"You do now."
Betty made a note of that on her chart and escorted me toward the ICU.
On the way down the corridor, she informed me, "We're not used to these things here."
"And I hope you never get used to it."
She pushed through a set of double doors and I followed.
Betty, chart in hand, led me toward Kate's bed and said in a quiet voice, "Don't be alarmed by her appearance, or all the monitors and infusion tubes." She added, "She's on a ventilator to help her breathe." She assured me, "Dr. Goldberg is a wonderful surgeon."
But no one, including Dr. Goldberg, knew what was going on, or not going on, in Kate's brain.
We reached Kate's bed, and I stood over my wife and looked at her. Some color had returned to her face, and her breathing, aided by the ventilator, seemed steady. There was a thick dressing around her neck, tubes in her arms, and wires running under the blanket that connected to three different monitors. I looked at the screens and everything seemed normal, though her blood pressure was a little low.
Betty glanced at the monitors and assured me, "Her signs are good."
I took a deep breath and stared at Kate. I could see the swelling around her mouth where Khalil had hit her. Bastard. I bent over and kissed her on the cheek. "Hi, beautiful."
No response.
Betty advised me to sit in the bedside chair, which I did, and she said to me, "Press the call button if you need anything." She informed me, "No cell phones." She turned and left.
I took Kate's hand, which was cool and dry, and I could feel her pulse. I kept looking at her face, but it remained expressionless. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, and I glanced at the monitors several times.
Having nearly bled to death myself, I knew what Kate had gone through in those minutes when her blood was pumping out of her body-the very frightening, runaway heartbeat, the falling blood pressure that caused an awful ringing in the ears, the sense of being icy cold on the inside, unlike anything you've ever felt… like death… and then, the brain becomes cloudy…
When I had awoken at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital, I had no memory of why I was there or what had happened to me. I wasn't allowed visitors, but my partner, Dom Fanelli, had bullied his way in and engaged me in a long, stupid conversation about why the Mets were a better team than the Yankees. Apparently I didn't agree with him, and he went back to Homicide North and told everyone that I was definitely brain damaged. I smiled at that memory, and the memory of Dom Fanelli, who died on 9/11.
I looked again at Kate and thought, Too much death on this job.
I prayed that Kate would come through this as well as I had, against all medical odds. But if there was some impairment, then I'd quit the job and take care of her. After I killed Asad Khalil.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I continued my vigil beside Kate's bed, holding her hand and looking for signs of her coming out of anesthesia.
My cell phone was on vibrate, and I'd gotten three calls in the last half hour, which I let go into voice mail.
I listened to the first call from Tom Walsh, who said, "The hospital tells me that Kate is out of surgery and resting comfortably. Glad to hear that. Also, I spoke to Investigator Miller about his search for Khalil. No news there. I called George Foster, and he understands the situation." Walsh had paused, then said, "We can't seem to locate Gabe." Another pause, then, "Or Chip Wiggins in California." He ended with, "Call me."
The second call was from Vince Paresi, who said basically what Walsh said about Gabe Haytham, though Paresi added, "I'm a little concerned about Gabe. We can't get hold of his wife either. I'm sending a patrol car to his house in Douglaston. Glad Kate is doing okay. Call me."
I, too, was a little concerned about Gabe Haytham-and his family. Every agent is theoretically reachable by cell phone or text message, 24/7. But if you're off-duty, you might not be checking your job phone as often as you should. In any case, today was a nice Sunday, and maybe Gabe and his family were at the beach, or at an amusement park, or… dead.
As for Chip Wiggins, last I saw him three years ago, he was a cargo pilot. So he could be in the air. Or he could be in the ground.
The third call was from Investigator Miller, who informed me that my vehicle and luggage were in the hospital parking lot and the keys were at the ICU nurses' station.
Inspector Miller also said, "The vehicle and the luggage are clean. We did not find your wife's cell phone in the room or in the vehicle, and the search of the drop zone hasn't yet turned up her weapon or her cell phone." He also advised me, "We checked Sullivan County Airport, and we found an Enterprise rental car in the parking field, and the renter is a man named Mario Roselini, but nothing in his rental agreement checks out. The tire treads on the rental might match the treads we found near the woods. We've taken latex impressions and we're trying to do a match. The car is under surveillance. Also, we checked with the fixed base operators at the airport, and a Citation jet landed there Saturday evening, then took off Sunday about thirty or forty minutes after the incident, destination and passengers, if any, unknown. No flight plan filed. We're following up on this." He added, "Your guy Walsh was not clear if you're the case agent, but call me directly if you need more." He ended with, "The hospital tells me your wife is resting comfortably. Some good news."
I put the phone back in my pocket and thought about Investigator Miller's call. It was fairly obvious how Asad Khalil made his escape-he jetted away. But to where? There was no flight plan filed so it would have had to be a short low-altitude flight.
Another thought was that my colleague, FBI Special Agent in Charge Tom Walsh, hadn't passed on that information to me. But to be fair, I wasn't sure of the timing of all these calls or who was speaking to whom and when.
I turned my attention to Kate and leaned close to her. I tried to see if there was anything in her face that would give me a clue about her mental condition, but her expression revealed nothing.
There are different degrees of mental impairment, as I knew, and I had to prepare myself for anything from mild impairment to… whatever.
Another half hour passed, a few nurses came by, and one of them brought me a cup of coffee. I asked for a pen and pad so I could make some notes.
I used the time to recall, in detail, the events of three years ago, and try to apply that unhappy learning experience to what lay ahead. I wished that Kate was helping me with this, and I was sure she had some ideas that we could toss around.
I was about to get up and take a walk in the corridor, but I thought I saw her move.
I stood near her bed and watched her closely. She moved her head, then I saw her right arm move. I was going to press the call button, but I decided to wait.
Every few seconds, she moved an arm or a leg, and her head rolled from side to side.
I leaned closer to her and touched her arm. "Kate?"
She opened her eyes, but kept staring up at the ceiling.
"Kate?"
She turned her head toward me and we made eye contact.
"Kate. Can you hear me?"
She didn't show any sign of recognition.
The breathing tube kept her from speaking, so I took her hand in mine and said, "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
After a few seconds, she squeezed my hand. I smiled at her and asked, "Do you know who I am?"
She stared at me, then nodded tentatively.
I said to her, "Squeeze my hand if you know why you're here and what happened to you."
She pulled her hand away from mine.
"Kate? Nod if you know why you're here."
She raised her right arm and made a shaky movement with her hand that looked like a tremor or the beginning of a seizure. I reached for the call button, but then I realized she was pantomiming holding a pen.