Quentin Larchmont, another of their longtime political allies and Rusch’s ever-present advisor, also figured into the equation — though in a subservient, or supportive, role, which played to his trusted friend’s strengths. Larchmont, who long ago had ambitions of his own, seemed content to ride their coattails, though Nunn figured there had to be some resentment buried deep within. No matter. Both Nunn and Larchmont were good soldiers and, until recently, things had gone as they had always figured they would.
A noise down the hall caught Nunn’s attention. A doctor wearing a large red ID tag entered the corridor. Nunn motioned for Dick to wait where he was, then moved to meet the doctor. He extended a hand and said, “Vance Nunn.”
“Josh Farber. For what it’s worth, congratulations on your victory, Mr. Nunn.”
Nunn gave an obligatory nod. “Dr. Farber,” he said, glancing around the corridor, “can I have a word with you?”
The doctor motioned to an empty room off the hall. As soon as they entered, Farber tilted his head in inquiry.
Nunn shifted the surgical gown he was instructed to wear and said, “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Doctor, but I need to know how bad the vice president’s condition is.” He cleared his throat. “Specifically, whether or not he’s going to survive.”
Farber lifted an eyebrow. “Mr. Nunn, you have to understand that I can’t discuss the vice president’s medical status with you. Doctor-patient confidentiality—”
“I understand that under normal circumstances, your patient’s condition is something you hold in the strictest confidence. But this situation is anything but normal. If he’s not going to make it, I need to know as soon as possible. There isn’t a lot of time before the new administration takes over, and a lot has to be done between now and then — not least of which is putting together a cabinet. If the president-elect is going to survive, there’ll be one set of people chosen. If not, I’m going to bring in my own people. Glen is a dear friend. Believe me, I’m not trying to pry into his private life or do anything to harm him. But I’ve got the welfare of three hundred million Americans to worry about.”
Farber sighed, then glanced around the darkened room. “Mr. Nunn, you’ve put me in a very difficult spot.”
“Why don’t you go ask him? He’ll tell you it’s okay to brief me on his condition.”
Farber nodded slowly. “Please give me a moment.”
The doctor disappeared into the hallway, and returned a few moments later. He set down his clipboard and leaned back against the wall, hands shoved into the deep pockets of his white coat. “Despite being in a crash-worthy seat, the vice president’s got a fractured right hand and two fractured legs. Left tibia and the right tibia and fibula. But they’re uncomplicated fractures and broken bones heal extremely well, so by comparison that’s of little concern.
“He’s got mostly first- and second-degree burns, which is the good news. The bad news is he’s also got some nasty third-degree burns as well. Full thickness burns, open and weeping.”
Nunn recoiled a bit at the image.
“The skin is the body’s largest organ,” Farber continued. “Normally, it sheds fluid all day to help maintain the body’s temperature. When the skin is burned, it’s even worse. The patient loses a great deal of fluid and sometimes we can’t replace it fast enough. Other times finding the right fluid balance is tricky. We’ve infused the vice president with electrolytes and are watching him for infection.”
Nunn rubbed at his chin. “Okay.”
“I don’t have to tell you his facial burns are going to be disfiguring. Fortunately, I think we’ll be able to manage these fairly well with plastics. The idea is to make him look as normal as possible. We’ve already taken steps. The best surgeon in the country is en route from Los Angeles. Per his orders, we’ve excised small pieces of skin from other parts of the vice president’s body and have them growing in tissue cultures. When they’re ready, they’ll be used for covering the wounds on his face. I won’t lie to you, Mr. Nunn. This will be a long process. Rehab alone could last six months, if not more.”
Nunn bowed his head. “Jesus.”
“In the acute phase, we’ll be debriding his wounds. Once the wounds are appropriately covered, we’ve got contractures to worry about, particularly where the injured skin crosses joints. Fortunately, there’s very little joint involvement. If you’re going to burn your hands, the best place to do it is on the palmar surface. If the backs of his hands had been burned, even gripping a pen would cause major pain — and take a year of therapy to accomplish.”
Nunn lowered himself down into a hardwood chair at the small table. “How—” He stopped himself, thought a moment, then said, “How can he govern like this?”
“If he can endure a grueling presidential campaign, he’s probably an extraordinary individual. In times like these extraordinary people do extraordinary things. But my concerns go beyond running the country. Between the psychological effects of the facial burns and the loss of his family, he’s going to require substantial counseling and a good support network.”
“Of course.”
“Medically, he’s fortunate, and I’ve tried to impart that fact to him.”
Nunn’s face crumpled into a one-sided squint. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“He’s sustained minor burn damage to portions of his esophagus and larynx, but if it’d hit the lungs his prognosis would’ve been far worse — pulmonary edema can be quite serious because he’d have to be on a ventilator. No, given what happened — the explosions, a freefalling helicopter, the fire… He was very lucky. That’s a tough concept when your family’s dead, you’re hooked up to tubes, we’re peeling away layers of skin, and you’re looking at permanent disfigurement. Fact is, this could’ve been much, much worse.”
Nunn nodded solemnly, then rose tentatively from his chair. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your candor.”
Farber pushed away from the wall, grabbed his clipboard, and extended a hand. “The vice president has given me permission to keep you updated, so feel free to contact me if you have any questions on treatment requirements or timelines, things of that nature.” Farber’s phone vibrated, and he checked the display. “I’ve got to take this.”
The doctor walked out, leaving Nunn alone. He stood there for a long moment, then headed toward Rusch’s room. He nodded at Dick, who was still waiting beside the secured door.
“We should be okay now, sir.”
“Then let’s give it another shot.” Nunn extended his finger, the device scanned his print and a few seconds later, the green light appeared.
“Door break, authorized entry,” Dick said into his sleeve. He pushed it open and stepped aside.
Nunn pulled the blue paper mask into place, and then walked into the room. A Secret Service agent stood at attention along the far wall, a hand pressing against the earbud that coiled down along his neck and disappeared beneath the navy suit coat that was barely visible under his gown.
But Nunn’s attention was drawn to the bed, where a heavily bandaged man lay. Only his eyes were visible — save for a nose hole and a slit where his swollen lips were coated with what appeared to be a thick layer of petroleum jelly.