Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
They made it to the Naval Hospital as the sun was setting.
Lights were switching on around the helipad as they landed.
The pilot brought them in gently, and Parker could see paramedics waiting with a proper gurney, ducking from the backwash.
They moved in the instant the pilot switched off the rotors.
In a minute, Nick was gently removed from the floor of the helicopter, placed on the gurney together with the IV tree and bag of blood, and they took off at a run. Parker wanted to follow, but Dylan kept her back with a hand.
“Just a minute, Parker. You won’t be able to follow him into the operating theater. There will be a waiting room, we’ll go there. He’s in good hands.”
What he said made sense, but Parker had the horrible feeling her presence was keeping Nick alive and if they were separated, Nick would pay horrible consequences. But that was her panic talking.
A female officer appeared, tall, slender, dark brown hair in a tight bun, walking quickly toward them. “Dr. Donovan? Mr. Gardner? This way please.”
Parker walked down the steps onto the tarmac and almost fell. Her legs could barely keep her upright. Dylan reached out a steadying hand until she was stable. “Sorry,” she said.
He shook his head sharply. “You’ve been through hell, Parker. I’m surprised you’re still standing.” He looked her up and down. She was filthy with blood-encrusted clothes. “You look like you’ve been through a war.”
Yeah. Buried by an earthquake, crawling through rubble, finding an arms cache with nuclear weapons, a shootout. She’d also shot and killed a man. Maybe. Maybe she’d shared that experience with Dylan. “I have.”
“If you’ll follow me,” the female officer said. They followed her into the hospital facility, down a corridor and up two floors. She stopped at a door and ushered them into a small but welcoming room with upholstered armchairs. “I’ll have beverages and some sandwiches sent up.”
Parker’s stomach revolted at the idea of food.
“Where’s Mr. Garin?” she asked the officer.
“My understanding is that he is being prepped for surgery. The surgeon is Dr. Bernard Crowley, who is an excellent surgeon. He’s in very good hands, ma’am.”
Parker nodded. She’d acknowledge that Nick was in very good hands when he was out of surgery, and she could see that he was alive and well with her own eyes. Until then she was going to seethe in anxiety.
They took their seats. Parker sank into herself, inside her a maelstrom of terror and exhaustion. Dylan didn’t even try to talk to her. He must have sensed that she didn’t want to talk. All she wanted was for the surgeon to come down and say Nick was out of surgery and was going to be fine.
Anything else was unthinkable.
The female officer returned with a cart filled with sandwiches, soft drinks, tea and coffee.
“You should eat something, Parker,” Dylan said gently.
“No thanks.” She shook her head sharply, her stomach heaving. “I’ll have some tea.” Her own antibiotic. Tea cured so many things.
Dylan poured her a cup. “Sugar? Milk?”
She shook her head no.
Dylan was stacking a small plate with sandwiches and poured himself a Coke. “We’re getting the super white glove treatment. They don’t usually offer refreshments in the waiting room. It’s because we’re heroes. Nobody knows quite why, but they know we’re heroes.”
Parker didn’t feel like a hero. She felt like someone who had escaped something terrible, and Nick had paid the price for it.
Nick had to live.
She kept coming back to that idea. Nick simply couldn’t die. She wouldn’t let him.
Dylan kept getting phone calls, and he’d exit the room so he wouldn’t bother her. Either that, or the calls were confidential. She didn’t care either way.
He came in, staring at his phone. “So, Nick was hired to check if there were any leaks in the Consulate and he got the job done. In a roundabout way.”
Parker looked at him. What was he talking about?
“We had our in-house computer genius analyze the Consul’s phone and it was hacked.
There was a hidden app that sends all the calls and texts the Consul receives to a specific phone.
And we were able to locate that phone and it did indeed belong to a consulate staffer.
George Stillwell. Who immediately called Lorenzo de Luca, the local head of the Camorra.
That Stillwell guy is going away forever. ”
Parker stared. “George? George Stillwell? A traitor?”
“Yes, ma’am. And he’s been selling secrets for a while now and has a nice little stash in Aruba which he will never spend.”
She sat with that for a while. George Stillwell. Weedy, ineffectual George. George, who couldn’t play sports, could barely drive, but who was super smart. But how smart was he really if he was going to spend the rest of his life in prison?
“I can hardly believe he’d have the nerve.”
“Well, he did. And if not for you and Nick, we could have eight nukes in the hands of either the mob or, more likely, they’d have sold them to terrorists. Lots of groups in the Mediterranean with money who’d pay a lot to have nuclear weapons. You guys stopped something really serious.”
Parker didn’t know what to say.
Dylan touched her arm. “Though you do understand that you can’t ever talk about it, ever. To anyone. That’s clear to you, right?”
“Absolutely.” As long as Nick lived through his ordeal, Parker didn’t even want to remember it. As long as—
The door opened and a short, stubby man with a salt and pepper beard walked in, carrying something. He was in scrubs, a surgical mask around his neck. “Dr. Donovan? Mr. Gardner?”
They turned to him. “Dr. Crowley?” Dylan asked.
“Yep.” He didn’t turn to Dylan but to Parker. “Dr. Donovan, I couldn’t believe my ears when someone said that Parker Donovan was in the waiting room. It is such an honor to meet you. My wife and I loved The Smiling People. We’ve read the book and watched the documentary. My congratulations.”
He held out his hand and Parker just looked at it. Then took it and he pumped her hand up and down enthusiastically.
“Beautifully written and beautifully filmed. We enjoyed it tremendously.” He held out his other hand and she recognized what he was holding. A book. Her book. “We would both be honored if you could sign the book.”
Dylan looked amused. “And we’d both really like news about our friend, Nikolai Garin.”
The doctor was holding the book out, open to the title page.
“If you could just sign here…” He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose.
“As for Mr. Garin,” he said casually, “he’ll be fine.
The bullet missed all vital organs. In fact, the biggest danger was blood loss, but he was transfused during the medevac flight, which mitigated the blood loss. ”
Parker felt numb. “He’ll—he’ll live?”
“Oh, yes.” The doctor blinked. “Yes indeed. He’ll be out of the hospital in a day or two. Now if you could just sign here…” He held out a pen. “To Bernie and Esther.”
Parker’s knees felt weak and again she felt Dylan’s steadying hand. Tears sprang into her eyes as she signed and a big fat drop plopped onto the page, right where she’d written Parker.
“Oh! I’m so sorry! I can get you another copy!”
Dr. Crowley just shook his head. “That’s fine.
Don’t worry about it. I understand you’re worried about your friend, Mr. Garin.
” He touched her forearm and smiled and looked her up and down.
“He’ll be ok. You know, it will be a couple of hours before you can see him.
You might want to change out of those bloody clothes.
I understand it is his blood, so maybe he won’t want to be reminded of being shot. ”
Parker looked down at herself. She’d completely forgotten what she looked like. Filthy from crawling through rubble, and caked with Nick’s blood. Now that she knew Nick was going to live, her skin itched with the desire to shower and change.
“A car and a driver are waiting outside for you,” Dylan said. “If you could pick up Nick’s things from the hotel, that would be great. I called the hotel to have them packed for him. I’ll wait here for you.”
Parker turned to the doctor. “I want to be here when Nick wakes up and can receive visitors.”
“You will be,” the doctor said gently. “Unless you live in Rome.”
“I live on the Vomero.”
“Then you’ll make it. Go on then. You’ll feel better afterwards, and Mr. Garin will feel better not seeing his blood on you.”
Well…put that way…
“I’ll be here,” Dylan said, “And he will be out of it for another—”
He looked at Dr. Crowley. “I’m not allowing anyone in for at least another three hours.
Mr. Garin is currently in the recovery room and will be for a while.
Then he will be taken to his hospital room, but I like to give patients time before they are allowed visitors.
And he’ll be a little loopy from the anesthesia for a while anyway. ”
Dylan put his hand on her shoulder. “The driver is in the parking lot and has your name on a tablet he’ll hold up. He will wait for you at the hotel and then he will wait for you at your house and will drive you right back here. Go.”
She went.
Like everything connected to Nick, it all went super smoothly.
The driver, a very nice Italian gentleman, was in the parking lot, offered her a bottle of water she hadn’t realized she wanted until he handed it to her, and took off.
He navigated Neapolitan traffic like a pro.
Which she supposed he was. When they got to Nick’s hotel, the driver insisted she stay in the car while he got Nick’s suitcase and came back in a quarter of an hour, pushing a big hardcase wheelie.
He miraculously found a parking spot right outside her gate and told her to take however long she wanted. He’d wait for her.