Fires of Autumn (47 page)

Two weeks
after entering the hospital and more than two weeks after the assassination of
Noestra, Colt still hadn’t made an appearance. Casey was coming to think that
maybe he really was never coming home. Dazed and shattered, she just couldn’t
take it anymore.

The night
was late and she wasn’t sleeping, anyway.  Quietly, she got out of bed and
unhooked the fetal monitor from around her belly.  She also pulled her I.V.’s
out.   Her mother had brought her some warm pajamas and a robe, which she
hadn’t worn yet, so she went to the closet and put them all on. It was the only
thing she had to wear.  Her purse was hanging up in the closet and she took the
money and credit cards out of it, shoving them in the pocket of her robe.
Putting on her slippers, she went to her room door.

The
hallway was dim and quiet outside due to the late hour.  Casey could see the
nurse’s station off to her left and she even saw a nurse at the station,
focused on the computer screen.  With her eyes on the nurse to make sure she
didn’t catch the woman’s attention, Casey slipped out of the ward.

She took
the elevator down to the bottom floor. There were a few people in the lobby,
mostly hospital personnel, but no one said a word to her as she walked out of
the lobby and into the night beyond.   Near the big, circular entrance were a
few taxis idling beneath the mercury lamps and she found one, slipping inside
and asking the driver to take her to the White House.

The taxi
dropped her off at Lafayette Park.  It was nearly midnight as Casey stood at
the edge of the square, thinking of the time that she and Colt had spent
there.  She could see them walking hand in hand near the fountain or, in the
earlier part of their relationship, standing about three feet apart and trying
not to look as if they were in love with one another.   The square reminded her
of Colt almost as much as the White House did, and she turned around to face
the enormous structure as the moon shined brightly above.  Thankfully, the
evening was warm so she was comfortable in her pajamas and robe.  But the more
she stared at the White House, reminding her of Colt with every breath she
took, the more despondent she became. 

Colt had
told her that if she didn’t hear from him for more than six months, then she
needed to face the possibility that he was never returning.  Although she
understood his words, the reality was much different. She thought on his
strong, warm hands, his beautiful body and handsome face.  She closed her eyes
and heard his silky-deep voice and the roll of his laughter.  If she thought
hard enough, she could smell his skin and feel the texture of his hair.  She
could remember everything about him, a man whom she loved more than anything on
earth.  She couldn’t stomach the thought of never seeing him again, of never
hearing his voice or touching his face.

The baby
kicked and she put her hand on her belly, thinking of the child she carried,
something that was part of her and part of Colt. She wasn’t sure if she could
look at the baby and not feel overpowering grief. Every day he would remind her
of what she had lost.  She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to face it.  She
didn’t want to face life without Colt.

Off to her
right and across 17
^th
Street was the parking structure where she and
Colt would always park.  On the third level, side by side, they had their
parking stalls. More than anything, the parking structure reminded her of Colt,
as strange as it was.  Her violet gaze beheld the concrete building, remembering,
pondering.  In the dead of night, she began to walk towards it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Riohacha was a port city
hugging the northern coast of Columbia along the Caribbean Sea.  It used to be
an important port back in the day, but now it appeared every inch a third world
berg. Roads were rocky, the shanty areas dirty and populated, and the entire
city reeked of depression and greed.

Summers were hot here
this close to the equator and the humidity was the stuff that legends were born
from.  Big bugs, little bugs, and everything in between lived amongst the city
dwellers who struggled day to day to survive.  Poverty was rampant.

It was a lazy day, this
day of days, as a very large man in dirty jeans, flip-flops made from old tire
treads, and a stained t-shirt made his way from the nearby marketplace with a
bag heavy with food. He passed buildings white washed with bright red trim,
slowly decaying in the heavy salt air. The man sported a beard, a heavy
mustache, and a shaved head upon darkly tanned skin, keeping vigilant watch as
he passed the deteriorating buildings.  As he passed a group of children
playing in the gutter near a local bar, he called out to the group.

“Hola, usted monstruos
pequeños,” he teased.

The children giggled and
laughed, some of them throwing rocks at him but it was all in fun. They knew
the man was their friend. One of the little boys ran at him, holding out his
hands because he knew the man had food in his bag.  The man paused, reaching in
to his bag and pulling out a green banana. Handing it over to the little boy,
he grinned at the thrilled child.

“Ahora usted me posee
dinero para eso,” he told the kid.
You owe me money for that.

The child giggled,
ripped off the skin, and tore into the unripe banana. Then he tried to hand it
back with a bite taken out of it.  The man waved him off.

“Manténgalo.”
Keep
it.

He could hear the
children giggling as he made his way down the small street and turned into an
even smaller alley.  Off of this smaller alley was another walkway, and he
turned into it as he headed for his small shack buried deep in the shanty
town.  But the moment he made the turn, he caught sight of a man lingering down
the alley.  He came to a halt and dropped the bag, preparing for a fight.

The man lingering down
the alley heard the footsteps and the bag drop, turning around to see the
enormous man standing at the mouth of the walkway. He recognized the man, the
fighting stance, and held up his hands in supplication.

“¡Soy!” he hissed. “¡No
me duela!”

The big man suddenly
relaxed, recognizing the man in the smelly, dark walkway. He picked up his
grocery bag and charged to the end, grabbing the man by the shoulder and yanking
him in to his dark, dusty, one-room shack and locking the door behind them. 
There was a single light socket hanging from the ceiling with a single bulb and
he turned it on as he put his groceries on the worn and leaning table.  He
faced his visitor with displeasure.

“What are you doing
here?” he asked in English. “Were you followed?”

The visitor was scrubby,
fat and dark, smelling like mold. Dressed in slobby clothing that was torn and
dirty, he looked like a drunken bum.

“I wasn’t followed,” he
replied in heavily-accented English. “I have traveled by bus and bicycle to
find you. I had to come. I have been given a message for you.”

Colt’s brow furrowed. “A
message?” he looked perplexed. “From whom? Who in the hell knows where I am
except for you and my contact at the Embassy?”

“The Marine
capitán
has
sent me.”

“Why?” Colt suddenly
didn’t look so displeased anymore.  He began to get excited. “Do I finally have
safe passage home?”

The Columbian messenger
wasn’t very good with English but he tried. “He say you must go home,” he told
him. “Your wife is
morirse
. Death. He say you must go home right away. 
There is a boat coming for you tonight at Malecon and you must go.”

Colt was slapped with
information he hadn’t expected.  It took a moment to sink in and when it did,
he suddenly couldn’t breathe.  He grabbed at the rickity old table as if it
would keep him from falling over.

“
What?
” he
gasped. “Casey’s dead?”

The messenger shook his
head. “No,” he couldn’t find the right word. “Not dead.
Duela. Enfermo
.”

Colt found his breath
and his feet. He pushed himself off the table and grabbed the man by the arms.

“Sick?” he roared.
“Hurt? Which is it?”

The messenger tried to
peel his hands off of him but it was like trying to move iron.  Colt had him in
a death grip, emotions bleeding from the usually emotionless man.

“She at Walter Reed,”
the messenger was trying to remain calm. “You must go home now. The President
say so.”

Colt stared at the
messenger for a long, painful moment before letting the man go.  His hands flew
to his mouth as if to hold in the terror that threatened. He could feel tears
springing to his eyes and his legs were like water, but he forced himself to
hold it together.  He couldn’t fall apart, not now; he had to get home to
Casey.

“Oh, my God,” he breathed.
“The baby… it’s too early. Is it the baby?”

“Yo no sé.”

Colt swallowed hard,
struggling to keep himself on an even keel.  But he eventually broke down,
unable to keep the tears of fright away. “Oh, Angel,” he whispered. “I’m so
sorry. I’m coming, I promise. Be strong, baby, just a little while longer. I’m
coming.”

The messenger knew that
Colt wasn’t talking to him.  He watched the big man wipe tears off his face
with a shaking hand. He felt sorry for him.

“I am sorry I do not
know more,” he said softly. “That was all I was told.”

Colt nodded vaguely.
“What time is the boat coming?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“When the moon rises,”
the messenger said. “By the rocks.  You be there?”

“I’ll be there.”

“I will tell the
capitán.”

“Later. For now, you’re
going to wait with me until the boat comes. I may need your help.”

The messenger could see
that Colt was pale and trembling.  Colt turned away from him, fumbling
aimlessly with the grocery bag before moving to the tiny rope bed in the corner
and going through the motion of packing up his meager possessions.  But he only
got half way through that before he reached under the mattress and pulled out a
semi-automatic weapon. Then he moved back to the table and sat heavily on the
only chair to wait it out until moonrise.

The messenger had been
wrong about being followed, but it was the last mistake he would ever make.  He
and Colt were caught boarding the boat by two groups of men who had followed
the messenger from Bogota, lost him in the shanty town, and then found him
again purely by chance.  The big man with him was someone they’d been searching
for.  It was quite a fortuitous happening and when the surprise wore off, the
bullets began to fly.

Colt made it on the boat
alive but the messenger did not.

***

“The cops
found her,” Dr. Steele was walking very quickly. “She was in a parking
structure at Pennsylvania and 17
^th
street, and it took them three
hours to talk her down from the ledge on the top of the structure. She was just
sitting there but they thought she was going to jump.   Then they took her over
to George Washington University Hospital, but I had already contacted all of
the hospitals in the area about her so they knew her when she came in.  I had
her transferred back here.”

Riley and
Janice were practically running after Dr. Steele.  The woman had met them in
the lobby when they arrived at the hospital and now they were heading to Labor
and Delivery in a hurry.  There was panic in the air.

“How is
she?” Riley wanted to know.

Dr. Steele
took a sharp corner. “She’s in labor,” she said, not sounding pleased in the
least. “Her water broke but that’s about all I can tell you. She won’t let me
do anything to help her.”

Janice was
stricken. “What do you mean?”

Dr. Steele
came to an abrupt halt and faced the Cleburne women. Her expression was grim.

“Look,”
she said softly. “I know about her boyfriend.  All she’s done is cry about him
for the past six months.  I don’t know where the guy is, but I would strongly
suggest that you find him and at least tell him what’s going on.  She’s in a
labor and delivery room, but she won’t let us hook her up to anything – no
fetal monitors, no drugs for the labor, nothing. She won’t even let me check
her to see if she dilating.  She just lays there and cries, and unless she
passes out, I can’t touch her.  She’s refusing treatment and I can’t legally go
against her wishes.”

Riley
looked ill.  “Oh, my God,” she breathed, looking at her mother. “You go in
there and see what you can do. I need to make a phone call.”

Janice
didn’t argue or ask questions.  She charged into Casey’s labor room and Riley
could hear her mother pleading with Casey to let the doctor examine her.  She
was high risk as it was and if something went wrong, with the placenta previa,
she could bleed out in minutes.  As Riley dialed the phone and put it to her
ear, she could hear her mother crying.

Time was
ticking.