Megan seemed to recognize the problem immediately — the paramedics were going to assess and treat Frankie at the car. She lunged into the vehicle and a second later emerged with Frankie in her arms. She started trotting awkwardly toward the building. The deputy made a half-hearted attempt to stop her, then simply jogged alongside her.
The paramedics held up their hands to stop her. One shouted “Whoa” but she jogged past them and continued toward the building like someone who could only hear inner voices.
Luke ran toward the fence.
“I didn’t see him,” Megan shouted. “I was driving and he just, just came out of nowhere. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”
“Lady, try to calm down.” The deputy patted her back as if stroking a cactus. “You did the right thing.”
She chewed on a knuckle and her feet bounced up and down as if dancing on hot coals. It wasn’t difficult to feign panic.
The female paramedic lifted Frankie’s eyelids and shone a penlight over them. The boy’s facial muscles tightened slightly but his body remained flaccid. He was playing his part better than Megan had expected.
“Right pupil’s blown,” the woman said. “Probably a bleeder inside his head.” She turned to the second paramedic, who was gingerly fingering the boy’s scalp. “Call it in.”
Unless University Children’s was closed because of the police action, that’s where they’d take him. There were only two centers with heliports designated for pediatric neurosurgical emergencies, and University Children’s was closer.
While the male paramedic keyed in the radio, the other grabbed an IV bag, tubing, and needle. Moments later she plunged a needle into Frankie’s hand.
“Ouch,” the boy yelped. His eyes popped open and bulged like two hardboiled eggs, then just as quickly closed.
The female paramedic looked at the boy with a bemused expression.
Her partner shrugged while speaking to a dispatcher over the radio.
A man with an enormous handlebar moustache came through the rear door. He had a helmet tucked under one arm and was wearing a flight suit. The name on his breast pocket read: R.STEVENS.
“Are we a go?” the man asked as his eyes traveled the room.
Megan stooped near Frankie and put a hand to the side of her face before Stevens’s gaze reached her. If the pilot recognized her from their encounter in the E.R. two weeks ago, her ploy would disintegrate.
The paramedic on the radio held up a finger.
All eyes fixed on him.
“Affirmative,” he said into the handset while nodding at the pilot. “We’ll call you as soon as we’re in the air.”
“I’ll be in the Sikorsky doing the preflight,” Stevens said as he disappeared through the rear door.
While the female paramedic was taping the IV in place, she said to a deputy, “Give me a hand here. Let’s move this kid onto a backboard.”
When the deputy reached down and took hold of Frankie’s feet, Megan said, “Oh my God, I left my car running. I’ll be right back.” She ran for the door.
Behind her the deputy called out, “Hang on. I need a statement from you.”
Megan called back, “I’ll be right back,” knowing she wouldn’t.
Luke watched from the helicopter’s rear bay as Rick Stevens climbed into the pilot’s seat from a side door. The blades were already spinning and the giant Sikorsky’s engines sounded like unbroken thunder.
Stevens nodded to his copilot, who bobbed his head toward the rear.
The pilot turned.
“Last time we were together, you were sitting in the copilot’s seat,” Luke shouted over the engine noise. “Congratulations.”
Stevens looked at the pistol Luke had trained on the sergeant kneeling next to him — the crew chief. The pilot glanced at his crew chief’s empty holster, then back at Luke. “What the hell happened to you, McKenna? You turn into some kinda monster?”
“It’s a long story. Right now, the only thing I care about is getting to the hospital.”
“Go to hell.” Stevens looked at his copilot. “Power down. We’re not going anywhere.”
“Wrong. You’re going to put this thing into the air.” Luke cocked the hammer of the gun he’d taken from the sergeant and put the barrel into the man’s ear. “That is, after everyone’s aboard.”
Through the side hatch Luke saw Megan peering from behind the corner of a building. She caught his eye, then sprinted toward the helicopter.
Luke flipped off the lights in the helicopter’s rear bay. Against the glare of the landing deck’s perimeter floodlights, the Sikorsky’s interior now appeared as a blackened cavern.
“Any problems?” he asked as she jumped on board.
Megan shook her head, panting. “I found the floor mats hanging over the barbed wire.” She motioned toward the main building. “The medics should be bringing Frankie out any moment now.”
And they did. Luke couldn’t tell whether the paramedics were more stunned by his handgun, or the boy’s miraculous recovery once inside the aircraft.
Luke donned the crew chief’s helmet and plugged the headset cord into a small receptacle on his seat. He motioned for Megan to do likewise with one of the paramedics’ helmets. It was the only way to talk over the roar of the engine and hear Rick Stevens’s ground communications.
Luke instructed Stevens through his headset: “Patch me into University Children’s E.R. on channel two.” He turned to Megan and said, “Stay on channel one with the pilot while I’m talking to the E.R. Signal me if he says anything to warn the ground controllers.”
A moment later Luke heard Dr. Keller, his E.R. director. In a warbling voice disguised by the airship’s vibration, Luke described a mythical head-injury case as though he were one of the paramedics. He finished by inventing a story about being delayed on the ground and gave Keller an ETA of forty-five minutes.
After Luke ended the transmission, Stevens said, “Why’d you say that? We’ll be there in fifteen minutes, maybe less.”
“I don’t want anyone on the roof when we get there.” Luke knew that his E.R.’s procedure was to send a medical team to the heliport ten minutes before the helicopter landed.
“I’ll need their landing lights on,” Stevens shouted. “What if they don’t—”
“You’ll just have to manage. Now lift off.”
Luke waved his weapon in a sweeping motion at the hatch door, and one of the paramedics reached over to secure it.
The door was halfway closed when a dark figure tumbled in through the gap and landed like a brick on the crew chief.
The tip of Luke’s gun barrel was pressed firmly under the intruder’s jaw before the man recovered from his tumble.
The familiar black man’s mouth opened into a toothy grin and he spread his arms. “Easy, there, Flash. You gonna need some help, and help happens to be Sammy’s specialty.”
62
“Whoa, Flash. Slow down,” Sammy said after listening to Luke run through his litany of accusations. “I’m working for Zenavax. That’s my only gig here.”
After they had lifted off from the helipad, Luke waved Sammy to the rear of the cargo bay and threw one of the flight helmets at him so they could talk. Luke had placed the crew chief and paramedics in front of the ex-Proteus member as a protective buffer. Megan and Frankie were sitting with Luke at the front, just behind the flight deck.
Luke was switching between the pilots on channel one — listening to their communications with ground controllers whenever Megan signaled him that they were transmitting — and Sammy on channel two.