Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) (27 page)

Jimmy hit speed dial number 1 on the phone and watched the number appear on the small screen.

“Doors staying open,” Manuel added.

They both watched as Lenny moved across the screen and disappeared down the steps. Less than a second later a young man in the obligatory windbreaker appeared. He did his own scan before stepping forward. Angel’s face appeared for a split second before being blocked out by another man.

“Was that him?” Jimmy asked.

“I think so.”

They both strained their eyes at the screen until the young Marshal moved to the edge of the porch. The man behind him stepped up enough for them to see half his face around the fat Marshal.

It was enough.

Jimmy’s finger came down on the Send button. There was a brief delay before the picture turned to pure static.

Manuel watched as Jimmy set the phone down and picked up the TV remote. He thumbed through the stations until he found a local news channel. Picking up his coffee, he settled in to wait.

Manuel couldn’t help but smile at his partner’s machismo before retreating to the bedroom to fetch some clothes. After that he would pack. They would be leaving soon.

A low rumble echoed across the city outside the window.

•      •      •

Lenny’s head impacted the driver’s side window as the blast picked him up and threw him across the small yard. The heat crawled up the back of his neck and he instinctively rolled himself across the wet grass, thinking he was on fire. Realizing he wasn’t, he rolled to a sitting position and looked toward the house. The porch was gone and the house was on fire. Debris still rained down, and he raised an arm to shield himself from it as he got to his feet. Wiping the blood from several cuts on his forehead, he scanned the wreckage in front of him.

“Jake! . . . Charlie!” His voice sounded faint and distant through the ringing in his ears. He searched his pockets for his cell phone as he stumbled around the burning remnants of the porch littering the yard and street.

“Jake!”

No answer.

He couldn’t find his phone and turned back toward the car to search further when some movement caught his eye. He saw a leg sticking out from behind a burning section of wood and stumbled forward. The leg moved again and the man it belonged to began screaming. It was like nothing Lenny had ever heard. He grabbed the burning wood with his bare hands and began pulling, ignoring the pain for as long as he could before it forced him to let go. Rage overtook him and he ripped his shirt off to wrap his hands before grabbing the wood again. Setting his feet, he applied all of his strength and managed to pull the burning boards off the stricken man. He quickly rolled him around to douse his burning clothes. The man’s screams continued as Lenny dragged him free of the area.

A siren sounded in the distance and Lenny suddenly had two more sets of hands pulling with him as neighbors joined in to help. His strength suddenly left him and he sank to the ground. His hands were in terrible pain. A man with a garden hose began running water over them and the relief was enough to clear his head. He looked at the man he had pulled from the rubble. People were attending to him. He was badly burned and continued screaming.

Lenny couldn’t tell who he was.

2 Mexican politicians sought; drug cartel link alleged
July 15, 2009—CNN
 
 

—TWENTY—

“L
ifeguard-November-seven-four-four-alpha-lima approaching.”

“Contact-four-four-alpha-lima, turn right heading two-seven, you are cleared for priority landing.”

“Alpha-lima.”

The pilot banked the plane to the east until they were on the approach heading, leveling the wings with a practiced skill until the plane was on the glide slope. Their fourteen-hour flight was close to ending. With any luck, the ambulance was on time and they could make the exchange quickly. His mind and body were ready for a good meal, a tall drink, and twelve hours of sleep. Not necessarily in that order.

“Lifeguard-November-four-six-five-charlie-delta. Turn right heading two-seven-six and maintain.” He heard the tower speak to another plane.

“Busy day for air-medical,” he commented to his copilot. He got a grunt in acknowledgement before the man moved on to the next task on the landing checklist. It was not really a time for chitchat. The pilot returned his gaze out the cockpit window before picking up his scan of the cockpit gauges.

The roar of turbulent air sounded as the landing gear was cycled down. The pilot adjusted the throttles to overcome the additional drag and checked his aim at the approaching runway.

Thirty seconds.

The medical crew in the back divided their time between the view out the windows and the gauges on the POPS machine. The heart had been supported by the machine for the last fourteen hours and looked just as good as when they had received it from the Major at the fire base. They had gotten some sleep by working in shifts. One watched the heart beat in the sterile tray while the other dozed on the bench seat. The pilots would often come back from the cockpit to stretch their legs and fuel up on coffee. Their eyes always lingered on the beating heart. Like a fire, it seemed to draw everyone’s gaze.

“I see the ambulance waiting. Two of them. Maybe we can do this quick.”

“That would be fine with me. I’m ready to get out of this steel tube for awhile.”

The younger one turned his head back to the window without making a reply. The older one didn’t bother watching, he had seen enough landings for both of them. He instead watched his handheld GPS as the trip timer counted down to zero.

The gear hit the runway only a second later.

•      •      •

Jack burst through the double swing doors without slowing down and hospital staff quickly scurried out of his way. Security hurried to keep up with him as he stalked down the hallways, following the signs. They weren’t sure why he was here at the moment or what had upset him, but they were not about to ask. They signaled their counterpart waiting at the secure doors over Jack’s shoulder and the man quickly swiped his card at the cipher lock and opened it. Jack stormed through without a word.

The two Marshals outside the room rose to their feet quickly and only relaxed slightly once they identified him, as Jack’s face had the look of a man ready to wage war. He stepped past them and flung the sliding door open with a bang that threatened to shatter the glass. A Marshal stepped forward to restrain him if necessary, but Jack stopped short of the bed. The lawyer in the chair wisely kept his seat.

Oscar had awoken with a start and instinctively grabbed his chest. Jack glared at him, daring him to die, but he soon recovered and took deep breaths of his oxygen.

“You’re too late.”

“Now hold on a minute . . .”

Jack cut the lawyer off with a glare before returning his stare to Hernandez.

“I don’t care what your hired gun may have told you, I just want to say we’ve got all we need. Angel spilled his guts on tape to a grand jury. We’ve got you on everything you can think of. Right now your little cartel is falling apart and your partners are fighting over the pieces. You’re done, Oscar. Even if you survive the surgery, the prosecutors are going for the death penalty. One way or the other, you’re finished.”

Oscar took another deep breath before smiling at Jack.

“Is this . . . supposed to . . . scare me . . . Mr. Jack Randall of the FBI? The death penalty . . . As if I have not lived with . . . the threat of death . . . my entire life? Make your threats . . . they mean nothing.”

Oscar pulled the mask away from his face and sniffed the air.

“Is that smoke . . . that I smell?” He smiled behind the mask.

Jack took a step forward until the Marshal grabbed his arm.

“Easy, Jack.”

Jack got control of himself, but never took his eyes off of Oscar.

“I hope I’m there to see you go.”

Oscar shrugged as if it didn’t matter. He took another deep breath before removing the mask again.

“You are . . . hypocrite. I exist only because . . . you and your people . . . wish me to. Americans pay me . . . and you.”

“I don’t use your poison,” Jack shot back.

Oscar nodded as if Jack already knew the real answer.

“I will bet . . . you know someone . . . who does. Are they . . . in jail? Tell me that . . . Agent Randall . . . with the clean white hands.”

Jack said nothing. The lawyer sat quietly with his pen poised. The monitors beeped.

Oscar watched Jack’s face before he smiled again. He had his answer.

“I cannot wait . . . to meet this jury.”

Jack spun on his heel and stormed out. The crowd of nurses and security men quickly parted. Jack stopped short when he saw Dr. Dayo standing by the monitor banks. His face said he had heard the whole conversation. He and Jack had a silent exchange before Jack walked past him and out of the ward.

Dayo walked through the pathway created by Jack and entered the room.

“Hello . . . Doctor.”

“Mr. Hernandez.”

“What news . . . do you bring?”

“We have a heart for you.” Dayo watched as the man’s face cracked into an evil grin. He kept his own passive. Without a reply, he turned away and addressed the staff.

“Get him prepped for surgery.”

•      •      •

Senator Lamar sat in the private waiting room at the other end of the critical care unit with his wife. He was unaware of Jack’s presence or of any of the drama taking place in the cardiac intensive care unit. Dr. Fong had sent word to them and they had immediately come. They now waited anxiously for his arrival. The nurses had revealed nothing, but one had offered the smallest of smiles and with that, the tension dropped a fraction. His gaze moved around the tiny room, but he did not note any of the objects as he had seen them repeatedly over the last few days. The unread magazines sat next to three-day-old newspapers. Fresh blankets were stacked on one of the pullout chairs that they had been spending short periods in, and the view out the window stayed the same, changing only with the angle of the sun as it slowly counted the day down.

He gripped his wife’s hand in his own and she offered the briefest of smiles at her husband’s attempt to reassure her. If he only knew. What would he think? Was she a monster for doing what she had done? Or was she a mother doing what she deemed necessary to save the life of their only daughter? Her husband often had to make deals with his adversaries to get things done. Deals with the devil, he called them. If he knew that his wife had far surpassed anything he had done with one brief instance, it could change everything. She swallowed her deeds and focused on her daughter. What did the doctor summon them for? She had an idea, yet she had not received any messages informing her of anything. It was both puzzling and a relief.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts as Dr. Fong entered with the ever present chart. He strode quickly across the small room and offered a smile. Her husband got to his feet and she rose also on shaking legs.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I have good news. It looks like we have a heart for Tessa.”

“Doctor . . . that’s great. Thank you so much.” Her husband replied as he automatically stuck out a hand. Dr. Fong gave it a quick shake before sitting down. They quickly joined him on the facing couch.

“I know it seems very fast, but sometimes these things happen. We actually have two hearts arriving at nearly the same time. I’m told that both are from the same hospital in Mexico. I don’t have the details, but this sometimes happens when there are multiple victims, such as in a car accident. I’ve checked the histo-compatibility and it’s damn near close to perfect. Evidently the hospital thought that one staff member was informing us on both hearts and the information got lost in the shuffle. Regardless, they caught the error and faxed the records after the heart had already left. It’s already here and on its way from the airport, so we’ll be moving your daughter into surgery soon. Any questions that I haven’t covered?

He had answered everything they had asked over the last few days as well as provided information for them to read. They had exhausted themselves on the subject.

“No . . . I guess not.”

“Then I better get scrubbed in. Christine will come and visit you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

The Senator collapsed back into the chair in relief while his wife silently cried. She wiped her tears away and walked to the bathroom to collect herself. Once there, she ran the water in the sink. She looked up briefly to see her reflection. Her own eyes were accusing and she quickly looked away.

•      •      •

Dr. Fong had just offered a reassuring smile before hurrying out the door. His thoughts were on the case already as he moved quickly down the tile hallway. Doing two transplants at the same time was rare, but nothing to be overly concerned about. They had more then enough staff on hand to manage. The sudden arrival of the two hearts was strange, but Mexican hospitals danced to their own drummers and he had long ago given up trying to figure out how other institutions worked. Since the invention of the POPS machine and its ability to keep harvested organs viable for such long periods, they had been getting more and more organs from long distances. He and his colleagues had given up on asking where they were coming from or how they ended up in the system as the answers were always vague and he had enough to worry about on his end. He just trusted in the system they had and did his part.