"I can't believe this cosmic power has been paying attention to me!"
"'Attention' is a relative term. I told you it devotes only the tiniest fraction of its awareness to this entire sphere, and only a fraction of that fraction is watching you—and not full time."
"Okay then. What are the chances they'll survive?"
Her face remained impassive. "Even though I cannot see the future, I see no future for them."
"Because they're going to be brain dead?"
"No. Because the yeniceri will not rest until they have completed their assignment."
"Aw, no."
She nodded. "I think you had better return to the hospital."
"Why?" He couldn't help it. Nothing was going to keep him from going back to the hospital—especially now—but he had to ask. "If they're doomed, as you say, if they're as good as gone, what's the point?"
"Because as I told you: Nothing is carved in stone. The human variable—willingly or unwillingly, whether through frailty or fervor, torpor or tenacity, cowardice or courage—has the capacity to affect outcomes in the most unpredictable ways."
31
After hurrying home for a few essentials, Jack returned to the hospital. He was allowed another peek into the trauma unit. He knew his previous visit wouldn't lessen the shock of seeing them like that. He'd never get used to it. But though it crushed him to see Gia and Vicky in this state, he owed it to them to be at their sides wherever allowed.
But on his way to their beds he stopped at the desk where a young, twenty-something nurse with M. PEDROSA RN on her ID badge sat making notes in a chart.
"Excuse me," he said, "but I was told earlier that Gia DiLauro lost her baby after the accident. Do you happen to know if it was a boy or a girl?"
She looked at him with sad, brown eyes. "No, I'm afraid I don't, Mister Westphalen. And I doubt I can find out at this hour. But we can call Records first thing tomorrow."
Jack nodded. The sex wasn't all that important to him, but he wanted to know if he should be thinking of the baby as his son or his daughter.
Pedrosa accompanied him as he edged toward the beds. He didn't want to look, but when he did he stopped dead at the foot of Gia's bed. A ribbed plastic tube jutted from the mouth, connected to another tube that ran to a shhhhh-ing respirator.
He turned to the nurse. "What-what happened?"
"Respiratory arrest. She stopped breathing."
Jesus!
A quick look at Vicky—relief: Still breathing on her own.
"But why?"
"Cerebral edema—swelling of the brain. It's not uncommon after a sub-dural. Doctor Stokely has increased her medications."
Jack had no idea what she was talking about but knew it couldn't be good.
Maybe he should have expected it. Their condition will deteriorate… that was what the Lady had said. But he couldn't accept it.
Soon it was time for him to go. He ran into Dr. Stokely in the hallway.
"So it's worse."
She nodded. "I'm afraid so. We've lowered your wife's score to a six."
"How long does she have?"
"I can't say. If the mannitol and dexamethasone reduce the swelling in her brain, her score will come up."
"And if not? How long?"
Dr. Stokely sighed. "If her brain keeps swelling it will herniate the brainstem—push it out through the opening in the base of the skull. When that happens… all the body's basic functions will cease."
Jack could only stare at her.
Finally: "If she doesn't respond, what? A day? Two?" The words sounded like croaks.
"Three at the most. We're doing everything that can be done, Mister Westphalen."
Jack nodded and told himself the swelling would go down. It had to. The human variable…
And that meant he would have to do everything possible to make sure the yenigeri didn't speed Gia and Vicky on their way.
32
Jack sat in a small lounge reserved for families of patients in the trauma unit. Earlier he'd found himself faced with an agonizing decision. He hoped he'd made the right choice.
The trouble with New York Hospital was its size. It took up a couple of city blocks. He'd checked a layout map by the information desk and seen two main entry points: the ER and the main lobby. He couldn't cover both. Had to choose.
Then he'd learned of this special family waiting area off the hallway by the trauma unit.
So here he sat, holding up a paper and pretending to read it; a good way to hide his face. He'd switched to a red-and-blue reversible jacket. He had the red side out now. The Kel-Tec nestled in the right pocket; though tiny and easily palmed, the little pistol held eleven 9mm rounds. The final touch was a knit watch cap with two eye holes hidden in the rolled-up segment. If needed, he could pull it down to cover his face. He hoped that wouldn't be necessary. The last thing he wanted was to start a shoot-out in the hospital. But if it came down to that, he'd go for it.
He felt sweat trickling from his face and armpits. Hot in here. But he didn't dare remove anything. Had to be ready to move on an instant's notice.
Out in the hallway, the elevator and stairway door lay to the left. He or they would enter from there. The restroom doors sat directly across from the lounge entrance, the trauma unit doors to the right. Whoever the MV sent would have to pass between him and the restrooms.
He hadn't yet decided his moves when the time came, though the rest-rooms presented possibilities…
The big question: Who would they send? And when?
Jack guessed Miller, and probably late. After one, at least: Patients asleep, visitors gone, doctors home, and only a reduced late-shift nursing staff to deal with.
He glanced at the clock. Hours to go till then. He yawned. He'd had maybe three hours of sleep during the last forty-eight. He needed some coffee but didn't dare leave this spot.
He looked around at his fellow lingerers. Maybe he could pay one of them to get him a cup.
WEDNESDAY
1
The elevator chime jerked Jack from his semidoze. He looked up and saw two nurses coming back from their break.
He stretched in his seat. One a.m. and he had the trauma unit's family lounge pretty much to himself. Just a disheveled woman who seemed to live here—he'd overheard that her husband was in the unit—and a hollow-eyed couple on vigil for their son.
His bladder was sending pleading messages. He'd been putting it off because it meant leaving his post. But sooner or later…
He guessed he could risk a quick trip. He rose, pushed through the men's room door, and was approaching a urinal when he heard the elevator ding again.
He stepped back to the door and pulled it open a few inches. He palmed the Kel-Tec and waited.
The shock of seeing Zeklos, dark glasses and all, step into view delayed his reaction time. He shook it off and reached through the doorway, grabbing the little man by the coat collar as he passed and jerking him into the rest-room. Zeklos struggled but Jack had size and strength on him. He rammed his gut against a sink, knocking off his shades. Zeklos's face blanched when he saw Jack in the mirror.
"You!" he said and reached for the pistol in his shoulder holster.
Jack put him in an arm lock and bent him over the sink while he removed a now familiar suppressor-equipped H-K Tactical. He stuck his Kel-Tec in a pocket, then pressed the nose of the H-K against Zeklos's spine at midlevel.
Jack kept his voice low. "I thought you couldn't kill a woman."