Chapter 5 #2
“Alright,” Hallie said, hearing the quaver in her voice and unable to do anything about it. The idea of having someone else to keep an eye out for masked and armed attackers was deeply appealing.
“Are you back with Girard?” the director asked, voice brisk.
“Almost,” Hallie said as she came into sight of the dining room doors. Girard was still sitting, propped up by the door jamb. Despite the dressing Hallie had applied, there was more blood soaking his t-shirt and the ground beneath and around him.
“I’ve got Duncan with me. He’s going to talk you through some more medical checks,” Peredur said.
“Good. Do you need video or pictures?” Hallie asked, settling on the floor next to Girard. He was still breathing, but his skin had an unhealthy tint to it, along with a sheen of sweat.
“Good day to you, Miss Talbot.” The voice that came on the phone was familiar. Duncan was one of the tactical team and had some extra medical training. “Can you switch to a video call and show me Investigator Abbott?”
“I’ll do my best. And please, call me Hallie,” she answered, frowning at the phone screen as if she’d never seen the device before.
When she’d managed to get the video turned on and connected, she followed Duncan’s instructions to pan the camera slowly over Girard, and check the rate of his breathing and pulse before Duncan asked her to remove the dressing and clean the wound so he could see the extent of the injuries.
Girard stayed unconscious through the whole process, which was a blessing as far as Hallie was concerned.
She did her best to ignore the tremor in her hands as she wiped blood away from his abdomen, exposing a startlingly small hole in his skin with faint lines radiating from the entry point.
She managed to push aside her nerves and worry, listening to the professional calm of Duncan’s voice.
Even through the phone line, she would have sensed a lie, but he was reassuring and she drew some of that into her as she followed his instructions.
Checking Girard’s back exposed a far larger, far messier hole in his skin that made Hallie’s stomach churn.
She clamped her jaw shut, narrowing her focus to Duncan’s voice and what he was asking her to do, applying dressings to both wounds and then adding an antibiotic to the painkiller she’d already given Girard.
To her surprise, Duncan didn’t want her to move Girard from the doorway, but did suggest finding a cover for him so Hallie made her way into the living room and dragged one of the doubtless expensive crimson throws off a floor cushion, bringing it back to drape over Girard’s unconscious form.
That done, there was nothing more she could do until the backup team arrived, Duncan said. He gave her instructions about checking Girard’s pulse and breathing to monitor if anything changed.
Hallie sank back against the door frame opposite Girard and drew a long, ragged breath which held more than a hint of sob.
Girard was as safe as she could make him right now.
The aftermath of the blood and the violence were catching up to her, a tremor running through her whole body.
Then Duncan’s face on the screen was replaced by Peredur, wearing a serious expression, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced.
“If you are able to, Miss Talbot, would you be able to show me images of the attackers, or take photos of them?” he asked.
“There’s one right here,” Hallie said, glad to have something practical she could do rather than sit and worry as she listened to Girard breathe. She turned the camera lens onto the dead man’s face.
“I don’t recognise him. Human or veondken, do you think?” the director asked Hallie.
“I’d say they are all human. Judging by the colouring, none of them are local.
Too pale. They’ve had some training,” she said, struggling to her feet, ready to go back to the office and the man she’d left in cuffs.
“They are wearing body armour on their torsos. The weapons are automatic types,” she added, and panned the camera around to show the discarded weapons on the floor, far out of reach of the dead attacker.
“They were all carrying an extra gun and at least one knife.”
“Have they said anything?” he asked.
“Apart from insulting my parentage, no,” Hallie said. She was exhausted. Her body felt unbelievably heavy as she plodded along the corridor towards the office. “There was one searching the office and another in my room upstairs.”
“So, they separated? One came to kill Manju, you and Girard, and the others went to search?” the director asked, voice sharp.
Hallie stopped in the middle of the corridor, swaying slightly.
“What’s wrong? Miss Talbot?”
“Sorry. Sorry. I just … I hadn’t actually fully realised they were trying to kill me, or Girard,” Hallie said, her voice too high and thin. “Which is silly, isn’t it? I mean, they shot at us.”
“What happened first? Did they shoot Manju or Girard first?”
“Manju,” Hallie said, absolutely sure of that. “Head shot. He was sitting facing the doors.”
“Did you get more information from him?”
“No. We hadn’t been sitting for long. It was the evening meal,” Hallie said, distracted by the small details. She hadn’t finished the plate of food. And would not now be able to thank Kasmo for the delicious meal.
With the director’s prompting, Hallie moved through the house again, letting him see images of the attackers and taking still photos as well, which she also managed to send to him.
With the phone connection still open, she headed back to the corridor and Girard.
After checking his pulse and breathing, Hallie settled on the floor on the other side of the doorway and tried to ignore the tears on her face.
It seemed stupid to cry now that the danger had passed, and Girard was still breathing but it was taking a lot of effort to stop.
“Miss Talbot, are you injured?” the director asked.
“Ah, I don’t think so,” Hallie said, glancing down at herself. “No wounds that I can see.”
“You were holding your arm close to you,” the director said.
“Oh. Yes. I suppose it’s a bit sore. I shoulder-charged the attacker who was in my room and he was wearing body armour,” Hallie remembered, realising, now that the director had pointed it out, that she was holding her arm close to her body and that there was a dull ache at the very top of her arm.
“Yes, that would hurt. There will be an ice pack in the medkits. That might help.”
“Good idea,” Hallie said, pulling the open medkit towards her and finding the ice pack.
It was one that cooled automatically when it was applied.
She rested her back against the door jamb, blissful cool numbness seeping across the joint.
“Will you be notifying Kasmo and Oreste’s families of their deaths? ”
“I will see to it personally,” the director said.
“Will you please tell the families how sorry I am?” Hallie asked, a crack in her voice. “They have been so helpful and valuable over the past couple of weeks. I will miss them a lot.”
“I will pass that along,” Peredur said. She could hear the sorrow in his own voice and had to blink away more tears.
Not that long ago - a matter of months - she would never have believed it was possible that any hochlen could be genuinely sorry at the death of one of the karlen who served them.
But she knew better now. There were definitely hochlen who cared.
Peredur Roth was one. And so was Girard.
Sound outside the building snapped her head up and dried her tears. It was the first external sound she’d heard. The building had excellent soundproofing.
“What’s wrong?” Peredur asked.
“There’s something or someone outside.” Hallie got to her feet and drew her gun. She’d remembered to reload it and headed down the corridor towards the front door of the house, heart thumping. Then realised that the external sound had a familiar rhythm to it. “There’s a helicopter overhead.”
“That’s your backup. They made better time than I thought,” Peredur said. “The team leader is Frollo. The password is Veracity.”
“Alright,” Hallie said, hoping she sounded as if that meant something to her.
She reached the locked and bolted front doors just as someone knocked on the other side.
She checked her first impulse to open the door, glaring at it instead.
It might not be someone friendly on the other side and her voice was hard when she called out. “Who’s there?”
“It’s Frollo Howard, ma’am.”
“Password?” Hallie asked.
“Veracity.”
“Give me a moment.” She put the gun away and, still holding the phone with one hand, wrestled with the door locks.
She opened the door to the roar of helicopter engines overhead and the courtyard in front of the house apparently full of armed men.
No, not all men. To her surprise at least two were women, judging by the silhouettes in the night.
They were all dressed head to toe in black with helmets rather than knitted masks covering most of their faces.
The man closest to the door grinned as she stared out at him.
“I hear you’ve been having fun without us, ma’am.” That was Frollo. She’d know his seemingly careless manner anywhere. “Sitrep, please,” he said.
“Frollo,” the director said through the phone before Hallie could answer.
She turned the screen so that the men could see each other.
“Three hostiles discovered, one dead, two tied up. Three other dead, and Girard is badly injured. I need you and your team to clear the house again, secure all entry points, and keep Miss Talbot and Girard safe.”
“Will do, sir.” Frollo reached out and disconnected the call with the director. “Ma’am, will you take us to Girard and then wait with him while we clear the house?”
Hallie sat with Girard while Frollo and his team cleared the house again. Careless of the other people around them, she took one of Girard’s hands in both of hers and tried not to worry when his fingers didn’t curl around hers in response.
“We’re safe now,” she murmured to Girard.
“Frollo and his team are here. They’ll sort the attackers out.
You just concentrate on getting better.” She had to stop then, a lump in her throat.
He was going to live. He would wake up. She wasn’t sure when, but he would.
She’d seen him injured before now, and had taken care of his wounds before now, too.
This felt different. She knew him better now, and he’d become part of her life, someone she looked forward to seeing again, no matter how short a time they’d been apart.
She looked at his sleeping face, seeing the faintest frown between his brows as if, even in sleep, he was thinking hard.
His hair was a mess, as usual. She wanted to run her fingers through it, to make it even messier.
More than that, though, she wanted him to open his eyes and look at her, to reassure her that he was going to be alright.
When he stayed unconscious, his breathing even and steady, she settled herself to wait, still holding his hand. He was alive. He’d wake up in time. That was what mattered.
The rest of the long night passed in a blur. The house, which had seemed so still and empty with the dead and injured, became a hive of activity. There were six armed people moving around - four men and two women - but their presence in the house seemed to make the place smaller.
After a further examination by one of the women, who turned out to have the same advanced medical training as Duncan, Girard was moved, gently and carefully, into the living room and settled on several floor cushions pushed together as a makeshift bed.
Once Hallie had given Frollo the combination for the office safe and the key to the safe in her room, to access the weapons she’d stowed there, Frollo had offered to escort Hallie up to her room for some sleep and post someone outside the door, but, with the memory of the brief fight and broken window, she declined.
As he seemed quite determined that she at least try to get some rest, Hallie compromised, pulling more floor cushions together in the living room and lying down with another of the crimson throws dragged over her.
She didn’t think she would actually sleep.
Not with Girard badly injured and with the tactical team moving around, and her heart still sore about the loss of Kasmo and Oreste, but the next thing she knew there was daylight on her face and heavy boots in the hallway outside along with the tantalising scent of coffee and fresh baked bread.