The doctor finished his examination, took notes on the monitor readouts, changed an intravenous fluid bag, then moved away. McLanahan saw the minister touch the doctor’s arm, and they spoke briefly. Did he see the doctor shake his head? He drove murderous thoughts out of his mind and got the doctor’s attention.
“What’s the story, doctor?”
“The right lung sounds clear. I think we stopped the edema. But she’s very weak. I’m sorry, but we have to expect respiratory failure—”
“No…”
“The damage was massive. She’s a strong woman, Colonel. But for every step she takes forward, her body takes two backwards. She’s fought back bravely, but …”
McLanahan could not stand to look at the doctor any more. He sought his wife’s face from the foot of her bed. They had removed the larger tubes from her throat, leaving only the nasal cannula in place to feed her oxygen. Many of the bandages had also been removed, and the burns on her face and neck looked markedly better. Wendy’s mother had even brushed out her hair, “She looks better to me,” McLanahan said. The doctor made no comment. “Why isn’t she on a respirator? If you say her respiratory system can collapse, why can’t she be on life-support …?”
“We can keep her alive indefinitely, Colonel, but is that what you really want?”
“Yes. “
“Think of the pain you’d be subjecting her family to—”
“I’m her family too.” He ignored the faces around her bedside. “Stop trying to spare us pain and help her, dammit. Right now.” The doctor nodded, put his hand on McLanahan’s shoulder and turned away. The relatives and friends turned away; some filed out of the intensive care ward, not looking at him or saying anything. A few minutes later he felt a hand on his shoulder. Hal Briggs was standing beside him. “Man, I came as soon as I could … “
“Thanks for coming, Hal. I appreciate it. Is the general here?”
“He’s still … away,” Hal said. McLanahan knew that meant the Cayman Islands, as leader of the air cordon around Nicaragua. “There’s DOD investigators all over the Center, and they have authority to go any damn place they want. I got sick of them and took off.”
“I’m really glad you guys are here,” he said to both Powell and Briggs. He noticed Briggs wearing his earpiece transceiver. He was also armed, his ever-present Uzi submachine pistol on his waist. Hal nodded, then motioned his eyes off toward the door, and all three men walked outside and found an isolated area in the hallway.
“How is she?”
“The doctor says she’s worse. Who the hell knows? What’s going on, Hal?”
“J.C. might have to return to Puerto Lempira right away,” Briggs said. “They made a deal with the Russians. They’re going to turn DreamStar over to us — maybe tomorrow morning. They say it’s flyable, so the general wants J.C., Dr. Carmichael and Master Sergeant Butler to go out to Puerto Cabezas and inspect her. J.C. might be able to fly the thing back to Dreamland.”
“That’s good, real good … What about Ken James?”
“You mean Colonel Andrei Maraklov. The Russians say the guy really is a KGB agent,” Briggs said. “Do you believe it? We had a damned KGB agent in Dreamland for almost two whole years. Heads are gonna roll for that — mine in particular.”
At the mention of James’ real Russian name, the old fury came back. “What’s supposed to happen to him?”
“The White House says he’s on his way back to Russia,” Briggs said. “The next time we see him will probably be on the podium beside the head man at the Great October military parade.”
Briggs suddenly touched the earphone. “Briggs. Go ahead.” The earpiece acted as a microphone as well as a speaker, picking up sinus- and osteo-vibrations and transmitting them like a conventional radio system. Briggs listened for a few moments, then replied, “Copy all. Briggs out.” He turned to McLanahan. “Word’s in, Colonel. The plane’s been sealed off in a concrete shelter on Puerto Cabezas airfield. Tomorrow morning at six A.M., we’ve been cleared to fly no more than four more people in to inspect DreamStar — that means Carmichael, Butler, J.C. and myself. If we can fly it out, they’ll let us. If we can’t, we’ll be able to sail a barge into the docks at Puerto Cabezas and ship it out. The general wants J.C. back immediately. I’ve got to get his gear together back at Dreamland.”
McLanahan glanced down the hallway and saw Wendy’s doctor and several nurses and technicians wheeling a large machine into Wendy’s ICU ward at a run. “Wait here,” he said, and ran down the hallway and followed the doctor back into the ward.
When he entered the room a low, high-speed electronic beeping was coming from Wendy’s body-monitor. The relatives were crowded around her bedside, blocking the doctors and technicians from reaching her. The minister was kneeling beside her …
“Get away from her,” McLanahan shouted and pushed his way through the knot of people. The doctor, after seemingly being paralyzed by the scene, rushed over to the monitor. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from her and let the doctors through …”
“Respiratory arrhythmia,” McLanahan heard the doctor say to one of the technicians, “but I’ve still got a heartbeat. She’s hanging in there. Put her on the respirator and take her to the CDV lab.” They began to insert the tracheal tube in her throat and worked to reinflate her lungs.
McLanahan pushed the minister aside and stood beside the doctor. “Can you help her?”
“I don’t know, dàmmit.” He was watching as the technicians quickly transferred the body-function leads from the wall unit to the portable device. “Her respiratory system has shut down.” He pointed to an electronic electrocardiogram readout on the portable respirator. “But that could be her saving grace. Strong as a horse. There may still be time.” He turned to the people surrounding the bed as a gurney was wheeled into the room. “All right, please move aside, everyone.” Wendy was transferred to the gurney, and the hospital technicians rushed out.
McLanahan saw Wendy’s parents staring at him as if he was crazy. “Wendy will be all right,” he told them.
“Why are you doing this, Patrick?” Betty Tort said in a low voice.
“I’m doing this because I want Wendy to live. You’re all waiting for her to die. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you.” He turned, pushed past the relatives still packing the small room and hurried out.
He was met by Powell and Briggs in the hallway. “I’m going with J.C. back to Honduras,” he told them. The two officers stared at him. “We’ll fly back in Cheetah. Hal, go back and get J.C.’s flight gear, and Carmichael and Butler and meet us in Puerto Lempira.”
J.C. said gently, “Do you think you should?”
“Wendy’s back on a respirator. I think she’s going to make it. I believe she’s going to pull out of it. I’ve got to be there when we get DreamStar … “
“Man, are you sure you’re all right?” Briggs asked. “Maybe you should stop and think about this …”
“Listen; I’ve got to do it this way. The more I stay around this place the more I feel like I’m on a death watch. I won’t do that. I got to believe she’s going to make it. Now let’s get going. Until DreamStar is out of Nicaragua, I won’t stop. And I want Cheetah there in case something goes wrong …”
“Nothing can go wrong,” Briggs said. “Maraklov is on his way to Russia. He’s the only one that could fly DreamStar. They can blow DreamStar up, destroy it, or disable it, but either way we’ve at least kept the Russians from getting their hands on it. We’ve won, man.”