Certain Jeopardy (14 page)

STACY COULDN’T SIT STIL
L.
She had done all that anyone could expect of her. She had called an ambulance and stayed with Lucy and her five-year-old until Lucy’s sister arrived. Stacy followed the ambulance to the hospital while Lucy’s sister stayed with the children. Stacy promised to keep her informed of every development. The paramedics followed protocol and took Lucy to the nearest ER. Now she waited. No one would blame her if she went home. It wasn’t like Lucy was a family member, not as most defined family. She was, however, family in a different sense—they were both Army wives. More than that, they were married to Special Ops soldiers, both of whom were in some foreign land doing things neither wanted to know anything about.

So she stayed. The ER was like the others she had been in. Being the mother of two children had meant several trips to the emergency room over the years. This one offered the same highly polished floor, pale walls, a television five years beyond its life expectancy, and well-worn chairs occupied by people in various states of pain and illness. Waiting rooms had to be among the most depressing places people ever visit, and this one depressed Stacy.

Every time a nurse poked his or her head out the door leading to the ER, Stacy’s spine stiffened. She had been waiting for over two hours but refused to feel sorry for herself; Lucy was the one with the problem. At most, Stacy had been inconvenienced.

As the time passed, she tried to replace the vicarious fear and empathy she felt with planning. Most likely she would be home before dinner. Gina and Rob could get along without her until then. Rob would likely shut himself away in his room with his iPod ear buds jammed deep in his auditory canals, while Gina would sit at the dining room table doing her homework. If Stacy couldn’t leave on time to make dinner, she would order pizza and have it delivered. The kids would like that.

The next hour crawled by and Stacy passed the time looking at an entertainment magazine just a few months old. The television blared a courtroom reality show. Stacy did her best to put as much distance between her and the TV. She had very little tolerance for daytime television.

She had just started an article about the misbehavior of another under-twenty-five star who didn’t have the maturity to handle success when a thirty-something male nurse called her name.

“Here.” She tossed the magazine on one of the few empty chairs.

“Come with me, please,” the man said.

The ER bustled with activity. Doctors and nurses ministered to patients or sat in the nurses’ station filling out paperwork.

“Ms. Medina is in bed three.” He pointed to one corner of the room. The ER held twelve beds, all but three of which were occupied. Lucy’s was in the corner with the drapes that separated the stations drawn nearly shut. “The doctor stepped away for a moment, but he’ll be back in a minute.”

Before Stacy could thank him, the nurse was gone, off to attend some other patient. She took a deep breath and pulled back the thin drape enough to enter. She found Lucy lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. Tracks of tears marked each side of her face. Without words being spoken, Stacy knew she gazed upon a broken woman.

Stacy started to speak, but the words wouldn’t line up in any way that would be meaningful. Instead, she moved to the edge of the bed, took Lucy by the hand, and gave it a squeeze. More tears ran from Lucy’s eyes. Matching tears started down Stacy’s cheeks.

“They say … they want to take …” Lucy couldn’t finish the words.

“Take? No. You don’t mean they want to take the baby?” Stacy had worked hard to keep her thoughts orderly and her emotions in check. Lucy’s words struck her, scattering her thoughts like books flying from the shelves of a library in an earthquake.

Lucy nodded and wiped at her eyes with her free hand. “They say the baby is a danger to my life. I don’t remember what they called it, but it’s bad.”

“The ER doctor told you this?”

“Yes. They had an obstetrician examine me. He said my life was in danger and that I shouldn’t continue the pregnancy. I don’t want to lose this baby.” Lucy dissolved into sobs. She managed to utter one more thing: “I need my husband.”

“I need to make a phone call.” Stacy released Lucy’s hand. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

Stacy walked from the ER.

* * *

STACY’S PALMS WERE WET
and she wiped them on the jeans she wore. She hadn’t bothered to change from her sitting-around-the-house clothing. She had barely taken time to grab her purse. Matters of appearance seemed insignificant at the moment.

She stood by the waiting room window, watching each car pull into the parking lot and gazing at each driver. It had been thirty minutes since she placed the call. Half that time she spent at Lucy’s bedside, watching the woman cry and trying not to join in the weeping. Wanting to appear strong for the woman, she had tried to sound confident, offering words of hope and failing miserably. Several times she caught a female nurse glancing her way, her face a poster of despair.

Eventually a pair of nurses came to move Lucy to a hospital room. Stacy used it as an excuse to step away and took up her post by the window. Her focus centered on a particular parking space across the lot, one with a white sign: CLERGY. She had called the office of the base chaplain. She made the call not because she was religious by nature. Truth was, she’d be hard-pressed to say how long it had been since she and the family had been in church. She called because of a different kind of connection: one of Eric’s team had a brother on base, a chaplain. Certainly calling for a chaplain made sense, but it was even a better idea in this situation.

A dark-green sedan pulled into the designated space. Stacy didn’t wait for the man to find her. She exited through the sliding glass doors and approached the car. A tall, well-built man dressed in an Army combat uniform emerged, turned, and gave her a brief smile. The smile was a courtesy; his eyes showed a deep concern. He wore a silver cross on his chest.

“Mrs. Moyer?”

“Yes. Call me Stacy. You must be Captain Paul Bartley.”

“I am. I got here as quickly as I could. The name Moyer got my attention. My brother J.J. serves with your husband.”

“That’s why I called you. I don’t suppose you know where they are.”

Bartley smiled. “I don’t, and as you know, I couldn’t tell you if I did.”

“Sorry, I’m not at my best right now.”

“Fill me in.”

“Lucy Medina’s pregnancy is in serious trouble. I haven’t spoken to the doctors, but I know bad when I see it. She called me for help. When I got to her home, I found her unconscious on the floor. She tells me that the doctors want to perform an emergency abortion to save her life.”

“It’s that serious?”

“As near as I can tell. Like I said, I haven’t spoken to the doctors, and since I’m not family, the nurse won’t tell me anything.” She took a deep breath. “She wants her husband. That’s natural. What woman wouldn’t? She needs her husband, but as you know, the team is on a mission.”

“He’s with your husband and my brother?”

“Yes. Jose is the team medic. Can you help?”

“I will do everything I can. Is she still in the ER?”

Stacy shook her head. “They moved her to a regular room about twenty minutes ago.”

“Let’s go see her. I also want to talk to the doctor.”

“Will he be up-front with you?”

“Clergy don’t have special rights in hospitals, but we chaplains can be pretty persuasive. He’ll tell us what we need to know.”

Chaplain Bartley took her by the arm and started for the ER doors. It felt good not to be the only one on the scene.

* * *

“THAT WAS QUICK,” CARAWA
Y
said. The satellite radio system came alive. “Ops Command must have learned something.”

Moyer slipped on a headset and listened. His heart sped up then tumbled to a stop. “Understood. Will advise.” He removed the headset.

“Forgive me for saying so, Boss, but you look like death warmed over. Did they get a hit on the people in the video?”

“No. They’re still working on that.”

“Then what.”

Moyer lifted his cell phone and dialed. “Shaq, I need you at the truck ASAP—and make sure Doc stays put.”

Moyer hung up, leaned forward in his folding chair and raised his hands to his face.

“What is it, Boss? What did they say?”

Moyer tried to find the best way to share the news. He gave up and blurted the message: “Doc’s wife and baby are dying.”

Caraway’s next three words couldn’t be repeated on television.

“CAN WE DRINK THE
water, Mamá?” Nina’s small voice sounded all the more pitiful in the small confines of the restroom. Julia almost didn’t hear her over the rattling of the exhaust fan and the slight scraping of metal against the concrete floor. Nothing could be done about the overhead fan, but the latter ceased when Julia stopped scraping the metal lift arm she’d retrieved from the toilet tank.

“Maybe. Hand me a bottle.” Nina, who like her mother sat on the concrete floor, retrieved one of the many water bottles.

Julia took it and studied the cap. Its seal looked intact. She squeezed the bottle, but no liquid escaped through holes in the bottle, holes that might have been made by a hypodermic needle. Next, she shook the bottle. The fluid gave no sign of being anything other than pure water. She knew she was being paranoid, but being abducted at gunpoint had that effect on some people. Twisting the lid, she listened for and heard the familiar sound of the safety seal breaking. Still, she sipped the water before handing the bottle to her daughter.

“Do you want water too?” she asked Nestor.

Nestor sat on the toilet seat. “No. I’m not thirsty.”

“I think its safe, sweetheart.”

“I don’t care. It’s
their
water.”

Julia understood. She returned to the slow act of scraping the flat end of the flush lever against the floor, occasionally stopping to run her finger along the edge to test its sharpness. It would do. It wasn’t much of a knife, but it was all she had.

Please, God, don’t make me use this.

* * *

“LET’S WALK,” MOYER SAID.
“You okay to be alone, Junior?”

“I’m fine, Boss. Don’t worry about me.”

Moyer led Jose from the room and to an emergency stairway at the end of the corridor. Once Shaq had relieved him, Moyer had headed from their observation point to Jose’s hotel. He spent the time forming his words and planning where and how to break the news.

“This isn’t fancy, but it will give us some privacy.” Moyer opened the door that led to the enclosed stairway.

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Have a seat.” Moyer motioned to one of the concrete steps.

Jose did. “The first thing they teach us in medic school is that it hurts less to rip off a Band-Aid fast than slow.”

“Got a message from Ops Command. Your wife is in the hospital.”

Jose blinked several times but said nothing.

“They say it’s bad, Doc.” Moyer sat down next to his medic. “The baby’s in danger. The doctors feel that continuing the pregnancy might endanger Lucy’s life.”

“They want to abort the baby.”

“They didn’t say that in the message, but I think that’s right.”

Moyer saw Jose’s vision shift to something only he could see. “Did they tell you the medical condition that caused this? Did they give it a name?”

“No. They did say my wife took her to the hospital and that a chaplain had been by.”

“There are a number of possible causes for such a prognosis,” Jose said. “None of them good. Perhaps it is—”

“Jose. Don’t analyze. It won’t do any good.”

“It’s how I cope, Boss.”

Moyer understood. Every man had a different way of coping with bad news or overwhelming situations. Jose’s approach was to deny the problem and keep working. “Understood. I want you to pack your things. I’m shipping you out on the next available flight.”

“What about the mission?”

“We’ll get by. Ops may send a replacement, but that’ll be their call. All you need to worry about is getting home. Also, I don’t need to tell you that you can’t call her from here. While you try to get a flight, I’ll see if I can’t get someone in Ops Command to get an encrypted phone to your wife.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

Jose shook his head. Moyer saw the man’s eyes moisten as the seriousness of the situation bored in on him. Moyer put his arm around Jose and extended to him the courtesy of silent support.

A tear escaped but Jose made no attempt to hide it. There were those who thought brave men didn’t weep. Brave men knew better.

* * *

HECTOR STARED OUT TH
E
aircraft window at the ocean below. It would still be several hours before his plane touched down in Caracas—a time span that seemed as wide as the sea below. The stranger next to him sat unperturbed by the situation. He thanked the steward each time he brought a drink or a snack. He read the paper, two news magazines, and a business journal provided by the airline.

Nothing in his speech, appearance, or behavior betrayed his present occupation: kidnapper.