by Janet Wakley
Loaded with the yellow bags and the instrument set, they walked calmly along the corridor passing two more theatre personnel who chatted cheerfully as they wandered by. They took no notice of the new employees who nonchalantly blended into the theatre environment. How easy this was! Mel had often heard how hospitals were an easy target for thefts, but this was incredible. She almost believed that they deserved to lose the goods.
Returning once more to the sluice, Kurt placed the yellow bags amongst others awaiting collection for disposal. Taking the heavy tray from Mel, he slipped it into another yellow bag before pushing it under some rolls of incontinence pads, hiding it from view.
Now for the morphine. Each of the anaesthetic rooms and the recovery unit would have a controlled drug cupboard. They walked slowly along, peering into each of the theatre windows, hoping to find one not in use. At last they found a theatre and its accompanying anaesthetic and preparation rooms in darkness. Quickly they slipped into the push doors. Mel identified to Kurt the locked metal wall cabinet with a small red light on the top of the cupboard door likely to contain opiates and stood back, watching the doors uneasily. Kurt retrieved a collection of fine key-like instruments, which were suspended by a cord round his neck and hidden from view inside his cotton top. Mel watched as he tried one after another in the lock, until eventually a subtle click signified his success. Momentarily forgetting the doors, Mel reached past Kurt to take two boxes containing ampoules of Morphine and two further boxes of Fentanyl. Should be enough, she calculated. A folded zip bag, left on the top of the cupboard, served to transport the boxes, more to disguise their identity than to carry them in.
Voices outside the anaesthetic room doors. Mel froze. A firm hand on her arm pulled her behind the door and Kurt pushed against her, trapping her into the corner of the narrow room. The closeness of his body excited her. His breathing was short, but controlled. She smelt again the odour of perspiration and felt the heat of his body as they waited nervously, praying that no-one would enter.
The voices faded away and Kurt moved to the doorway and listened carefully before pulling the door toward him tentatively. “Come on, back to the sluice.”
They collected the marked yellow bags and the instrument set and headed for the reception area and changing rooms. Trying to maintain a blasé attitude was like trying to restrain a bull from charging. Mel just wanted to bolt for the door. A young doctor, with his stethoscope wrapped round his neck, sauntered casually towards them. He looked at them as they passed by, but refrained from speaking. Large sealed cardboard boxes, recently delivered to the department, provided the perfect screen for their ill-gotten gains, close to the main entrance.
“Get changed quickly and don’t speak to anyone.”
Obediently Mel slipped into the Ladies Changing and retrieved her clothes from the locker. Her heart was pounding again as she sensed the last, and probably most dangerous part of their expedition, was about to commence. Changed, she tossed her blue scrubs into the linen skip and re-emerged in search of Kurt. He was nowhere to be seen. Just one nurse was now manning the desk, speaking intently on the telephone, simultaneously flicking through screens of patient data on the computer. Mel hesitated; unsure what to do next and decided to temporarily solve the problem by studying the notice board as Kurt had done earlier. His reappearance was almost a relief. Changed now, he went directly to the three hidden items. “You take this.” He handed over the two yellow bags, which though bulky, were a manageable weight. Ignoring the receptionist, he walked resolutely towards the main double doors.
“Where are you going with those?” demanded a deep male voice behind them.
“Just taking this stuff down to the sterilizing department,” Kurt replied without turning round.
“Well, that’s not the way. Bring it back here,” the voice insisted loudly.
Mel turned to see the girl at the desk was staring at them wide-eyed, her phone call and computer forsaken. The middle-aged owner of the voice stood beside the reception desk, with feet apart and hands placed equally on his hips. Panic seized Mel by the throat. Rushing past Kurt, she struck the metal push pad, which activated the automatic doors, praying for them to open quickly.
“Call security!” the man shouted to the receptionist and stepped towards Kurt. Mel saw, as though in slow motion, Kurt turn towards the approaching man and watched horrified as his hand withdrew the revolver from his jacket pocket and heard the instant sharp report of the gun. Abhorrent disbelief fixed the expression of the man as he clutched his stomach before falling headlong to the ground in front of the dumbstruck nurse.
“Run!” snapped Kurt, who paused to point the revolver at the nurse and yank the telephone cable from its socket before chasing after Mel with long loping strides. “Turn right” he caught her up. “Right again. Down those stairs.” With the instrument set under one arm, he snatched one of the yellow bags from Mel, who despite running in a blind panic, was slowed by her awkward cargo. She felt sick, her legs heavy and clumsy. Tears stung her eyes, making it difficult to see. She was equally afraid of being caught as she was of her violent accomplice. How could he do that?
How they reached the rear service door on the ground floor, she couldn’t recall. The van was waiting, the driver holding open one of the rear doors. Taking the bag from Mel, he threw it into the back and roughly pushed her in after it. Kurt followed suit with his luggage, pulling the door closed behind him. Almost immediately the van pulled away, but cruised slowly around the hospital roadway before rejoining the highway.
Kurt stooped, looking out of the rear windows as they left the scene of their crime behind. Five minutes later, he turned back to take his seat alongside Mel. He smiled with satisfaction.
“A nice steady ride around the town centre before we head back, in a roundabout sort of way, should ensure a safe trip home.” He grinned, his self-assurance sickening Mel. This time she didn’t know whether the smell of perspiration was his or hers.
“How could you do that?” she blurted. “You didn’t need to shoot him!” She could feel tears welling up again.
“A necessary part of the job. We almost got away with it, though, didn’t we?” He studied her solemn, pallid face. “You did well; really well. I’ll make sure the boss knows that.”
Mel twisted away from him and vomited onto the upholstery covers beside her on the floor of the van.
13
The drive back to the isolated rambling old priory was suffered in silence. Numb from the shooting, Mel spread her hands firmly on the floor and sat gazing stupefied at the rear windows of the van. Orange flashes against the dark sky flew past and away out of view as they sped past streetlights. The vehicle rattled noisily on its return journey. Two of the large yellow plastic sacks containing the stolen goods lurched as though accommodating some form of life, as each turn of the van beckoned them from one side to the other. The third bag, which held the surgical instrument tray, remained where it had been deposited when they hurriedly scrambled into the vehicle, unmoved by its sheer weight.
They had so nearly got away with it, Mel thought grimly. She would not have believed that hospitals were such easy targets for crime, never really having given it much consideration before. These vast establishments were constantly used by unidentified people from early morning until the conclusion of visiting hours in the evening without the presence of anyone ever being questioned. It seemed that hospitals, packed with valuable equipment, were open to criminal opportunity. The entire plan had just been so straightforward and bold. Mel reflected how easy their own abductions had been, the infiltration of supposedly secure areas of the hospitals and the distances involved that now defied their early detection. She was at risk, yet again, of losing all hope and with it, self-control.
Sharp braking and turning, followed by dips and lurching of the vehicle, indicated the last painful section of their journey. Kurt, thankfully, had remaine
d silent since the start of the journey, but was clearly feeling comfortable about his violent actions. Buffing his revolver with the cuff of his sleeve, he caressed it with a tenderness that further sickened his travelling companion.
As the van pulled up on the slope before the priory, a small reception committee, including Hood and the man in the green cords, removed the bags from the van and led the way back into the rear of the house. It had started to rain and the smooth cobbles, disguised under the long wiry grass, were slippery underfoot.
Whatever Mel expected on her return to the basement prison, she was certainly not prepared for solitary confinement. She supposed that Clive must still be away on his mission, but where was Silas? Without company the room seemed darker somehow, the shadows more menacing. A large cardboard box had been placed on the table, which upon investigation, contained flasks, plastic plates and well-wrapped foil parcels. She decided to wait. Her appetite was still on hold.
Once again restored into the world where the stench of stale air clung to damp skin, Mel closed her eyes, trying to recapture in her imagination, the luxuriously hot clean water of the forbidden shower a short while earlier. Silence and exhaustion overwhelmed her and with her head laid on folded arms on the table, she slept.
How long she remained there she didn’t know, only that she was stiff when the sound of the door bolt woke her from a troubled dream. The box remained untouched. Silas re-entered in much the same way as he had when he first arrived. He stood momentarily at the top of the steps, his head held high and his narrow chin thrust forwards in a gesture of defiance. Despite the dusty shabbiness of his attire, he maintained a dignity that even Mel felt was impressive. She wished she could emulate his decorum instead of always swinging from fear to depression like an unrestrained pendulum.
“I’ve been attending to the two casualties.” He solemnly approached the table and examined the contents within the box.
“Two?” Mel instinctively feared for Clive’s safety.
“Thanks to the equipment you’ve brought us, I’ve put a drip up on Charlie - quite successfully, considering I’m not the anaesthetist here,” he gloated. The other guy I could do nothing for. They shot him in the chest. He died before I could do anything for him.” He spoke in such a matter-of-fact manner that he might just as well have been describing the weather or the price of bread.
“Who was it?” Mel gasped. She waited, but he deliberately ignored her and proceeded to delve into the box, examining the two flasks. The rich aroma of hot tomato soup flooded out of the first. .
“Tell me, who was shot? Not Clive?” panic was rising in her throat.
“No. I’m hungry. I’ll tell you later.”
“Well, Silas, I’ve got to tell you. I think we killed a man tonight.” She said the word ‘we’ without thinking and immediately regretted it. But he might as well know what happened, she thought, and the sooner the better.
“I know,” he replied passively. “He said it was your fault, just before they shot him.”
Mel’s mouth fell open and her eyes were transfixed on Silas’s face. “You mean they shot Kurt, their own man?” she said with incredulity.
“Seems the boss was not as impressed as Kurt was about the way he handled almost getting caught. There’s bound to be a massive police hunt for him now and that ‘tribe’ upstairs don’t want to be caught by association. So they seemed to think he was best disposed of.” Silas spoke almost as though he were justifying their actions. “At least it’s one less to worry about when we escape from here,” he concluded with some satisfaction.
“But the police will be looking for me too,” Mel wailed. “What’s to stop the fat man killing me as well?” Her mouth was dry and she looked towards the door, fearing that her execution may be imminent.
“Stop that! Control yourself,” he commanded fiercely. “Let’s have some supper.” He fished out two of the foil parcels from the box and poured the still steaming liquid from the flask into two mugs. “He needs you until we have operated on Charlie, so calm down and get some food inside you. You look dreadful, girl.” When Mel didn’t move, he insisted, “Come on. It’s bad enough that Clive is an emotional wreck. Pull yourself together. We’ve got to get on with this or we’ll none of us get out alive. We agreed we’d get out together and that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
Mel forced herself to partake of the soup and a bread roll. He was right, of course. They had to keep their nerve and think clearly if they were to escape. Biting into a Cornish pasty, which was now no longer warm despite its tin foil wrapper, she said what was on both of their minds. “I wonder what’s happened to Clive. I hope he’s alright.”
“He’ll be back.” Although he spoke with conviction, Mel had grave misgivings. “Now then, tell me everything that happened tonight,” he prompted and sat back in his chair with arms folded like a headmaster waiting for an explanation from a naughty child. Mel gave a blow-by-blow account of the events of the mission, omitting the part where she had seriously contemplated making a run for it but had remained steadfast for the sake of her fellow prisoners. Silas listened attentively, interrupting occasionally to clarify some of the details, but showing no emotion or criticism. At her conclusion, he merely nodded and remained silent. Mel finished the last dregs of her tea.
Clive’s eventual return to the cellar was surprising to the pair in that he seemed more relaxed and cheerful than he had at any time previously. Shoulders that had been tense were now relaxed and there was almost a confident smugness exuding from his demeanour. Even his puffy face appeared less obvious. The change in the man was remarkable. Silas eyed him with suspicion.
“Well, that was easy. ‘Candy from a baby,’ as they say. It’s amazing how much you can get into the base of a couple of toolboxes. The top tray looks normal, but underneath you can... What’s up with you?” he broke off, suddenly recognising the fixed glower on Mel’s face, her eyes fiery red.
“I’m partly responsible for two deaths,” Mel said quietly.
Clive looked towards Silas, whose attention was adhered to the nurse. Without averting his gaze, Silas nodded confirmation, almost imperceptibly.
“What on earth’s happened?”
“No matter now,” Silas interjected quickly. “Don’t make her go through it all again. Another time.” He raised a hand to signal the closure of the subject. “We need to focus our attention on getting out of here in one piece, and if necessary, doing the operation. You guys had better run through all the things you’ve managed to get tonight so that we can make plans. We’ve eaten, by the way. There’s soup, pasty and rolls.” He indicated the box and flasks set on the table.
There was a business-like discipline about Silas now, Mel thought, but unable to push aside the events of the evening, ignored Silas’s command and spoke directly to Clive. “Kurt shot a man in the hospital as we were leaving with all our stuff. Now, Silas tells me that the gang have shot and killed him after we got back, for messing up the raid.”
Colour drained from Clive’s face. Turning towards Silas, he barely whispered, “Is this true?”
“Yes. Look, let’s just get on. What’s happened has happened. Tell me everything you stole from the hospitals. Let’s see what we can do with it.”
After a hesitant start, the two amateur thieves recalled all that they had procured from their expeditions. Silas nodded with satisfaction, stroking his dark hair with long slender fingers. “I’ve had plenty of time to think of a plan. There are fifty-three instruments in a large general operating set. They won’t know that. When the set and sutures are opened for the operation, we should be able to secrete away one or two items and a few nylon sutures that might help us escape from here. A couple of scalpel blades and handles will be useful too.”
The preoccupied and exhausted pair disregarded Silas’s enthusiasm, but they allowed him to talk on unrestrained. Eventually, recognising
that their attention was lost, he declared that they should all get some sleep and he would run through his plans for the operation in the morning.
Oh, no, not another night! Silas once more banged on the door with his piece of wood, which after several fruitless attempts finally brought Hood to the cellar door. Silas was the first to be escorted upstairs to the bathroom. Hood, although unaccompanied this time, was clearly armed and kept one hand rested on the butt of his revolver.
As soon as the door closed behind them Clive seized the opportunity to alert Mel to his latest suspicions. “Don’t you think it strange that Silas was not chosen to go out tonight? For all his huffing and puffing and talk of escape, I’m not sure we can trust him. I feel a lot of his remonstrating is just an act, don’t you? I’ve been thinking - they not only knew his name and his profession when they abducted him, but they seem to tolerate his rantings without any reprisals. I am seriously beginning to wonder whether he knows more about this gang than he’s letting on.”
Mel considered his accusation for a while, but refused to give credence to his scepticism. “No, I don’t believe it, Clive. A man like that would never subject himself to such an awful experience as this. He was taken at knife-point from his hospital and.....”
“We’ve only got his word to take for that, and why is he not involved in Charlie’s care, except to perform the surgery? I’m just saying, I don’t think I trust him completely.”
It was clear to Mel that the stress of the situation was getting to both men, to the point that they were even mistrusting each other. But there was nothing to be gained by arguing or enlightening Clive to Silas’s doubts about him also. The matter was better dropped.
It was almost a relief to Mel when the door was eventually slammed shut for the night and they were left to once again organise their blankets into the best arrangement they could to protect from the still, cold air. The long and stressful day left her mentally and physically exhausted and yet still she found it difficult to relax sufficiently to sleep. Thoughts of home tormented her. She imagined that by now her parents must have reported her as a missing person to the police. Would they take the matter seriously, or presume that at twenty seven she had every right to stay away from home? Perhaps they would interview her ex-boyfriend regarding her whereabouts.
