Chapter 36
AS THEY STOPPED BEFORE an unnumbered door on the unnamed hospital floor, Pendergast put a restraining hand on Chambers’s arm. “It would probably be best if I went in alone.”
Chambers thought a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
Pendergast looked away, glancing in turn at the armed men in military uniform flanking the door. No words were exchanged, but one opened the door to the room, closing it again when Pendergast had disappeared inside.
The hospital room was sterile, consisting of a bed, table, two chairs, and various nursing and medical apparatuses.
Proctor lay asleep in the bed, a hanging cart holding a unit of blood and another of saline beside him.
He looked like a pale simulacrum of the last time they’d met.
Pendergast glanced around for a minute, inspecting the room more carefully.
He took the vitals chart hanging from the end of the bed and leafed through it quickly.
Then he turned on the desk radio, spun the dial until he found a dreadful country station, cranked it, and moved one of the chairs around the bed until he was beside the fluids cart.
He leaned in closely, watching Proctor. The man’s rest was disturbed by the noise—quite understandably.
“Sergeant Major?” he said quietly, his lips close to the patient’s ear.
Proctor moved again.
“Sergeant Major. I debere societatum solam.”
Proctor’s eyes opened as Pendergast sat down. “Fidelitas usque ad mortem.” He glanced toward the chair. “Colonel!”
Pendergast quickly silenced him. “I can only stay a few minutes; there will be time, more time, to speak later. Right now, I need to know everything you can tell me about your assailant.”
Proctor was quiet for about a minute. “He was good.”
“No doubt.”
“He caught me off guard, dressed as a utility lineman, sauntering into my garage. My reflexes were down.” His words were slow at first, then they came more quickly. “I woke up in a padded cell. It was… exceptionally well hardened.”
“I saw it when we rescued you from the burning mansion.”
“Mansion?”
“Go on.”
“He demonstrated the impossibility of escape, and the punishment that would take place if one was attempted.”
“And?”
“That was it. I was given freedom of movement around the cell at intervals, and he brought me food twice a day. He insisted that I eat it. He was most solicitous of my health.”
“Interesting. Keep going.”
Another brief pause. “I was not the first captive to be in there. The man had practice. There were redundant surveillance systems, and he was exceedingly cautious.”
“But what did he want?”
“My arm.”
When Pendergast did not laugh or scoff, he continued. “He was always looking at it. He used some kind of nerve gas to anesthetize me. When I was under I believe he felt it thoroughly, pinched and probed at it.”
“Your right arm.”
Proctor nodded.
“And is that why you scarred it? You did that yourself?”
“It was a last resort. I knew he wanted the arm, so I decided to… well, to frustrate him in that regard.”
“And did it?”
“Yes. He became unhinged.”
Pendergast also paused. “Where were you living when this happened?”
“A suburb of New Orleans.”
“Working?”
“Nothing professional. A sort of armored car delivery service.”
“Armored car?” For a second, Pendergast showed surprise.
“It’s not only your reflexes that slow down if enough time passes.”
Pendergast nodded slowly. He asked a few more quick questions, then rose. “Your recovery from blood loss and smoke inhalation is coming along.” He laid a hand on the man’s arm. “You’ll be out of here in days. Let me talk to Decker.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Vale.” Pendergast turned off the radio before he left the room.