the ship. With no buses running, and no cars on the roads, he didn’t know how he was going to get there, but he would get there … even if he had to wade through the flooded streets all the way home.

  Alberto was committed to staying. “You are going to need me, Jim, you are wrong. I will stay.” He attempted lightheartedness. “I can’t even imagine any of you trying to cook in my galley!”

  Brady, on the other hand, was diffident and averse to the whole idea. “I’m sorry—it’s crazy to even consider going back out there. You’ll run into trouble, and who will answer an SOS? Not even the Coast Guard would be crazy enough to go out in this. I’m sorry—I’m out of here, Captain. Godspeed.” He walked out of the room without saying goodbye, too afraid to give power to the words, covering a sense of his own cowardliness with indignation.

  Jimbo watched him go. “Godspeed to you, too, boy.”

  Philippe was the last to come forward. While the others were announcing their decisions, he had studied Jimbo, knowing there was more to his decision to take The Deepwater back out. It was as if the whole day had been some other sort of reality, where nothing was what it seemed, and this moment was no different. Jimbo had a strange look in his eyes, as if he saw something the others had missed—as if he could read more of the story. Nobody had mentioned the whales in all this—it was almost as if it had never happened, and yet it wasn’t that many hours earlier that they had gone through that utterly bizarre experience: the whales, the accident, Jamie. Philippe knew, instinctively, that Jamie was fighting for her life in there, on the ship—rather than in the hospital, where she needed to be—because of the whales.